#would you also blame poor women for having kids when they might not immediately have as many resources? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years ago

Text

Give Yourself a Try

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader enemies to lovers

Synopsis: you and Peter hate each other, which becomes a problem when you’re given a group project

Part two and three

Masterlist

“Good morning Ned.” You kindly greeted as you took your seat in front of Peter in your first period physics class.

“Morning Y/n.” Ned said back, gearing up for what he knew was coming.

“I really like your makeup today, Y/n.” Peter smiled as he leaned forward in his seat. “Is it hard balancing your schoolwork with your job at the circus?”

“Not at all.” You smiled sweetly at him as you turned around. “I could get you a job there if you’d like. We’ve been needing something small to feed to the lions between shows. You’d be perfect.”

“Small? Darling, you must be mistaken.” Peter kept a sickly sweet grin on. “I’m bigger than your boyfriend of the week over there.”

“Silly goose.” You scrunched your nose at him. “Harry Osborn is not my boyfriend. And just so you know, steroids are really bad for you. I’m worried about your well being.”

“I’m not on steroids.” Peter hissed, dropping the act. “Stop trying to start that rumor.”

“Why not?” You shot back. “You had no trouble spreading the rumor that I was the one who killed Herbie the hamster when we all know it was you who left the door open after cleaning his cage.”

“Are you kidding me? That was fifth grade.” He whispered harshly.

“I will never forget it.” You snapped back.

“Ahem.” The teacher cleared her throat as she stared at you and Peter with an annoyed expression. This was an everyday occurrence in her class, and any other class you had with Peter. You hated each other and everyone knew it. You and Peter stopped arguing and slumped in your seats, giving each other one last look of disdain.

“Instead of a final exam this semester, I’ll be giving you a final project.” The teacher continued. “You’ll be working with one other student.”

“Nice. We can finally present our work on quantum physics.” Peter excitedly high fived Ned.

“Can you guys reschedule your virgin convention for later?” You asked seriously. “I’m trying to listen.”

“Because of the disappointing grades on the last project, I will be assigning your partners.” The teacher went on.

“Don’t worry.” Peter whispered to Ned again. “We could still end up together. We got an A last time so she knows we work well together.”

“We got an A last time.” You mimicked his voice and moved your hand like a puppet.

“Yeah. An A.” Peter said as he leaned forward in his seat. “You know, like your bra size.”

“What did you just say to me?” You snapped as you whipped around. He had on his infamous shit eating grin that you hated.

“Young man, can you please stop interrupting our conversation?” He said as he held up a hand. Your jaw dropped at the insult, face growing warm with anger. You decide not to give him the satisfaction of an insult exchange and turned around in your seat. Your teacher began to list off the partners for the projects.

“Leeds, Stacy.” She called out. “You’ll be working together.”

“Sorry, man. But also, not sorry man.” Ness frown quickly turned into a smile. “Gwen, over here!”

“Aw.” You snickered as you turned around on your chair. “I feel bad for whoever gets stuck with you now. That poor, unfortunate soul.”

“Parker. L/n. You’ll be working together.”

“What?” You and Peter screamed in unison. You gave each other an angry look before looking at your teacher in protest.

“You two are always holding up my class and I’m tired of it.” She held up a hand. “This project will teach you how to finally get along and stop disrupting me while I teach.”

“Mrs. Avery, with all due respect, I can feel myself getting more disruptive already.” You told her.

“I think that’s your STD.” Peter mumbled.

“You two need to learn how to be professional and amicable.” She ignored your protest. “You won’t always like your peers. But you will always have to collaborate with them at some point.”

“I understand that.” You assured her. “But if we do this project together, my fist is going to collaborate with Peters face.”

“That’s a threat.” Peter piped up. “I’d like to file a report.”

“And I’d like to take that report and shove it up your-“

“Enough.” Mrs. Avery cut you off. “You will be working together and that is final.”

You both shrunk in your seats, fuming with anger over the teachers decision. You didn’t cause any more disruptions throughout the class and quickly left once the bell rang.

Peter saw you at your locker, which was coincidentally next to his locker, spraying some perfume on.

“Darling!” Peter exclaimed as he stood next to you. “So good to see you! You know how much I love when you hog all the locker space and make the entire hallways smell like perfume.”

“Why, thank you.” You touched your hand to your heart. “As I’m sure you know, some of us prefer to smell like things other than Neosporin and baby powder. After all, that’s your signature scent and I’d just hate to step on your toes.”

“I didn’t know. Thank you for opening your gigantic mouth and telling me!” Peter said through a toothy grin.

“Oh, Peter.” You laughed airily. “You’re very welcome, you sad sack of shit.”

“Classy.” Peter faked a smile as he opened his locker. “Do you want to come over to my house after school to work on the project? I live walking distance from here.”

“What? No.” You scoffed. “You’re not getting me to a secondary location. We’ll work in the library.”

“Actually, we won’t, because it’s closed for maintenance.” He replied with a tight smile.

“I wish you were closed for maintenance.” Yoh grumbled as you zipped up your bag.

“Hilarious.” He fake laughed loudly. “Are you coming over or not?”

“Not.” You said in disgust. “I don’t know you or your parents. You might try to kill me as a part of some Parker family cult ritual.”

“My parents are dead.” He told you, unamused. “It’s just me and my aunt.”

“Is your aunt a cult leader?” You asked.

“No.” He groaned.

“Cult member?”

“No. All she does is cheat at cross world puzzles and shop at Whole Foods.” He said.

“So you lied.” You slammed your locker and looked at him. “She’s in the Whole Foods cult.”

“Can you try not to be difficult for two minutes, please? We need to get this project done.”

“Jokes on you, Parker.” You folded your arms. “Difficult is my lowest setting.”

“Ooo. Scary.” He mocked you. “What’s your highest? Because I’m pretty sure I saw it last Tuesday when your backpack got stuck on the door handle and you decided to blame me.”

“I know that was your fault. And I go from difficult to hooligan to the step mom from Parent Trap.” You shrugged.

“And they said women aren’t funny.” Peter replied as he slapped his knee. You raised an eyebrow at him, judging him for his material.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

“You’re gonna be sorry.” You told him. “Where do you live again?”

“Waking distance from here. I said that less than five minutes ago.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“Well I didn’t hear that because I tune you out when you speak. You know, like most people do.” You said sweetly.

“Wow, you’re so funny.” Peter said sarcastically. “If I meet you here at the end of the day, will you come home with me?”

“Fine.” You huffed. “I’ll go home with you. But if I start detecting any cult shit going on, I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me.” He scoffed. “I’ll see you later.”

“Are you ready to go?” Peter asked after the last bell had rang. You shouldered your backpack and shut your locker, feeling unusually anxious around him. You could deal with Peter for 40 minutes at a time when all you did was trade insults. Something about walking to his home together and spending time alone knocked the confidence right out of you.

“I’m ready.” You nodded.

“What, no insult?” He asked. “No mocking of my voice?”

“We were assigned each other as partners so we could learn to be civil, right?” You shrugged. “I guess I’m just mature enough to give it a try.”

“There she is.” Peter smiled as you began to walk in the direction of his apartment. “There’s my girl.”

You looked to the side when you heard him say this, unsure of how it made you feel. You often called each other pet names ironically, but this felt different. There was a change in the dynamic between the two of you and it was clouding your judgment.

You let Peter do all the talking as you walked home, thankful that he lived so close to the school. He spewed out ideas for the project the entire elevator ride up and didn’t stop until you were standing outside his bedroom door.

Peter stopped talking and opened the door, gesturing for you to go inside. You made a face at him before walking, staying in one spot as he shut the door and sat down. You were frozen as you looked around his room, not liking how human it made him. He had notes from classes you didn’t have with him strewn around and an open first aid kit on his desk.

“You can sit.” He chuckled when he noticed how stiff you were.

“I’m scared to.” You admitted.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly. Something about sitting on this boys bed with him seemed finalizing, like you’d be opening a door you couldn’t close.

“Just sit down.” He repeated. “I didn’t rig the place with boobytraps, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s what someone who rigged the place with booby traps would say.” You replied as you took a hesitant seat on his bed.

“There. Isnt that nice?” He asked sarcastically.

“No.” You said immediately. “Am I the first girl to ever sit on your bed?”

“Psh. No.”

“I’ll take that as a yes ma’am.” You mumbled.

“Whatever.” He replied. “What do you want to do the project on?”

“How about micropenises?” You suggested. “You won’t even have to do any research.”

“Haha. So funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You are so annoying it’s actually impressive.”

“Please.” You laughed. “You so have a crush on me.”

“What?” His entire face went red. “No I don’t.”

“No I don’t.” You mimicked his voice. “Yes you do. That’s why you’re up my ass all the time.”

“That makes no sense.” He scoffed.

“It makes total sense.” You insisted. “You know I’ll never like you back, so you made me hate you. That way, you still get to talk to me all the time. Genius, really. I applaud you.”

“That’s a nice little fantasy you’ve created for yourself. Is that what you tell yourself to help you fall asleep?” He teased you.

“Yep.” You smiled brightly. “Right after I finger blast myself to the thought of you in your Catholic schoolboy sweaters.”

“Oh my God.” His cheeks turned even redder at your inappropriate joke.

“And they said women aren’t funny.” You used his words from earlier.

“They were right.” He said, making you laugh.

“God, I love it when you talk down to me.” You fanned yourself. “Can you tell me how to change a tire?”

Peter began to laugh as well, looking at you as you both laughed. You quickly stopped laughing when you realized you just gave him a genuine smile and looked away.

“Do you want to do the project on tensile strength?” You suggested to break the tension. “I know you’re weirdly into that.”

“How’d you know?” He wondered.

“You almost popped a boner when we talked about in last month.” You teased him. “It’s just rope, dude.”

“It’s not just rope. It’s the force-“

“-the force required to pull something until it breaks. I know.” You finished his sentence. “I’m smart too, you know.”

“Oh.” He was dumbfounded that you knew something he was interested in. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Women use brain sometime. Woman say smart thing like man.”

Peter laughed again, realizing you were actually kind of funny when you wanted to be.

“I’m not a misogynist, you know.” Peter said after a beat. “You don’t have to make jokes like that. I may not like you, but I respect you.”

“You respect me?” You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“I respect all women. The strongest person I know is my Aunt. Plus, I’ve still never met anyone who was as smart as my mom. I wouldn’t be half the man I was if it weren’t for the women who raised me.” He shrugged. “But it would be ignorant and naive of me to only respect woman who are related to me in some way. So I respect all of them unless they give me a reason not to.”

“Have I given you a reason not to?” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Not yet.” He chuckled to himself. “You’re annoying, but you’re brilliant. I know you would never admit this, but we’re basically the same person. You’re just more extroverted so you have more friends and popularity. And you’re smart but you don’t make that your whole personality, so it impresses more people when you let your intelligence show.”

Your body language shifted when you realized he was actually a nice guy. He clearly paid attention to you and was impressed by what he saw. You didn’t say anything, so Peter kept going.

“People lean in to listen when you start speaking instead of tuning you out.” He brought up your insult from earlier, and you felt bad. You didn’t realize he admired you in any way and you felt guilty for always teasing him. Peter’s kept his eyes down, playing with his fingers to distract himself.

“You’re…you’re kind of every thing I wanted to be.” He said quietly. You smiled softly at him, but he didn’t see it. It was the first time you had a nice moment with Peter, and you didn’t hate it. You could tell he was beginning to panic for sharing so much, so you reached forward and tilted his chin up to look at you. His wide eyes met yours and you gave him a small smile.

“How did your parents die?” You asked quietly, immediately ruining the moment.

“Damn.” Peter pulled away with a shocked laugh. “When was your first period?”

“All right. I get your point.” You rolled your eyes. “That was a little abrupt.”

“You’re telling me.” He teased. You sat in silence for a moment, neither of you sure where to go from there. You knew Peter was still processing you touching his face, so you talked first.

“My parents are dead too.” You said without looking up at him.

“They are?” He asked, scooting a little closer to you on the bed.

“Yeah.” You looked up and gave him a sad smile. “But if you think we’re gonna take a turn and fall in love because we have similar trauma, you’re wrong. I can’t stand orphans.”

“But you’re an orphan.” He reminded you.

“And?”

“Never mind.” He shook his head. “I have a feeling I won’t be getting through to you.”

“Probably not.” You agreed. “Tell me more, though. Did your parents die doing something cool?”

“I don’t really know.” He shrugged. “It was a plane crash. That’s all I’ve been told.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “Sounds lame.”

“What?”

“A plane crash?” You raised your eyebrow. “That’s so boring. Yawn.”

“Excuse me?” He laughed in shock again. “Fine. How did your parents die?”

“Firefighters.” You said proudly. “Died saving three children.”

“Wow.” Peter sat back, stumped.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I was one of them.”

“Seriously?” His eyes widened as he fought the urge to hold your hand.

“No. I’m fucking with you.” You began to laugh as he let out a groan.

“Why would you do that to me?” He whined. “You had me, for a minute there.”

“What can I say? I’m an actor.” You flipped your hair ostentatiously.

“What actually happened?” He wondered. You stopped smiling and bit your bottom lip.

“Drunk driver.” You told him. He didn’t fight the urge this time and reached over to take your hand in his. You stared at your interlocked hands, wondering if you should pull away or not. On the one hand, he was your enemy. But that didn’t make his warmth any less inviting.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “That must have been really hard on you.”

“You know the feeling, don’t you?” You asked with a sad smile.

“I do.” He nodded. “And I know how much it sucked to not have someone who knew how it felt. You don’t have to feel that way anymore. Neither of us do.”

You opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it, not wanting to ruin the moment again. The guy holding your hand was not the same guy who sat behind you in physics. This guy was someone you actually liked.

“I might have misjudged you, Peter Parker.” You laughed shyly. “You might not be as unbearable as I remembered.”

“And you might not be the frigid bitch I thought you were.” He matched your tone.

“Watch it.” You warned.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“You were right.” You said after a beat. “We are pretty much the same person. I never realized that before.”

“Maybe that’s why we don’t get along.” He shrugged, rubbing soft circles into your hand.

“I’d be willing to give it a try, if you were.” You said sheepishly. “Who knows? I might just like you.”

“You want to give this a try?” He asked, eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Why not?” You shrugged. “What do I have to lose?”

“Okay.” He nodded eagerly. “Then we’ll try.”

“Cool.” You smiled.

“Cool.” He said before leaning in for a kiss. Your eyes widened as his fluttered shut, making you realize you were on different pages. His lips made contact with yours for a few seconds before you pushed him off.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked as you covered your mouth with your hand.

“Kissing you?” He asked in confusion as hurt flashed in his eyes.

“Why the hell would you do that?” You exclaimed, still in shock. You got off the bed and backed away from him, trying to process what just happened.

“You said we were giving it a try!” He was shouting now too, but not out of anger. “I thought we were finally admitting that we like each other.”

“I meant giving friendship a try! I never said anything about a relationship.” You shouted. You quieted down when you saw the upset look on his face. “You... you like me?”

“I thought it was obvious.” He said quietly. “I-I thought you knew. You said it before and I just…I thought you knew.”

“Peter, I was joking when I said all that stuff.” You calmed down and sat back on his bed. “I didn’t actually think you liked me.”

“Oh.” He blinked a few times before looking down. “I…I do.”

“Peter, I’m sorry.” You reached for his hand again but his withdrew it.

“No, it’s my fault.” He shook his head and got off the bed. “I misunderstood the situation.”

“Peter, wait.” You caught him by the wrists and pulled him back down to the bed. He sat down again but looked anywhere but at you. You could see that his eyes were glassy so you put a hand on his face.

“You were right.” His voice wavered. “I did like you and I did think you’d never like me back. That’s why I always tease you. I just wanted you to talk to me.”

“Pete.” You whispered, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb.

“I’m sorry. I really don’t want to be here right now. I’ll email you my part of the project and-“

You cut him off by wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You both had your eyes closed this time and it lasted much longer. Your lips moved against his slowly and you could feel how inexperienced he was. Even so, it was perfect. You pulled away after a minute and looked into his eyes, feeling better now that there were no traces of sadness in them.

“You kissed me.” He said, dumbfounded.

“I can’t know I don’t like you back if I never give you a chance.” You shrugged as you withdrew your hand from his face.

“Well what did you decide?” He asked curiously. You puckered your lips and tilted your head, staring at him as if you were making a decision.

“I still think you’re super annoying.” You concluded.

“Okay.” Peter nodded.

“But it’s an annoying I’m willing to put up with.” You decided as you slipped your hand back into his. Peter broke out into a smile and nodded again.

“Okay.”

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker enemies to lovers #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #marvel #spiderman

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crayonwriting · 4 years ago

Text

01 - Mamma Mia

Summary: Maiko just wanted her good ol’ dad to walk her down the aisle. So, she invited the three men from your past in hopes of meeting him. The only problem was, which one of them is it?

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Bokuto Koutarou x Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie directed by Phyllida Loyd and written by Catherine Johnson which is inspired by the music of the pop group ABBA.

catch up here!

"Kuroo-san?"

The said man looked up from his desk to his secretary. He was buried deep in paperwork; his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; coat off. He raised an eyebrow in question. The secretary walked into his office and handed him a cream-coloured envelope with a waxed seal. Kuroo flipped the envelope over and there at the back of it was his name, written in perfect penmanship.

“What is this?”

“Came in the mail today. It looks like an invitation of some sort.” The secretary bowed in respect and went out of the room. Kuroo was naturally curious. Without wasting any second he opened the envelope carefully and pulled out its contents. A neatly folded piece of paper was in between his fingers along with a simple, yet elegantly, designed card with the names Umeda Minoru and Obara Maiko, on it.

“A wedding?” He had said out loud. He couldn’t recall knowing anyone with those names. Although, the last name Obara sounded familiar. And he couldn’t even remember any of his friends getting married soon. He flipped open the paper and read the letter.

Hi Tetsurou!

I know it’s been a long time but I hope you can come to Maiko-chan’s wedding. It will be held in Kalokairi. Remember the small island we used to go to?

I hope you can make it.

From,

Y/N

His heart skipped a small beat as he read your name at the bottom. That’s why the last name was familiar. Obara Y/N. He hasn’t heard anything from you for how many years and now, out of the blue, you invite him to a random girl’s—a relative, maybe? Was she your cousin?—wedding on the island where it all started. Maybe that’s why you invited him? Because the island reminded you of him.

No. That can’t be right. From what he knows, you hated his guts. Hated it since the moment he left you there. But if you were inviting him to a wedding, could it mean that you’re not mad anymore?

With his mind going miles a minute, he checked the date on the invitation and called his secretary back in to book the soonest flight.

—

Bokuto slipped his shades on as he walked through the docks. He waved at the other boat owners as he passed by them. The sun felt warm on his skin and he just knew that this was gonna be a good day. When he reached his spot, he smiled widely, beaming at the vessel in front of him.

"Good morning, sunshine." He greeted no one in particular. He hopped onto the deck of his beloved sailboat, running his fingers on the grabrail. He picked up the ropes lying on the ground and prepared the boat for voyage. "We're going on a trip for a few days, my sweet."

Patting his pocket, he pulled out the slightly crumpled envelope out of it. He couldn't help smiling down at the invitation in his hand. It was a bit peculiar to get a letter from you—a wedding invitation no less!—after how many years. Your brief...meeting with him only lasted for a week and yet Bokuto yearned for your presence even after that.

Sure he's been with his fair share of women over the years but, there was no one quite like you if he had to be honest. Looking back down at the invitation, he was glad it wasn't your wedding you were inviting him to. He couldn't help but think of the 'what ifs' once he gets there…

Excitement pulsing through his veins, he prepared to set off into the sea, back to Greece.

—

"Aeropuerto por favor. Rápido." Oikawa told the cab driver as he got on. The driver understood immediately, despite Oikawa's accent. Soon enough, they were zooming through the city of Buenos Aires. He checked his bag for his passport, wallet and phone. He also caught a glimpse of the envelope he got just two days ago. He hesitated in the slightest before deciding to pull it out and re-reading the letter.

Y/N…., he had thought to himself. If there was one thing Oikawa couldn’t let go of it was volleyball. But if you were thrown into the equation, he just might give it up for you. He didn’t even know what had happened; he just met you one day and boom, he was in love. He loved you with all of his heart and he was willing to follow you wherever you wanted to go. But alas, after that one night, you just decided to disappear, leaving a small note.

He doesn’t really know why he had said yes to this wedding. He doesn’t know what to expect when he finally gets to Kalokairi. Closure? Rekindling with an old flame? He huffed out, dismissing the idea. Only one thing is for certain: he wanted to see you. So bad.

Letting out a deep sigh, he placed the envelope back in his bag. His palms started growing sweaty at the thought of seeing you in a matter of hours.

—

A shrill scream echoed throughout the docks, catching the attention of the locals. Maiko ran at a fast pace, meeting her friends halfway, who had just got off the small motorboat from the mainland. She got to her friend Nana first,—who was the tallest in their friend group—picking up her tiny frame and spinning her in a hug. She turned to Eri—the toughest of the bunch—and gave her a hug so tight. When they parted, a soft glint on Maiko’s hand caught her friends’ eyes.

“Maiko-chan!” Nana gushed. She held Maiko’s left hand in hers and there, a small, elegant ring sat on her ring finger, shining under the strong rays of the sun.

“I’m jealous!” Eri pouted jokingly. “Now, I want one.”

Maiko blushed, trying to cover her face. “Stop it! I’m getting married in a few days!” She squealed in excitement. The three girls picked up the luggages and walked up the dock. Maiko wrapped her arms around both of her friends, feeling giddier than ever.

“I’m so glad you’re both here because…,” she paused, the smile on her face growing, “I have a secret.” Nana and Eri looked at each other. Their eyes grew wide in realization and knelt in front of Maiko.

“Maiko-chan! You’re already pregnant?!” Eri shrieked. Maiko laughed loudly and dismissed the thought.

“No, no, no! It’s not that.” She grew quiet for a moment, pulling her friends closer. “I invited my dad to the wedding.”

“You’re kidding!”

“You finally found him?”

“Uhh, not exactly.” Her friends were confused. She smiled and led them to a nearby rock by the end of the docks where they sat down. She breathed out a sigh, “You know what my mom says whenever I ask about my dad. They met in the summer, fell in love, but my dad left even before she realized she was pregnant with me. All these years, I’ve accepted that that’s all I’ll never know about him.

“But then,” she rummaged through the tote bag she brought with her, pulling out an old, worn journal. “I found this.” she said, proud.

“What is it?” Eri asked.

“It’s my mom’s old diary the year she was pregnant with me.”

“Oh my god!” Eri sat closer to Maiko as she opened the journal. “So we’re really gonna read Y/N-obasan’s journal?”

“Oh shush.” Nana dismissed, sitting on Maiko’s right side.

“July seventeenth,” Maiko started. “Kuroo—Tetsurou as he insisted to be called—rowed me over to the little island. That’s here, Kalokairi. He took me on a small picnic by the beach. We danced under the moonlight by the beach. He kissed me by the beach and…,” Maiko trailed off. Nana and Eri waited.

“And what?” Nana asked.

“That’s it. They did it.” Maiko wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Nana and Eri burst out laughing. She smiled and continued reading, “Tetsurou’s the one for me. I just know it. I’ve never felt love like this before.”

“So, this Kuroo-san is your father?” Nana questioned. Maiko eyed her, silently telling her that there was more to the story.

“For the time that we’ve been together, Tetsurou has said he loves me, several times. But now, he’s announced that he’s actually engaged. He just left earlier this morning to get married and...I’m never gonna see him again.”

“Aww, poor obasan.” Nana pouted, sympathizing you.

The three of them continued their trek up the island, while Maiko continued to read out loud the contents of the journal.

“August fourth, what a night! I met someone. Bokuto Koutarou. He was vacationing around the mainland, visiting his aunt. I passed by and everything clicked. He rented a motorboat, so I took him to the little island. Even though I know that I’m still in love with Tetsurou, Kou is just so...WILD!” The trio widened their eyes at the comment. “One thing led to another and…”

“So there’s a Bokuto-san as well?” Maiko just grinned excitedly and continued.

“August eleventh, Oikawa Tooru appeared out of the blue. I saw him struggling to order food from a restaurant so I helped him out. He was on a layover for a flight to Buenos Aires that got delayed for a few days. So I said, why not show him the island. He was so sweet and understanding. And he’s so pretty too! Oh! I couldn’t help it! And…”

They’ve finally reached the top of the island where your villa was. You ran a small hotel on the island, which wasn’t as successful as you thought it would be seeing as there weren’t many tourists and not many people knew about the island itself. Nevertheless, you were able to care for Maiko and that was all that mattered.

“Oh my god!” Eri squealed. “Y/N-obasan was so adventurous wasn’t she?”

“I can’t blame her. I mean have you seen her? She looks good even now!” Nana sighed. A bustling sound was heard from the entrance of the villa, with you appearing not seconds later, a broom in hand. You glanced in their direction. You did a double-take when you saw your daughter’s friends, waving at you. Maiko quickly hid the journal behind her back.

“Oh! You’re here already!” You set the broom by the wall, wiping your hands down on your old overalls. “It’s been so long!”

Nana and Eri walked over to you. You engulfed them in tight hugs and sweet kisses on their cheeks. You held Eri’s face in your palms, brushing her hair away from her face. You turned to Nana, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Look at the both of you! You’re practically all grown up! I remember when you were all wreaking havoc around here.” You beamed at them, proud. “And you look like you’re already having fun!”

“We are!” Eri cheered. You hummed in response. Your mind went somewhere else for a quick moment—a memory—and you mumbled,

“I used to have fun, too.”

“Oh, we know.” Nana quipped. Maiko pinched her arm subtly. You eyed them suspiciously, not really hearing what Nana had said which Maiko was thankful for.

“Well, I better leave you all to it. I know you have some bridesmaids duties to get to. I’ll see you all later.” You picked up your broom again and disappeared further into the villa.

When they were sure you were gone, the trio breathed out a sigh of relief. Maiko led them to her room for the moment as her friends’ belongings were getting checked into their respective rooms. They rushed inside, away from listening ears and wandering eyes.

“So, who is it?” Nana asked. “Is it Tetsurou-san, Bokuto-san or Oikawa-san?”

Maiko just shrugged her shoulders, laying down on her bed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Eri interjected. “Who did you invite?”

Maiko just looked at them expressively. Her smile grew wider as her friends finally realized what she had done. Eri and Nana screamed. They jumped up and down in excitement—and disbelief—at their friend. They knew how impulsive Maiko was but this was just a bit too much, wasn’t it?

“Do they know?” Nana’s eyes had widened.

Maiko rolled her eyes at her. “Of course not. Do you think I can just write to them and say, ‘Please come to my wedding. You might be my father.’? No.” She shook her head. “They think that mom sent the invite. And with what we’ve learned today, they all said yes!”

—

Kuroo was panting heavily as he stared at the ferry not too far from the jetty, buzzing away to Kalokairi. He cursed under his breath kicking at the ground. A few seconds later, another man was beside him, panting just as he was, staring at the ferry.

“Shit.” Oikawa muttered. Kuroo scoffed and nodded in agreement.

“I know.” He said. Oikawa turned to look at Kuroo, eyeing him up and down. They trudged back to the ticketing booth and checked the schedule for the next available ferry.

“I don’t speak Greek.” Oikawa groaned, not understanding a single thing on the board.

“Deftera.” Kuroo read out loud. “Monday.”

“Ah, shit.” Oikawa cursed. He hastily opened his bag and pulled out the invitation, checking the date of the wedding. This catches Kuroo’s eyes.

So, he’s here for the wedding too, huh. He thought to himself. “Bride or groom?” He asked the man. Oikawa looked at him, startled. It took him a moment to realize that Kuroo was also going to Kalokairi for the wedding.

“Oh, bride’s.” Oikawa answered. “Although, I haven’t actually met her.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” A loud voice called. “Up here!” Bokuto called, as he was sitting atop of the mast of his boat which was docked near the jetty. Kuroo and Oikawa looked at him, confused.

“You guys need a ride to Kalokairi?”

taglist: @yikes-buddy / @ushi-please / @melodiamore / @akaashi-todoroki / @honeymoneyy / @minty-mangos-world /

a/n: thank you so much for all the support (despite me just posting the masterlist.) i’ve re-read and edited this first chapter a lot of times and i hope i’ve met your first expectations for this series. lemme tell you that first chapters are the hardest to do. i apologize if some characters seem out-of-character or weird, especially my OCs. i’m not used to OCs since i’ve only ever written reader inserts. stil, i hope you love them as much as i do!

i actually have no idea how i’m gonna steer this story so, here’s to winging it. haha! leave some comments! i love you all!

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punksarahreese · 4 years ago

Note

“I care about you.” for fbi!au 👀

Care | Crosshairs

FBI!AU; Ava is distracted by something and a secret comes out

Prompt: “I care about you”

Word count: 1528

CW: hospital talk, stitches/needle mention

***

A twelve hour shift on a murder case was never fun, but a twelve hour shift with a pissed off partner was a hundred times worse in Sarah’s mind. She hadn’t expected to show up and immediately receive a cold shoulder and it seemed like everyone else felt the same. Agent Bekker had always been stern and case-focused, yet she also wasn’t one to ignore Penelope’s banter or not say good morning to Sarah.

That day Ava had been a completely different person. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen every chance she got, jumping at every notification sound even though Hotch glared at her for having her ringer on. She was restless too, pacing the bullpen whenever she had a free moment, and she didn’t bother to participate in any conversation. All of Emily’s teasing remarks fell on deaf ears, even earning the other woman an eye roll from the target of her jokes. Usually Ava met each comment with one of her own, which ended in the two women laughing together, yet nothing was ever said.

This is why her partner was worried, though she knew Ava would hate that she was distracted by fussing over her. She would have told her to stay focused on the case or go home if she was so distracted, not wanting to be coddled in the slightest. It didn’t stop Sarah from trailing after her into the locker room, silent in the empty room as she tried to figure out how to approach the situation.

“I know you’re there, Reese,” her words were monotonous and tired, as though the mere act of speaking was exhausting her. Given Ava’s insomniac track record, maybe it was just that. Either way, she waited with crossed arms until Sarah slinked out from behind the set of lockers, looking at her partner sheepishly.

“Out with it, then.”

“What’s wrong, Ava?”

“Nothing.”

Sarah looked at her incredulously, “You’ve been silent and standoffish all day. You’ve checked your phone at least twenty times every hour and you usually have it away during work hours. Also don’t think I didn’t see you and Penelope walk off earlier, she’s the only one you’ve spoken to today. So no, I don’t believe that it's nothing.”

“Don’t profile me,” Ava rolled her eyes, in the process of putting on her well ironed blazer. She didn’t speak again for a moment, instead busying herself with collecting her bag and not making eye contact. That was confirmation enough that something must be very wrong, since her partner was always confrontational as opposed to the quiet type.

“I care about you, Ava,” Sarah said softly, “That’s why I ask.”

“I-”

Sarah watched her silently, afraid she had already pushed too far. The last thing she wanted was to drive a wedge between them, especially since she was still the newbie and she wanted to be friends with her partner above all. Still, Sarah always wanted to help and she hated to see others suffer in silence. Ava wasn’t herself and it was worrying, so no one could blame her for being concerned.

“It’s… my daughter.”

“Daughter?” the confusion was clear on the brunette’s face, “I didn’t… didn’t know you had kids.”

“That was kind of the whole point.”

“Ava, why would you hide that? We’re you’re family here.”

“She’s only four,” the blonde sighed as she sat down on the bench across from her locker, “I’ve seen what having a family does to agents and the last thing I want is for her to get hurt because of me.”

“Still, no one knows?”

Ava chuckled dryly, “Mostly everyone. Penelope figured it out after about 2 months of me being here, she likes to background check us after all. Hotch probably knows because I doubt Strauss knew to keep it a secret. Everyone else is as in the dark as you were, though.”

“That’s a big secret to keep for this long…”

“I know,” she looked at Sarah seriously, “But I want it to say like that for as long as I can.”

The harsh tone made her flinch a little but she understood, Ava was a fierce protector so it was clear she would want her baby to be safe above all. She nodded, sitting down beside her partner, “You’re both safe with me.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“So, what’s wrong?” she added before the subject could drop, “What happened?”

“She fell at the park with her nanny today,” Ava answered, “Apparently she cut up her face pretty badly.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t leave to meet them at the hospital because this case is so important. She’s terrified of hospitals, Reese, and I’ve been trying to keep up with what’s going on.”

Sarah nodded, now understanding the attitude change of the day. She wasn’t a maternal person but she understood how fiercely a mother cared, she had seen it in JJ and other friends in the past. It made sense that Ava had been distracted, especially if she wasn’t sure how the child would handle a doctor’s visit.

“How bad is it?”

“Ten stitches,” Ava was clearly anxious if the way she was fiddling with her ever perfect curls was any indication, “She screamed the second the needle was out.”

“Poor baby.”

“She’s… we’re pretty sure she’s on the spectrum and it’s been hard. Since I started training at Quantico when she was so young I thought she would get used to the long work hours but any change is tough on her I think. I hate missing things, Sarah, and I hate knowing she’s scared or in situations she hates when I can’t be there.”

“I’m sorry, Ava. I can’t imagine how hard that is on you both.”

“She’s so strong but I still worry…”

Sarah hesitated before she asked the burning question that had been on her mind, “Is her father still in the picture?”

Ava laughed a little, “Heavens no. She never knew him, though he does still send child support thankfully. It never would have worked out between us and he wasn’t on board with me moving to the US anyway. I worry she’ll never have the right upbringing now, with a mother so busy and in a whole other continent than the rest of her family.”

“I think she’ll be just fine,” Sarah promised without a beat, “Your daughter has you, Ava, and you are the most loyal person I’ve met here. Besides, with a mother as strong as you? She’ll turn out to be a fierce little thing, I think.”

She was a little shocked when her partner looked at her with watery eyes, exhaustion clear on her face but there was something else. The gratitude that Ava looked at her with was overwhelming, smiling through the anxiety because that was something she had been dying to hear. From the moment she left South Africa all Ava had heard was that she was picking a career over her daughter. Her parents and friends had acted like she was hurting her daughter with such a big move, especially to go work for the FBI. Learning that she might also be autistic had been a deal breaker for her family, since they somehow thought it was all Ava’s fault. No matter how hard she had tried they wouldn’t listen to her when she said this was the best choice for her and her baby. She left so much behind when she left home and she lost almost all of her connections, yet here she had found someone who actually believed in her. Sarah believed in her ability as a mother and as an agent and that was maybe the most healing thing she had ever been told.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “Really. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

“I’m always here, Ava,” she replied and patted her knee gently, ��You’re doing your best.”

Ava fumbled for her phone, fishing it out of her pocket and unlocking it. She was silent for a moment until she found what she was looking for. Passing the device to her partner, she smiled as she explained, “I took this picture when we visited home last year.”

It was a picture of a toddler on a beach, her blonde hair unkempt and her rainbow sweater sleeves hanging over her hands. She was half turned away from the camera but Sarah could still see the striking resemblance to her mother, though her eyes were grey she still had that stoic intelligence in her gaze. She couldn’t help but smile at the photo, or maybe she was smiling because of the amount of love on Ava’s face when she looked at it too.

“She’s adorable,” Sarah passed her phone back gently, “What’s her name?”

“Vivienne,” Ava answered fondly, “I call her Vivi.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” the blonde bumped Sarah’s shoulder with her own, “For everything. I’m sorry for being so bitchy today.”

“It happens, you were just worried. I’m always here to talk to you, Ava.”

“I know, that’s what partners are for.”

“Of course,” Sarah laughed as she repeated something she always told her, “I do care about you, dummy.”

#do I hate this?#idk #autistic vivi is only because I’m projecting :)#I think I just wish my mother had accepted my clear neurodivergence as a kid so I didn’t grow up emotionally and socially stunted #from masking constantly #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #vivi tag #my aus #fbi!au #crosshairs #asks #mutuals #koda tag #cj add this to your fic masterpost

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lizacstuff · 4 years ago

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So I don’t know if you read the summary that came out this morning about s2 (there’s already so much drama 🤦🏻‍♀️) but I’d like your opinion (I love reading them haha). Personally, while the cancer plot is “heavy” I’m happy they didn’t brush it off like it was nothing, it would have been ridiculous. Also, in this way no one’s to blame, they’re both victims and once again they both break up for something bigger than them (a very serious illness) Plus it kinda “justifyes” eda’s choice of not telling him about the pregnancy, and it also makes sense for him to be cold again (like we’ve seen in the trailer) cause after a near-death experience so many people grow attachment issues

I have read it and I agree with you, among all the possibilities they could have gone with for the separation and time jump, it it's a pretty realistic storyline in my opinion. Or as realistic as you can get on a soap opera where they throw more trauma and tragic circumstances at the characters than anyone should ever have to handle. I keep reading on twitter that their relationship is toxic... it's not toxic, they just can't catch a break!!!! However it's also believable that with how they've conducted their relationship thus far, only relying on their feelings for one another and not doing anything towards dealing with everything that's happened, that a fissure could occur.

At the end of the day, this is not the story I would have chosen or wanted, but it's what's happening so I'll adjust and go with it.

I think Serkan deciding to push Eda away after a bout with cancer is in character. The poor man must think he's cursed! First he never recovers from his childhood trauma and abandonment issues, doesn't believe in love, but falls in love anyway only to immediately find out his father is responsible for her parent's death. Then they find their way back to each other over the manipulation of many meddling, nefarious forces only for him to get into a plane crash on their wedding day and get amnesia. Once he remembers, he realizes he's been manipulated and abused by his oldest friend and then is diagnosed with a brain tumor. Is it shocking that he probably just thinks he can't have nice things? Like Eda. He loves Eda with everything he has, so from his perspective why would he want to saddle this beautiful young woman who is full of vitality and promise with his nothing-but-misery existence?

Reverting to his robotic, work-obsessed solitary life kind of makes sense. Besides as many people in fandom have pointed out a traumatic bout with terminal illness like brain cancer often causes changes in a person. Him telling her he doesn't want kids, also makes sense if he's trying to push her away and can't imagine bringing a child into situation he feels like the next cursed thing is just around the corner.

Then from Eda's perspective, what is she supposed to do if he throws himself into work, won't set a wedding date and shuts down on her completely? We know how determined and even cruel Serkan can be when he wants to shut her out, eps 3, 7, 14, and 29 showed us that. If she stood by him through the illness, but once he was physically better, he'd made the decision that they couldn't be happy, it's hard to blame her for moving on.

Perhaps she found out she was pregnant after she left and when she tried to tell him, that's when he shut her down and told her that he didn't want to know anything about her life. So if the man has been adamant about not wanting a child and not wanting anything to do with Eda to the point he won't let her tell him, it's hard to blame Eda for protecting her kid from what she fears would be a pretty significant rejection. Might not be the right thing to do, but she's not a villain for doing it.

In the teaser Serkan seemed a bit bitter as well, which makes sense, because he might be hurt that she left (another person abandoning him) even thought he actively pushed her away and has no one to blame but himself.

Also I wouldn't be surprised if we find out that Serkan has also been away, maybe he decided to go back to London and stayed there for years making it even harder for them to connect through mutual friends, we'll see.

So while it's heartbreaking to think this would have happened to them, especially after how happy they were in the last few eps, if this is the scenario, I think it can be done in a way that doesn't destroy either character. They are both victims of tragic circumstances, things beyond their control and their own demons. Serkan was always prone to push people away, and Eda was always primed to run away and they were both asked to bear more anguish and agonizing events that anyone should ever have to.

So for my part, if this is the story, I'll accept it because I'm actually really excited for what it will bring. If you can get past the sadness of how they get there, I have a feeling watching them come back together, and heal, and remember why they fell in love is going to be AMAZING. Oh and just think of Serkan confronting the fact that he's a father to a little doppleganger of the only women he's ever loved... that's going to SERVE. I am certain we are in for some amazing scenes, there will be romance and sexual tension and that old friction and heart-melting family moments and hilarious nonsense and it's all going to end with them finally finding their way back together and building that life that they always wanted.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Edser #Sen Cal Kapimi #Serkan Bolat #Eda Yildiz #sck spoilers #sck speculation #sck discussion #sck s2 #sckask #asklizac #a nomádok földje

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rwby-sk · 4 years ago

Text

My ship thoughts

This will be a long post, so I’m putting it under a ‘keep reading”

Bumbleby - Until Vol.4 I wasn’t sure if the Bees liked each other. Like yeah, we’ve had solid evidence since, like, their Vol.1 trailers. But still. I wasn’t sure CRWBY would do it. But wow was I impressed. - Probably my favorite well-known ship - Their EYES are the colors of each others SOULS what more do you want??? - I wish my gf would throw a motorcycle at my abusive ex...

Nuts and Dolts - I tried pushing this ship out of my mind for so long. I did. I wasn’t ready for it - I appreciated the things people made for the ship. I knew it had potential - But wow. Vol.8 really said “Nuts and Dolts rights” and I respect that - They’re so cute together. It’s like if Pyrrha came back to life and could be with Jaune again. - But healthier this way (see Arkos)

Renora - Wholesome - Cute - ‘Boop’ is one of my favorite songs - We all saw it coming. But how we got there was the fun part - That Vol. 4 finale though...

Arkos - First off, Arkos is my favorite ship from Vol.1-3 - Himbo is taught how to drink his respect women juice by an Amazon? Sign me up - The character development, the mutual respect, the CARE - ForeverFall still fucks me up. I cry when I listen to it - I love Pyrrha, she’s my girl, but... She really betrayed Jaune’s trust at the very end. He told her specifically he never wanted to be helpless and watch his friends fight for their lives again. And she did exactly that to him. Making him wonder if he could have made a difference had he been able to fight by her side with her in the end. - But it’s not really even Pyrrha’s fault. Ozpin’s expectations and Cinder’s plan are more to blame - Still high tier - It’s just so tragic

WhiteKnight - Cute in theory - But it’d have to be done so carefully to be a good romantic pairing - As friends? I LOVE IT. Make these two best friends right now! - But Jaune moved past his feelings for Weiss in Vol.2 when he finally realized she meant it when she told him she didn’t like him - I’m shocked though that so few people pick up on Ep.3 Vol.1 when Weiss is making fun of Jaune and mockingly calls him a “cute boy”. I think Jaune just thought Weiss liked him already, and went from there. He hits on Pyrrha pretty quick in Ep.4 too - I think it could work with who they are now, but I think they’re better as friends

WhiteRose - The sole reason I didn’t ship Nuts and Dolts sooner - Vol. 6 messed me up okay? That red scarf really threw me for a loop - Chasing each other in the Argus Limited? - Weiss sassing Ruby non-stop Vol.1-3? - It also completes the RW BY JP NR pairings. I like to joke that the Emerald forest is actually “true love” forest. And whoever you lock eyes with first you fall in love with them. But that only works sometimes - Also that part where they call out each others names when Jinn shows them Ozpin’s past

Ladybug - Cute and interesting - I’m not against it. I would just need more of it to ship it myself - They just have such solid connections with other characters - I do love Blake’s introduction to the main cast though, and how much Blake looks up to Ruby

Freezerburn - Similar to LadyBug - Cute, but I just ship them more with other people - That hug in Vol.5 was a bit sus though - Yang does seem to open up the most with Weiss - And Weiss defended Yang so quickly after the Mercury fight - It’s not unfounded, I’ll say that - Analyzing it has opened my eyes

Crosshares - Yes - Just - Yes - High femme fashion ICON Coco Adel - With fan-fave Velvet Scarlatina - WLW powercouple - I wish I was Coco and Velvet is cute, not much to understand here, keep scrolling

RoseGarden - I have my concerns - Oscar is a wonderful kid - He probably has a crush on Ruby - And he is a wholesome boy who deserves all the happiness - But he also has a manipulative immortal Wizard in his head - So - You know

Lancaster - I never saw Lancaster. Jaune is the first boy Ruby meets. And Jaune calls her cute and quirky once, but... - I love Ruby’s talk with Jaune about failure in Vol. 1, then his return to that speech in Vol. 4 in return. - I think they lean on each other as leaders - But I don’t see it going further - Cute though. I’ve seen nice fanart

BlackSun - I read an analysis a long time ago that really sat with me - Blake asked for space (not out loud, but in action) when she ran away - Yang gave her what she wanted. She didn’t like it. But she gave Blake what she asked for. - Sun on the other hand, didn’t. He followed and helped her anyway. (Believe me, Blake could have used all the help she could get in Vol. 4-5) But in doing so, he kinda took himself out of the running as love interest. - He’s and excellent Foil for Blake though, so I love him

SeaMonkies - Two bros, chilling in a hot tub... - Is it gay to become junior detectives with your best friend and only hang out with him for like 3 seasons? - These two are just - So fucking stupid - Apart, they are fine. Very competent. - Together though - They are just so dumb I think its cute as hell

JNR - Wholesome - I could see it in Argus. In front of Pyrrha’s statue - They love each other - Maybe its not 100% romantic - But they love each other - I could be happy here

JNR+Neo - CRIME + Ren - The pure chaos of Nora and Neo - The exhausted mom-friend energy from Ren and Jaune - The power polycule that could take on Salem alone and maybe win? - I think it’d be cute, but I personally ship them in the two pairs a bit more.

Bees Schnees - We add Blake and Yang’s angst, Yang and Weiss’ trust, and Weiss and Blake’s mutual understanding and growth - Wow okay - I have to give it to you, I kinda like it

Neo x Jaune x Ruby - Based on my response to Lancaster, you might be able to guess my answer here - I think a lot of the ship’s points lie in “What’s better than one short girl dating the tallest guy in the cast? Two short girls dating the tallest guy in the cast!” - Cute though, I think it’d be chaotic and wholesome - But poor Jaune would be exhausted trying to make sure the house doesn;t burn down every five minutes

May x Winter - Look - If I hadn’t made a Neo x Jaune side blog - I would have made a May x Winter side blog - The comparisons - The family legacies - The pure amount of how attracted I am to both characters - What happens when two tops date each other? - What if they were partners in Atlas? - What if May was Winter’s first crush. And after May came out, Winter was like “Oh thank the gods, I was worried I liked all women and only one guy for some reason. Cool, crisis adverted. So anyway, Marigold, here’s how you do your makeup” - I could go on - Haha don’t tempt me - I’m serious - Please let them sass each other at some point

GuardDogs - Marrow = Just doing his best - Jaune = Just doing his best - Marrow and Jaune = two himbos just vibing in this world - If we don’t get Silentknight, I’d be proud to get GuardDogs - Marrow sure has been worried about “Juan” this whole time, huh?

Emercury - The sass - The pure sass - Mercury’s unearned confidence paired with Emerald’s quick temper - Wow, I hope Em can turn him away from murdering people. - If Em gets 1 friend, I hope its Mercury and not Cinder - At least Mercury cares about her (But he’s too cool to admit that outright) - Mercury is going to see Em on RWBY’s team and just immediately walk over and join up. No questions asked. “I guess we’re good now. Sorry Tyrian, its been cool, not really”

Happy Huntresses - Yes - Look at that HUG - Ladies, is it gay to go off into the tundra and form a rebellion against the fascist government with three of your hottest gal pals?

#Rwby #ships #im not tagging them all

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snarkesthour · 4 years ago

Text

Happy St George's Day!

· In the midst of a pandemic when schools are all closed, the government votes to not allow free school meals to schoolchildren during school holidays, despite this being the only meal many of them have each day

· Marcus Rashford, a footballer, led the drive to feed the nation’s children, 49% of which live in poverty, and forced the government to provide food for them during the school holidays

· Instead of previous years when vouchers were given to parents that can only be spent on nutritious food, members of government give contracts to friends to provide a week’s work of food costing £5 to schoolchildren for a price of £30. Food is unhealthy and would not last a week

· Parcels also expect parents to cook two tablespoons of rice at a time in the oven and bake their own bread every day, ignoring poverty-stricken families possible lack of access to such equipment

· Wife of conservative MP attacks poor families for eating unhealthy food when healthy food is cheaper, ignoring the fact that not all families have access to equipment needed to store and cook it

· Nigel Farage, head of the Brexit party came out strongly against the government for their stance on starving schoolchildren. Not a good look.

· Another MP came out and said that poor families should not receive government assistance because the money would be going direct to brothels and crackhouses and the parents would spend it on drink and drugs instead of feeding their kids, a dangerous and persistent stereotype of working class people

· For the first time in its history, UNICEF is feeding kids in the UK – the 5th richest country in the world – and the head of the House of Commons accused them of “playing politics” and said they should “be ashamed of themselves”

· J.K. Rowling came out hard as a TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist), writing a book about a serial killer that dresses up as a Muslim woman, which isn’t subtle when you look at her history of transphobia and other “-isms”

She also publicly supported an author who wrote a book about the destruction of Europe by waves of Muslim immigration

· Speaking of J.K. Rowling, the government’s response to the Gender Recognition Act.

· It is now impossible for under 16s to receive reversible puberty blockers

· Wait times at NHS Gender Clinics, of which there are only 7 in the country, have doubled, with wait times now up to 60+ months (5+ years)

· Keir Starmer, head of the Labour (left wing) party says he doesn’t want to get involved in trans issues

· With the loss of Labour, no major party supports trans rights

· Self ID is no longer allowed, meaning every step of transition is medicalised and involves the trans person having to prove that they are “trans enough” at every stage to panels of cis people

· Government wants to invalidate non-enrolled deed polls, essentially making available a public list of every trans person in the UK

· Hate crimes have quadrupled

· Anti-trans campaigners are now setting their sights on trans adults’ access to hormones

· A petition was formed to counter this and was reviewed by the government, who determined that nothing was wrong with the GRA except that it might have been a bit lax.

· The Guardian newspaper ran child labour and child starvation supporting stories

· Internal border now along the border of Kent and lorry drivers must produce travel papers (Brexit Passport) to cross it, placing the county of Kent in a state of “no man’s land”

· Government fails to lockdown on time, every time

· Government refuses to ban conversion therapy in the UK

· Scotland adopts Human Rights of Children, which requires the government to better support children and families, especially those who are poor, disabled, minorities or young carers. England does not

· The government declared that sleeping rough is now grounds for deportation

· Schools reopened several times despite being warned not safe to do so

· The government banned NHS workers from speaking out about COVID

· Do Not Resuscitate orders proposed for those in care homes, with learning disabilities and who are autistic

· The government cut pensions as the COVID death toll rose

· The government learnt about new South-East COVID strain in September and didn’t come forwards until December

· New COVID strain targets kids, teens, and young adults, and yet none of those groups are allowed vaccination unless a serious pre-existing condition is had, even if they are key workers

· Downing Street says UK should be model of racial equality because government report says no institutional racism in the UK

· Report also says young people are young and foolish for thinking it exists and that minorities are superstitious and irrational and are sabotaging themselves out of success

· It came out that the government was given the independent report and rewrote it to the version that was released to the public – the version that says racism doesn’t exist in the UK

· The rewritten report also refers to the slave trade as the “Caribbean experience”, like those enslaved were on holiday

· Woman in London abducted, murdered and dismembered by off-duty cop and when socially distanced vigil goes ahead, police wait until dark before trapping women, arresting them, using excessive force on them, and also destroying memorial

· Bill passed in government that allows undercover officers to commit serious crimes such as murder, torture and rape

· Plainclothes police to now patrol nightclubs and bars due to aforementioned murder by police officer

· Bill passed that bans any protest at all, no matter how quiet, unobstructive or small it is, including single-person protests. Bill also includes a 10 year sentence for damaging a statue, which is a longer sentence than for rape

· TV programmes critical of the government have been cancelled

· Universities have been told what to platform and schools have been told what to teach, including banning material speaking about BLM and calling for “overthrow” of capitalism

· Voting has been supressed, mainly those who are working class or POC

· During protests in Bristol, press was assaulted and pepper sprayed by police and two legal observers were arrested

· Being Roma/Traveller and living the traditional Roma/Traveller lifestyle is now illegal under that same bill that bans protests. They also have to register as such and receive a licence or risk losing their vehicles

· Hours before Eid, lockdown across the UK with no warning whatsoever, meaning people woke up the next morning after visiting relatives to find themselves “criminals”. The country was opened up specifically for Christmas though

· Conservative (right wing) party blamed BAME (Black And Minority Ethnic) communities for dying of COVID more than white people

· Landlords have been protected extensively and renters blamed for living in close quarters or having to take public transport to work

· Conservatives have launched investigation into possible corruption in Liverpool Council. Liverpool is a Labour stronghold and if corruption is found then the Conservatives can seize control of the council. No evidence of corruption is present as of yet

· Military threatened to stage a coup if Corbyn (then head of the labour party) became Prime Minister

· Government orders all government buildings in England, Wales and Scotland to fly the Union Flag every day to boost patriotism

· MPs call for the curriculum to require teaching the history of the Union Flag rather than Britain’s many atrocities

· The first fortnight of April saw a mini heatwave with temperatures up to 20°C immediately followed by snow, and this is ignored in favour of debating “vaccine passports” in order to visit the pub

· UK allows for international summer holidays despite being warned it will cause a third wave, such as the situation in Germany

· Government placed asylum seekers arriving in the UK in army barracks where they were to sleep 24 to a room with no open windows or air circulation, and when COVID inevitably ran rampant, the Home Secretary accused the asylum seekers of not following COVID protocol, such as social distancing

· Several accounts of self-harm and suicide attempts were reported from the asylum barracks and were dismissed

· UK to deport unaccompanied minor asylum seekers

· UK refuses entry into the UK for radicalised teen failed by system who joined ISIS. Case is difficult and controversial because teen wishes to return to the UK temporarily to fight for her citizenship after the UK broke international law by stripping it from her, despite her not having dual citizenship. Argument given was that her parents were from Bangladesh and so she could apply for citizenship there. Bangladesh refused. Teen is now stateless and living in a refugee camp after losing several children, unable to fight for her citizenship to be reinstated.

· Rioting in Northern Ireland, which included the first use of water cannons in 6 years, a bus being hijacked and burnt, a press photographer attacked, and people throwing bricks, fireworks and petrol bombs at police, not to mention some of the clashes happening over a peace wall in west Belfast, completely ignored in British media and then later drowned out by non-stop news of Prince Phillip’s death, obscuring any important news from being heard. Riots were over Northern Ireland’s being a part of the UK

· MPs take vote on whether China’s treatment of Uighurs constitutes genocide. They decide it does, but that it isn’t their job to do anything further

· Home Office released their spending for the 2020 fiscal year. It’s a mess, including over £77,000 at an eyebrow salon in March alone, and £6,000+ in Pollyanna Restaurant which doesn't appear to exist.

· When people started questioning the spending, the Home Office sent a tweet fact checking themselves

· Country reopened over the summer for Eat Out To Help Out, a scheme to boost the economy. COVID cases rose sharply and the government then blamed people, but mostly working class people, for not following restrictions such as only leaving the house when absolutely necessary, after telling them it was safe

· Foreign NHS workers denied COVID vaccinations

· GCSEs and A-Levels were cancelled due to COVID-19 and expected exam grades were to be used instead. Private school students received grades much higher than they were expecting, and state school students received grades much lower, some grades falling as far as an A to an E. This was because the government couldn’t imagine state school students being smart enough to receive the high grades they were predicted to get; after much uproar the grades were scrapped, and a new method was introduced

· BBC offered staff grief counselling following Prince Philip’s death, but not after having to report on the ever-rising COVID death toll

· The COVID-19 Infection Survey closed in mourning for Prince Philip, with workers to contact participants to reschedule visits for “as soon as possible” when they return to work

· Census workers told to pack up and go home and were placed on immediate unpaid leave due to the death of Prince Philip, but told they must make up the hours later

· Conservative MPs lobbied for a new royal yacht after voting to keep schoolchildren hungry (see first points)

· The BBC’s complaint page crashed over the amount of complaints they got of their coverage of Prince Philip’s death. It was covered non-stop for over 24 hours and the page came in at over 100,000 complaints before going down

· BBC also fast becoming politically biased despite their requirement to be apolitical, after cutting out the audience laughing at Boris Johnson on Question Time, displaying Corbyn as a communist figure in front of a prominent piece of Russian architecture, and providing a platform for a Conservative MP to tell a stage 4 bowl cancer patient that her life wasn’t valuable on live television

· On the COVID-19 pandemic, the BMJ, (British Medical Journal) said about the government that “science was being suppressed for political and financial gain” by “some of history’s worst autocrats and dictators”

· Not only did Boris Johnson launch Eat Out To Help Out when he was warned it was dangerous, lifted lockdowns too early when he was warned it was too dangerous, reopened schools when he was warned it was too dangerous, but when scientists said the second COVID jab should be delivered within 3 weeks he decided that was too tall an order and it should be within 12 weeks – after a period of radio silence, suddenly the science fit his plan. No scientists came forwards to defend it

· The Home Secretary, Priti Patel, blamed protestors for protests that became violent from police attacking protestors, bullied staff members under her, bought members of staff in her department, said it was “disgraceful” to topple the statue of Edward Colson, a slave trader, in Brighton because it undermined anti-racism protests, held treasonous meetings with Israel with the plan to divert aid money, and threatened to starve Ireland in order to get them to agree to Brexit

· She also wants to set up Australian-style asylum processing centres on British islands, but the islands she wants are in the Atlantic ocean and over 4000 miles away from the UK. This is because she wants to help asylum seekers enter the UK legally, completed ignoring or oblivious to all the reasons that asylum seekers might not be able to do that, and for the fact that to seek asylum you must essentially walk up the border and ask for it

· The bungling of the Track and Trace system – the government spent £10bn on a system to track and trace the spread of COVID-19. All data was stored on an Excel spreadsheet which developed a technical glitch and many results were lost before the system was scrapped

· As Autism Acceptance month began, the BBC ran a story saying the autism causes fascism, and that an autistic person who had chosen to embrace the ideology was incapable of seeing that a neo-Nazi group he joined was morally bad because he was autistic

#st george's day #uk politics

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet.

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour.

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #ada rafael barba #Raúl Esparza #svu fic #female reader #my writing #Headcanoning Barba as good at singing naturally #and is a fan of RENT change my mind #emotional hurt/comfort #sorry about the dubcon everyone but sober Rafa would never sing in public XD

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yodawgiherd · 4 years ago

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Gone Clubbing

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Coming hot from the Red Flag update, I wrote this chapter that is in a very similar light. It fits the story, so you can't blame me :P Enjoy!

The interior of the club was looking surprisingly normal. Dark colors, tasteful wooden decorations, tables and booths lining the walls. There was a bar in one corner, but the center of the whole club was undoubtedly the raised stage. It was empty now, Darius’ performance didn’t start yet, so Eren took the lead and maneuvered them towards the reserved booth.

Looking around, he realized one thing. Hey, they even fit here! Mikasa was looking amazing as ever and her goth getup worked well with the overall vibe of the club. Eren, who was dubbed a clown by both himself and his friends, also got substantially better, because black lipstick and nail polish were very far from the most eccentric clothing they saw.

“Look, that catsuit is the same as one of yours.”, he pointed out, making Mikasa look.

“It is..”, she agreed, inspecting the latex bodysuit of one of the visitors, “I guess Darius is making big bucks with custom-made gear.”

“He is an artist.”

“True that. Everything we got from him is amazing, so I will never disagree with his statements.”

Mikasa’s grey eyes slid towards the bar, pondering the question of “not getting hammered.�� She could handle a few more drinks, especially when she asks for something with less alcohol, and there was no reason to just sit here dry.

“Well, I’ll get us something to drink, because I might get thirsty over the course of the evening.“, Mikasa stated, letting the double entendre hang in the air as she stood up and walked in the direction of the bar.

That’s when Eren’s phone rang, and a quick check showed that it was his mother calling. As one does not let his mother go into voicemail, he picked up, curious what she might want. They did see each other a few hours back.

“Mom?”

“E-Eren, you freak!”

That made him blink.

“Come again?”

“I know what you did! Mikasa spilled the beans and now I know… Everything! I don’t remember raising you like this!”

Eyes flying to where his fiancé was, Eren’s mind worked frantically around the words. Carla knew… everything? What did that mean? What did Mikasa tell her? He couldn’t imagine his reserved girlfriend bragging about anything embarrassing in public, so…

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

“I know that you… you had s… sex in public, Mikasa said so.”

Statement one – Carla was drunk, judging from how she mingled the words.

Statement two- What the fuck?!

Statement three – What on god’s green earth made Mikasa tell Carla such a thing. Fine, it was far from the worst that they’ve done, but still. It’s not something that you boast about to family members, and Eren would rather bite his tongue clear off than walk up to Levi and say: “Hey friend, did you know that I often tie your little sister up and do all kinds of freaky shit to her?”

“Well, I mean…”

But Carla didn’t even let him finish, another accusation flying Eren’s way.

“And you have a tattoo!”

“You said that it looked cool!”

“Yes but…”, she sniffled on the other side, “You were just a tiny little baby yesterday, and today you have a tattoo and a girlfriend and… s-sex… and…”

The sounds she was making were suspiciously like sobs.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes... It’s…”, he could hear her shaky exhale, “I wasn’t here for such a big part of your life, I missed so much.”

“Mom I…”

“No, it’s my fault, I was the one who decided to leave. But no more. I promise that I’ll be around much more Eren, I want to remember what you do, I want to be a part of your life.”

“You are a part of my life mom.”

“Bigger part then.”

“Very well.”, he chuckled, “Do you want me to come over and talk?”

“No, I know when I’m drunk. Mikasa’s party was great but I feel like lying down now.”, Carla bit back a yawn, “Also, tell her that she looked beautiful today.”¨

“See? Even you tell me that she’s beautiful and you act all surprised when she tells you that we fu-… I mean that we are intimate. Like seriously, did you think that we were in some sort of celibate relationship where we kiss each other on the cheek and sleep in separate beds?”

“Okay Mr. Libido, where are my grandchildren then?”

If Eren was drinking anything, he would spit it out right now.

“Mom! What the hell?”

“I’m just saying Eren, if I die without seeing a single tiny bundle of joy from you and Mikasa, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“I…”

“Shush, I’ll get out of your hair now. I love you Eren and tell Mikasa I love her too. She’s like the daughter I never had.”

“Now that would make things rather awkward between us.”

“You know what I mean! Once you finally push yourself to action and marry the poor girl, she’s going to be my in-law anyway.”

“Wait, did you say poor?”

“Good night sweetie!”

And with a click, Carla was gone. Putting the phone down, Eren’s eyes were drawn to Mikasa making her way back towards him, two glasses in hand. She moved through the club with her usual predatory grace, easily weaving through the people there, completely in her element. Eren wasn’t the only one watching her, he noticed, several pairs and individuals stole a look at the enchantingly beautiful goth girl that walked in their midst. Maybe it should have made Eren jealous, but all he felt was a pang of foolish pride in his chest. Yes, she’s so incredibly gorgeous, and she’s mine. Look, but don’t touch or we might have a problem. Or who was he kidding, Mikasa would definitely take care of herself. She was the one who, in high school, broke a hand of a guy who touched her without permission.

Reaching her destination, Mikasa slid down to the booth next to Eren, putting the glasses on the table. A bit driven by all the stares, he immediately took the opportunity to grab a sort of possessive hold of her, angling her face so he could kiss her. Way more aggressive and deeper than necessary, but he was buzzed just the right way not to care. Let anyone see how much he loves her. They were in a freaking BDSM club anyway, this was by far not the worst that happened here.

“Well hello stranger,”, she said once they broke apart, her cheeks all flushed and the black lipstick smeared around her lips, “Didn’t know that you were this grateful for the drink”

Keeping one hand wrapped around her, Eren took a sip of whatever she brought up, pleasantly surprised. It was good, way better than he expected even, as one would not think that a club like this needed an amazing bartender. There were other reasons why people came.

“Mom called.”, he announced, putting the glass back down, “She knows about our public adventures because you told her. May I know why?”

“Eeh, I couldn’t help it.”, Mikasa had an apologetic smile on her lips, “We were playing truth or dare, and it sort of came up.”

Truth or dare? That did sound like fun, and Eren regretted the dumb argument he got into with the other guys at the bar. Pulling out secrets from Hitch or Krista, or hell, his own mother, would have been amazing. Then again, he was here with Mikasa, they had drinks and the show didn’t start yet. So…

“Wanna have a little game of our own?”

“Why? We know exactly what we did.”

“Maybe it’s just an excuse to get you drunk.”

“Ooh, you sly bastard.”, Mikasa’s eyes narrowed, “You’re on.”

“Good, I’ll be taking the first word then.”

Eren cleared his throat, raised his glass, and began.

“Never have I ever been suspended from a ceiling.”

“Cheap shot.”, she commented.

“Could be, but still.”, he tapped her glass, “Drink, shibari lover.”

She did so, revenge forming in her head.

“Never have I ever licked someone’s boots.”

“And you talk about cheap shots.”, Eren clicked his tongue but drank.

“Never have I ever done a pole dance.”, he shot back.

Mikasa’s eyes were calculating as she took a sip.

“Maybe we will have to change that.”, she said before firing her volley, “Never have I ever filmed us having sex.”

“That tape is going to be useful one day. And we have so many more to make…”

Mikasa ignored the tingle that it sent down her spine, frowning at her fiancé.

“Sure thing, voyeur.”

Rolling his eyes, Eren drank.

“Never have I ever wore cat ears during sex.”

“Yet.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.”, with a mysterious smile, Mikasa drank.

“Never have I ever been in a chastity cage.”

“How the hell is that fair? You literally can’t even be in one.”

“There are similar devices for women, it’s fair play.”

“But…”

“No buts.”, she pointed at the glass in clear command, “Drink, puppy.”

Eren obeyed, eyes studying her even as he spoke.

“Never have I ever stepped on someone.”

“Oh please, you enjoyed it!”

“Sure did,”, Eren agreed, “but that’s not the point of this game.”

Mikasa took a swig, a follow-up in her mind.

“Never have I ever come from a footjob.”

“Dirty.”, a sip, and it was Eren’s turn, “Never have I ever been taken against my will.”

“Can you really call it non-consent when I was the one who came up with the idea?”, Mikasa wondered, clearly just stalling.

“Miki, I still have some of the photos I took of you back then. Should I pull them up as evidence and let the committee decide?”

Defeated by a sound argument, Mikasa drank.

“Maybe we could give it another shot, sometimes soon.”, she said, remembering how strange the experience was.

Terrifying and perfect at the same time, she was scared for her life when the Not-Eren threatened her, he managed to play the role of an abusive bastard so well. Maybe there was something about him being a bad guy in her dreams because at least party he could be such an asshole even in real life. If she begged nicely, that is.

“I’d have to ask Mr. Incognito if he has a free schedule.”, Eren joked, making Mikasa snicker, “But I have a faint feeling that he might squeeze you in.”

“Let’s leave it on open for now, who knows, maybe I will be the one in charge once we get around to the thing.”

That made Eren blink a few times.

“You want to do that to me?”

“Maybe..”, a bit of worry entered her face when she realized that Eren might not be into it. She had to be sure because Mikasa would never force him into something he didn’t want, that was a big No in their relationship.

“Don’t you want me to?”, she asked, but Eren shook his head.

“It’s not that I don’t want it, I honestly just have a hard time coming up with any scenario where I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Tsk, don’t you worry about that. If I want it, I’ll come up with something.”

“Fine by me. Open it is then.”

With that topic solved, it was time to continue their game. Mikasa’s turn, she thought for a moment before she tried her next line.

“Never have I ever deepthroated a strap-on.”

But Eren was having none of that.

“Nah, but you did, don’t you remember the “class” you gave me?”

“That wasn’t a strap-on, it was a vibrator!”

“Close enough. Drink.”

Murmuring about unfair rules and crooked referees, Mikasa drank with Eren mirroring her.

“Never have I ever had anal sex.”, was his put, and Mikasa snorted in amusement. She couldn’t even count how many times Eren was either the giving or receiving party in anal sex, so she called him out on his bullshit.

“Seriously? Do you need me to spell it out for you?”, Mikasa moved closer, whispering, “Slut.”

It was magical how a single word could make Eren’s crotch tingle.

“No need, I did it on purpose.”, he drained his glass, putting it down, “I like the stuff they serve in here.”

Chuckling, Mikasa followed suit, both their drinks empty. Then, just as Eren was about to get up for a refill, the lights dimmed and the show began.

The figure that walked in on the stage was undoubtedly Darius Zackly, and he was followed by not one but two women, the player. One was dark-skinned and the other very pale, almost as much as Mikasa. To contrast their natural look, each wore lingerie of the opposite color, white on black and black on white, complete with high heels on their feet. No one spoke, the trio bowed to the crowd instead, almost dramatically, while two rings descended from above, stopping to hover over them.

Keeping his mysterious air, Darius held out a hand and the pale girl moved, grabbing a rope from the cart in the back and handing it to him. With the silky thing in hand, Zackly began his performance. He worked on the black girl first, coming up with an intricate design. Even the rope was white, Mikasa realized, a stark difference to the model’s skin. First, Darius tied her hands behind her back. The second rope went around her chest, tying her breasts in a very familiar design. Then he guided a rope through the metal ring, one that went from her tied hands to the chest bondage. With that, the ring rode up a bit, forcing the model to stretch her body and anchoring her in place.

“Isn’t the chest bondage the one you used on me?”, Mikasa whispered to Eren, recognizing the shapes.

He studied the way Darius worked the ropes for a moment.

“It is, you have a good eye. Although the binding on her hands is different than the one I used on you.”

“Because you tied me all the way from wrists to elbows.”, she made a tiny frown appear on her face, “I couldn’t move my hands at all.”

“Only the most secure bondage for a beast like you.”, he chuckled, kissing Mikasa’s scarred cheek, “I can’t edge you unless you are properly bound, otherwise you take control of the situation.”

“You better keep those skills up then.”

“For you Miki? Anything.”

The performance continued while they talked, and Darius was now working on the model’s legs. He didn’t touch her right leg, but her left was picked up and bend at the knee. Ropes sneaking around the limb, Zackly immobilized it, and that was it for the black girl. She was now balancing on one leg, but with the ropes pulling her up it wasn’t that much of a strain. With one model done, Darius turned his attention to the pale girl.

Retrieving a few more ropes from the cart, black ones this time, he closed the distance to his partner. Following the same path as before, Zackly tied her hands and chest first, copying the pattern. But then the show changed. He didn’t secure the model to the ring, he made her lie down instead, kneeling and working on her legs like that, with her on the floor. The ring started descending at the same time, going very, very low. Done with the design, Darius pulled the rope up and into the ring, anchoring it. And that’s when Eren realized what was happening.

“He’s hanging her upside down.”

“Ooh, that looks like fun.”, Mikasa poked Eren in the shoulder, “Why don’t you do that to me?”

“Eh, I don’t prefer it. When you are upside down, blood goes to your head quickly, so you have to be very mindful of the time. When I tie you up, I like to go slow, really enjoy you.”

“Hmm.”, Mikasa’s eyes were back on the performance.

She was chewing on something in her mind, and Eren had a chuckle when he realized what it was. So many things that they’ve done and Mikasa still had trouble asking him for something.

“We can try it if you want.”, he offered, making her face light up.

She leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his lips followed by a gentle whisper.

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

Just then the whirring resumed, and the ring began ascending, pulling the pale girl up. Upwards she went, until her whole body was off the floor and hanging from the ring, her blonde hair cascading around her face. It was the hangman position, Eren realized. And when Darius took a step back, both Mikasa and he finally took in the thing Zackly created as a whole. Contrast, that was the centerpiece of his performance. One girl was standing while the other was hanging upside down, both in the exact same position. One was dark-skinned yet wearing white lingerie and tied by a white rope, while the other was pale, wearing black and tied by a black rope. It was bondage, but at the same time it was art, and from the murmur that ran through the club they weren’t the only ones who realized that. The old man was an artist, no matter how you put it.

With a bow from Darius, his performance was finished. Both Eren and Mikasa joined in on the applause that resounded through the club, the show he put on was amazing. Once the ruckus began to die down and everyone got their fill of ogling the beautiful bondage design, Zackly untied the ladies while talking to them, laughing here and there. It was an interesting dynamic to see them like this, relaxed around each other, it betrayed that they all have been in this business for some time.

“Hello?”

As they were both watching the stage, neither Eren nor Mikasa saw the couple approach them. The woman was tall, made even taller by the extremely high heels on her shoes. It was the one that Eren noticed earlier, dressed in a latex bodysuit of the same design as one of Mikasa’s. The man at her side was much less eccentric, wearing jeans and a shirt, but when he nodded his head in greeting Eren saw that there was a collar around his neck, marking him as a property of the lady next to him.

“Hi,”, the woman repeated, “Did you like the show?”

Mikasa took the lead in answering.

“Yes, it was great, very artistic too.”

“That’s Zackly for you,”, the woman smirked, “He is amazing at what he does.”

“But we didn’t come here to fawn over Darius,”, that was the man speaking, nudging his partner, “Did we, sweetie?”

“Right, no, we didn’t. We came to talk to you for a reason.”

“Which is?”, Eren asked.

The woman faced Mikasa when she spoke, the words aimed at her.

“I hope that we aren’t too straightforward, but my husband saw you at the bar, and he was quite taken by you.”

Eren had to bite back a laugh at how Mikasa’s eyes widened.

“H-huh?”, was all she managed.

“We were wondering if you would be willing to do a partner exchange for a night or two, maybe a weekend.”, the collared husband took the word, “If you guys are into it, of course.”

“He’s a bottom, as you might have guessed,” the latex-clad woman followed up, “and from watching you I’d guess that you are the top in your relationship? You have that air of dominance around you.”

“I-I do?”, Mikasa choked out, much to Eren’s amusement.

But he wasn’t spared either, as the woman’s eyes slid over to him.

“You don’t have to worry either pretty boy, I promise that I’d take good care of you. I’m an experienced dominatrix.”

Now it was Eren’s eyes widening. He and Mikasa looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. Seeing their slight panic, the man grinned.

“I feel like we started with a wrong question, we should have asked if you are in an open relationship first.”

“That’s right, our fault.”, the woman agreed immediately, “Sorry if we are making you uncomfortable with this.”

Finally understanding what this was about, Mikasa blushed but reached out, taking hold of Eren’s arm.

“No, we are not open.”, she said, meeting the woman’s eyes, “We are very closed.”

“Yep, just me and her, no one else.”

“Aw, that’s too bad, you guys are something else.”, the woman clicked her tongue, “Oh well, can’t have everything.”

“We will take our leave then.”, the man said, unbothered by the refusal, “Have a pleasant evening.”

With that, he walked away and deeper into the club. The woman stole a last wanton look at Eren before following, her heels clicking against the floor. The stunned silence that came didn’t even get a chance to properly cook before a new figure appeared. Familiar one this time, it was Darius who slid into the booth, grinning at the pair.

“Eren! Mikasa! I knew that I saw you!”

His joy was infectious, and the cold feeling was being melted by his presence alone.

“That was an amazing show,”, Eren complimented him straight off the bat, “You are so good with the rope.”

“Bah, just years of training. Plus judging from our talk, you are pretty good yourself, the forms you wanted to do were rather advanced.”, his gaze went over to Mikasa, “Isn’t that correct, miss Ackerman?”

She nodded, feeling way more relaxed around Darius than the two from before. But his mention of her, Eren’s significant other, combined with how the pair talked about open relationships and brought a question out of Mikasa, one that she was pondering ever since they entered the club.

“Darius, aren’t you married?”

“Sure am.”

“And your wife… does she know about this?”

“But of course, I don’t think that keeping such a big thing secret is a good idea.”, Zackly sighed, “I keep trying to make her come here, but this scene doesn’t interest her at all.”

“So she doesn’t mind you working with other women?”

“Not at all, she knows that I appreciate the art in bondage, not the sexuality.”

“That’s very open-minded of her.”

“I mean, I work in a sex shop,”, Darius shrugged, “I never kept what I like hidden.”

Smart approach, if they ever heard one. Seeing that he satisfied Mikasa’s curiosity, Darius put forward his idea.

“Are you liking the club?”

Two heads nodded to that.

“What about the performance, looked like fun, right?”

“For sure.”

Well then…

“The thing is, you guys could perform here too if you wanted.”

“W-What?”, Eren exchanged a bewildered look with Mikasa, “You’re joking, right?”

“Why would I?”, Darius continued, completely unmoved, “How long have you two been in this biz?”

“A bit over four years at this point?”, Eren guessed and Mikasa agreed silently.

“And I’d guess that you have the skills for it.”

“I mean…”

But they did, all the plays and scenes they did together amounted to a fair amount of skill when it came to the act. Mikasa knew how to maneuver her sub expertly, Eren knew how to tie her up without worrying that he might hurt her. The experience did matter. Having a quick mental conversation, they both agreed in the end.

“See? I’m willing to bet that either of you could easily take the stage. Forgive me for saying, but you two are very, very hot. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that you two are the hottest couple I’ve seen here, and you would be in high demand.”, he gestured around, “If I walked around the club and asked every single person in here if they would perform with you, I’m pretty sure that I could count the number of “No.” on fingers of one hand.”

He redirected his attention to the pair.

“From the various gear I sold you, I’d guess that you are both switches, right?”

This time it was Mikasa who answered, agreeing cautiously.

“See? Even better. The possibilities would be endless..”

This felt like the same conversation they had with the pair from earlier.

“Look, the thing is, I don’t think that either I or Mikasa would be willing to ever perform with anyone else.”, Eren cut into his monologue, “We are very… possessive of one another.”

Mikasa was again just nodding to his words, shuffling closer and wrapping her hand around Eren’s waist. He did the same, surprising her a bit when Eren pulled Mikasa to sit on his lap. Talk about needing to express your attachment physically.

“We are super exclusive to each other.”

Seeing that and hearing her words, Darius grinned.

“You guys are just adorable. This devotion you have, this is rare to see and it’s so beautiful.”

“T-Thanks.”

“But still, if you want, you could totally perform as a pair. Even exclusive, seeing one of you work the other would give the guests something to dream about.”

“Look, we will think about it.”

“Of course! No one will ever force you into anything.”, Darius calmed them immediately, “Your comfort and consent are the most important things here.”

He said his piece, got the offer out, and there were still several people he needed to talk to. So bidding the half-confused half-surprised pair a quick goodbye and see you soon, Darius stood up and disappeared towards the bar. Eren was the one who broke the silence Zackly left behind, rubbing Mikasa’s back in a soothing motion.

“So, what do you think?”

She shifted on his lap, chewing her dark bottom lip cautiously for a moment before answering.

“Ask me a year back and I would say No. Ask me two years back and I’d laugh at you. Ask me three years back and I wouldn’t talk to you for a week. But now…”

“Let’s add it to our pile of open topics.”, Eren proposed, “No need to worry about that now.”

With that out of the way, Mikasa grew more relaxed again. Just when Eren was returning from the bar with refilled drinks, she looked up at him, eyes sparkling.

“We should bring Ymir and Krista here.”

“Why is that?”

“Krista needs a confidence boost. She wants to top Ymir, but she keeps questioning herself, so uncertain about it all.”, Mikasa gestured around, “Being here, I think that it could bring her inner domme out.”

“From what I hear you are sure that there will be a next time?”

Realizing the meaning of her words, Mikasa smirked.

“I would want that. I like it here.”

“Ah, look at us – the quiet goth girl from the back of the class and the grade-a student. How far we’ve come.”

“Indeed, but I’m enjoying these changes. Do you?”

“As if you had to ask. When I’m with you, I’ll go for anything, and do you feel like stopping what we do?”

Mikasa’s black lips curled upwards as she shook her head.

“Hell no.”

This year’s birthday was amazing and Mikasa made sure to thank Eren properly once they got home. But the amazing night would have a sadder continuation because, despite all the great fun that she experienced tonight, Mikasa’s dreams were once again disturbed by an unwelcome visitor.

A nightmare.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot

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storytellingfandom · 4 years ago

Text

Calculators and Key Changes ~ Part 3

Summary: Kazami blew into Republic City High like a hurricane. The students loved her, she changed how the arts program was run and rose it out of the ashes. She got along with most all of the staff, that is, except for one.

Lin would give her props for saving the arts program, but that’s as far as it went. The failed opera singer was obviously looking for what she’d see as an “easy” gig to get her back in the papers and then abandon her students. And she wasn’t going to offer praise for a one trick pony.

But when things shift, when there’s an understanding, can their students push the two titans of the school together to find their own happiness?

A/N: This is a completely self indulgent high school AU. I tried to write it in second person POV, but it didn’t flow well so it is third person with it being Lin x OC. Many props go to @kuvirasbrat for helping me get this shaped though <3

Wordcount: 2,820

The two had stayed on the roof until the sun started coming up. At one point, they’d leaned against each other and fell asleep, simply basking in the quiet company of one another. Lifting her head up, Kazami ran fingers through her hair, rubbing her hands against her eyes to try and get the sleep out of her system.

“I can’t believe we stayed out here all night.” Lin murmured, stretching from her spot.

“I can’t believe we didn’t freeze to death.” Kazami answered, pulling her blanket closer. “Coffee?”

“Coffee.” Lin agreed, with a nod. Standing, she held her hand down and helped Kazami up.

Smiling, Kazami followed after her and into the school, grateful for what warmth it offered them. Making their way back to Lin’s car, both women turned seat warmers on and eagerly waited for the heater to put their hands in front of.

Once thawed slightly, Lin pulled out of the school’s parking lot and headed towards the cafe that they both got coffee from. Slipping inside, Kazami shooed Lin’s money away.

“What’d you take?” Kazami asked, once she’d ordered.

“Oh you know already, just the usual.” Lin answered, confused by the question.

“But I don’t…”

“Then who’s been bringing me coffee with your name…?”

“Wait, you’re getting those too?!”

Sighing, they both hung their heads when they realized what was going on. Motioning Lin to order her coffee, the two both got pastries to eat before grabbing a table.

“I can’t believe they would pull something like that.” Lin muttered, tearing into her plain croissant.

“You can’t? Have you met some of our students?” Kazami asked, sipping the warm drink with a hum.

Nodding, there was a muttered “Fair enough…” around the pastry as the two sat quietly for a minute. Lin reached over and gently rested her hand on Kazami’s, stopping the other from her eating and grabbed her attention.

“Last night meant a lot to me. That you would share with me, and would listen to me, it means a lot.” Lin murmured, her thumb unconsciously brushing across the soft skin of Kazami’s hand.

Kazami smiled and squeezed the other’s hand. “It meant a lot to me too, Lin. The whole evening was something I really enjoyed.”

“So...it would be something that you might consider doing another time?” Lin asked, hoping that sounded smoother than it did in her head.

A wide grin crossed Kazami’s features as she nodded, bright blue eyes shining as she nodded. “I would love to. We have our first concert coming up though, so it may have to be after that.”

“I can wait, when is that anyways?” Lin asked, leaving her hand, but leaned back for her coffee.

“Next month, the real issue is hunting down people to help put up the risers and shell for the concert.” Inara answered, rolling her eyes fondly at the thought.

“I can help with that, just let me know when.” Lin answered, turning back to her croissant. “So, do we tell the kids?”

“Oh absolutely not, I think it’ll be much more fun to let them guess.” Kazami smirked over her coffee. “Why give them the satisfaction of it right away?”

“I knew there was a devious side to you deep down.” Lin chuckled, finishing her coffee.

“Only when I’m around you, Beifong.” Kazami grinned, finishing her pastry she wiped her hands on her napkin. “Right, shall we go hunt my car down? I think I’d like to get a nap in my own bed before I do some grading.”

“I always forget you teach advanced courses in music theory and history.” Lin said, standing and reached for her keys.

“I do, I like to think it’s more fun than Tenzin’s history class in any case.” Kazami answered as they slipped out of the cafe.

Lin chuckled and nodded. “It is, I’m sure. I can’t even make it through one of his classes. Poor kids”

Walking the short distance to where the pizza shop was, Kazami walked to her car and opened the trunk to toss the blanket in it. Turning back to Lin, she smiled softly at her and fiddled with her keys.

“You have my number so...text me over the weekend?” Kazami asked, looking up at her.

“I will.” Lin answered, moving to open her car door for her.

Smiling, Kazami leaned over and pressed a kiss to Lin’s cheek before slipping into her car.

Lin could feel the blush crossing over her cheeks as she shut the car door. Waving at her, she waited until the car pulled away before walking back to her car.

“You have it bad, Beifong. Really bad.”

*********

[To Lin Beifong] SMS: Hey! Just saw your message, just got up from that nap

[To Kazami Ikeda] SMS: Three hours is an impressive nap. Feel better?

[To Lin Beifong] SMS: Much, especially after a warm shower. What’re you up to?

[To Kazami Ikeda] SMS: Grading, kids had a test on Thursday. Advanced statistics, starting to think I’m torturing myself with this as much as the kids

[To Lin Beifong] MMS: A picture of Kazami’s dark wood coffee table with a mug of coffee and piles of papers is sent over.

[To Lin Beifong] SMS: You’re in good company. Did you get a nap in yourself at all?

[To Kazami Ikeda] SMS: Not yet, but I’m considering it. Would you mind giving me a call in a couple of hours?

[To Lin Beifong] SMS: I would love to be your alarm clock. How would you feel if it’s just piano chords?

[To Kazami Ikeda] SMS: Like I would hunt you down and beat you with this textbook

[To Lin Beifong] SMS: You’re no fun. Sleep well <3

*******

While Kazami had been busy with concert preparations, Lin tried to sneak in when there weren’t too many students around. It was little things that had changed between them, standing just a little bit closer together at lunch, showing up in each other's offices when they had a free period to sit quietly and grade or talk quietly and work on other projects.

Lin had decided to show up at the cafe early at the cafe the morning of the concert, smirking when she saw Asami in line. The girl had started to order their drinks when she saw Lin and immediately changed the order.

Busted.

“I thought Ms. Ikeda discouraged coffee first thing in the morning for her ensemble students, Ms. Sato.” Lin said, placing the order for her coffee before ordering Kazami’s as well.

“Oh! I, urm, I’m getting some tea.” Asami answered, squirming slightly in her spot. “Are you getting Ms. Ikeda’s coffee?”

“I might be.” Lin answered, reaching over when her order was called. Smirking to herself at the girl’s wide eyes, she grabbed the pastries she ordered as well. “I’ll see you later, Ms. Sato.”

********

Walking into the school, Lin made her way to the choir room and frowned when Kazami wasn’t there. Walking to the auditorium, she poked her head in and smiled when she saw Kazami dragging some things out of the theater tech’s closet.

“You could have waited for me, you know.” Lin said, setting the coffee and pastries down on top of the piano.

“I was hoping to get a headstart on this before you got here.” Kazami answered, pausing to put her hair up in a ponytail. Walking to the piano, she grabbed the coffee cup and sipped it. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

“No problem, I also managed to catch who it is that’s been bringing in the coffee for us.” Lin said, rolling the sleeves up on her dark green blouse.

Blue eyes moved and eyed the muscles in Lin’s arms. Biting her lower lip just slightly, she shook her head and brought her attention back to Lin. “Who’d you find?”

“Asami.” Lin answered, her ego growing at seeing Kazami sneaking a look. “Okay, show me where you want these risers.

“Right! Right, I have some tape down for that.” Kazami answered and walked over to them. “Once the risers are up then we can do the shell”

Nodding, Lin easily pulled the risers to the standing position and helped Kazami to push them into place. Locking them into place, she patiently helped to shove it over a few ticks to the right when Kazami found that it wasn’t centered. Once they were done with that, the ensemble kids started to show up. Some of the guys jogged over to help Lin in moving the shell pieces, making sure the pieces that went up were secure.

Taking a step back, Lin reached for her coffee and looked over at Kazami. “Well, what’d you think?”

“It’s perfect, thank you so much for your help.” Kazami beamed up at her.

Lin smiled, leaning against the piano just slightly and let fingers just barely brush against Kazami’s as they stood together. “Will I see you at lunch today?”

“I can’t today, unfortunately. I have to get the programs done for tonight.” Kazami answered, linking her pinky with Lin’s. “Once this is done I will sleep for a few days though.”

“No one would blame you for it either.” Lin answered, lingering a moment longer before pushing away from the piano. “I should let you guys get started.”

“Are you going to come tonight, Ms. Beifong?” One of the kids called out.

“We’ll see. Have a good one, guys.” Lin answered, waving them off.

***********

Kazami arrived at the school dressed in black dress. The sleeves sat just off of her shoulders, and came down to her elbows. The modest bodice showed just the barest hint of cleavage and cinched in at her waist, the skirt flaring out just slightly and fell down to her knees. Black stilettos carried her through the parking lot and into her choir room. Leaving the door open for the kids, she gathered what she would need to bring into the auditorium, sipping her tea to help ease the jitters that always came with concerts.

Warm ups were done, kids were lingering around the room until it was time to file into the auditorium in their formation for the risers. Lin had managed to sneak in, a bouquet of flowers largely hidden since she hid from the students that would have recognized her. She wasn’t sure how dressed up she was supposed to be and had settled on denim trousers and the emerald green silk blouse she’d worn for school that day. A delicate gold chain with a small charm on the end of it was wrapped around her neck, bun firmly in place.

When Kazami came on stage, Lin was floored. She’d never seen the woman dressed like this, her hair pinned in a braided twist, legs on full display. Spirits, how had she not noticed her legs before now? Shaking the thoughts from her brain for now, she clapped gently as the show started and smiled watching her students do something they enjoyed. The way Kazami moved, hands directing and timing the students perfectly. Swaying to the music, keeping them on beat, applauding them as they went.

She was lost in the music, it came to the director as easy as breathing it seemed like. The hours of hard work was evident from how good the students did, Lin had a new appreciation for what this was to them and what went into it to make it happen.

With the show over, she stood and made her way to the cafeteria where families were congregating. Making small talk with some of the families she knew, she smiled when she saw Kazami enter with some of her students and was easily swarmed by the kids and their parents. Finally managing to lock eyes with her, Lin felt her heart flutter in her chest when the woman lit up and finally managed to excuse herself.

“You came!” Kazami said, a grin on her face.

“I did, you were amazing, the kids did amazing.” Lin answered, a soft smile crossed her features.

“They did, didn’t they?” Kazami asked, watching them linger before eyes spotted the flowers. “So...who are those for?”

Lin smirked and handed her the bouquet of roses and panda lilies. “They’re for you. I guess.”

Grinning, Kazami pressed her face into the flowers and hummed and inhaled the scent. “These are amazing.”

“I’m glad you like them.” Lin smiled, watching the other woman. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Not yet, did you have something in mind?” Kazami asked, cocking her head to the side.

“If you don’t have plans I thought I might take you out.” Lin answered, a hand resting in her pocket.

“I’d like that. As long as you don’t mind me changing my shoes in the car.” Kazami answered, shifting on her sore feet.

“I suppose I can allow that.” Lin answered, before nodding back to the students. “Go finish up.”

Twenty minutes later and Kazami was finally making it out to her car. Seeing Lin stand near it, she waved to her and opened the back door before throwing the high heels into it. Slipping into the ballet flats, she let out a groan as she stretched out her feet.

“Why do you wear those if they make you miserable by the end?” Lin asked as she turned to get into her car.

“Because they need to see me in the back. Where do you want to meet?” Kazami asked, leaning against her car door.

“How does Nartuk’s for Water Nation noodles sound?” Lin asked, figuring the simple food would be good for the tired looking director.

“Sounds perfect. See you in a few minutes.”

Dinner was a comfortable event for the two of them. The two of them laughing over the looks the students had been giving them lately, the whispers that were floating around. The restaurant sat right on the harbor, letting the light from the stars and the moon reflect off of it.

Walking out onto the patio, both women leaned against the railing watching the night sky. Lin had slipped her jaket over Kazami’s shoulders, noticing the slight shivers that the other woman had been having since they came outside.

“I love the moon when it’s full like this. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Kazami asked, blue eyes gazing up at it.

“Yeah...it is.” Lin murmured, her own striking green eyes watching the other women.

The blue of her eyes reflected the stars, lighting them up in a way that was ethereal and otherworldly. The two inched closer together until they were pressed against each other, Lin wrapping an arm around Kazami’s waist.

Kazami leaned into Lin, snuggling into the warmth that the other woman radiated. Turning in her embrace, she smiled up at her. “I’m really, really glad you came tonight.”

Smiling, Lin reached up and gently brushed some hair from Kazami’s face. “I am too.” A hand reached up, fingers trailing over Kazami’s high cheekbones and along her jawline. “I’d really like to kiss you now, if I could.”

Kazami felt her heart speed up and she nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for so long.”

Lin smiled and moved closer, both hands cupping Kazami’s face now before she leaned in and pressed her lips to the other woman’s. Her lips were soft under her own, moving in sync after a moment. Feeling the sparks under her skin, Lin moved an arm back down to wrap around the other’s waist to pull her closer.

Kazami had never experienced a kiss like this, where the fireworks blew up behind her eyes, the need to be closer to Lin. The wish for the moment to never end. Wen they both pulled away slowly, identical smiles on their faces as they grinned at each other.

“Spirits…” Kazami murmured, looking up at Lin.

Lin smiled and nodded, fingers gently moving over Kazami’s features. “So...do you think we should make this a regular thing?”

“I don’t know, I might need to test that one more time to confirm it.” Kazami murmured, going on her toes to press her lips to Lin’s again.

When the two pulled away again, they remained pressed together simply watching the sky. Neither knew what was in store for the future, but in this moment, they were happy. Not for the sake of everyone else, but for themselves for once. And in that bubble of time, that was enough.

“You know, we’re going to have to tell the students about us eventually.”

Fuck.

“After Christmas vacation we will.” Lin murmured against the top of her head. “The last thing I need is for them to lose their shit over this with the promise of vacation on the horizon as well.’

Joint laughter could be heard as the two moved to head back to their cars, their hearts full in the new found relationship that was blossoming.

#lin beifong #lin beifong x oc #lin beifong/oc #lok fanfiction #legend of korra fanfic #legend of korra fanfiction

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xihaveaplanxx · 3 years ago

Text

The Calm (Pt 1 of 2)

“Is he sick?”

“No, well...not in the traditional way. I think he likes your friend.” Hosea turned to his daughter. She had come to visit him and they were in the kitchen observing Dutch who was sitting at the table writing and crumpling up pieces of paper and then writing again. He apparently was trying to write something for Dreama to convey how he felt and none of his words were making sense. It was weird to see him in such a way seeing as he always knew what he wanted to say. He was a master of words even but when it came to her, he didn’t know what to say. Hosea , of all the years he knew him, never knew him to get this way over any woman, ever. He usually had tons of women that fawned over him but this was different. Clearly. He was concerned for him. Seeing how Dreama was to people she was with, other than Anders, he couldn’t see this going well for him and part of him felt if she broke his heart, he might actually get broken in the process. “He told me he wants to write something to her something. Seems nothing is working.”

“I have ears, Hosea.” Dutch looked over at his friend. “And I think you are trying to imply that I am lovesick.” He placed the pen down and crossed his arms. “It’s not that. I just can’t find the right words to tell her how I feel. It all sounds....dumb. I want it to sound....how I feel but it all sounds stupid.”

“Why don’t you just instead of trying to structure it perfectly, just write out all you feel” Jenny suggested. “Don’t make it so rehearsed like one of your speeches at work. Just make it honest.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Jenny. At least unlike your father you want to be helpful.” He told her. “But it’s not so simple. Just writing it out. It’s hard. Probably a waste of time too. I’m not Anders. I’ll never be Anders so I can feel all the feelings in the world, she’ll just see me as someone that she can tolerate for now but her heart belongs to him.” He sounded quite sad which took both Hosea and Jenny off guard. They never heard him sound so...defeated before. He really had it bad. Very much so. “Maybe I am just wasting my time. After all, whenever Anders gets released, she’ll just go to him whether I really like her or not.”

“I’m sorry, Dutch.” Hosea told him. “Maybe you should move on to someone else. Someone that willingly won’t dump you off like that. At least if you feel she would.”

“Oh, Hosea. It’s too late for me. I’m too far in. I’m just going to have to get hurt and get back up again. I just wish that she’d just like me more than him but...she won’t.”

“Does she tell you you aren’t as good as him?” Jenny asked curiously

“Oh all the time. I doubt she’s even kidding. She just likes Anders, loves him actually. I clearly am just there til he comes back and she’ll just go to him. It’s not often I’d ever even say I was wrong but picking her, that was a mistake and I’m clearly being forced to deal with said mistake.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.” He got up from the table and threw out all the crumpled up paper he had on there. “I’m going to get ready for work.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Well of course.” He told Jenny. “My heart might hurt but that doesn’t mean I’ll be miserable at work. If anything it’ll be a great distraction. Won’t need to think of her when I’m busy making sure my staff isn’t trying to start a fire in the garden section...again”

“Again?”

“Yes.....again.”

At the house/John’s pov

“Uh, what is he doing here?”

“He’s staying here, John, is that okay with you?”

“Actually it’s not. He’s a criminal.”

“Well, not anymore.” Dreama glared at me. To say I was stunned to see Anders was saying a lot. I thought he was locked away for good but I should have known if it comes to him she will do anything and I mean ANYTHING to break him out. Her fathers had very high influence around the town and as their daughter, she used that to usually get what she wanted. It’s how it always was. Even in school. She could have killed someone and been let off. Not that she was capable of murder but sometimes I wondered. “He needs somewhere to stay so he is staying here”

“I don’t think Jenny would like that.”

“My father is paying for this house. Not Hosea. If I want Anders here, he is going to be here or you can move out John if you don’t like it so much. You both can.”

“Nevermind.” I decided to not say more. She was usually understanding and kind but when it came to Anders it’s like he was a parasite to her mind. Just being around him, her love for him made her largely hate others if they had anything to say about him, often making valid points that she refused to even acknowledge though I know deep down she knows he’s a reckless mage. Oh, and possessed but she likes to pretend that’s not a thing even though we’ve seen him go into pure possession mode more than once. “Is he staying in our room?”

“Yes, but you can still have your bunk, he’s going to sleep in my bed.”

“Oh, that’s great.” I told her trying not to seem annoyed he was here. Jenny was going to be pissed. Can’t say I blame her. I also couldn’t help but feel bad for Dutch. He really REALLY liked Dreama. A whole lot. He was telling me and Arthur the other day and clearly she doesn’t care about him...or anyone unless it’s Anders. The poor guy. He was actually starting to calm down and he was even nicer at work apparently. He’s going to lose his shit when he sees this, I feel bad for the people at the Walmart. “Well, I’m going to head out. Meet up with Farkas.”

“Oh, alright. See you later John.”

“Bye” I turned to leave the house. Once I got down the block, I called Jenny. I needed to warn her. I’d rather call her and let her know other than he walks in and sees Anders in the house. The phone rang twice and then she answered, thank goodness.

“Hey John, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Well nothing except Anders is living with us now apparently”

“He’s what?? Isn’t he in jail?”

“He was but you know damn well Dreama wouldn’t let him get locked away for too long. Not with her parents' influence and how good she is with most of the law in this town, we should have seen this coming. I’m not even concerned about that. I feel really bad for Dutch....”

“Shit. Dutch has been very upset today. He wanted to write her something....then got down on himself which isn’t like him.”

“It’s her influence. She can take the strongest man and break them if she wants. Don’t even know why she talks to others when it’s clear she just likes Anders.”

“I know. I...does her dad know he is there? Teldryn might not care but oh Erandur will.”

“Will it matter?”

“Oh, it will matter.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry just he won’t be there later, trust me”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Three hours later/Erandur’s pov

“When I got this place for you, I got it so you can live away from me and Teldryn and Valdimar and live with your friends and then I come here and I see Anders. You know how I feel about that man. He should be in jail. Who released him? Was it Geralt? Tormund? Who let him out for you and what did you pay them because I will give them double that amount to keep him in maximum security. You do not get to destroy a town and run around scot free whether you love him or not.”

“I’m not letting him go back.”

“He has to. You know I don’t like him.”

“Well you're not the one in love with him I am. He’s my one love. Why can’t you let me be with him?”

“Because he’s a demon!”

“No I’m not.” Anders glared at him. “You always sided against things that helped your own kind, other mages. You’re a mage, your daughter is one so is your husband and a few of your good friends and yet you would turn a blind eye on injustices. You aren’t a figurehead for mages, you’d rather us lose our gifts than celebrate them without being watched.”

“You destroyed a town, Anders. If anything you proved what happens if mages are allowed to use their magic freely. Unchecked, look at what happens. Put most of us on watch for years. You made things worse when they were finally getting better!”

“You don’t understand”

“Maybe I don’t but what I do know is I do not approve of you with my daughter and I do not want you with her.”

“Well, she loves me. I love her. You won’t break us.”

“Dreama....” I turned to my daughter about to lose my mind on this man. If it wasn’t looked down upon I’d have set this man on fire. “Will you pick this man over your father?”

“I.....”

“Will you......pick this man....over your father? Don’t you dare disappoint me..”

“Dad....I.....”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I won’t pick him over you.”

“I thought so. I know you are upset with me. I know that but I need you to understand that this man, as much as you love him he is a menace and a lot of people died because of him and his recklessness. I know he matters to you so much, and I get that, believe me and I’m only doing this for your own good. I will not let you get lost in this man and his stupidity. I will not let him be the cause of me losing my daughter.”

“Yes dad.”

“I’m sorry, Dreama.”

“It’s okay.” She said lowly. I knew it wasn’t okay and it wasn’t going to be for some time. She was upset with me and upset in general and I understood that but this was for the best. I knew so.

“Will you forgive me?”

“Sure.” She said as she got up and walked out the house. I’ve not a clue where she went but I knew Anders wasn’t with her and as low as the bar seemed to be in that sense, so long as she wasn’t with him, that was fine. She might be with Dutch but apparently he’s actually calming himself down. I loathe to think how he might react to her being near Anders because she is the type to tell him about it. She always wanted to be a mess and she was going to be vengeful over Anders. I knew that but I hoped she wouldn’t be so bad.

“Anders, you are going back to jail.”

“You can’t make me.” He told me, holding his hand up to me. He really thought his little magic was going to harm me. “I won’t go.”

“You’d hurt the father of the woman you love so easily huh?” I told him and he backed down almost immediately. “Come with me. You are staying there this time.” I dragged him out and he didn’t say much, he just cried....a lot. He was always overly emotional. Crying every time he either got caught or couldn’t get away with doing whatever. I knew for one thing I wasn’t going to ever tell Dreama that Jenny tipped me off. I’d rather her not be upset at her. It would remind me of Hosea and I falling out over me and Teldryn sticking together. Yes Teldryn did get better and step up and be a good father and a good husband but it wasn’t always like that. Anders wasn’t like Teldryn though. Anders was Teldryn if he never matured which Anders refuses to do and wants to bring my daughter with him. I understood how she felt more than she knew....it’s why I just couldn’t allow her to be with him.``

At Hosea’s place/Hosea’s pov

“Oh, that sucks.”

“It does. My father really doesn’t like him and I don’t know why?”

“Could be te murder.”

“Didn’t your friend kill people?”

“Sure but I wasn’t in love with him. I think it was more a wake up call after all of that. You kind of just won’t let Anders go which I don’t get what is so great about him.”

“You sound jealous, Dutch”

“Yeah because the girl I really......someone I think highly of is so interested in someone clearly bad for her and loves them too much to notice.”

“You were going to say something else there”

“I was, but I won’t.”

“What were you going to say?”

“It’s not important.” Dutch sighed deeply. “You’ll be okay. There are other fish in the sea.”

“I don’t want them.”

“I know. You just want Anders even if he’s trash.”

“He’s not trash. You’re trash!”

“Fine.” Dutch got up and walked up the stairs. I quickly moved from the window, trying not to seem nosy but I know Dutch knew I was probably watching all of this. He had just got home from work a while ago and of course she called saying she wanted to talk and he was willing, even in his tiredness to listen to her rant. He was clearly fed up with her, I didn’t blame him though. “I’m going to go inside. I’m tired.”

“Course you are. I want to talk and you are tired.”

“No, you want to talk and be mean to me because the man you love got carted off to jail...again. You just want to scream at me because you want to make someone feel as bad as you and that’s not fair and it’s not okay. I’m tired and I wanted to help you but I can’t, not if you are going to be like this. Just go home.”

“I...”

“Go.” He told her and she got up and left. He came inside and looked over at me before hanging his coat on the hook. “I know you were watching, Hosea.”

“That was tough.”

“Someone had to tell her. I hate that she’s like this over him. He’s not even that great”

“As opposed to you?”

“I might have been arrested before but I never done the things that man has done. She just...doesn’t care who she hurts. I wish she did though. I have a soft spot for her, Hosea.”

“I know you do, Dutch.”

“But I’m just wasting my time. I thought things would look up for us. I guess not.” He shook his head. “I’m going to bed.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay up and talk.”

“For once, I think I’ve done enough talking Hosea. I just want to lie down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure after some sleep I’ll just be fine.”

At the park/Arthur’s pov

“Hey now, calm down.” Dreama was having a meltdown. I was coming in from fishing at the pond at the park. I didn’t catch nothing and that was just okay. I should have came earlier but I knew damn well I wasn’t here to fish, I was here to just clear my head. I was on my way back home and here was Dreama, screaming and crying and carrying on. I didn’t know what was going on but I can imagine it was Anders related. Dutch could never make her cry like this, she’d never allow it. “What’s the matter?”

“Dutch is an asshole! I asked him for help and he just...he sucks...Anders is going back to jail. Everything fucking sucks, Arthur!”

“What...what went on?”

“Too much. I hate everyone.”

“Hey now, you don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.” I sighed. “Come walk with me.”

“It’s late.”

“I know but just walk with me. You need to calm down. You are flying off the handle.”

“I’m upset”

“I get that but that’s no reason to be like this. Maybe Anders was never quite the best thing for you.”

“You sound like my father...and everyone else.”

“Yeah, because he’s not the best for you. Look at you right now. On a warpath over him and for what? I know you love him I get that but people love alot of things that are not good for them. Like me and my alcohol. I love whiskey but no one said it’s good for me. Anders is like whiskey....but whiskey with a body count.”

“That don’t help, Arthur.”

“I think you need time to just....calm down. Be by yourself even. You never really are since you tend to drag around anyone who gives you attention. You need to find you.”

“I know who I am, Arthur.”

“No, you know who you are in the view of Anders. I don’t think you’ve seen yourself as yourself in years. He’s in jail and probably staying for a long time...you gotta move on....it would be good for you both.”

“I.......”

“I know it’s hard, kid. It’s for the best.”

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royalcordelia · 5 years ago

Text

This Home is Vast

Summary: Delphine Lacroix wants to write a tale of adventure and romance, so naturally she writes the story of how Uncle Gil and Aunt Anne fell in love.

“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” - Maya Angelou

1908.

Delphine Lacroix had a meager few memories from her very young days of girlhood. There were some things she wished she could recall, like the wide, bright eyes that her mother had and the melodic tenderness of her voice. Sometimes it’s enough for other people to have those memories for you, Aunt Anne had said when she was very small. I made sure I memorized every little bit of your momma so that when I tell you stories, you’ll feel her with you. Close your eyes, chickadee, and I’ll tell you of her wedding day. It’ll be like she’s right here

And it was. When Anne spun her words into yarn of gold, Delphine could close her eyes and imagine her face on her mother’s, and soft arms around around her chest. Dellie would lay with her head in Anne’s lap and listen to all the stories the freckled girl could muster, even the ones that weren’t about her mother - tales of adventure, courage, strength, and grace. She could find pieces of herself in the protagonists that Anne spoke of because, It’s important to see yourself in the people you aspire to, Dellie. I see these traits in you, and I admire you for them.

But aside from afternoons curled up into Anne’s side, the youngest days of Dellie’s girlhood were distant from her. She wished she could write down the things she did remember, tell a story of the home she’d flowered in.

“Uncle Gil?” she asked. From where she stood at the window, she could see Uncle Gil look up from his clothbound text and smile.

“Yes, honeybee?”

“Do you have any empty journals in your study that I could use? I want to practice my writing.”

Gilbert closed his book and leaned forward, always pleased to hear his niece take on new academic endeavors. Even at the humble age of ten whole years, she was as bright as both her mother and father, and had somehow learned Gilbert’s insatiable motivation.

“Of course. Are you planning on writing one of your Aunt Anne’s tales of ‘grand adventure and romance?’”

Dellie turned around and leaned on the window frame, pursing her lips as she considered her options.

“I want to. But I think I also want to write a story that I know, one that I lived through. I haven’t been on any grand adventures.”

“Now that’s not true. Come here,” Uncle Gil replied, pulling her into his lap. Dellie leaned her head onto his shoulder and let out a sigh. Even when she preferred to keep her worries private, Uncle Gil had a way of snagging the truth right from her.

“All the heroes in Aunt Anne’s stories ride to far off places and battle the greatest forces of evil ever known by mankind!”

“You’ve tamed plenty of tempests,” Gilbert countered.

“Like what?”

“You marched right up to the Avonlea school board and demanded that you be allowed in the school with the rest of the kids. I think that was very courageous.”

Dellie frowned, burying herself as deep into denial as she would go.

“That was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing! You’re the first child who looks like you to ever go to the Avonlea school.” Gilbert bounced her on his knee to ease her drooping mood. “What about the time those women in town were saying something mean about your mother? You poured their lemonade down their dresses.”

Dellie’s lips formed into a pout that had her Uncle Gil wrapped around her finger even from when she was a baby. “Daddy punished me for a whole day after that.”

“Because it’s impolite to ruin dresses, not because you weren’t brave. He didn’t want to tell you, but he was so proud. You’re more like you mother than you know.” Gilbert pressed a kiss to her cheek. “How’s that for a story idea?”

Delphine twirled one of Uncle Gil’s curls with her pinky while she considered this, but ultimately shook her head in adamant finality.

“I want to save my story for when I’m older, so I can write bibliography of my life-”

“ Biography , darling.”

“- and make it a best-seller, like Aunt Anne’s book on Avonlea. But I think there’s one story I know just as well as my own.”

“Oh yeah? Which one is that?”

Delphine smiled with trickster eyes she learned from her uncle, then poked his nose.

“Yours and Aunt Anne’s.”

1899.

Back in the days of Gilbert’s apprenticeship with Dr. Ward, the aged man had seen the weary circles beneath the boy’s eyes and cocked a brow.

“Girl trouble?” he asked with a hint of humor. Gilbert fought the urge to shoot a panicked look toward the door, the other side of which held a very quiet secretary. Yes, there had been girl trouble - what with Gilbert trying to figure out the cause of his seemingly endless tachycardia. No, his tired eyes were not the result of his own uncertainty.

“Delphine is teething. Poor thing hasn’t slept or eaten much in days,” Gilbert confessed.

“That’s a simple fix, my boy. Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

This was how the Blythe-Lacroix home had been saved by a simple scrap of paper with a list of safe, at-home teething remedies. Gum massage, a cold spoon, a damp washcloth… At the kitchen table where he always seemed to sit with Delphine, Gilbert pulled a spoon from ice cold water and placed it into the baby’s open mouth. The tension on her tiny forehead disappeared, and her relief seemed immediate.

“Dr. Ward acted like I should’ve known this already,” Gilbert lamented, rubbing Dellie’s back as she cooed. “But the medical journals don’t really report on anything other than bacterial transmission and obscure cases of rare disease. Where’s a fellow supposed to start with the basics?”

Dellie took out the spoon and waved it in Gilbert’s face, before sticking it right back into her mouth.

“I suppose you’re right. I should’ve learned these things from my mother. Not like I would’ve enjoyed asking dad about these things, even if he was still around.” Gilbert paused, pressing a kiss to the top of the baby’s head. “Don’t worry, Dellie. You can always ask me anything. No matter what it is. And I’ll tell you all of my secrets so that we’re equal.”

The little baby could not know then that she would grow to share every little secret with this scrawny uncle of hers. He would know of every fear that clutched at her heart, and he would soothe them with his steady reassurance. He would let her reveal all of her misbehavings, and absolve her of her childhood guilts with forgiveness that came as easy as breathing. He would understand on the day that she’d confess that she’d fallen in love with a white boy at her college, and how desperately she wanted to earn his respect (Gilbert knew she’d already had it). Those days were a long ways away, but he’d know it all.

If he wanted it to be fair, he had to begin the exchange himself. So he did, with his tender words.

“Delphine, I think I’m falling in love with Anne.”

Dellie ceased her cooing, staring up at her apprehensive uncle with understanding eyes. Gilbert peeked up at the doorway to make sure Bash wasn’t eavesdropping before quietly continuing.

“It doesn’t feel like I thought it might. I always knew that I wanted to be around her, and that she was really pretty, but lately…” Gilbert sighed. “She’s just seriously beautiful. And so smart and courageous. And she’s so good with you and never has anything unkind to say about anyone.”

Dellie grabbed his finger with her whole hand and shook it excitedly.

“I know what you’re thinking. What about that blonde lady you met one time? Winnie is...a friend. She’s charming and nice, no one can deny that. But Anne appeals to a different part of me - complements and cherishes it. She held my hand and it felt like she was supposed to.” He scoffed. “I don’t know, I sound absolutely ridiculous.”

“I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all,” Bash interrupted from the doorway. Gilbert jumped, pulling Dellie a bit closer to his chest, then glared at the intruder. “Sorry, Blythe, I didn’t mean to overhear. I just wanted to check up on my daughter.”

“I think she feels better. She hasn’t cried in a while,” Gilbert stated shortly, handing over the girl who’d reached grabby hands up towards her father. Bash settled the baby on his shoulder and sat down at the table opposite of Gilbert. The young boy looked like he was steeling himself for battle, but kept his lips locked together.

“So...Anne, huh? Can’t say I blame you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Gilbert said sternly, but only half heartedly, the way people quietly cry out I need to tell someone !”

“Why not? You’re not embarrassed are you?”

“Of course I am!” Gilbert snapped. “Or...I don’t know. No, I’m not. At least, not because of her, she’s amazing. It’s embarrassing because I see her and…”

“Spit it out, Blythe. It’s okay.”

Gilbert released a shaky sigh. Then, he muttered, “These days I can barely breathe when she’s around, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from grinning like an absolute idiot. It’s entirely overwhelming and I don’t like it.”

Bash smirked the way he did when he thought he knew something Gilbert didn’t.

“I’ll grant you that it’s overwhelming, but let me give you my advice on something. Look at this darling baby girl.” Bash lifted Delphine up in the air, and she giggled in delight. “Every time I see her, the air gets stolen from my lungs and I smile like a moke. There’s nothing more overwhelming than the love I have for my daughter, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Gilbert, your budding love for Anne with an E? Cherish it. Nurture it. Let it grow. I promise it will be worth it.”

Gilbert turned his gaze down to the table, fighting the rising blush on his cheeks.

“See, even little Dellie agrees?” Bash added, waving the baby’s hand. Dellie giggled as she bounced, causing a little smile to dimple the corner of Gilbert’s lips.

“So, what do I do?” Gilbert asked after a silent moment.

“I don’t know, Blythe. That’s for you to figure out.”

But the realization had been enough excitement for the young lad that night. He nodded, then pushed himself up by the heels of his palms.

“I’m off to get some sleep before another tooth pops up,” Gilbert said.

Bash placed his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder as he passed by, giving it a reassuring squeeze, then shoved the boy off in the direction of his quiet room.

1903.

Five-year-old Delphine saw things that no one else did. The endless orchard in her backyard was a vast kingdom of magical apples, guarded by tree soldiers who protected her against all the evil monsters that lurked past the corn field. Tiny faery people danced around the enchanted apples, and talked to Dellie when she was lonely and anxious for what Anne called “a bosom friend.”

“Do you have bosom friends, Anne?” Dellie asked one day when Anne was kneading sweet bread in the kitchen.

“I do! I’m very lucky to have a few kindred spirits.”

Delphine tried out the mouthful of kindred spirit on her tongue, but was quick to remember to adhere to her point.

“Who are they?”

“Well, for one, your uncle Gilbert.”

Delphine jumped from sitting to kneeling in her chair with a cry of glee.

“Uncle Gil is your bosom friend!? ”

“Of course he is,” Anne laughed. “Bosom friends are people that know you very, very well. They’re kind to you and make you smile. They’re people who belong in your life.”

“What do you mean belong? ”

Anne wiped the back of her wrist across her chin, smearing flower over her starry freckles, and thought about it.

“Remember that Venus Fly Trap I showed you in a book a few days ago?” Dellie nodded, always paying close attention to anything Anne had to say. “Would you ever want a flower like that? Would something like that ever belong in your garden?”

Though Delphine had been stunned speechless by the by the carnivorous flower, her face twisted into disgust at the thought of ever owning one. She shook her head slowly, scowling as if she’d smelled something sour.

“What flowers would you rather have instead?”

“The pretty blue ones from momma’s garden!” Dellie decided.

“Exactly. Just like flowers, some people just belong in your life. They’re the people that you like to see and be around. You sometimes don’t know why you need them, but they’re there. A bosom friend isn’t just any flower from the garden. It’s a friend that makes your heart swell up big like a balloon because you’re so happy to be with them. It’s someone you really love.”

Delphine took in this flurry of information quietly, considering with all the seriousness her young brain could muster.

“So you really love Uncle Gil?”

Anne flushed, knowing that Delphine didn’t know quite what she was asking, and forced a smile on her face.

“I do, Dellie.”

The little girl spun to look in the doorway with the brightest smile she’d ever donned. Anne looked up from her bread, meeting eyes with Gilbert who was gazing at her with eyes heavy with some unnameable emotion.

“Uncle Gil! Did you know that you’re Aunt Anne’s bosom friend because she loves you very much?”

Gilbert’s eyes snapped to Anne, but he was quick to cover up his surprise.

“I did!” he replied easily, though his eyes spoke a message that was much more timid.

“Then is she one of your bosom friends? ‘Cause you love her very much too?”

“That’s right, honeybee.”

But he wasn’t looking at Delphine. For a moment, Anne felt like leaving her doughy bread on the table and running back home to Green Gables. Gilbert loved her as a friend, certainly, but the way he’d say it just then meant more, and that terrified her. But as soon as he gave her a small smile, Anne’s worries melted away. A barely perceivable thought flitted into the back of her mind - What if she didn’t mind the romantic look in his eyes? What if it’s what she wanted? Unable to fight the urge to return the shy smile, Anne’s gaze lingered on him without her realizing it.

Delphine, on the other hand, was entirely oblivious to the moment transpiring between the two blooming adults. She grew bored with the silence, and hopped onto the floor, scurrying across the room to the door.

“Kay! Well, I’m going to go look for bosom flower friends in the Enchanted Orchard,” Delphine said sliding out.

“Be back before supper!” Gilbert called before the door could slam shut behind her.

Later that night, when the sun had begun to hug the horizon in a far off place Dellie wasn’t allowed to travel to - Daddy had told her so - she skipped back to the house with a handful of flowers that she wanted to give Aunt Anne. That way, Aunt Anne could have more bosom friends, since sometimes Uncle Gil was a little serious. But what she found in the living room gave her pause.

There was Aunt Anne and Uncle Gil standing in the middle of the living room, so close together that Delphine was sure they’d hug each other. Isn’t that was bosom friends did? He was tall compared to her, and Anne had to look up to stare into his eyes. They were speaking to each other, but it was too quiet for Dellie to hear. Most of the time they used words that were too big for her to understand, anyways.

She’d had never seen people act like this before. Uncle Gil’s hands held Anne’s, but instead of looking happy, Anne looked like she’d seen something very scary. Surely Uncle Gil didn’t scare Anne. They always smiled when they were together. Dellie had a vague thought that the scene looked right out of her fairy tale books, and Aunt Anne was the most beautiful princess in all of Avonlea. Her prince looked like he agreed.

Just as Gilbert bowed his head and grazed his lips against Anne’s, Delphine broke the silence with her unmistakable, curious voice.

“What are you doing?”

The pair split apart across the room quicker than a stray cat darting from sight. Uncle Gil leaned on the window, hiding his face from Anne with a vengeance. Even Dellie could see the gears turning in his head, but she didn’t know why.

“What do you have there?” Anne deflected, voice shaking.

“I brought you some flowers so you would have lots of bosom friends.”

Anne let out a half-hysterical laugh and leaned over to hug the blessed child, a tear sliding down her cheek.

“These are lovely, Delphine, but I don’t need more bosom friends! Not when I have you! ”

Delphine’s own eyes became misty at that, and she clung to Anne with determined fierceness. Later that night, Dellie told her father all about her new bosom friend and how excited she was to see her again.

But Aunt Anne did not come back to the Blythe-Lacroix house for many, many months.

1904.

Anne once told Delphine that she had a thing called empathy. She’d taken the little girl’s hands in hers and kissed the backs of her palms. It means that when people are happy, you’re happy. And when people are sad, you’re sad. You feel the things they do, and it makes you such a beautiful soul. Empathy then became Dellie’s new favorite word. She explored outside and felt the peace of the trees, and the exhaustion of Uncle Gil’s bees as they labored away. She felt the warmth of the growing flowers and the joy of some of the neighbor kids laughing in the forest. She took on the world’s heart and made it her own, and by the time she came home, she was ready to just be Delphine.

Dellie moved through her quiet house, smiling at the lingering scent of fresh bread Dad had made a few hours ago. Just as she was about to head to her room for a nap, she heard a quiet sniffle come from inside Uncle Gil’s room.

She knocked on the door - as she’d been taught by stern faces - but Uncle Gil didn’t answer. Nudging the door open with worried fingers, Dellie’s heart plummeted to the floor. Uncle Gilbert was lying on his bed, a few tears dripping from the corners of his jaw. His eyes were blank, but when he saw Dellie standing in the doorway, he turned his face away and quickly wiped away his tears.

“No, it’s okay, isn’t it?” Dellie rambled. “You always tell me it’s okay if I cry. You can cry too...if you want.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she did hear the quiet sob that escaped his lips. For a moment, Delphine wasn’t sure what to do. Uncle Gil always had an explanation, a reassuring word, but this time he was the one crying. It would’ve been easier if he said that he was okay, because then the utter sadness blooming in Dellie for her uncle would’ve disappeared. Suddenly, she didn’t like having empathy anymore. She just wanted Uncle Gil to feel better.

Climbing into the bed, Delphine hugged Gilbert from behind and nuzzled her nose into his back. Gilbert’s hand came up and grabbed hers lightly.

“Why are you crying, Uncle Gil?” she asked quietly. His back rose and fell against her as he took in a deep breath.

“Sometimes you lose things, honeybee, and you cry because they’re gone,” he whispered.

“What did you lose?”

Uncle Gil didn’t answer. Delphine wondered for a moment if he’d heard her, but stopped herself from asking again. When she was this sad, she never liked to talk about it. She liked to be quiet. So for a few long minutes, Delphine held Gilbert the way he’d always held her when she cried.

Eventually Gilbert turned around, bashful because of his red eyes. But Delphine didn’t laugh or tease. She only wiped away the tear streaks with her thumbs and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“I love you, Uncle Gil.”

Another tear slid down Gilbert’s nose.

“I love you too, honeybee.”

She thought for a moment, then offered, “When I’m sad, I like to be around my friends. Should I go get Daddy for you? Or Aunt Anne?”

Something in what she said made Gilbert’s face darken with heartsickness, but he had the strength to shake his head.

“You’re all the company I need,” was all he said.

(When she was all grown Delphine would ask Gilbert about that occurrence - her, exploring his expansive library, and him, completing patient records. The question had left her lips in the quiet of the night: why had he been crying alone in his bed all those years ago? Was it because he missed his father?

But Gilbert only peered down at the gold band around his finger and gave a sad little smile. No, he’d said. That was the day he’d first proposed to Anne. It hadn’t gone well, and though it ended up okay in the end, the devastation that broke Gilbert’s heart in half had been very real.

“It must’ve been hard. To be strong for me when I was so young and didn’t understand,” she murmured.

Gilbert shook his head.

“You understood, Del. You understood better than anyone.”

These quiet talks in his office were decades away, but the moments leading up to them were ones that Delphine would hold onto always. )

1906.

Knock knock knock.

Anne’s fog laden eyes rose from the tea kettle, but she didn’t have the strength to turn around. Still, it could’ve been Doctor Ward, or Elijah, or...someone important. She just needed a few more moments to collect herself.

“Delphine, could you see who that is, please?” Anne paused before adding, “If it’s a stranger, I’ll answer it.”

The little girl of nearly eight had been solemn at the table, sipping her tea to keep herself from asking questions. Questions, it seemed, made Anne cry. What was Uncle Gil sick with? Why can’t I go see him? Is he going to die? She’d asked them all once, and that had been enough to learn that she should never ask them again. At Anne’s request, though, she rose from the table and swung open the door.

Before her was a very tall, very beautiful woman who looked like one of the dolls girls brought to school. Her hair reminded Delphine of stories of Goldilocks, and she smiled down at the little girl with warmth that made Dellie shrink away. Returning to Anne’s side, she muttered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know who it is.”

Anne nodded, and she turned with heavy movements, only to jolt at the face in the doorway. In all the different instances Anne had seen Winifred Rose, she’d never been displeased to see her. But something about the hopeful, desperate look on the woman’s face made Anne’s stomach turn sour.

The women were silent for several moments. Winifred seemed to be aware of the thin ice in the kitchen, and maintained her position in the doorframe.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Rose?” Anne stated, perhaps unfairly caustically.

“I heard Gilbert is sick.”

Delphine’s eyebrows shot up. How did this woman know Uncle Gil?

“I’m sorry, but you can’t see him,” Anne replied.

“And why not?” Winifred had matched Anne’s stern tone.

“Because he’s sick. He’s contagious. ”

“It’s typhoid, Anne. I’m not going to drink his bedside water. I just came to-”

“To what?”

Winifred didn’t answer right away. A tender spot in Anne’s chest made itself known, revealing some of her hidden fears. What if Winifred Rose was here to make amends with the young man she’d turned away all those years ago? Would he be happy to have her by his side? Anne clenched her teeth. What right did this woman have? To come into this house now when he was already halfway gone, when Anne had been the one nursing him, changing his chamber pot and wiping his sweat? What right did Winifred Rose have to come in and suggest that she-

Delphine’s hand buried itself in the skirts of Anne’s dress, and Anne brought an arm up to wrap around Dellie’s back. No matter how scary it was that Uncle Gil was sick, or that Anne was fighting with a woman in the kitchen, Delphine always felt safe as long as Anne was beside her. It was the innocent child at her side that reined back Anne’s fury.

“I came to say goodbye,” Miss Rose said finally. “Dr. Ward said the case is dire. I just wanted to see him one last-”

But just like that, the rage was back. Anne tore away from Delphine and stepped into Winifred’s space, jabbing a finger into her perfect pale face.

“Do not speak that way around her. She’s already frightened enough,” she whispered sharply. “Do not come into this house and suggest that he won’t recover.”

Understanding washed over Winifred, and she peered over Anne’s shoulder at the frightened daughter of a widow. Maybe Anne hadn’t only been speaking of Delphine.

“Anne,” she began, voice compassionate. “I know this isn’t fair to you. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to be strong for Delphine. I know that you love him, and to have to watch him wither away with all your history still unresolved must be awful. Trust me, I know what’s it’s like to have regrets, but I didn’t come here today to resolve any. I came by to say goodbye to a friend, and to check up on another. You’re a stronger woman than I am, Anne Shirley Cuthbert. It’s unfair, all of it. And I’m sorry.”

Anne’s eyes were concrete, and she glared at Winifred as if she were the plague doctor delivering Typhoid directly to Gilbert. But she wasn’t. She was an old friend, one who cared for her and Gilbert very much, even if she did surface for Anne all of her tired insecurities.

“That’s not true,” Anne stated, face still hard. “If you loved someone enough, you’d do it for them. You’d see you could weather it.”

Right at that moment, a cry of agony resounded through the house from the room above. Agony and fear filled Anne’s eyes, and she looked like she might collapse into Winifred’s arms, but she heard a tiny whimper behind her.

Delphine Lacroix was shaking, frightened for her life and for her uncle’s. She wished she was in some other house where she couldn’t hear him in so much pain. It was all too much, she didn’t want to be here-

Anne knelt to the ground and wrapped Delphine in her warm arms. The little girl wept and wept into Anne’s shoulder.

“Shhh, honeybee. Remember what I said? Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Anne soothed. “He’s going to be alright. He’s stubborn, just like us, you’ll see.”

Eventually Delphine’s tremors lessened and she pulled back. Anne kissed her forehead before rising to her feet. Behind them, Winifred’s face had grown pale.

“How long as he been like this?” she uttered quietly.

“Two weeks, getting worse by the day. The doctor says it won’t be long now.” Delphine shuddered. Long now until what? “You can’t come into the room, but you can see him from the doorway. Would that please you, Miss Rose?”

Winifred nodded, only moments away from taking it all back. For a life spent seeing sick people every day, she’d never been so frightened. Delphine took her by the hand and followed behind Anne up the hollow, rickety stairs.

Even when the door to Gilbert’s bedroom opened and released the scent of disease out into the hallway, the little girl at her side did not falter. Not when her uncle was thin and colorless under his blankets. Not when he released a groan of pain in his sleep.

Sebastian was at the young man’s side, wiping sweat from Gilbert’s brow with dark eyes. Anne took the cloth from his hands, gesturing for him to sit down across the room and rest. She leaned over Gilbert’s bedside, taking in the withering face of the man she loved beyond all measure, and bit her lips against a sob. When Anne leaned over and pressed her trembling lips to Gilbert’s forehead, a tiny tear slipped down Dellie’s cheek.

Finding her voice, Delphine began to recite a prayer she’d forgotten she knew under the softness of her breath.

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. And where there is sadness, joy…”

Uncle Gil would always joke that her prayer saved his life - along with the heavenly favor of her mother who’d had a partiality to prayer. But he also attributed his health to the tender attentions of Anne, and when he learned she’d barely left his side in his illness, he all but dissolved into bliss.

It was in the days following the turn of Gilbert’s illness that Delphine realized just what Aunt Anne was to Gilbert, and what Gilbert was to Aunt Anne. She’d known it instinctively, realized she’d been watching them grow all along.

But if she needed any confirmation, she had it the day the weather turned warm and the rain broke away - just thirteen days after Uncle Gil’s fever broke. Dellie was walking along the outer edges of the orchard collecting flowers for the house when she saw Uncle Gil pass by a few rows over. At first, Dellie was merely delighted to see him up and walking away without swaying in dizziness. It was only when he let out a loud cry of laughter that she realized he was walking as fast as he could toward something.

Anne met him halfway, falling into his arms with a grateful cry that made all the apple blooms on the trees keen to the sound. If Gilbert had been healthier, he might’ve lifted her up and spun her around, but his muscles were still gaining their strength back and Anne seemed to be the one doing the supporting. She was glad to do it, and she showered his face and hair with kisses and tears.

In the warm Avonlea sunlight, surrounded by the apple trees Gilbert’s father had planted all those years ago, Anne took her love by the face and finished what they’d started in his parlor all those years ago. Their kiss swept the wind into the trees and birdsong into the air. It was strange to a child’s eye, but Delphine still recognized euphoria when she saw it.

1907.

Delphine could count on one hand the things she really knew about weddings. One - she knew that when Uncle Gil and Anne had their wedding, they would be husband and wife, like Momma and Dad had been. Two - she knew that Aunt Anne would wear the prettiest white dress Dellie had ever seen. Three - she knew that Anne had to have something, blue. Dellie wasn’t sure why this was, but she decided to give Anne her prized blue button, the big one that came from one of Momma’s old coats. Four - she knew that Uncle Gil and Anne weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding. She was still trying to find a fifth thing she knew for sure, since she never trusted what the girls said at school.

That’s why when she heard Aunt Anne’s laughter on the back porch the day of the wedding, she froze in her tracks. Peering outside the window overlooking the porch, Dellie found Anne and Uncle Gil hugging against one of the beams. His face was buried in her neck, and Aunt Anne laughed with a sunny grin. Gilbert held the side of Anne’s face and pressed a kiss to her other cheek, whispering a sweet secret into her freckles. Roses flooded onto Anne’s face, but she kissed him anyways, smiling into his lips.

Delphine had seen enough. She swung the door open and tapped her foot like a parent catching a misbehaving child. Uncle Gil pulled away from his love, but kept an arm wrapped around her waist, smirking down at the stern little girl.

“Yes Delphine?”

“You aren’t supposed to see each other!” she exclaimed.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s just a superstition,” Aunt Anne explained, though Dellie’s nose crinkled at the word. “Besides, I’m here to collect you. You wanted us to get dressed together, remember? Like princesses.”

Dellie’s resolve crumbled a little as she remembered why Aunt Anne was here. She’d always wanted to watch her mother dress in all the old dresses that were left in her trunk, the hidden gems with the baby blue lace and soft fabric. Anne’s wedding dress was a lot like it, extravagant with all its elegant details and beads, and she’d been dying to see Anne get dressed in it.

“Alright,” Delphine decided eventually. “I don’t understand why you aren’t allowed to see each other anyways, so I guess it’s okay.”

By the end of the day, Delphine could fill a book with all the wonderful things she’d learned about weddings. She learned that brides sat in front of their mirrors while they did their hair, speaking the way women in love do about the future. Anne was quiet, her thoughts only on the incomparable man who was likely adjusting his tie in front his own mirror. Miss Diana and Aunt Marilla chatted as they tied Anne into her dress and adjusted the lacy skirts to perfection, but Delphine could only stare up in wonder. She felt a strange homesickness for the woman she’d grow to be, even if she couldn’t name the feeling, and ached to one day wear a wedding dress of her own.

She couldn’t explain why her throat was oddly caught as she watched Uncle Gil and Aunt Anne stand in the Blythe Orchard together. Maybe it was the way they clutched at each other’s hands, or breathed out their hellos to each other the way people said prayers. It could’ve been the birdsong in the trees that sounded just what Dellie imagined angels sounded like when they sang. With the sweet morning sun on her face, she could not be aware of her own wisdom - how somewhere in the depths of her heart, she recognized the coming together of two souls. And when Uncle Gilbert slid a glimmering golden band on to Anne’s finger, Delphine finally understood what marriage meant.

The fragrance of the sweet apple blossoms swept over Delphine’s nose as she listened intently to the reverent vow that one day she might repeat herself.

“I take you, Gilbert Blythe, matched to my intellect, proponent of my happiness, friend of my heart, to be my life mate and my husband. I promise to have you and hold you - for better, for worse as long as we both shall live.”

Uncle Gilbert repeated the words smiling so much that Delphine’s own grin split her face in two. When he pulled his bride into his arms and kissed her, cheers of jubilation sounded from their friends, family, and small Delphine, of whom no one was happier.

1908.

“I didn’t realize then that Aunt Anne would be moving into this house,” Delphine admitted to Uncle Gil as he listened to her finish her story. “I really liked going to your wedding. I wish I could go back to that day and do it all over again.”

Uncle Gilbert smiled warmly, rubbing Dellie’s shoulders affectionately.

“Me too, honeybee, me too.” Suddenly, Delphine took his cheeks into her hands and stared seriously into his face. His cheeks squished against her hands as he smiled. “What are you doing?”

“Memorizing every little detail about you so that I can write it down. Now I think I might need Aunt Anne’s help, there’s a lot of pieces of your face to know.”

“I’m sure I’d be happy to help out,” called a warm, familiar voice. Dellie dropped her hands, launched herself out of Uncle Gil’s lap, and fell into Aunt Anne’s warm hug. She loved the way Anne ran her fingers over her hair, and smiled into Anne’s apron when she felt a kiss deposited on the top of her head.

“How was your trip to Kingsport?” Dellie asked when she pulled back.

“Very productive. My publisher is quite pleased with this new draft of Averil’s Atonement, ” Anne answered nonchalantly. She turned to her side where Gilbert had wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She kissed him gently, fixing a sprig of hair in his eyes. “Hello darling.”

Gilbert slid his arm to her waist, glancing down at her flat stomach to see if there had been any growth of the baby sleeping there. It was still much too early to expect any sort of noticeable difference, but the presence of his own child in the room was delightfully distracting. He was anxious to meet the baby, to hold her and see her play with Delphine, to teach her everything he knew.

“It looked like I walked in on a serious conversation. What are you two scheming up this time?”

“Delphine has it in her head that she’d like to start practicing her prose composition. I can’t possibly begin to imagine where she learned that from.”

Anne grinned at this - this news delighting her even more than her publisher’s satisfaction.

“I want to write about your love story with Uncle Gilbert!” Delphine explained excitedly. Anne snuck a pleased glance at her husband.

“That’s my favorite story! You’ll let me be your editor, won’t you?” Anne pleaded. Dellie laughed and nodded, slightly embarrassed at her Aunt’s eagerness.

“I have to write it down first!”

Gilbert’s ears perked up at this.

“Speaking of which, give me just a moment.”

Uncle Gil hastened from the room, only to return a few moments later with something in his hands that made Dellie’s pulse quicken. She beheld the journal of caramel gold with a momentous feeling in her chest. As Gilbert handed her the journal, he knew he was handing her a world of possibilities, and an endless expanse of possibilities. She could write the mysteries of the Universe, or solve suffering with her words. When she grew older, if she wrote for real, she’d gift the world with her uncomparable spirit in a way that would cause ripples in her readers.

But for now, Gilbert thought there was nothing he’d love to read more than the story of how he fell in love through the bright eyes of his wondrous girl.

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #awae spoilers #shirbert ff #tessa writes #please lemme know what you think!#I had fun with this one #this is also on ao3 but if i link it this won't appear in the tags #but it's there I promise!!

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akechicrimes · 5 years ago

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there’s this thing called the “perfect victim myth” that a friend of mine introduced me to, which is the myth, even the requirement, that a person’s pain and trauma is only valid if they were on their best behavior, did nothing wrong, and can in no way be faulted for contributing to their own terrible situation. trauma is only trauma if you sat there as an unsuspecting, poor faultless blameless disempowered victim, and terrible things were inflicted upon you without any of your input whatsoever. it’s only if you did absolutely zero things wrong that you’re allowed to be considered a victim.

therefore, akechi did things wrong, and therefore cannot be a victim of anything on his own end. right?

i cannot stress enough that this is simply not how abuse, abusive behaviors, or trauma works in real life, and that believing such a thing does a disservice to not only all people who’s been victims of abuse, but also anyone who believes such a myth.

look--insofar as persona 5 is a game in which the main characters are all victims of someone else doing something bad to them, i think yusuke is probably the best example of an unfortunate real-life victim situation, so let’s talk about yusuke for five seconds: he actively prevents the PT from trying to save him, defends his abuser at the expense of himself, and even after he’s joined the PT, he sometimes oscillates wildly between “i hate madarame and refuse to even speak of him” and “i miss him terribly and still speak fondly about him and my time living with him.” he never really seems to unlearn a lot of behaviors he picked up from living with madarame--things like not caring for himself at the expense of art, not listening to his own hunger cues, and arguably has a whacked-out relationship with money due to madarame’s own whacked-out relationship with money. personally, i think he also has difficulty with respecting other people’s personal boundaries because madarame never respected his, hence him inviting himself to live with ann, or inviting himself to live with akira.

now consider a situation where yusuke drives the PT off, continues to live with madarame, drives himself into the dirt to supply madarame with his art, and eventually fulfills nakanohara’s prediction of killing himself in despair. is that yusuke’s fault? arguably, it is, isn’t it? someone extended a hand to him, and yusuke refused. even consider a situation in which yusuke successfully calls the cops on the PT, like he very genuinely attempted to in canon, and akira goes to jail because of violating his probation. what then? now it’s not just yusuke is at fault for his own suicide, but he’s also done a terrible harm to akira that will follow him for the rest of his life. what then? are we supposed to have sympathy for him now?

that’s not such an unusual situation. that happens. that’s why nakanohara warned the PT about it. it has happened before and will happen again, and not just in the gameworld of persona 5.

if you come away from that story believing that that’s yusuke’s fault, i’d say that you’re not wrong, but you’re not right, either. it is probably partly yusuke’s fault. is he still a victim? did terrible things still happen to him? that is also true.

does it really matter if it was partly his fault?

also now consider the woman that shido was harassing. what about her? do we sympathize with her? she helped get akira convicted to save her own skin. is she a victim or an abuser? should i sympathize with her or not? arguably she should have stood up for herself in the first place, right? maybe she shouldn’t have left herself alone with shido, either. when akira came to save her, maybe she should have run. when the police came, she should have testified that akira did nothing wrong. she probably would have had her life ruined by shido for the rest of her life, in that he’d probably go out of his way to destroy her career forever after, and she knew that, but hey, she should have stuck up for akira, right?

then there’s makoto--makoto who did some pretty colossally stupid things re: the yakuza incident, makoto who still had the nerve to love her sister despite her sister’s vaguely-immortal legal practices, makoto who didn’t immediately refuse kobayakawa when he arm-twisted her into doing his dirty work. what if makoto had decided that the letter of recommendation was more important? do you know how badly makoto shot herself in the foot by pissing kobayakawa off? that letter of recommendation might have been the difference between her going to the best college in the country to graduate as a doctor in law, and going to a run-of-the-mill college for a simple undergrad degree. her pissing kobayakawa off probably didn’t make her sister’s life any easier, for that matter; half the reason why sae acts as ruthless as she does is because there’s so much workplace misogyny against women in the justice system, and sae’s little sister being a shit to her principal probably didn’t help at all. so who’s to blame for all this? are we allowed to sympathize with makoto? how about sae? how about kobayakawa--makoto refused to help kobayakawa, and that directly contributes to kobayakawa getting fucked over by shido because kobayakawa wasn’t able to give shido what he wants. am i allowed to feel bad for him?

a lot of the cast of persona 5 doesn’t do anything even morally grey in this respect. the game goes out of its way to inform us that akira did Zero things wrong in trying to defend that woman from shido. ann is nothing but a perfect victim on her end, and is the model of a victim who resisted; she tried to run away, tried to tell kamoshida to stop, even had a good long sympathetic cry in an animated cutscene. haru is the exact same way. (ryuji gets put through the meatgrinder by his old track team for his actions, but if anything, ryuji has the opposite problem--he did everything right, and was punished for it. he’s the situation in which the woman stands up to shido and gets brutally destroyed for it.)

the point that i’m trying to make is that issues of victimhood and abuse get really messy. shido has a lot of dialogue that implies that he groomed akechi to do what he wanted, and there’s dialogue that tells us that akechi willingly volunteered himself for the role. both of those things can be true. we can acknowledge that akechi probably didn’t have much other options in his life besides his half-cocked plan to get revenge on shido. we can acknowledge that in all likelihood, i don’t think akechi ever really thought he’d live for very long; either he dies in poverty or he goes out with a bang against shido. we can acknowledge that simultaneously he probably did have other options that he should have chosen, like working a shitty low-wage job for the rest of his life because of his parentage.

so was akechi forced into this situation or not? if we can answer that question, things will be simpler, won’t it? we can say definitively: akechi had a choice, and therefore it’s his fault. akechi didn’t have a choice, and therefore it’s not his fault.

so which is it? was he forced or not?

the truth about abuse is that the victim always has agency. always. ALWAYS. and because the victim has agency, it is often very difficult to say that the victim was “forced.”

the victim is always making choices for themselves. the victim always feels a modicum of control. the victim is always telling themselves that they could walk if they really wanted to; they’re staying because they’re going to make the situation better; they’re going to work hard and achieve their goals, even. this is the case of people looking at a battered woman and saying, good god, why doesn’t she just leave him? isn’t this a simple issue? is she being literally forced to stay with him? if she’s choosing to stay with him, is she really still a victim or a battered woman?

the truth about abuse is that it relies on pressure, and on limiting options. very rarely does abuse ever force anyone. in yusuke’s situation, there is enormous pressure for him to stay with madarame, both because of emotional ties, yusuke not having legal rights as a minor, yusuke not having the financial means to support himself, and simply the career prestige of having been madarame’s student--but is yusuke being forced to stay with madarame? arguably no. for the woman who accused akira, there’s pressure to do as shido says. but she has the option to refuse shido only in technicality, in the same way that someone being mugged technically has the option not to hand their wallet over, and consequently get shanked or shot.

as for akechi, there’s a lot of pressure to comply with shido, even when akechi feels like he’s doing it willingly, and even when akechi IS doing it willingly. there’s a lot of pressure to do terrible things such as murder, that akechi could technically say no to. akechi retains agency throughout his entire story, even when his agency is highly pressured to operate in ways that serve only shido’s benefit.

this is because akechi is a far more realistic victim than most victims of abuse in most media. he retains agency. and sometimes having agency means that you are highly pressured to do bad things.

this is the other thing about the “perfect victim myth”--a lot of it relies on arguing, “well, the victim is a victim because they had no other options.” that is to say, someone can only be a victim if it’s clearly demonstrable that they had no agency whatsoever in the situation. and this is simply not true. not of real life victims, and it shouldn’t be so for fictional victims.

and, not to mention, sometimes having agency means that you just straight-up do bad things because you’re coping badly. i mentioned earlier that i don’t think akechi intended to live very long, and that comes primarily from his willingness to sacrifice himself the instant he decides not to go through with his plan to kill shido. for a lot of kids in shitty situations growing up, it’s very difficult to see yourself growing up and having a fulfilling, happy future as an adult. if you’re not intending to live very long, why wouldn’t you consider all bets off? it’s not like you’re getting through this alive.

the other unfortunate fact of victims retaining agency is that they don’t always use it well, especially when they’ve been thru some shit, and this is almost always used against the victim to say, “well, you should have done this instead.” the entire thing smacks of ways to gatekeep “victimhood”--this magical status that lifts someone above criticism, above having flaws, and above the unfortunate status of being a human being. it’s a way of saying that certain characters are not allowed a right to their own pain because they didn’t fulfill certain criteria. it’s also a way of dehumanization, and avoiding the fact that real life is complex, and that doing good, doing bad, and even just doing living with other people is messy and often painful even at its best.

when someone acts out and makes bad decisions because they’ve been through a terrible situation or are in a bad headspace, obviously this does not excuse their actions, but it is possible to not excuse their actions and understand that people do not always cope well. coping is not always a cute waifish girl in an indie road trip movie. coping is not always a cute waifish girl crying in a bathtub. sometimes coping is being in such a headspace that you’re A-Okay with being murdered by your cognitive double because you don’t have anything else to live for. sometimes coping is latching on to the idea that if you just get revenge on the person who did this to you, maybe then you’ll be okay.

in the myths, the perfect victim is never responsible. the perfect victim is never an active player in their own lives. the perfect victim always copes well, according to the script, and never inconveniences anyone else. the perfect victim is always a heartwarming and uplifting story for other folks to feel good about. the perfect victim is, in a lot of ways, neatly packaged, bundled up, sanitized, and further dehumanized by removing their flaws.

i strongly do not recommend subscribing to the perfect victim myth. it benefits almost nobody, except for abusers who get to claim they didn’t abuse anyone because their victim didn’t fit the perfect victim model.

ultimately, my point is that i understand if akechi is not your cup of tea. lots of characters are not my cup of tea. i will never be a die-hard fan of, say, hifumi togo. i like her well enough, but she’s not for me. you can dislike akechi!! nobody said you have to like him!!!

but i strongly dislike when people bring morality, victimhood, and rhetoric of abuse into justifying why they don’t like akechi. but when you start talking about the reasons why akechi is the absolute worst and nobody should be allowed to like him because of reasons you’ve pulled out of the perfect victim fallacy, you’re doing a disservice to literally everyone everywhere who’s ever been in an abusive situation. no, not even that--you’re doing a disservice to everyone everywhere who’s ever suffered pain because of what someone else did to them. you become part of the rhetoric that invalidates people’s suffering and keeps us thinking of victimhood/abuse/trauma as a black and white issue.

and ultimately you’re doing a disservice to yourself, because one day, someone will hurt you, and you’ll believe that you don’t deserve to feel bad about it because you weren’t the perfect victim.

do yourself a favor and quit it.

#meta #mine #tw abuse #tw suicide #tw just general rough conversation about trauma #i should probably mention that there's maybe no anti-akechi fan who will really read this #but it was cathartic for me to write at the very least

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toxicpineapple · 5 years ago

Note

Please give me your amami essay, I'd like to know the TEA! I was also gonna ask for the mastermind essay, but honestly I REALLY wanna hear your thoughts on his characterization (and your thoughts on his shitty fanon characterization)

HOOO BOY OKAY. this is good, it gives me an excuse to procrastinate on reading that new amasai fic on the latest feed. (note that i REALLY WANT TO READ IT, i’m just anticipating commenting and tbh the spoons,,, i lack them. it’s okay though i’ll get over it.)

so!!! let’s start with general attitude, because i think that amami’s is really unique. he’s a subversive character. in general i feel like that was the biggest goal with his character design and personality combination-- he looks like a total playboy, kaede even comments as much moooore than once. but he’s the absolute opposite. i’ll rant about that in a bit. i’ve already gone off on a tangent and i said i was gonna talk about attitude.

amami is laid back, but not to the point of complacency. y’know what i mean? like, he’s relaxed, but he’s on his guard, too. his speaking style is pretty casual (typically he’ll greet people with a “hey,” whenever he’s slightly uncomfortable he’ll probably say “haha”... this isn’t necessarily a canon thing but i like it when people have him talking in sentence fragments. ex. “forgot to grab my jacket” or “wanted to get a snack” sort of thing) and that’s just,,, the type of person he is. he’s casual. it’s remarkable considering how wealthy amami is-- though bear in mind, he still IS wealthy, so there are bound to be things he doesn’t understand about people-- that he can be so normal and like, down to earth, in a way. when people mess around with him he’ll probably just laugh it off.

to cite a fic i read once that had REALLY phenomenal characterisation, imo, ouma ends up dumping a bucket of water on amami’s head (on accident; there are some semantics and i won’t get into it but again the fic is really good and funny and you should totally read it) and amami just squeezes out his shirt and makes a couple cracks before walking away. (sorry this isn’t meant to be a “dumping love on fics” post but GOD that fic is hysterical.) he’s an enabler too, at least i think so-- remember that anthology chapter where kaede, shuichi, and kaito are trying to catch ouma and kaito sets an “amami trap” to stop him? all ouma has to do is flutter his eyelashes and go “pleeeaaase let me go amam~niichan!” and then he just. he does. what a fucking doormat i can’t believe him.

he’s like that though. i feel like big brother stuff is kind of his weakness. (and not in a kinky way alright i will destroy you. he might make a joke about having a sister complex in one of his ftes but he DOESNT that joke was just tasteless COME ON RANTARO WHFKLDSJFK) which brings me to his whole older brother thing, because like,,, YEAH. guy grew up with twelve younger sisters!!! and he remarked in his ftes with shuichi that they’re mostly step sisters, which means he just.... has a nurturing personality. i mean amami is somewhat conservative (if you try to come on to him during salmon mode you will be brutally rebuffed; amami tells u to keep your horny thoughts to yourself, though you shouldn’t be ashamed of having them) so i imagine he’s not the biggest fan of his father’s tendencies-- not that i don’t NECESSARILY interpret his father’s behaviour as him sleeping around.... it’s possible he just likes children and deliberately marries women who already have kids so he can take them... i mean it’s exceedingly decent to keep considering ur step children to be your children after a divorce so i have a hard time reconciling this common image of rantaro’s dad as some kind of player figure with the impression i got of him in my head but that’s just my daddy issues coming into play again so ignore me-- and yet he still considers all his sisters to be his sisters.

not to mention he feels a great deal of like, responsibility, when it comes to taking care of them. i find it impossible to believe that all the losses were his fault. you could ARGUE that the one he tells you about with his younger sister was to be blamed on him? but i mean, amami is a child. he didn’t even know his sister was following him out. sure he blames himself for it but there’s no real good way to blame him just considering that,,, he’s a kid. and he was so young-- he was obviously so young-- when it happened. so like, not to be all Good and Bad on you, but i do feel that amami is fundamentally a good reason. and you SEE that too, in the killing game. i’m certain he was on the fence about trusting that note he woke up with. would you trust it? he had no memory whatsoever of writing it, all he had were the words “ultimate hunt” and a map of the school to guide his way. i imagine he wasn’t even sure if he should do what the note said. but then ryoma started talking about sacrificing himself for everyone else, and rantaro probably thought, “well... if i have a way to get us out of here, even if it doesn’t work, i can’t just let ryoma sacrifice himself without having tried.”

rantaro is self-reliant too, i think. in the talent development plan mukuro remarks that she noticed he was injured a good number of times, but never said anything about it because she felt like he was trying to keep it under wraps. (note: good idea for an amami and mukuro friendship fic. must write. someone remind me.) i think amami kind of feels isolated from his classmates? either because he has these perceived notions of like, independence and whatever, not burdening anybody else with his problems (honestly not to go chabashira on main but wtf men ask for help c’mon i promise if you find a person who’s worth being in ur life they won’t treat you like shit for feeling ur feelings) or just because he’s not around a lot. i think amami is the type of person to invalidate his own problems a lot, or at least downplay them to others. he blames himself for all his sisters going missing, took the responsibility to find them all. you know the blow that’s going to be to his education? traveling around the world looking for twelve different people? and he plans to keep doing that!!! forever!!! ugh ;-; poor babey. but anyway i feel like he doesn’t want to tell anybody about his problems because he feels like it’s his thing to deal with.

i also believe that rantaro is a bit prideful. i mean, anyone can be prideful under the correct circumstances, and in fact there is a great deal of pride that simply isn’t addressed by the fandom in analysing characters and that makes me really sad because pride is such a SEXY character flaw but i’ll leave that alone for now. he hates being told to give up on what he’s doing. i mean everyone in his life has been telling him to stop looking for his sisters. that’s got to suck, but also, DAMN look at what his reaction was. this utter refusal to open up to anybody. shuichi’s ftes with him are spent pretty much just trying to get amami to stop squirreling around and actually TALK to him. amami asks shuichi at one point if he has any siblings and when the response is negative, amami immediately assumes that shuichi wouldn’t understand, would tell him to quit. just like everyone else.

(i mean, even with kiyo and mukuro, whose circumstances mirror his almost painfully at least in willingness to sacrifice stuff for their siblings, he doesn’t tell them what he’s doing, just that he’s doing it for his sister-- singular-- and that he would do anything for her. kiyo and mukuro!! out of ANYBODY, they would understand. in tdp they DO talk about it-- kiyo encourages him to keep searching-- as his friend...... fuck amaguji is such a good ship even if the implications of kiyo saying he wants to meet rantaro’s sister after he finds her bc she must be suuuuch a good person if he’s doing all this for her are uhhh not great-- and mukuro immediately understands when he says it’s to do with his younger sister. like, full stop. she just goes “okay” and goes serious. all at once. damn rantaro, mukuro, and kiyo really do be a power trio huh. i need to write more fic about them i miss them.)

this is more into baseless conjecture so take this as you will, but i also think rantaro is kind of,,, easily distracted lmao. he mentions helping out a village with a disease-- been a while since i’ve seen his ftes, sorry for any inconsistencies-- among other shit and like... bro what are you DOING. you have sisters to find. and he can’t be getting injured all the time, getting wrapped up with gang violence and all that, looking for people who were lost traveling. i mean sure, you could say they went all over the world and got wrapped up in all sorts of mess, but more likely they stayed in roughly the same area, waiting for him to come back. and also? i have a hard time believing his sisters were lost in these remote forest places people always put them. COME ON, who the fuck goes to some village for a vacation? a RICH person no less. i’m on another tangent. sorry. but yeah, i love the people who write rantaro as an absolute airhead. i headcanon that he has no way of judging the passing of time and thus is the absolute worst in the bathroom bc he sits there for twenty minutes thinking about the universe and then walks out like “:) ok ready to go” like wtf are you even doing there stupid akljdf anyway.

i think rantaro is softhearted and thoughtful. in his ftes with kaede he demonstrates an ability to look past what people show at surface level-- you can ask him about miu, kiibo, or kiyo and he’ll give u Good Fucking Insight(tm)-- and analyse their intentions more closely. and i mean this is just from a couple day’s interaction. he’s down to earth for sure, understanding when people are intimidated but also caring and observant. (his “talk about a first impression” line is so fuckaindgf.... good for his characterisation. i love romantic amamatsu but he so clearly takes an older brother role in those ftes, he’s really such a sweetheart,,,, hnadhfkj ;w;) rantaro is just. he’s patient with people. and selfless and kind. idk it’s all the good stuff. warm smiles and indulgence. all the way. probably lets kokichi steal his lunch.

THAT BEING SAID: i think rantaro also has a very serious streak. he doesn’t show it a lot but there are moments. he’s self-sacrificing-- i mean, obviously. he was the ultimate survivor, after all. some people hc that he got there by killing, or maybe everyone else in his game died but one person, but bro that doesn’t make any sense???? no. what happened was there were probably like three people left, and monokuma was like “one has to be sacrificed” and rantaro thought, welp. it’ll be me then. and i wouldn’t say the choice would be immediate because rantaro DOES has self preservation instincts-- he’s only human-- but i don’t think he’d have let anybody else make that decision. i think ultimately he would try to protect other people.

he can be scarily confrontational too. i do believe he’d usually only do it in the defense of others-- like, his base instinct is to protect. i read a fic once (oumami, unfortunately) where ouma was committing crimes and went to hide behind rantaro and rantaro instinctively moved to protect him, and that’s.... that’s good characterisation. point one to the oumami stans, point zero to me. motherfucker. (love u oumami stans, it’s just not my thing.) i really like it in fics when he’s stern, lecturing people for hurting other people, but i also think rantaro is too understanding to be truly unforgiving. like if two people got into an argument and one came out of it more hurt than the other, i don’t believe that amami would be unsympathetic to the less hurt one. i think he’s mature enough to take a look at the situation and go, well, okay.

i think he’d be TERRIFYING when angry. he’s patient, y’know? so it takes a lot to get him to that point. he’s really, ah, accommodating of people. puts up with a lot of bs kind of thing. but i imagine the best way to get him to snap is by hurting someone he cares about. and at that point: ur fucked. i’ve never written it before because i’m terrified of what i’d do with that kind of power but.... imagine the shuichi whump. holy god.

i’m NOT here to talk about shuichi whump (though i’m down to do that any time of day believe me) so i’m gonna like. shhhhiiiiiiffft.

i project on characters a lot so at this point it’s difficult to distinguish if some of my characterisation things are like, actually characterisation things? or just me venting, so like, take nothing i say as canon, but also,,, akdsjf we love a man who bottles up his emotions.

because rantaro just doesn’t have the TIME to be crying all over the place. he was probably a total wreck when he lost his first sister. and his second. and maybe even his third. but then he started to gather his composure, more and more. because if there’s anything that rantaro has in excess, it’s composure. the more losses he suffers the more of a shield he builds up. and the self hatred and the guilt and the blame and the responsibility are piling up and up and up, but god he hates it when other people see him sad, because he needs to be the strong one, he can’t just pile that up on other people. that’s not their weight to carry, and besides, he’s the older brother, he should be able to deal with his own problems. he’d just be burdening the people he cares about by letting them see his demons.

and then he doesn’t have any coping mechanisms because he never lets himself feel enough to cope, and when people get close enough to actually CARE about him, when people notice he’s upset or struggling and offer him help, he doesn’t know how to deal with it-- and god he hates lashing out at people but it’s so much easier to deal with the consequences of being mean than the consequences of breaking down. only conflict is scary when he’s one of the causes so he needs time to recover, and well, what better way to do that than to get on a plane or a boat and go look for his sisters? after all he’s wasting time whenever he’s just sitting around, they’re still out there and he needs to find them, so might as well just keep pushing himself to the limits, because it’s his fault they’re lost anyway...

something mukuro said to rantaro in the talent development plan stuck in my brain. like, initially it’s just a funny and cute interaction (rantaro even blushes and a blushing rantaro is a GOOD FUCKING RANTARO) but when i thought about it more i was like.... huh. hm. angst ideas. mukuro makes a joke about rantaro going over to her stand at the festival to flirt with her-- i think that’s the context, i know it’s play-boy related-- and rantaro assures her (as he always does) that he’s not that kind of guy, and mukuro agrees, saying she was just pulling his leg and that he seems like the kind of person who gets dumped because he doesn’t show his emotions enough. rantaro laughs, blushes, and says “haha, not touching that one,” and akdjfnnnnnn god mukuro you’re so blunt i love you fkdjf but wow. i usually have rantaro as not having dated anyone, just because i feel like he kind of hyperfocuses on finding his sisters? and given that he’s like sixteen (seventeen at the MOST) there’s not much of a timeline for when his sisters got lost. in my fic search i had to cram all the losses into a four-year period and damn that was rough. anyway i just don’t think he’d really prioritise romance. but that reaction implies that that’s EXACTLY his experience with romance, which makes a bit of sense because mukuro is ridiculously sharp, and also it’s,, it’s just sad idk poor rantaro. getting dumped because he’s like the emotional equivalent of a doorknob when it comes to his own feelings.

i do think rantaro is a bit cowardly. not in the sense that he’d shy away from danger-- i think he’d RUSH INTO IT HEAD FIRST because he’s a man or whatever, i know he respects women but he does seem to hold some of those very stereotypically masculine ideals of constantly protecting those around him, which is like.... ok toxic masculinity mcgee can u and kaito stop throwing hands every time u see each other ty-- but more in the sense that he avoids,,, confrontation. emotional confrontation just ain’t his thing. and i think he’d rather run away from it or otherwise find some way of ignoring it than try to address his problems.

he would, with that in mind, probably try to associate with people who don’t push the matter. kiyo and mukuro, for example. they both have a fair amount of baggage themselves so they’d probably be respectful. ryoma is lowkey enough that he just, he wouldn’t bring that shit up, that’s uncool. i also think rantaro would get along REALLY WELL with kaito, and i actually don’t think kaito would pull his sidekick stuff with him? just because in a way they’re kind of kindred spirits, and i think kaito would see an ally in rantaro before seeing someone to try to nurture, so they’d probably have some kind of a truce like, if you don’t force me to be vulnerable, i won’t force you. one of the reasons why i love amamota so much is because it involves the two of them growing to care about each other beyond that sort of unhealthy camaraderie and breaking down each other’s barriers and i just..... hhnnfhhdkfj they could be so good for each other but nobody wants to talk about thatjslfkj

you weren’t asking for my amamota mess lmao sorry anon i get sidetracked SO easily. but yeah, amami gravitates towards people who wouldn’t try to get him to be more honest with himself. and i honestly think the v3 cast would be pretty good about that overall, except for shuichi who is a detective and has a habit of sticking his nose in places it shouldn’t be, but i see no reason to write that out because amami’s ftes already display that beautifully. (well, that’s a lie, i’m absolutely plotting out a slowburn in my head already that involves shuichi stripping down his walls one by one, but forget about all of that rn we don’t need to talk about why amasaimota is my ot3.) also he is softer on childish people like ouma and himiko. ain’t nobody wants to TALK TO ME about how brilliant it would be if rantaro and hiyoko were friends because hiyoko has such problems in that department and he would take one look at her and go hm. i’m adopting her. and he’s so fucking patient and nice and she’d lose the will to make fun of him and i have to do ALL THE GODDAMN WORK AROUND HERE but it’s fine. at least i get to write it.

i’ve described the fundamentals of his characterisation pretty well by now i think. i have some throwaway headcanons, like uhh,,

he’s claustrophobic

plays the guitar and the ukulele

he prefers warm weather and perishes in the cold

high pain tolerance

he’s a Good Cook

doesn’t like sex jokes (they make him uncomfortable)

asexual (i do like a good demisexual hc at all times of day tho)

master of piggyback rides

does his own piercings

impulsive as hell

gets lost easily but can always find his way back

has a lot of scars from travels

hands are rough and calloused (again from travels)

morning person

smells like evergreen (you know i had to, you know i did)

Radiates Heat Like A Fucking Toaster Oven

good hugs

hates tying his shoelaces

likes being the big spoon :)

has a tongue piercing

i said “some throwaway headcanons” but i ended up listing way more than i mean to. i’ll make a separate list of my rantaro headcanons someday and talk about them all in detail but for now, uh, there’s that.

SO AS FOR THE RANTARO CHARACTERISATIONS I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE:

god where to fucking begin. actually i know exactly where to begin. it’s my least favourite one just because, like i said at the very beginning, rantaro is a subversive character. i mean i think he’s kind of a low hanging fruit when it comes to that. there are plenty of other subversive characters in the dr series but rantaro is like that. you expect a flirt and u get,,, a sweetheart. but then some people (usually the ones who ship him with female characters exclusively though i will see it on occasion in an amasai or oumami fic) decide to throw that out the window and make him a total playboy!! and listen, i have no problem with people who are a little flirty. we’re kids!! flirt ur heart out!!! and hey, that’s not what this is about but y’know what? so long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual, then yeah!! exercise your sexual freedom and sleep with whoever you want to!!! i don’t think there’s anything wrong with messing around a little, dating who u wanna and experimenting with ur tastes and preferences. if rantaro WAS a playboy, then there would be nothing wrong with that. i would love him just the same because he’s such a fundamentally GOOD character.

except that.... he’s.......... NOT. you slaughter one of the biggest aspects of his character by throwing away what matters to him and making him some hunky-deep-voice-dreamboat dude meant to sweep kaede/tsumugi/whomsteverthefuck off her feet. rantaro is one of those characters where he’s so blatantly not that kind of person, and it’s like. it’s an affront, almost, to portray him that way? and i do believe you should have the freedom to write what you want, since we’re in that age (aside from romanticised pedophilia and incest; that shit ain’t cute, i say this often but pro-ship DNI) where u should be able to take some liberties, but it’s just. hnnn. it’s so frustrating. rantaro does not know how to smolder! if he DID smolder, he wouldn’t even realise he was doing it. he doesn’t have people lying at his feet, okay? he’s too flaky for that. i wouldn’t say he’s unreliable but he definitely ain’t at school as much as he should be.

another one that i hate: st-stalker? what the fuck? that is not sexy that is creepy and weird?

another another one that i hate: yandere? what the FUCK??? that is not sexy that is glorified ABUSE???? the yandere trope is AWFUL bc you’re taking a controlling relationship and turning it into a fetish. NO. if he limits ur contact with other people, if he follows u everywhere, if he threatens ur loved ones, if he tries to control you, ladies and gents and nonbinaries, he’s not a yandere, he’s an abuser and you need a fucking restraining order. actually, people of ANY gender or sex can perpetuate this behaviour and IT IS NOT CUTE. I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT BOUNDARIES U SET IN PLACE, IF YOUR FREEDOM IS BEING RESTRICTED THAT IS ABUSE.

hate it when people make rantaro violent. hate it when people make rantaro a murderer. hate it when people make rantaro controlling. hate it when people make rantaro overtly sexual. some kind of sultry deep voice dominant kind of figure. dude, what the fuck? i don’t,, want to make any public comments about sex positions because i think that’s kind of Strange to just talk about on a post, but i do think that the way people portray him for their smuts is,,, idk it’s weird. i’m not gonna kinkshame u but like. :eyes:

i will however accept rantaro as a thrillseeker, or a highstrung rich boy, or a total space cadet, or a himbo, or a cryptid. these are all very good interpretations of the Mans. just, like. be wary of making him two dimensional. a good character is multifaceted. if you can take a trait that clashes with all of these and SELL ME ON IT, i will buy it. if u give me good justifications, or even just good writing?? then i will accept it.

the long and the short of it is, anon, he’s my favourite so i think about him a lot. i love writing rantaro. he’s just, he’s a Guy. y’know? He’s A Good Dude, If You’ll Give Him A Shot. :) we don’t get to see very much of him but i think that there’s plenty of material if you overanalyse everything, which, as you probably all know by now,,,, i absolutely do.

thank you for the ask, this was a delight to spend an hour talking about.

#amami rantaro #rantaro amami #abuse mention #long post

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