#like…my mother doesn’t really wear makeup. aside from lipstick.

[samyelbanette]

Sometimes I wish I knew more about skincare and makeup stuff

#like…my mother doesn’t really wear makeup. aside from lipstick. #and I didn’t have any female friends growing up #so there was nobody to teach me these things #i actually wasn’t allowed to start wearing makeup until like….my later years of high school? #I’ll see 12 year olds now with all this stuff on their face #and I’m like: your mom let you do that?? #and then I realize. oh other people weren’t raised that way #like. i just learned very recently that other people put foundation on with a brush instead of their fingers #i would have no idea how to do that #I’ve *sort of* learned how to to eyeliner through trial and error #but I only wear it on special occasions like concerts #because it’s so hard!! I end up having to take it off and reapply it twice because I fucked it up the first time

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.42--Episodes 20-21

I have watched through S4E21; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for those further behind than I am.

—Zelena weaponizing her pregnancy is infuriating to me. But she knows what she’s doing. She’s basically given herself plot armor, because what hero would kill a villain at the cost of her unborn child?

—I get that the Apprentice felt like he had to make it up to Lilith somehow, but maybe telling a person who is literally full of darkness who to seek revenge on isn’t the best idea?

—Alright, so the Sorcerer exists. One small step for me. But I bet he’s never actually gonna show his beardy face.

—Emma and Regina going on a roadtrip in Emma’s semi-ugly little bug is awesome.

—I love how Rumple has just stopped pretending to be plotting in secret. He’s chilling, with the Author, in Granny’s in plain sight.

—Also, I love it when somebody is sitting in a booth at Granny’s and somebody else squishes them into the wall to sit down in the same booth. Hilarious.

—I can only assume Robin thought having another baby would fix what was off between him and Marian, because he obviously chose obligation over love this time and if he wasn’t shooting for a baby what would the point be?

—That bit where Belle got her heart back kills me. Rumple gave it to her (which, duh, is symbolic of him returning her metaphorical/figurative heart to her) (or maybe not really, cause I’m not sure I believe he’s just gonna move out of the way like that), but he also told Will Scarlett to take care of her heart. That’s quality writing. Though, I really do want him to have actually stepped aside, because otherwise a perfectly lovely moment has no meaning.

—Bringing Zelena back to Storybrooke is one of the worst ideas Regina has ever had.

—And bringing Lilith back wasn’t much smarter on Emma’s part. This girl is full of darkness, is a chronic liar, and makes very bad choices—and oh yeah, she has a vendetta against Emma’s parents! She wants to destroy all of the good things in Emma’s life! That can’t possibly end badly!

—Ugh, Cora. She’s already dead, can’t she just be gone? I 10/10 hate her. Very bad mother, very bad person.

—Maleficent’s hair is pretty. And although I like her makeup better when she’s not wearing that red lipstick, I do like that her lipstick and her nail polish match.

—Cruella got buried in a plain wooden box! Just what a dog-killer deserves. (And, yes, I have hated her more since her origin episode, because they hadn’t really said if she was a dog-killer in this show before then.) She can rot.

—I adore how salty Regina is now. She’s got a pretty dry sense of humor, but it works, and it plays pretty well off of Emma.

—I have a love-hate relationship with how the Author doesn’t care about the actual stories, he just cares about whether or not he gets to write. And the way he sees people as their story elements I just flat-out love.

—The new book is stunning. But make no mistake, I don’t want every villain to win. Just Rumple, Regina, and Maleficent. And I also don’t want it at the heroes’ expense.

—I’m touched by how proud Maleficent is of her dragon daughter. But their stories are both incredibly sad. Possibly some of the most tragic material in the entire show.

—I don’t really want Emma to be a badguy, and it looks like it won’t happen—but it would be so cool if Emma was the dark magic lady and it was Regina who had to save her.

—Regina taking away her own ability to have kids to keep her mom from having power over her is terribly depressing. (I don’t believe for half a second that Cora was actually trying to do Regina a favor.) She didn’t know she wanted to be a mom yet. And it makes what Zelena did even worse. But Regina does have Henry, and probably also Roland now that she and Robin are back together, so she got to be a mother anyway.

—Seeing Emma reconcile with her parents did my heart some good. It’s kinda weird how she was more angry with Snow than she was with David—but come to think of it, David has consistently had a bit of a darker streak than Snow, so maybe it wasn’t quite as huge of a shock.

—Longer hair is incredibly fetching on Regina.

—Very cool that Rumple is not dead. I wouldn’t care about the Dark One—actually, I would hate his guts—if Rumple wasn’t part of him anymore. Although now I live in fear that it’s still gonna happen.

—Taking blood from Lilith was genius. Regina has a very good brain.

#once upon a time #ouat #zelena #the Apprentice #the Sorcerer #lilith #Emma swan #regina mills #maleficent #Robin Hood #rumplestiltskin #belle #Will Scarlett #the Author #Cora mills #cruella de vil #martianbugsbunny reviews

[acefms]

🍑

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?

Ace: It depends on the day, really, but for the most part he doesn’t care that much so long as he’s clean. He likes to keep it very basic. You’ll never see him clean shaven, he will always be sporting a decent amount of stubble. Pulls off the messy look like no other. A hoodie/sweatshirt and a funky pair of socks and he’s good to go (and trouser and shoes, obviously.)

Atlas: He has a very simple self-care routine which consists of shower gel, a simple face wash and moisturiser. Tends to let his facial hair grow until it starts to feel uncomfortable for him, then he will shave. His wardrobe is fairly basic, and he doesn’t fuss over what to wear. Most of his outfits tend to look the same. He always smells good, though.

August: She spends a decent amount of time on her appearance/personal grooming. She has a religious self-care routine, and likes to take good care of her skin and natural curly hair. Fashion is also something she prides herself on, and she greatly enjoys the process of putting a look together.

Kyro: He spends a good deal of time on his appearance/grooming. He likes to look good, it boosts his moral. More so now than ever that he has somewhat of a following. Attention and detail goes into even the most casual of looks, down to something as simple as the scent that he wears. He’s definitely well put together.

Luna: She spends a lot of time on her clothing, despite the fact that she can often look like she hasn’t tried at all, but that’s just her style. Aside from that, there isn’t too much effort other than daily showers. Make up at most is simply some mascara and lip balm, and occasionally some smudged eyeliner. Though she does always put a loose curl in her hair and paints her nails once a week.

Sofia: It greatly depends on her mood. When Sofia is stressed, she is more likely to look pristine. It was instilled in her at a very young age that appearances were of the upmost importance, and her mother would often freak if there was so much as a hair out of place. When Sofia is stressed, she often reverts back to that. It’s when she’s more carefree that you’ll see little wisps of hair and slightly smudged lipstick. She does take a great deal of pride in her appearance when she’s outside of work, and enjoys putting together nice outfits and looks. She most definitely has a weekly pamper routine were she fits in all necessary grooming.

#memes | answers. #hc | ace. #hc | atlas. #hc | august. #hc | kyro. #hc | luna. #hc | sofia.

[handsmotif]

The Queercoding of Pinky and the Brain

This originally was just me infodumping to my friends on discord, but I decided it might be interesting to some people on here, so I polished it up and made it an actual essay lmao

To start, we’re going to break this into 2 sections -- the relationship between the mice, and Pinky’s relationship with gender, because queercoding doesn’t just mean gay!

For a 90′s show, Pinky and the Brain (and its mother show, Animaniacs) was very progressive for its time! But there were still lots of things that they couldn’t slip by censors, and thus, that’s where we have to read between the lines. And that is something I wanted to clarify here before we dive in, the actual meaning of queercoding. It’s NOT the same as queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is when the people producing certain media purposefully dangle the possibility of queer representation to lure in audiences (most prominent examples are BBC Sherlock, Riverdale, and Supernatural I GUESS? who knows abt that last one anymore), but never follow through, purely for profit. Queercoding is when media producers WANT to write in queer representation, but can’t, usually because the censors won’t let them. So, they must resort to subtext. (example: the policemen from Gravity Falls) It could also be unintentional, simply assigning certain characteristics associated with the LGBT community to characters. (example: Bugs Bunny, many Disney villains) Either way, it heavily relies on the audience picking up subtext, but whether it’s malicious or not varies, depending on the media. Bugs Bunny is an example of positive accidental queercoding, while a lot of Disney villains are negative examples.

Now, to actually discuss the gay little mice! Pinky and the Brain, whether it be intentional or not (based off comments from Maurice LaMarche, Rob Paulsen, and Tom Ruegger, signs strongly point to intentional, but it’s never been explicitly confirmed), is an example of positive queercoding.

There are many moments that I could pick out to discuss here, but we’ll start with some VERY on the nose gay metaphors. 

Remember Romy? If you don’t, that’s their actual biological son! Romy came about due to a cloning accident, where their DNA got combined and spat him out. 

There’s SO many things I could say about Romy. Every appearance he makes has an overarching gay metaphor as the plot. His first appearance in the episode Brinky (yeah it’s literally titled their ship name), it deals with his dads (WHICH I ALSO WANT TO POINT OUT, he DOES call them both dad, and they do both call him their son) disapproving of the fact that he wants to leave home and not follow in their footsteps of taking over the world. Brain even goes as far as disowning him whenever he tells him, which is certainly something a lot of queer people can unfortunately relate to. Also seen a lot in this episode is Pinky and Brain arguing even more than a married couple than usual, which pushes Romy away even further. Later, when Romy eventually does leave, and Brain starts to regret chasing him away, he tries desperately to reach out to him, but Romy doesn’t want anything to do with him. They end up tracking him down to an apartment building, where Romy is now living with his human girlfriend. When questioned about their relationship, the girlfriend, named Bunny, goes off on a tangent about how people shouldn’t judge others based on labels or relationships (hello?), and that Brain needs to be more tolerant. Brain apologizes and Romy forgives him. Happy ending.

Romy’s only other appearance is in the comics. Essentially, the plot of this one is that Brain wants to become the president of the local high school’s PTA, but he needs Romy’s help to make it look like he has a normal home life. He also enlists the help of Billie, the obligatory Woman introduced to make sure Brain doesn’t look as gay as he actually is, that he has a crush on. She pretends to be his girlfriend, and Pinky pretends to be Romy’s uncle, while they make up the story that Romy’s actual mother was lost at sea. Because if the organization found out that Brain has a son with a MAN??? THINK of the controversy! Anyway, the plan works, and Brain actually manages to get elected as president. Throughout this though, Pinky gets WEIRDLY jealous that Brain keeps brushing him aside for Billie. To the point where during Brain’s inauguration, Pinky actually dresses up as the wife/mother lost at sea and storms into the room.

[ID: Comic panels of Pinky, Brain, and Romy on stage at the inauguration ceremony. Pinky busts into room wearing drag, saying, “Yoo hoo! I’m back from years lost at sea to be with my son and ungrateful husband! Narf!” He then hugs Romy, while glaring at Brain. He goes on to say, “I’ll stand by your side, even though you left me behind!” The people in the audience begin to question this, saying, “Oh great fuzzy bangs!”, “What’d she say?!”, “He deserted her to be with that other woman!”, “What kind of monster is he?!”. Brain then rips off Pinky’s wig and says, “This isn’t my wife! This isn’t even a woman! It’s my roommate, Pinky.” Pinky replies, “Well, yes... But Romy really is my son! Poit!” And Brain responds, “N-Nonsense! He’s my son!” More people in the audience angrily speak up, saying, “What’s that?”, “He lives with a guy who likes to dress up in women’s clothing and the both claim to be that kid’s father!”, “Grumble! Mutter!” /END ID]

Needless to say, this doesn’t end well for them. What we can conclude from this is that homophobia exists in the Pinky and the Brain universe, and our characters are directly affected by it.

Moving on, And-There-Was-Only-One-Bed is a pretty common occurrence with these two. Their cage is big, they have plenty of room for two beds, but? They choose to sleep together? Even in some times where this has been inconsistent and they DO have separate beds, they’re always RIGHT next to each other. (what if we put our minecraft beds together ❤😳)

I would like to mention the episode, You’ll Never Eat Food Pellets In This Town Again! This episode is interesting to say the least. Deals with a lot of the meta of the show. Anyway. In this episode, Brain has a nightmare that he’s in a loveless marriage with Billie. You know, the woman he’s supposed to have a crush on. In the end, he wakes up from the nightmare in the same bed as Pinky.

Speaking of female love interests, Pinky is seen having multiple relationships with characters of different species. Any time this is brought up by Brain, Pinky counters with Brain being too intolerant. An honorable mention with this is in Wakko’s Wish, when Pinky is with Pharfignewton, and Brain’s constant pestering about their relationship could be read as jealousy. Pinky needs a mousy date, after all!

Something else I would like to mention is in one episode (I forget what it’s called, I’ll try to look it up later and edit this), Brain is applying for a job. The employer asks Brain if he’s married, and Brain hesitates before saying he “has a roommate,” but that he’s occupied with his own things, which then cuts to a shot of Pinky applying lipstick.

Leading into part two of this essay, Pinky’s relationship with gender! Pinky has always been very gender nonconforming, and loves to wear dresses, do his makeup, and make himself look pretty. For the most part, this is played pretty straight, and not as a gag, like a lot of shows tend to do! It’s just a casual fact about him that he likes to present femininely sometimes.

This does play into their taking over the world plans pretty often, where Pinky wears drag, usually either to sneak into somewhere. Like in one of their earliest appearances on Animaniacs, Noah’s Lark, where they pose as a couple to board Noah’s, and I quote, “love boat.” After boarding, Noah says to himself, “Who am I to judge?” Okay. Yeah. Alright. Anyway.

I actually had less to say on this than I thought I did, but I wanted to make sure to emphasize that Pinky at the very least is coded as being Not Quite Cis, and that he’s played a key part in helping a lot of people watching the show figure out that they’re also Not Quite Cis. 

Wrapping this up because I’m hungry, but I want to throw in some more honorable mentions that I really do not see any type of cishet explanations for:

They literally go on a romantic date at a very fancy restaurant in Brain’s Night Off. This is played extremely casually, and the only remark from anyone that they receive is that they are “much smaller than the usual clients.”

Pinky, on at least one occasion, daydreams about him and Brain being a married couple, and wanting to be a housewife (the original malewife ❤)

There’s an issue in the comics where Pinky has a crush on another male mouse, and when Brain gets annoyed, Pinky reassures him that he thinks Brain is cute and quite the catch too

Brain attempting to kiss Pinky in the reboot??????

Brain actually did conquer the world once in the Halloween special, because Pinky made a deal with the devil for it, and thus Pinky got sent to hell! Brain actually went to hell and gave up the world to bring him back

Brain was extremely close to conquering the world once more in the Christmas special, but after reading what Pinky’s feelings for him were (nothing romantic, just Pinky basically just praising Brain for being so hardworking and an amazing mouse, and lamenting that he never gets anything for it), he gets so emotional that he sabotages himself and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas instead

TLDR; these mice are very queer and need therapy, and are probably the most heavily queercoded characters that I can think of in children’s media.

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #patb #brinky #FLOPS ON THE FLOOR this took a long time to write

[ktheist]

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’? 

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

x

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say. 

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

x

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?! 

x

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

x

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.”  yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile. 

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner. 

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes. 

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

x

 dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

x

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm. 

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

x

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

x

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites. 

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon. 

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer. 

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you. 

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.” 

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

x

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

x

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything. 

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

x

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

x

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

x

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading.  the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying. 

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

x

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance. 

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

x

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

x

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane. 

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

x

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

x

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else. 

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the  a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths. 

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

x

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #namjoon #bts #bts fic #namjoon fic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon smut #bts namjoon #namjoon fics #bts au #namjoon au #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #husband!namjoon #ceo!namjoon #doctor!reader #arranged marriage au

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter Seven

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing, 

word count: 3.9k

a/n: I’m entirely writing this to distract myself from the real world but honesty I’m having a great time, I think there will be one more chapter after this one and maybe an epilogue but asides from that, also feel free to message or ask if you want to be tagged :)) anyway enjoy and pls comment and shiz :)

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Azriel had once joked that you were like an actual flower, needing water and sunlight to use your powers. At the time you had laughed but now as you stood in front of the mirror, wiping the tears from under your eyes, and preparing to walk into the world of all things dead, you understood. The dress you wore was one of the few fancy ones you reserved for the dinners you were often dragged to before your fall. It was lavender, with tulle cascading down your legs from the waist, paired with a tight corset top and tulle off-the-shoulder sleeves. As you sat with a ‘humph’ and started applying your makeup, your stepbrother walked in.

“Well you look cheery,” Nico said, sitting on your bed.

“I look like an evil power puff girl,”

“You look like you are a princess, which you are so my dad is going to be pleased.”

“I really don’t care what he thinks,” you snapped, and Nico help up his hands. He was wearing all black as usual, simple dress pants and a loose black shirt tucked in, his belt matched his rings, and his dark hair and even darker eye bags made him look every bit the Underworld prince. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you,” you said turning back around to carry on with your makeup.

“I know, it’s stressful for you,” he moved to sit next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and you applied eyeliner.

“I don’t wanna get sick again, I have things to do. Plus I’ve got to convince your dad to let me ask for this favour. I just feel like it’s all going to go to shit.”

“I get it, you’ll be fine though. Also I’m pretty sure your mum is going to do anything for you if it means you’ll speak to her again, so she’ll be on your side at least. That’s three vs one.” He nudged you as you put down the eyeliner.

“That’s true.” You bit the inside of your lip and Nico, sensing your worry, changed topic.

“Tell me about Azriel,” He said, and you caught his eye in the mirror.

“Huh?”

“Well I gotta make sure that when you become his problem it will be permanent, I don’t want you coming back,” he joked.

“Fuck you,” you laughed shoving his shoulder and he giggled, rolling onto his back.

“I don’t want to do thisssss,” Nico said in a sing-song voice lying flat on the floor.

“Me neither but I’m not going in alone bitch,” you laughed, starting to feel slightly better. It was moments like this that made you regret pushing your friends away, the thought of seeing them was always scary but when you were with your brother again you remembered why you loved them so much. You assessed your outfit in the mirror and sighed.

“What?” Nico asked, sitting back up.

“This would look really nice with a dark red lip,” you said, biting your lip.

“Do you have one?” he asked, and you nodded. He was quiet for a second before reaching out and ruffling through your makeup, finding your favourite red lipstick. “Do you wanna try?”

“Yeah, but if I cry it’ll mess up my eyeliner.” You said with a shaky laugh. He laughed quietly handing you the lipstick and you looked at him in the mirror, taking in a shuddering breath. You were stronger than this and you could handle it. You closed your eyes for a minute, counting your breaths, before opening the lipstick.

Once it was applied you lifted your chin, staring down the girl in the mirror. Nico grabbed your hand softly and you tore your eyes away, standing and pulling on your shoes.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

--

Azriel was in a shit mood. He was 90% sure that you had cast some sort of spell on him when he was with you, something that made him happy and relaxed, because now that you weren’t here he pretty much wanted to throttle everyone.

Amren had been helping him look for a way to get back to you. The first thing they had tried was winnowing, he pictured your face; your smile, the way your hands felt in his, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t reach you. So they had been scanning books since then, reading up on every theory and myth. Nesta had brought him to speak to Gwyn who had told him about the theory that there could be up to at least 20 other worlds. Amren had also made him talk through every detail about this world he could remember, writing diligent notes as Cassian gave him weird looks when he spoke about Bucky Barnes.

“He’s a character, it’s a simple concept.”

“Yeah but how do you get an emotional connection to a character?”

“Shut up both of you.”

The pain in his chest was only growing as well, and he came to the daunting realisation that if he failed this; if he couldn’t get back to you, or get you back to him, he would probably have to deal with it for the rest of his long, long life.

He felt bad for taking his frustrations out on his family who were just worried about him, but he had never felt this way before. All he could think of was the way your eyes cleared when the realisation dawned on you. The way you had gone from sobs to a different, all-consuming kind of pain, just for a second, your eyes clearing as you realised you might never see him again. He hated himself for not being strong enough to put up a fight, he knew he wasn’t a match for a god, but he should’ve tried, he was too shocked at the time, too heartbroken, but now he was terrified that you might think he gave up on you. He had to get back to you, he was afraid what you might do if you were alone again. If you were alone after having the bond dangled in front of you, only to have it ripped away moments later.

It was almost 3am and everyone else in the house had gone to bed, but Azriel didn’t sleep well normally, and he especially wouldn’t while he was apart from you. He looked up from his book when he heard someone clear their throat, his head whipped up an incredulous smile gracing his features when he saw you sitting there.

“Baby,” he started moving forward but you held your hand up, stopping him.

“Oh that’s just too sweet, you kids are giving me so much content,” you dabbed at your eyes, and Azriel frowned.

“(y/n)? what’s going on?”

“Oh I’m not (y/n) sweetie, but that’s just adorable. My name is Aphrodite, Goddess of love and beauty, I often appear as whoever you find most beautiful.” Azriel’s heart dropped, the brief happiness he felt seeing your face gone as the lady spoke.

“Aphrodite? Hermes mentioned you.” He said, tensing as he realised he was dealing with another god. “In fact he said it was your fault this all happened.”

“Oh Hermes, always blaming someone else. You should be thanking me.”

“And why would I do that.” Azriel knew the look on his face was deadly, but something about seeing a god cower under his gaze was feeding his ego.

“Haven’t you worked out why you can’t travel back to her.” She raised her eyebrows at him, her expressions may be on your face, but as he paid more attention she seemed like a completely different person. “I have the power to move through world’s, you do not. I just thought that poor, sweet girl had been through enough that she should get to meet her soulmate. I waited for you after your mission and then just made you forget and let the two of you fall in love naturally, I mean I get teary eyed thinking about it, you’re just too cute!”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly, “So why are you here? Are you going to bring her to me?”

“Hmm I could, but I’d get in so much trouble, plus she’s very smart and I want to see if her plan works. You people are so very entertaining.” Her face rippled for a second as she turned, and she briefly looked like Mor, then Elain, then back to you. “But you, poor boy,” He chose to ignore the condescending tone, “You were dealt a very bad hand love wise, so maybe if she doesn’t succeed I could pull a few strings, but I do have a holiday planned so it may be a few decades.”

Her laugh made him feel sick and he glared at her, “What did you say about her plan?”

“Oh yes! She’s going down to the underworld to try find a solution,” Aphrodite was moving around the room gracefully as Azriel sat back down, the weight of Aphrodite’s easy words hitting him. She picked up one of the books laying on the desk and made an unimpressed noise, throwing it back down carelessly.

“That’s where the dead go right?” he asked, silently praying he was wrong,

“Yup! Don’t worry though, her mother lives there too,” she said ‘mother’ with a slight snarl, but Azriel ignored her. “You know I get why she likes you, you’re very pretty aren’t you?” She walked over to him, swaying your hips and he had to remind himself it wasn’t you as she sat down in his lap, forcing his hands to stay clenched at his side. She ran your hand along his jaw, tilting her head with a smile as she stroked his face. Her thumb rested on his bottom lip as he glared at her with murderous rage, trying to reel it in as he remembered she was possibly the only one that could help him.

“Well I guess I better go,” She sighed dramatically then pressed a perfectly polished gold coin into his hand, “Flip this if you need me, emergencies and sex only.” She winked at him, before kissing his cheek and standing, waving seductively before vanishing. Azriel sat for a few minutes, reeling from the interaction he just had. Is this the world I’ve entered now? Gods who can do whatever they want? He wondered if that’s why you avoided talking about the Gods, if maybe growing up with this had made you bitter to them. He wanted to ask you and talk to you about it, or anything for that matter but instead he just pocketed the coin and stood, winnowing to his room, and collapsing on his bed.

--

“Sweetie, you look beautiful,” Your mother cried out as you and Nico arrived, you were leaning heavily on his arm, while surrounded by death, the coldness of a lifeless place seeped into your bones and weakened you, you had learnt as much the first time you visited. You gave your mother a tight-lipped smile and hugged her awkwardly.

“Oh I missed you so much dear,” she stroked your hair, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“You could’ve visited.” It was hard to keep the bitterness out of your voice, after all you had gone through and she hadn’t visited once. A look of shock passed over her face but before she could reply Hades thundered in, his usual outfit, ‘the robes of death and despair’ as you fondly called them, were replaced by a dark suit, his hair slicked back from his face. He came to Persephone’s side and rested a hand around her waist pulling her in slightly, and despite yourself you felt a little jealous of their closeness as your mother looked up at him with doe eyes.

“Nico, my son, how are you?” Hades deep voice silenced the room, the very air seeming to stand still, and Nico flushed red as he was put on the spot. The four of you exchanged pleasantries as you made your way to the ridiculously long table, Hades sat at the head on one side, Persephone on the other, with Nico and you facing each other in the centre. The wood was dark, but the table was covered in all sorts of colourful food and you all helped yourselves while making small talk, only managing to hear your parents due to the eery silence of the room, dead guards not needing to make any noise.

After the first few courses and once you had consumed enough white wine to gain some courage you turned to face your mother.

“Mum, I think I need a favour if that’s okay?” you asked with great caution, extremely aware of the powerful forces surrounding you.

“Well that depends dear. What is it?”

“After the battle and the… fall, I never got my reward remember, I instead asked to be able to come get it when I needed it.”

“Yes of course, I thought that was very smart!” your mother spoke cheerfully but you could feel Hades’ gaze on your back, burning through your skin and bones to the very essence of your soul. “Let me guess, you need it now?”

“If that’s okay, some things have changed recently and I now know what I need,” you smiled at her, “I met a man, well actually he’s a faerie. Aphrodite wanted us to meet because we’re soulmates and after my fall she thought I deserved to see him, but since he’s from another world he had to go back, and we can’t be together.” You wiped away a few stray tears you forced out; this was your game. Your mother didn’t visit you often so she had never seen this side of you, the side that could manipulate even a god into giving you what you wanted. “So I thought, maybe for my reward I could become Fae and be permitted to live with Azriel in his world, and maybe come and visit my friends occasionally?”

“Oh that sounds lovely dear! That’s so alike me, I had to beg my mother and even then she didn’t let me stay here,” your mother rattled on and you smiled at her, but your shoulders were still tense as you knew you hadn’t won yet. You turned to where Hades sat, rubbing his temples.

“I get it. I do. But I really don’t think my brother would allow that, it’s too much.”

“Too much?” you asked, a bitter laugh escaping.

“I understand you went through a lot,”

“Do you?” you couldn’t stop the biting words, “Because the last I checked you both sat and did nothing while I was tortured down there. You could’ve done something, but you didn’t, you made a choice not to, and now I ask for ONE thing, and it’s too much?” Hades’ glare was murderous, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I mean if you really think about it, I’ll be out of your hair if you agree. One less demi-god always seems to be a win for you guys.” Nico said your name in warning, but you slowly stood. “I am not asking for much, I am asking to be allowed to live a life with the man I love and after all I have been through, fighting YOUR battles, I think it’s the least I deserve.”

You held Hades’ gaze for a few more seconds until he spoke. “Are you sure your not a child of Nyx?” he asked, and you grinned, cocking your head to the side.

“Why would that be?”

“You have a pure evil streak in you girl and uncharted power. You better learn to control it, before someone catches on.”

“We won’t have a problem I’m presuming?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said gruffly, going back to his meal and you relaxed, moving to hug your mother goodbye, whispering thanks to her, before linking arms with Nico and leaving.

--

The next day you awoke to a golden invitation to Olympus, and you smiled, soon. You’d be with him soon.

--

Olympus looked much nicer since Annabeth had gotten involved. You may have been biased but it seemed to hold a sense of home it never had before, the clinical cleanliness now feeling purer and more loving. The throne room however had remained much the same.

You stood alone in the middle surrounded by the arc of thrones, but you refused to take your eyes of Zeus. You had received a wink from Apollo and a smile from Aphrodite as you walked in but beside that it had been eye contact for at least five minutes. You knew better to speak before you were spoken to but the way they surrounded you and stared down on you was bringing up bad memories and you were really fighting a panic attack.

Seemingly sensing this Apollo cleared his throat, “Perhaps we should start father?” While you were grateful a part of you hated how well the flirtatious god knew you, he was the first to tend to your wounds when you first escaped, healing them enough so you wouldn’t die from blood loss but not enough for anyone to suggest he was picking favourites. His warm hands had provided a sense of comfort you thought you had lost entirely.

Zeus nodded slowly, a letter appearing in his hand, “So these are your terms? Transformation into high Fae, permission to live in a new world with visits back to this one twice a year?” you presumed Hades, or your mother had written the letter, neither of them present currently. You nodded clearly, not entirely trusting your voice.

“I guess it’s only fair, but a full transformation will hurt,”

“I’m sure I can take it.” you lifted your chin, holding your shaking hands tightly in an attempt to conceal them.

Zeus laughed, not taking his eyes of you, “I’m sure you can. Does anyone have any major oppositions?”

Aphrodite raised her hand, “I’d like to add that during her transformation, her womb changes shape so she may birth Illyrian children.” You shot her a grateful look, still not entirely sure why she was suddenly so invested in ensuring your happiness, but you wouldn’t complain.

Hera was the next to speak and you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “Why is she getting special treatment again? What did she do that was so different?”

“She was tortured for days!” Athena exclaimed,

“So?” Ares now.

“She was a child, it was brutal.” Apollo jumped to your aid and soon the chamber was filled with shouting voices as they argued over your fate.

“SILENCE.” Zeus quieted the room instantly and every eye turned to him, but he remained focused on you, “Well then? Answer the question girl, what makes you so special?”

You thought for a second before answering, “I don’t consider it special treatment. After the battles I’ve fought and the pain I’ve endured to help your causes, I’d consider it a form of retirement.” You kept Zeus’ gaze and let a streak of the evil Hades had warned you off show, smiling when his smug smile disappeared. He waved his hand, “Very well then, High Fae with altered womb and permission to live in their world and visit our occasionally, that is all?”

You nodded and he assessed you before holding out his hand, his gaze darkening. You furrowed your eyebrows as your limbs started to tingle before pain took over your entire body.

--

You had felt pain so many times before, pain that left more than just physical trauma, but this was different. You felt as if your blood had become fire and every bone was breaking as new ones reformed. You didn’t have any sense of time or place, all you could feel was pain. At one point you thought it was over only to open your eyes, feeling impossibly soft sheets beneath you, and see Apollo hovering over you, sweat dripping from his brow as he took some of the pain away, even for just a moment.

When you finally awoke you were on the ground. You stood up quickly, almost knocking yourself over as your movement were much faster than usual. You were outside a glowing city, it didn’t have skyscrapers like New York, but it was so comforting to look at you felt yourself being drawn in. As you crossed the border however, a beautiful man with dark hair appeared, his eyes narrowing.

“Who are you and why are you trying to get in here?” A shot of fear went through you as you felt his magic, it was thick in the air and powerful.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone, I’m just looking for someone,” you explained, swallowing down the lump in your throat. The handsome man’s gaze turned vacant before softening after a moment.

“I apologise, I’m Rhysand. Let me help you find whoever it is, what’s their name?”

“That’s okay, really. His name is Azriel, but I don’t think he’s expecting me.” Rhysand stopped, his head turning towards you, “what is it?” you asked.

“(y/n)?”

“How do you know my name?” you stepped back but he held out his hands,

“No, no I’m Az’s brother, let me take you to him.” he grabbed your arm softly and suddenly you were standing in a warm room facing Azriel. You felt tears fill your eyes as you stared at him, he uttered your name in question and you nodded running into his arms, completely engulfed by his scent, tears of joy running down your face when you suddenly realised something, pulling away.

“Did you say brother?” you turned to Rhysand, feeling all the plants in the air respond to your calls, when Azriel tugged you back to him.

“Not biological don’t worry.” He whispered and Rhysand laughed.

“I like her.”

“Hmm I was two seconds away from castrating you,” His eyes widened slightly and you laughed, turning back to Azriel as he looked over you.

“How- you, you’re Fae?” His eyes were filled with worry again, afraid he was being tricked.

“I never got my reward remember, I knew I would need it in the future,” you smiled at him as he cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you. You pulled apart, Azriel growling when you heard catcalls, turning, and seeing the room had practically filled. A shot of fear went through you as your eyes landed on another man who had red siphons, and Azriel followed your gaze, a hand stroking your face in reassurance.

“So this must be (y/n), welcome to our home, I’m Feyre,” A beautiful woman stepped forward and clasped your hand in hers, which you noted were stained from paint. Everyone else soon made introductions and they urged you to sit as you found out about this makeshift family Azriel was in.

“Oh! That’ll be Nyx, I’ll go,” Feyre said when a baby started crying in the distance,

“Wait what did she say the babies name was?” You asked, holding in a laugh.

“Nyx?” Rhys said,

“Oh, course, cool cool cool,”

“What?” Azriel asked, looking at you strangely.

“I’ve kind of met her,”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she’s like the evilest deity there is, and she did not like me,” Rhysand stared at you with a look of shock on his face, but before anyone said anything else, Amren was laughing loudly.

“You must tell me all about these Gods girl.”

--------------------------------------------------

tags: @tastedlikedamnation

#acotar #acowar #acofs #acomaf #acofas #Azriel #azriel x reader #percyjackson #Heroes of Olympus

[platypanthewriter]

Lilies of the Valley

This one’s for you @mourntheantagonist​!  And @cherrydreamer​, thanks so much for the loan of your name!

Harringrove April Prompt day 30: Lilies of the Valley!  Neil had opinions about Billy's mom, and Billy's mom's makeup, and Billy.  What he thought doesn't matter anymore, but Billy's still a little worried about bringing it all up to Steve.  GNC Billy.

When Billy was five, he’d tried on his mom’s gold pumps and her rainbowy nail polish, and she’d laughed and spread her arms for him to stumble into.  “Hey, glitter-bug,” she said, kissing his head all over until he giggled, trying to protect his neck from her attack.  “How’s the prettiest boy in town?” she whispered, blowing raspberries down his chest and stomach, and then finally letting him up once he was giggling so hard he couldn’t breathe.  

She’d let him sit on her fancy vanity stool, spinning him now and then so they could see how he looked from different angles in the three mirrors.  “Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes very wide.  “I thought you were prettiest from this side, but every new side is prettier!  How is it, sir, being the prettiest,” she asked, offering him an imaginary microphone.

He beamed into her face, and cleared his throat.  “You’re the prettiest,” he told her, his eyes big with anticipation, and sure enough, she yelled and scooped him up, dumping him on the bed and cuddling him until they’d both laughed so hard their lungs hurt.  

“You are,” she whispered.  “I made the prettiest boy in the world.”

“You’re the prettiest girl,” he said loyally, and that time she kissed his nose.  “Anyway,” he whispered, “—you have…” he trailed off, reaching up to touch the sparkling powders over her eyes, and the bright greasy red on her lips.

She drew a shaky breath, pushing herself up, and glancing towards the door.  “...do you want to play with my makeup, baby?” she asked, and he sat up too, springing upright so fast they nearly clonked heads.

“Can we?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers, but nearly vibrating with excitement.

She bit her lips together, tucking some of his curls behind his ear.  “You know how there are some things we keep secret from Daddy, sweetie?”

Billy squirmed around to face her, nodding, and folding his hands like a grownup.  “Like when you kiss Mrs. Sally,” he whispered, then, belatedly, cupped his hands over his mouth.  

“Like that,” she told him, nodding.  “If I’d kept kissing Sally, he might have found out, and not let me see my lil’ glitterbug anymore.”

“I won’t tell,” Billy said, shaking his head, his heart pounding with the weight of adult responsibilities.  

“I know you won’t,” she told him, smiling, but she looked sad.  “But I can’t do anything that might make Daddy take you away, can I?”

Billy shook his head, wondering, as always, why his mom had married someone who didn’t like either of them very much.  He kind of wanted to ask, but she reached out and held his face, squishing his cheeks together like a fish, and he batted at her hands.  

“Makeup is like that,” she told him, and he frowned, trying to understand.  “If I put makeup on you, Daddy will be very angry,” she told him.  “So we have to wash it off before he gets home, and keep it a secret, just like me kissing Sally, right?”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, because Billy had seen his dad fussing with his hair, and his ties, and he knew his dad wanted to be pretty too—but maybe, he thought, his dad was mad because he was jealous, and that kind of fit.  He nodded seriously, licking his lips, as he wondered what the lipstick would feel like.

It felt weird and sticky, but it looked beautiful, and he gasped as he opened his eyes in the mirror, leaning closer to touch the mirror, and then touching his lips.  

“You’ll smear it,” his mom said, smiling, and Billy yanked his hand back into his lap.  He closed his eyes and felt the shiny powders brushing over them, his mom’s warm hand steadying his chin.  Very slowly, so as not to jar her efforts, he kicked his feet in happiness.

“There,” she said,” rubbing her thumb along his eyebrow, and squinting into his face.  “You’re adorable, honey.  Your mamma did so good.”  She spun him to look in the mirror again, and he stared as she kissed his cheek, and then redid his lipstick, because he couldn’t stop chewing at it, fascinated.  “Other mommies would be so jealous of my lil’ glitterbug,” she whispered.

An hour before his dad got home, she popped him in the bath, leaning in to scrub his face gently, and he sighed to see it go.  

“We’ll play again, sweetie,” she told him, kissing his forehead.

That night Billy’s dad clicked his tongue at her bright red lipstick, and went and got the Bible.  He made them stand, listening, while their dinner got cold.  

“‘Therefore I say unto you,’” he read, “‘Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment.’  What do you suppose that means, Billy?”

Billy watched his mom shut her eyes, swallowing, and he tried to think, to get it right, but he never understood the Bible.  He told his mother once that he thought they should have somebody write it all down that talked normal, and she laughed for the whole afternoon, and then told him that was another thing to not tell his dad.

“I thought that school was teaching him to read, and now he can’t even understand language,” his dad said, and Billy’s mom flinched.  

“It means we should think about god more than looking pretty,” Billy’s mom said dully, and Billy watched her, and then his dad, wondering why he’d even wanted to marry her, because she was beautiful and funny and perfect, and Billy’s dad even got mad over things like the neighbor’s Christmas lights.

She didn’t wear the bright colors, after that.

 Years later, Steve was driving back from picking up burgers, and Billy shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, and slurped his soda.

“You ever miss fucking a chick,” he said, weirdly flat.

“Uh,” said Steve, who hadn’t.  “...um.  Uh, d’you?” he asked, warily, and Billy shrugged, unwrapping his burger.  He took a huge bite, grunting appreciatively, and Steve tried to think of what to say.  “What...are you missing,” he asked, slowly, and Billy smirked over.  

“Nothing big, don’t flip your shit,” he said, taking another bite of burger, and staring out at the passing scenery, as Steve tried not to shake him, or bite his lip, or look like he was flipping his shit.

“...what is this,” Steve asked, finally, clenching his hands on the steering wheel.  “You cheating on me?!”

“No,” Billy said quickly.

“You want to?  You wanna break up?!  Where the fuck is this going, Hargrove?!” Steve hissed at him, and Billy sighed, letting his head thunk into the window.  

“No, fuck you, I don’t want...any of that,” he sighed.  “Calm your tits, Harringt—”

“Fuck you,” Steve spat back.  “If you’re fucking bored—”

“No!  I didn’t mean that!” Billy shot back, throwing a french fry at him, and Steve grabbed it and ate it, chewing with his mouth open, and his teeth bared.  “Fuck you,” Billy sighed.  “I just asked you a question, don’t get all pissed.”  He sighed again, lowering the burger to his lap, and frowning past it.  “I just wondered.”

Steve had kinda relaxed, waking every morning and seeing Billy sprawled next to him, his hair in his open, snoring mouth, and he’d forgotten he was Steve Harrington, the guy people left.  “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I just meant the—they’re soft,” Billy said, glancing over, and then back down, his jaw working.  

“You’re saying I need to get fat?” Steve asked dryly, through his teeth, as he pulled into the garage.

“No!” Billy shoved him against the door of the car.  “Forget it.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered.  Billy shouldered past him into the house, and then ignored him until Steve went to bed, and Steve laid up in their bed alone.  He didn’t cry much, but the couple tears that escaped went right in his ear, and he was tempted to just...go down and throw every porn cassette he’d ever owned at Billy’s head.

 The next morning he got up and made bacon and eggs—he was hungry, even if Billy was being an asshole—and Billy came in and helped himself.  

Billy’s eyes were swollen and red, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that—he’d never broken up with anybody he really liked, he thought, dully.  Maybe it was hard.  “Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” Billy hissed, and walked off, and Steve slid his plate of food aside, suddenly not hungry.  

After a few minutes, Billy stomped back in.  “What, you gonna stay out of rooms I’m in now—” he started, snarling, and then he stopped, and probably took stock of Steve’s head in his arms on the counter, and his breakfast getting cold.  Steve jerked his head up, rubbing his face.  “Fuck,” Billy muttered, grabbing Steve around the waist, and turning him enough to kiss.  “I don’t…” he said, softly, biting his lip.  “I don’t want somebody else.  Don’t be a fucking dumbass, jesus, of course I don’t want someone else—”

“How the hell should I know?!” Steve hissed back, but relaxing, a little, into the kisses.  “You just said you missed fucking women.  I’m not one, if you missed that—”

“I didn’t say that,” Billy told him, taking Steve’s hands.  “I asked if you missed it.  Stroking your hands up here,” he breathed against Steve’s lips, and slid Steve’s palms up where Billy’s sides were shirtless and smooth under his denim jacket.  “Feeling something...elastic, maybe,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, and lifted Steve’s hands up farther, to stroke over his nipples.  “Something silky.”

It felt like the conversation had taken a sharp tilt, and Steve felt like the marble in a little maze, trying to avoid dropping through the holes.  “...on you,” he whispered back, to be sure, trying to imagine it.  

Billy was perfect already, he wanted to say, from the little softness over the waistband of his jeans where he’d stopped working out so hard, once he was away from his dad, to stretched pink scars that reminded Steve there were more places to kiss.  But Billy was already withdrawing again, his shoulders hunching as he smirked, and Steve tried a “Keep talking.”

His hands were abruptly fuller of Billy as he leaned in, shoving Steve back against the counter.  “I gotta keep things fresh, right,” he whispered.  “Make sure you still want what I got.  Maybe…”  Steve waited as Billy searched his face, biting his lips, and then took a shaky breath.  “Maybe dress up...a little,” he mumbled, losing momentum, and Steve hurried, feeling the need to catch some fragile part of Billy before it smashed.

“You wanna dress up for me?” he asked, making sure to grin, because it honestly sounded weird, but Billy wanted to—and Steve didn’t really give a shit about flowers, either, but even if they gave him hayfever, he knew to be happy when somebody picked him out a present.  At least, he thought, whatever Billy was talking about was unlikely to make him sneeze.  

Billy’s smirk went a little smaller as he flushed, and he laughed, shaking a little.  “If—if you want,” he said fast, grinning tensely.  “If you...if that…” he muttered, looking a little shiny-eyed, and Steve slid his hands around the soft, scarred skin of Billy’s back, and down toward the swell of his ass.  “Imagine something bright down there,” Billy whispered, breathing against Steve’s jaw.  “You could snap the elastic, pull me over.”

That sounded like Billy Hargrove wanted to wear lace panties, and Steve fought back an instinctive snigger, squeezing him closer, and trying to think of something to say, something that wasn’t “You’d make duct tape hot, babe,” or “Y’know we could not do that, and just fuck,” or anything else that made it seem like Billy’d asked him about something weird as hell, and important to Billy, and Steve hadn’t even listened.  “Yeah,” Steve whispered, not sure what was required.  “Sounds hot,” he said lamely, but Billy relaxed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, and laughing, and stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair so clumsily he almost poked Steve in the eye.  “Yeah, yes, it’ll—it’ll be good, you’ll like it,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.

 The next day Billy disappeared after school, and came home squirming and pink-cheeked.  He wandered up like nothing was going on, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned and drew him in.  Billy had his jacket buttoned, for once, and a flushed smirk, and Steve unbuttoned it from the bottom, sliding his fingers up over what felt like soft, elasticy cotton.  It was a clingy little camisole thing, he realized, nearly a tanktop, nearly unisex, but the satin edging around the top, the thin straps, and the bright red put it squarely in the women’s section.  

Billy laughed nervously.  “It’s not even that pretty,” he said, glancing at Steve’s face, and then baring his teeth a little into the distance.  “Fuck, this was dumb, in this little hick town, I couldn’t even find anything—”

It was stretched out across Billy’s chest, not the shape it expected to fit, and his nipples showed around the straps, the soft fabric clinging to his skin.  “No,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over ropy satin straps, and Billy’s skin.  He ran a finger along the strap and down, his nail catching on Billy’s chest, so he shivered.  “No, it’s—it’s really...pretty, Billy,” Steve breathed, and Billy reddened like Steve had never seen before, his smile widening into a beaming grin.

“They’re just cotton,” Billy whispered, “—but they were red, at least—” 

Steve smoothed his hands over the soft fabric.  He slid his fingers down the back of Billy’s jeans, and felt—yep, he thought, grinning as he felt Billy laugh, another thin elastic edge that definitely wasn’t Fruit-of-the-Looms.  “Just cotton,” Billy whispered again, sighing.  

Steve had bought lingerie before, but he’d never really thought about it for Billy—or even Nancy, who was too ticklish for lace, and liked the spontaneity of showing up and pushing Steve onto his back on the couch more than she wanted to set anything up with candles and rose petals.  He felt a little guilty, though, seeing Billy squirming around, panting a little, his dick hard as a rock in plain cotton briefs, red or otherwise.  “So you…” Steve started, and then stopped, uncertain what he was trying to say.  

“What,” Billy bit out, glaring up at him, which looked...less than intimidating, in what looked like underwear for a kid, or somebody’s mom.  Steve ran his fingers along the line Billy’s dick made in the panties, fascinated, and it twitched.  Billy jerked his knee up, grinning, his freckles fading into his blush.  “Quit it,” he said.  “You’ll make me mess ‘em up.”

“...you like being...pretty,” Steve said, and Billy twitched, pulling his knees up and together.  “No, don’t, uh, don’t pillbug up,” Steve told him, leaning in to hug his boyfriend’s knees.  “Um, how...how pretty?  What...what kinds of…”

“The hell d’you mean how pretty,” Billy growled, warily, and Steve bent his head, pressing a kiss to Billy’s tanned knee.

“You just...want pretty clothes?” he asked, as Billy took a shaky breath.  “I just—I mean, you were talking about...girls.  You want like…” Steve ran his thumb over Billy’s tense, curled toes.  “You want I should paint these?”

“God, will you?” Billy asked, pushing himself up as he yanked Steve into a kiss,  knocking them both off-balance so Steve landed on top of Billy in his soft, elastic cotton, and Billy groaned.

“Yeah, I’ll paint ‘em,” Steve whispered, kissing Billy’s hot face.  “Don’t...really think you can get much prettier,” he said, feeling Billy’s cheek grin under his lips, “—but I’ll help.  I might have something upstairs.”

“The hell would you have,” Billy snorted.

Steve felt indignant for a second, then kind of dumb as he shot back “I could wear nail polish, you don’t fucking know,” before he registered that it probably hadn’t actually been an insult, and he started to feel his ears go red.  He cleared his throat.  “...uh, no, though.  I don’t.  But my mom.  There’s some of her stuff up there.”

“Oh,” Billy said, sitting up.  “You...you’d let me use your mom’s stuff?”

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, pulling him up.  “Maybe she’s got some nylons or something.”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, but he grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back around.  “You don’t think she’d...she’d think it’s gross, right,” he asked, still smirking a little, like he was trying to keep it up.  “She wouldn’t want some dude wearing her nylons.”

“You’re not some dude,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “—and if she’s so damn precious about ‘em she can buy some more, come on.”  He drug Billy upstairs—Billy was very manhandleable, in bare feet and a sheer cotton underwear set, and Steve tried not to think about the difference it made—and pushed Billy down to sit on his parents’ chintz duvet cover.  He dug through her drawers, and found some nylons, and brought them over.  Billy laughed, wide-eyed, and Steve reached down and grabbed his foot, thinking.  “...y’know what,” he said, “—Mom used to do all this stuff to her feet, and I bet it kept her damn nylons from running.”

“...you saying I should go get a pedicure?” Billy snorted, and Steve shook his head, squeezing his boyfriend’s toes.  

“Nah.  Lemme see what she’s got, we can figure this out,” he mumbled, pulling out drawers.  “Can’t be that hard.”

“...you gonna give me a pedicure,” Billy muttered, like he didn’t know whether it was a question or not, and Steve was about to roll his eyes when he finally found the right drawer. 

“Oho,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.  “The mother lode.  Come look at the colors.  I mean, they’re mostly kind of pink, but there’s some reds.”

The bed creaked as Billy got up and came over, and his breath hitched.  He reached towards the lipsticks, and then jerked his hand back, and Steve grabbed the reddest one, and leaned to kiss him, softly, opening the lid.  Billy closed his eyes, panting a little, and Steve kissed him again, because Billy’d probably wanna sprawl around looking pretty for a while without anybody smearing it, once he had lipstick on.  

“Open your mouth, babe,” Steve said, and Billy did.  Steve could feel the pulse pounding in the skin under his fingers, but he just brushed the tip over the corner of Billy’s mouth, narrowing his eyes intently.  

Billy licked the tip of the lipstick, and Steve hissed at him, hsht! like Billy was a little kid, or a cat.  “I can’t do this if you eat it,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed.

“It tastes the same,” he said, softly.  

“...you eat it a lot?” Steve asked, realizing he had mouth open in concentration, and his tongue licking his teeth in the direction he was rubbing the lipstick on.  He bit his lips together, smiling in embarrassment.  

“I used to,” Billy said, letting Steve turn his head left and then right, and smiling.  “Mom would dress me up.”

Steve paused for a second, at that, his hand on the lipstick stilling, and then he started again.  “Dunno if I’ll do as good a job,” he said, and Billy laughed again, swallowing hard.  “...maybe I’ll get better with practice,” Steve told him, and Billy grinned, yanking him in for a hard kiss.  “Who-mmmph,” Steve protested, then leaned into it, feeling Billy sigh contentedly, and hum.  

When Steve pulled back, his dick went half-hard just for the way Billy looked, leaning back against the side of the bed in his soft red underwear set, his eyes closed, his grin smeared and lazy.  The red stood out, shiny and rich, and Steve wished—silently, to himself—that lipstick ever tasted even a tenth as good as it looked.  “...jesus, that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m the prettiest, right,” Billy whispered, and a couple tears leaked from under his closed eyelashes.  He sniffled as Steve lifted and turned his chin to fix his lipstick.  “Shut up,” he said hoarsely, even thought Steve hadn’t said a word.

“...just thinking you look gorgeous,” Steve told him.  “You look so pretty, babe.”

“...’life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment’,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve said “...what?”

“It’s a bible thing,” Billy said, his eyes widening as Steve pulled out a tray of eyeshadows, and held them up to Billy’s face, squinting.  

Steve squinted, decided the green would make Billy look like he had a weird Christmasy disease with the lipstick, and pulled out the other one, pinks and golds.  

“...it means you should worry more about following god’s word than dressing up like a slut,” Billy said, quirking his mouth.  “‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’  Like, God makes you like he wants, you shouldn’t...change it.  Try and...look...different.”  Billy sighed.  “He used to make us say it whenever we asked for new clothes.  I told him I might as well go to school naked, then.”

“I don’t remember the part in the bible where Jesus called people sluts,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss Billy’s cheek, and then concentrating on brushing gold over his eyelids.  

“Just be as nature made you, y’know, don’t...try to be...what you’re not,” Billy said, smirking.  “He never found out I wanted to wear lace panties.”

“Good,” Steve told his boyfriend, then whispered “God,” as he sat back.  “...Billy, god made you a lily.”

“What?!” Billy laughed, scrambling up to go look in the bathroom mirror.  He was quiet for a long minute, and Steve got up and followed, grimacing.

“I’ll get better with the little brushes,” he said, leaning through the door, but Billy was just making kissy faces at himself, entranced.  

“I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” he breathed, and Steve bit back a laugh.  “Come here.”  Steve wandered over to slide his arms around Billy’s waist from behind, and kiss his neck.  “...you like it, right,” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, squeezing him.  

“Come on,” he said, “Lemme do your toenails.”

“Jesus,” Billy said, giggling, kinda, his eyes shiny, and Steve just held him there, letting him look.

 The next day, Billy changed the oil in his car, his nails and lips red, and his face smeared with engine grease when Steve pulled him out from under the car for a kiss.  While he was tinkering, Steve drove clear to the Indianapolis Victoria’s Secret.  “I’m dating an Olympic swimmer,” he told them, having practiced the lie.  “She’s got no tits and these big shoulders, and she’s hotter than anyone else in the world, can you help me out?”

My other Harringrove prompts are here!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Billy's mom used to make him pretty #Prettiest boy #He hasn't thought about it much since #But now...now he feels safe #With Steve #Hurt/comfort a little? #Fluff #GNC Billy

[isabellitah]

Hi! May I request a headcanon with the reader (number eight) and the siblings, where the reader is like super caring to all of them? Thank you! 💕

🤍 HARGREEVES x SIBLING

Title : babie hen

Pairing : none

Warning : a few cuss words and this is long ok

Request : Hi! May I request a headcanon with the reader (number eight) and the siblings, where the reader is like super caring to all of them? Thank you! 💕

Note : Hiii 🤍 i hope this is to your liking hehe

i made a wholeass scenario before i reread the request and noticed the word hEADCANON SO IM V SORRY THAT THIS WAS DELAYED I-

anyway-

Number Eight-

ah yes, the sweetest babie in the whole world, as mentioned by Klaus at some point in their lives

said babie is also their mother hen- well, aside from Allison that is

Luther Hargreeves

eightie always makes sure that Luther never overworks himself

and when he does, your always there for him

making sure he’s hydrated

feeding him lil snacks so that he isn’t starving

i bet you sliced off the crusts of the sandwich bc we all know Luther can be a big babie too hmph

and you’re just overall being there for him, supporting him like any sister would do for their older brother

but when he tries to over overwork himself, which is rare as it only happens when he’s anxious about something, you bet your ass you trapped him in a water sphere and nyoomed him to his room and onto his bed- basically forcing him to rest gorl he’s wet he has to shower before napping but ok-

now that that big babie is in his room, time to check on big babie number two-

Diego Hargreeves

Diego- the lil menace currently chasing Klaus with knives for who knows what reason

you weren’t even gonna ask

it’s nothing new

but anway-

you called them for snacks thus ending their “game of tag”

game of tag my ass-

more like pin the dagger on Klaus

while eating the sandwiches you made them, you noticed a lil bit of jam on the corner of Diego’s mouth

the moment Klaus ran off after eating his sandwich, and Diego stood up to follow him, you took a napkin, licked it a bit, and wiped the jam off of Diego’s face

lil murderous babie blushed and whined at you to stop

you kept wiping at his skin as though the jam was still there just to play with him

anyway, after you stopped, he quickly left to - maybe - go find Klaus

before he left though, he turned to you, wrapped his arms around you, mumbled a quick “thank you eightie” and ran off

keeping in mind where your three siblings are, you decided to go find Allison

Allison Hargreeves

surprisingly, you find both Allison panicking in her room

apparently Luther asked her out and she doesn’t know what to wear, how to style her hair, how to do her make-up, should she wear ma-

she was freaking out bc she never thought Luther would gather his wits and actually ask her out !!!

she wasn’t prepared ok

and u forced Luther to sleep i- reminder to wake him up later

maybe he tried to over overwork himself bc he’s nervous about their date oop

you immediately entered the room and shut the door behind you

first date, so it should be a good experience ok

keeping this in mind, you calmly told her to sit down on her bed and take sips of from the glass of water beside her bed

going through her closet and picking out a casual outfit was easy- Allison has great taste so it wasn’t a challenge at all

clothes and shoes done, and Allison is now calm

you gently lead her to her vanity and slowly started doing a half-up half-down hairdo

for her makeup, you went with a natural makeup- neutral eyeshadow, mascara, a bit of blush, and red lipstick

dress on, heels on, hair done, makeup done, sister immaculate

you were done

simple yet elegant- was how she looked

standing behind the seated woman known as your sister, you slightly teared up- you don’t know why exactly but you-

you felt like a proud mom aww

Allison hugged you and thank you profusely

“Don’t you dare ruin my masterpiece,” you threatened with a wink

you were rewarded with a giggle and a smile

dismissing yourself while she went ahead and took selfies,

you immediately went to go look for Luther i-

after waking him up, it wasn’t hard to stop his whining and convince him to start moving,

you just had to remind him of his date with Allison

and poof

mans was gone

nah not really- he just went to go change

anyway-

now that you think about it- how’s Klaus?

with that thought in mind, you went out of Luther’s room in search of your high brother

Klaus Hargreeves

you found him in the wine cellar

of course

“Klaus, what’re you doing here?”

“Eightie! Fancy seeing you here 🤍 how are you? I haven’t seen you since you fed me that sandwich- great sandwich by the way; the filling was mwah chef’s kiss,”

he said smiling while holding onto vodka 🤍

you internally rolled your eyes and grabbing his wrist, led him upstairs and into his room

you sat down on his bed with your back comfortably resting on his headrest

he just stood their looking resigned

he knew what was about to happen

you do this at least once a week

secretly he was happy though

these weekly talks always made him feel light by the end of the conversation

anyway, he laid down with his head onto your lap

the moment you started combing your hand through his hair, he spilled everything that bothered him

how his power still scared him- seeing the dead anywhere and everywhere

some trying to talk to him

some just creepily staring at him

and some- some trying to harm him

and that he sometimes felt useless or like a nobody in the family

how he felt like such a disappointment

you listened to everything - even to the ones he never said out loud - calmly and patiently

and when he was done, you slowly started refuting everything he said with various memories

his powers once helped you both help a lost soul find his way back home

he always tries to lighten the mood whenever the tension in the room gets high

he’s always there for all of you, offering his love, whenever and wherever

he sets back his problems in order to help you all solve your problems first

the more memories you recall, the better Klaus felt about himself

and that’s what mattered

Five, Ben, and Vanya Hargreeves

after staying to talk with Klaus for a bit longer, you excused yourself after he claimed to be taking a nap

walking around, you hear faint rustling from inside the study room

walking in, you see Five, Ben, and Vanya in various positions by the couch

Five was sitting on the floor, back pressed against couch

Ben was leaning against the arm of the couch with his legs on top of Vanya’s

and Vanya was sitting cross legged on the couch

all three were listening to Ben read a poem

a poem possibly written by him considering the book he was reading was journal

you were about to excuse yourself to give them their privacy when Ben called you over and invited you

looking at your other two siblings and receiving a nod, you thanked them and sat on the floor beside Five who then leaned his head onto the top of your head- yes, you were short

Ben continued reading the poem and you were right- it was poem

a poem that seemed to be about his feelings

you were saddened by how he felt when you were younger but hearing how he feels now boosted your mood- especially when you heard that your siblings were a big factor on why he felt happy and motivated nowadays

hearing a faint grumble beside you, you tapped Five’s thigh to get his head off you so that you can get up

after some grumbling and whining from the man-child, you got up and said you’ll be right back

you left after kissing their cheeks, earning a smile and a blush from Ben, a smile from Vanya, and a pout from Five who still didn’t want you to leave

you pinched his cheek for good measure before running off giggling

arriving at the kitchen, you were surprised - but not really - to see Five there

apparently he went into the kitchen “to help you carry things”

sure- he just wanted to see what you’d make

and so you made them all sandwiches and trimmed the sides off of course which earned youa pleased hum from your ever so helpful brother

his sandwich, after his persistence, had two extra marshmallows

after making their sandwiches you convinced him to head on first with them

and once he left, you went on to make tea for yourself, juice for both Ben and Vanya, and your special brew for Five

once entering the room, the tray of drinks was immediately snatched from you and popped onto the table with Five wearing a cat got the canary grin, “ahh the only person in the world who knows how to make a proper blend- aside from me of course.”

you rolled your eyes and thanked him for his rare compliment on your coffee making skills

Ben and Vanya thanked you for the snacks and you beamed at them and kissed their cheeks as a reply

which led to Five asking you where his kiss was

knowing you’ll get nowhere arguing with him, you kissed his cheek while he was in the middle of ranting of why he deserves a kiss too

which led to his rant being cut off and him spluttering while slowly turning red

which led to you, Vanya, and Ben laughing which resulted in Five slowly smiling and joining your laughter as well

and that’s how you spent your afternoon- the four youngest siblings bonding- talking and laughing about anything and everything under the sun until you ran out of topics and just laid in comfortable silence to the point where you all fell asleep

and that’s how the eldest four siblings found you-

Allison placed a blanket over all of you before leaving with Luther to go on their date

Diego took the trays, plates, and cups you used for your snacks and brought them downstairs before leaving to gomeet with Detective Patch

and Klaus- Klaus laid down next to you so you were in between him and Five and feel asleep almost immediately

the first sleep he’s had in years that didn’t contain nightmares- and of course it was because you were there

you were always there for him- for all of them, really

you never shyed away from showing affection

and you never failed to show your love and care for them

ever

#tua #tua x reader #the umbrella academy #hargreeves x reader #number eight #luther hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #hargreeves x sibling

[pedros-mustache-main]

just a job

summary: working wardrobe for the new film ‘bohemian rhapsody’ is not all its cracked up to be. until it is.

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: language, ~suggestive~ themes (but who am i kidding? we’re all here for that)

a/n: i’m continuing to work on the next chapter for “even now” but this has been in my drafts for awhile, so i thought i would finish it. enjoy, loves! xoxo.

you hate your job. really, you do. despite what your younger sister believes, it’s not glamorous and it’s not well-paid. it’s simply a 9-5, clock-in & clock-out, leave-work-at-work gig to hold you over until your final semester at university ends.

at twenty-seven, you could have two degrees by now. instead you have zero—and a startlingly amount of student debt amassed thanks to your two attempts at completing a single degree. it’s been complicated, to say the very least, and you don’t like to dwell on past failures.

you consider your job a necessary evil. there’s no one to pay tuition bills except you, so when your cousin landed a position in makeup for a new film and mentioned the need for a wardrobe assistant, you applied. the work is simple, mindless even. you take measurements, offer your opinion when asked, and catalog the different costumes. you’re truly a glorified hunter-gatherer: you hunt through the rows and rows of possible options and bring back what’s needed. 

still, it’s a job, and it pays the bills. for the most part, you stomach it. there’s loads of downtime, giving you ample opportunity to study or write a term paper. your co-workers are nice enough. they live completely different lives, surrounded by the latest fashion magazines and sketchbooks full of costume ideas. your workspace—a child-sized deck in the corner of the trailer—is covered in maths books. your future in mathematics lends itself to things like tailoring and fabric measurements, but it’s not the same. there’s an obvious disconnect; you try your best to smile and fit in, anyway.

your cousin, morgan, finds you on a lonely tuesday afternoon. it’s drizzling outside, so her hair is puffy when she enters the trailer. 

“this damn weather,” she mutters. though she’s your first cousin on your mother’s side, she grew up in australia, and her accent, thick as it is, never fails to make you smile. “i swear, if gwil comes back and his wig is all frizzed out, i’m gonna pop a lid or something.”

“that bad outside?”

“humid as hell and still raining.” she sets her paper coffee cup, stained with purple lipstick around the edge, on the counter. “how’s the paper comin’?”

you glance at your work, at the empty word document on your laptop screen, and shake your head. “it’s not. i tried to start but i just...” your words drift away, incomplete but crystal clear at the same time.

“hey.” morgan crosses the narrow trailer to squeeze your shoulder. “stop doubting yourself.”

peering up through your lashes, you shrug. “i don’t know if i have what it takes to a researcher, that’s all.”

morgan scoffs. “that’s horse-shit and you know it! think about it: you like maths, for some strange reason, and you like medicine, and you want to marry those two and become the best biomedical blah-blah researcher the world has ever seen. and be smoking hot at the same time. don’t give up on yourself now, [y/n]. not when you’re so close.”

you rise from your chair and lift your arms over your head to stretch. you know she means well—hell, you’ve been through this all once before—but your fears persist. with a good-natured roll of your eyes, you close your laptop. “you’re supposed to say that. you’re family.”

“maybe, but it’s the truth.”

the trailer door bursts open, and you glance at the faded clock on the wall. post-lunch break. time for a scene change and costume switch.

your boss, richard, climbs the trailer steps, his glasses fogged over by the weather. he tosses a plastic-wrapped lunch plate on your desk before feathering your cheek with a kiss. his beard scratches your face, but you return the air-kiss, still feeling slightly ridiculous any time you imitate his standard greeting.

“sorry, lovie. you’ll have to eat later. the boys are on their way and we only have them for a few before the cameras start rolling again.” richard sheds his leather jacket and runs a hand through his rain-slick hair. “morgan, you’re taking up too much space. shoo, honey, shoo!”

“right, of course! i’ve got to go wrangle gwilym’s wig anyway.” before exiting the trailer, morgan lifts her brows in your direction. “remember what i said, okay? it really is the truth.”

shuffling to the door, richard waves his hands in a shooing motion. “yeah, yeah, we get it. you’re family and you love each other. scram—and i mean that in the nicest way possible.” once morgan disappears, he points to the back of the trailer. “i need you to find those god-awful corduroy pants. joe has to wear them today and last time i checked there was a tear up the inseam.”

you do as your told, squishing your way to the storage area. four clothes racks—one for each of the boys—take up the majority of the trailer space. aside from a bathroom the size of a postage stamp and an area for fittings, it’s a tight squeeze. that squeeze is made even tighter anytime one or more of the borhap boys makes their entrance. their personalities are distinct and their friendships are loud; it should be endearing, but it often leaves a headache grating at the back of your skull from all the noise. 

from your place jammed between joe and ben’s clothing racks, you can hear him—joe—as he makes his way to the fitting stool.

“okay, but listen to this, richard.” his voice is muffled by the mink coat your head is pressed against, but you already know the routine. he’ll start with some ridiculous anecdote then work his way to a joke or two, peppering in a smattering of questions for good measure. it’s the same nearly every day. 

joe is kind. they all are. but joe, specifically, is the most gregarious of the bunch—a bit much for your quiet tendencies. he makes you laugh on occasion, but the majority of the time, his personality is too big for the sandwich-sized trailer. you’d never tell him that, of course, so you often spend most of his fittings with a haphazard smile on your face, your mind millions of miles away.

corduroy pants retrieved, you wiggle your way to the fitting area. richard has his hands full with rami, attempting to peel a black-and-white checkered unitard off the poor man, so he gestures to joe with his foot.

“fix that inseam,” he says, his voice strained with effort.

joe has a wry smile on his face when you look at him. “look, [y/n], i normally don’t take my pants off on the first date, but i’ll make an exception for you.”

you toss the pants at his chest. an girlish blush crawls up the back of your neck, so you turn away, rooting around on your desk for your sewing kit. to further enflame your face, you cringe when you hear his jeans unzip and drop to the floor with a soft whoosh. your fingers stutter over the assortment of books, papers, and fabric materials on the table. 

what has you so nervous, you aren’t sure. joe is handsome. again, they all are. you suppose it’s the idea of having your face inches from his crotch as soon as he’s clothed. not for the first time, you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. a biomedical researcher would never have to deal with this.

“m’lady, i am ready.”

the plastic surrounding the sewing kit bites your palm as you hold it tight, turning to face him. “don’t be so smug. it’s not cute.”

joe frowns. he looks slightly ridiculous, like a small child, in his wig: the straight bangs, the uneven locks of hair brushing the collar of his shirt. he looks like john deacon; at least, you assume he does. you’re no expert. still, his frown coupled with the wig and the striped shirt and corduroy reminds you more of a primary school boy than rock god oozing sex appeal. it’s discombobulating. 

“you’re a hard nut to crack, [y/n].”

lowering to your knees, you nudge his legs apart with your knuckles. already, you feel a lump rise in your throat. “yeah?”

“i’m in here every day and i don’t think i’ve made you laugh once.”

“that’s not true.” you search the recesses of your mind for a memory, but can only think about how, if you move an inch to your left, your forehead will brush the fold of his pants near his most delicate parts.

(god, you need to get laid. between a flurry of dead-end jobs and university courses, you can’t remember the last time you had a good romp in the hay just to blow off some steam.)

joe doesn’t seem at all bothered by your proximity. that is, until you run the flat of your hand down the inseam of his leg. you swear you hear him hiss, but maybe it’s just your imagination. regardless, he jumps a little, and you look up with a wince.

“sorry, cold hands. i’m just looking for the tear.”

he nods, a definite flush to his cheeks.

the tear—a whopping four inches from top to bottom—is nestled near the back of joe’s left thigh. you might be able to get away with a bit of fashion tape, but richard has an eye for detail. he claims the camera can pick out every loose thread, every minor snag. 

drawing back, you pop open the sewing kit with a click. “you’ve made me laugh before,” you say. it’s a lame attempt to break the silence, but you’ve never claimed to be the best conversationalist.

“huh? oh.” he hesitates. his eyes narrow, but there’s a playful glint to his gaze. “you’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

“no, it’s the truth. there was that time with the... dinosaur story. and the other time with the baseball thing and your brother.”

he runs his pointer finger over the fingers on his opposite hand, eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he counts under his breath. “so, twice?”

you nod. “at least.” with a flourish of your needle and thread, you warn, “cold hands coming in again.”

he shifts to stand a little wider. his arms cross over his chest, straining the fabric around his biceps. “twice is good. i can live with twice. my normal goal is twenty times at minimum, but i can adjust.”

you fall silent. once you’ve located the rip, you give it a good tug, testing to see whether it will tear more before you’ve finished the job. it holds, thank goodness, so you place the needle at the base of the rip and start threading it back and forth. 

you don’t turn when richard announces, "be back, [y/n]. rami’s stuck. we need baby oil from makeup.”

at this, joe laughs. his hand slaps his opposite leg, his body heaving as he all but cackles. you jostle with the force of his amusement, and the needle stabs the exposed flesh his thigh. this time he does hiss, pulling back on instinct.

you grimace. “sorry! you moved!”

“that’s your excuse? you sure you didn’t plan to stab me?”

“why would i do that?”

“‘cause you think i’m annoying!”

“i don’t think you’re annoying—not all the time, anyway.”

“aha! so you do think i’m annoying!”

you huff. “joe, please. i’m just trying to do my job.”

perhaps it’s the weariness in your tone that drains the good-natured grin from his face. maybe it’s your confession, which you hadn’t meant to confess. whatever it is, he clears his throat and looks toward the mirrors on the wall across from him, arms snug over his chest again. you return to the tear.

the silence stretches thin with tension. you’ve wounded his pride, you know, but you aren’t sure why it’s shut him down. you’ve interacted only a handful of times, and you try to keep professional, distanced, any time you do interact with a cast member. his suddenly-cold exterior is peculiar. 

“can you turn around for me?” he does so without complaint. his ass looks good in the pants, you’ll give him that, and this vantage point gives better access to the top of the tear. a win-win, you suppose. 

“what did you mean by twenty times?” you ask. “your normal goal being twenty times?” another lame attempt at breaking the tension.

he shrugs. “it’s stupid.”

tear repaired, you stand. “no, i want to hear. please?” 

gently, you tug his arm so he faces you again. you glance over his new outfit, searching for minuscule imperfections. you can feel his eyes search your face in a similar manor, and your face grows warm under the scrutiny. 

in lieu of an proper response, he kisses you.

the sudden contact causes you to drop your sewing kit to the floor. the plastic breaks—you can hear the crunch—but you don’t care. it’s been a long time since anyone kissed you and a longer time since anyone kissed you properly. his lips are soft and skilled, slow against your own. you rest your hands on his forearms, let him kiss you until he pulls back.

your skin feels like it’s on fire, and your chest is tight with anxiety. you swallow hard, eyes darting back and forth between his.

“i don’t like it when girls i like think i’m annoying.” his voice is thick, but his words remind you of a schoolboy’s again. it’s endearing; you smile.

“i’m quiet, that’s all.”

“i’m not.”

“i know.”

“usually i can tell if a girl is interested by how many times she laughs when i talk. twenty times and over, i’ve got a solid in. you’ve never given me an in.”

“i suppose twice is a little below the mark.”

he leans forward, as if to kiss you again, and your eyes flutter shut, but his nose merely brushes yours. “go out with me... to dinner. let me make you laugh again.”

you know you should say no. if not for the sake of professionalism, for the simple sake of proving your sister wrong. she’d told you at the start that you would meet someone and it would be dreamy and romantic and totally Hollywood. you’d promised her you wouldn’t.

but joe is cute. and even though he’s loud and chaotic, there’s something about him. he’s like a magnet. despite when your head aches because he and ben are singing too loud, you’re drawn to him. there’s no use denying it.

“one date,” you whisper, holding up your finger. “i’ll give you one date to let you try.”

“how do i know if there will be a second?”

you have to laugh at his boldness. his grin widens at the sound.

stepping back, his hands dropping from your hips, he shows three fingers. “that’s three times. i think that automatically qualifies me for a second date.”

“we haven’t even gone on our first!”

“doesn’t matter.” he hops down from the dressing stool and presses a loud kiss to your cheek. “pencil it in. two dates, back to back.”

“joe—”

he pauses at the trailer door. his toothy smile flips your stomach. “i’m being annoying, i know.”

before you can laugh again, you bite your lip. “get out of here, you idiot.”

he purses his lips in an air-kiss before bouncing out the door.

you grab the broken sewing kit from the floor. straightening, glance at yourself in the mirror. 

your cheeks are flushed and your lips look freshly kissed, but you’re smiling. maybe not laughing, but smiling. joe’s the first guy who’s made you smile in awhile. he’s made the stress in your chest relax, and the constant worry at the back of your head slow.

that ought to count for something. maybe even a third date.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fanfic #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

[fuck-mygayisshowing]

It's my belief that Steve has gone into his mother's closet before and worn her high heels. He's definitely not good at it at first, his feet are at a weird angle, and he's not the most coordinated. Once he realizes no one's going to walk in on him and call him out, he puts his mother's heels on more often. It gives him a boost of confidence when he wears them, and eventually, he drives out to the city to buy some in his size. He gets other stuff to, and tells the cashier they're gifts for his mom. The excitement that runs through his veins when he puts on the heels and they fit perfectly is indescribable.

He takes to wearing his heels around the house whenever he's alone, and he's even gone through his mother's makeup and dresses. His eyes are so hooded, that he doesn't really use eyeshadow, but lipstick has definitely been added to his favorites list. It (along with the right dress) makes him feel like one of the well dressed, slightly cold but seductive, female leads of a Hitchcock film. He continues to fuel this depraved fantasy over the years, driving hours away to buy a floral perfume, buying books on dressmaking so he can alter ones he steals from his mom or buys to flatter his figure.

The most he's explored this side of him in public is his feminine smelling shampoo, and occasionally wearing nylons under his pants when he knows he won't need to change. He doesn't wear the nylons often though, the texture can get a bit uncomfortable, and they're almost always too tight.

He almost outed himself by using Carol's perfume one time that he was hanging out with her and Tommy, but thankfully they were all too drunk to give a damn. When Billy turns up, he becomes more self conscious of it, because Billy seems to find every opportunity to get in his face.

Tommy and Billy find out one Saturday when they go to Steve's house uninvited to scare him or something based on teenage hormones. Tommy has a key to Steve's house, so he lets himself and Billy inside and they find Steve in the kitchen making lunch. He's dressed in a sort of '50s inspired dress that has a subtle pattern on it, and is wearing his favorite red lipstick and black heels. To say Steve jumped out of his skin when he sees the other boys is a fucking understatement.

There's some panicked yelling, and some gay panic from all three of them before Steve gets a brilliant idea. Well, maybe not brilliant, this is Steve we're talking about. He has enough forethought to have them go first up the stairs at least, and only takes point to guide them to his parents' room.

Finding a dress for Tommy was the easier task, he has a slimmer build, and he has the proper height to fit into his mom's dresses. Billy was a bit harder, but he eventually finds a dress that has a matching capelet to hide the open zipper in the back. Steve then manages to get the boys into some heels of their own, but decides to skip out on the makeup, he's already towing a dangerous line.

When Billy stumbles it's amusing as hell. The Californian takes heavy steps and likes to lead with his heel, so while his balance is good, it's definitely not at it's best. Tommy manages to fare a bit better. No that's a lie, he falls on his ass when he tries to take the smallest steps possible and ends up tripping himself. Steve helps Tommy up, and the shorter boy clings to anything in his reach to stabilize himself.

Steve expects this to be a one time thing, they saw him in a vulnerable state, and he got to shove their masculinity up their asses by making them join him. He definitely does not expect Tommy to pull him aside after school and ask for lessons on how to walk in heels. They manage to get a schedule going where Tommy meets Steve at his house and Steve teaches him. They even manage to progress to running in heels at one point, but Tommy falls on his face. The second big surprise is when Billy joins Tommy on one of his visits and proceeds to use his makeup.

When asked, Billy admits that he had a...friend in California who was good at makeup and he taught him a few tricks. Steve takes some time before asking for help with his own makeup, and it becomes a thing the three of them do. Every week they get together and just..ignore the masculine role they were assigned by society. Tommy asks Steve at one point if he's still a boy, or if he's a girl, and Steve doesn't have to think very hard, he's a man. A man that enjoys dressing in feminine things, but still a man.

When they all graduate, they start making plans to move into the city together. Where the people are slightly more accepting, or at least where rumours don't spread like fire. Steve's initially hesitant, but Tommy and Billy have become safety to him in a town where one small slip and you're dead. He trusts them, more than anyone. If he'd been told when he was shunned by the popular cliche that he would be the happiest he's ever been with his childhood best friend and the asshole that punched in his face, he would have laughed and walked away.

But the truth is there, he *is* the happiest he's ever been. And they're sticking together come hell or high water.

#this was longer than intended #I just let my fingers write what they wanted #it was really fun to write #It started as a small thought #now here we are #kegboys #stranger things #headcanons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #tommy hagan #this is sorta a gift to a friend that's really into kegboys right now #i hope you like this J #fluff #i want art of this

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.  

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

#but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #queen fic #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Congrats on 100! Can I please request a Bucky x reader with when she falls in love she doesn’t do it often but it’s down to her bones? Thanks ❤️

Thanks for requesting! :)

Bucky was sitting at the bar with some buddies when Y/N walked in. The black dress she was wearing was modest and flattering; her hair was freshly-styled; her makeup was flawless. The red lip she was sporting drew Bucky’s attention to her lips, practically begging for him to grab her and kiss her. 

But he couldn’t. Not when Y/N saw him as more of a brother than anything else. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. Gone to school together, snuck out to hang out together, protected scrawny Steve Rogers together. Having just received his orders to ship overseas, it would be an excellent time to tell her that he was in love with her, but cowardice stopped him. 

“Well, fellas, there’s my girl,” Leo announced, waving the bartender down for a couple more beers. “Try not to cause to much of a ruckus and ruin my evening, will ya?”

Leo wasn’t a bad guy in general, but he had a certain reputation. Bucky wasn’t a fan of Y/N dating other guys as it was, but a guy with Leo’s reputation was even farther from his preferences. He hurried to plant himself in Leo’s path. 

“What the hell, Barnes?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line. “You gotta be good to her, all right? Y/N, she doesn’t fall in love often, but when she does, it is down to the bones. She isn’t the kind of girl you take out for one night and then she never hears from you again.”

Leo nodded his understanding. “Can I join my date now, please?”

Bucky stepped aside and let Leo pass. He went back to the bar while Leo continued on to the booth with Y/N. Bucky watched them for a moment, saw Y/N glance in his direction, then went back to his own drink. He just wanted to finish his beer and get home. 

“Bucky Barnes!”

Oh, shit. He’d heard his name in that tone one too many times before, and trouble almost always followed. He turned on the barstool, only to be met with a wave of amber liquid splashing in his face and over his clothes. When he opened his eyes again, Y/N was there, an empty glass in her hand and a menacing scowl on her face. Bucky looked over at the booth to see Leo smirking at him. Y/N slammed the glass onto the nearest table and stormed out of the bar; Bucky hurried after her. 

“What was that for?” he demanded, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. 

Y/N shook her head. “Did you tell Leo that he shouldn’t date me?”

Bucky almost couldn’t catch his breath. “Yeah, I did. All right? Because he doesn’t deserve you, damn it! You are gorgeous and smart and kind and Leo is a jerk, Y/N.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I liked him! So tell me, Bucky, what kind of a man do you think I deserve?”

He approached her carefully. “Someone who can make you smile. Who wants more than one night with you. Someone who will take care of you and make sure you’re safe and will take you home to meet his mother. Someone who’ll laugh at your jokes, even when they’re not funny, ‘cause then at least you’re not laughing by yourself. Someone who will listen when you talk -- not just hear you, but really listen. Someone ... Someone ...”

Her arms fell to her sides and she took a step closer to him. “Someone like you?”

Bucky held a hand up and then let it fall back, reaching for her hand. She was looking up at him, her bright eyes illuminated by the moon above. Taking a risk, Bucky leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, finally giving in to the red lipstick. To her. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, “someone like me.”

#100 Follower Milestone #Drabble #Saturdays with Kansas #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes

[ghostsray]

Ch1: Eyes

(i have decided to use this year’s dannymay prompts to write all about my clone oc niel, because why the heck not, im pretty invested in him so far. i wasnt sure if this was worth it since only a few people showed interest in him, except those who did were REALLY interested, so this is for you 😘)

(also on ao3!)

(next)

Vlad was hosting some rich club party, which was why the hall was filled with swarms of boring adult millionaires milling about. Niel stood in the corner, wearing a trimmed suit (which he didn't mind), trying his best not to interact with the many strangers in the room (whom he did mind). His dad had made him greet their guests, and all of them ogled the son of the mayor like he was an exotic pet. Niel decided that even though he was one of them, he didn't like rich people very much. So here he was, standing against the wall, trying his best to seem invisible without actually turning invisible.

Apparently, he was still noticeable, because someone said, "You're Niel, right?"

Niel would have considered fleeing, but he realized the person had called him by his chosen name, and not Daniel like his dad always introduced him as. He looked up and held his breath as he came face to face with a teenage girl wearing the most intense black makeup he had ever seen.

She looked around sixteen, Danny's age, and had black hair and purple eyes. For some reason, she was wearing a frilly pink dress, the exact opposite of her spiked hair and angry black eyeliner.

The frankly intimidating girl scrutinized Niel with her violet eyes and said, "Wow, you really do look just like Danny. Except for the eyes. Yours are a bit darker."

It had come to Niel's attention that this was the first girl close to his age that he had interacted with. He attempted to keep his teenage hormones in control and straightened himself, trying to look professional.

"You're one of Danny's friends?" he guessed.

The girl smirked and stuck out a hand. "Sam Manson," she introduced herself.

Her nails were painted black, like the rest of her makeup. Niel shook her hand, then yelped as she tugged him across the room. "Where are we going?"

"I'm bored," she said simply, like that answered everything. She looked at him with half-lidded eyes. He wondered if she was wearing contacts, because those eyes were really purple and really prett--

Control yourself, Niel chastised himself. He didn't know much about Danny's friends, but for what he did know, this girl could be Danny's girlfriend. He didn't want to date Danny's girlfriend.

"You live in this mansion, right?" Sam spoke, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Don't you know anyplace we can hang out away from all these adults?"

"Dad told me I should stay around."

"And you actually listen to your parents?"

Wow, those eyes are really pretty--but he shook that thought away. He gulped and looked over his shoulder to where Vlad was standing, talking with some people about boring money stuff. Niel might have enjoyed spending money, but he didn't care about hearing about stocks and bonds or whatever, which he guessed everyone in this room enjoyed chatting about.

Vlad didn't glance in his direction at all. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if Niel decided to leave for the airport right then.

He turned back to Sam, who was still waiting for a reply. He smiled and said, "We can go to my bedroom upstairs." Then he realized the implication of that, blushed and quickly added, "To hang out, of course. Nothing lewd or anything."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd know what lewd even means. Aren't you, like, a few months old?"

Niel frowned. Why did everyone who knew about his clone status always enjoy bringing up his age?

"I read," Niel retorted. "I've read some things in Vlad's library."

"Wow. I'm pretty sure that has to be, like, illegal or something. Vlad lets you read that stuff?"

"Vlad doesn't care about me," Niel said, then felt a sharp pang in his core. He wondered how his past self would have reacted if he told him that. Niel had always looked up to his dad, but that was probably because he was the only person he knew, and also before he talked to Danny and learned about...Danielle.

Sam watched him quietly. "So," she finally said, "upstairs?"

Niel nodded and forced a smile on his face. He led her to the mansion's stairway and up the steps until they reached his room.

Sam whistled when she saw the large flatscreen TV and gaming consoles that spread across the wall. "Nice gameset," she said. "I don't know why I'm surprised. Danny would have bought the exact same stuff if he were rich."

There she went again, comparing him to Danny. He figured it made sense, considering Danny was her friend and he was his clone, but Niel still found himself sulking as he sat on his king-size bed.

"Those are just dumb gifts from my dad," he grumbled. "Aren't you rich, too?"

Sam shrugged. "My parents are rich, all right, but they don't really like allowing me to buy anything. It's dumb. I'm old enough to take care of myself." She rolled her eyes and said, "Parents, am I right?"

Niel crossed his arms and watched her wander around his room. "You know I'm a clone of your friend, but you're treating me normally."

"How do you want me to treat you?" She threw her hands up in front of her melodramatically and said in a bland tone, "Ahh, a genetic double of my best friend created by his arch nemesis. He must be eeeviiillll."

Niel's lips tugged upward at Sam's acting. She smiled and said, "Danny told me about you. You don't sound scary at all."

Niel rubbed his neck. "He talks about me? Does he think I'm weird?"

"A guy who wears expensive suits to sleep? Of course he thinks you're weird."

"I don't...I mean, doesn't he find it weird that I'm his clone?"

Sam plopped next to him on his bed. Her dress was crumpled, but she apparently didn't care about that. "Dude, you aren't the first clone of Danny. We're all pretty used to the whole clone idea from Danielle."

"Yeah, but Danielle is..."

"A girl?"

"...different."

Sam leaned on an elbow and asked, "You're saying you aren't? Heck, you're probably more genetically different than her from Danny, if you really have Vlad's DNA in you."

Niel looked down sullenly. "I wish Dad thinks that."

Sam's eyebrows lowered. "The way Danny told it, I thought you basically extolled Vlad."

Niel sighed. "I thought he cared about me...then I realized he only likes me because I look like Danny." He shrunk in on himself and added, "That probably sounds stupid, doesn't it? I'm a clone of Danny, of course I'm supposed to be like him."

"Absolutely not," Sam said, and she said it with such resolution that Niel looked up in surprise. She got off the bed and placed her hands on her hips. "Sure, you're genetically similar to Danny, but genes should never dictate how you're treated if you don't want it that way."

"Um, okay," Niel said, a little put off by how ambitious she sounded about the subject. His shoulders drooped, and he added, "But Vlad..."

"Vlad thinks you're just like Danny? Then prove to him that you aren't."

"How?"

Sam smirked and gestured down at her dress. "You like my look?"

"It's...an interesting choice of wardrobe," Niel said.

"I didn't pick the dress; my mom did. She always wants me to be all proper and feminine and whatever. I figured I might as well humor her this time, but just because I agreed to wear her dumb dress doesn't mean I have to look the way she wants me to." She gestured to her makeup and said with a grin, "I found a way to remind them of who I really am. Wearing a dress they picked for me will never change that."

Niel observed her dress and makeup more closely. He had to admit, that was a pretty clever loophole. Still. "You're saying I should wear goth makeup?"

"That wasn't exactly what I was trying to say...but why not? You're already wearing eyeliner," she said and brought a hand forward to poke at the black ink surrounding his eyes. He flinched away and blushed.

"I think they bring out my eyes," he said defensively.

"They do," Sam agreed, appreciating his makeup work. He did feel pretty proud of that. "But if you add a little more, then they'll pop out so much, your dad will have no choice but to turn his eyes toward you."

"You really think dressing like you will change his mind?"

"Not necessarily," she admitted. "But it will definitely shock him, at least."

Shock him. For some reason, Niel liked the idea of that. He looked at Sam's wild makeup and spiked hair again and hesitated.

Sam noticed and said with a smirk, "What's wrong? Is the goth look too scary for you?"

Niel huffed and straightened himself. "I've read Dracula, Frankenstein, and most other classic works of horror literature. I'm not scared by goth."

"Then prove it," Sam challenged with a serious expression, but that was quickly broken by the smile that spread over her face.

Niel smiled back.

.

The Mansons, Vlad decided, were useless. The only reason the couple were rich was because one of their parents had invented that twirling toothbrush, but when it came to doing work, they didn't know a thing about money.

Vlad was almost glad when that goth girl Danny always hung out with came up to them. He was getting bored from hearing her mother drone about some salon she went to.

"Hey there, Mom and Dad. Hey there, Fruitloop."

Vlad's mouth twitched. It seemed that Daniel (Fenton, not his son Daniel) must have thought it funny to get his friends to use his annoying nickname for Vlad. The mayor hid his irritation under a smile and said, "Why, if it isn't Fenton's female friend."

"Hey, I'm your son's friend now, too."

Vlad raised an eyebrow. The girl was grinning now. He realized someone was hiding behind her back.

"Daniel?" he asked.

Sam stepped aside with her arms out and said, "Say hello to the real Niel!"

Vlad choked. It was Daniel, all right, but--"What happened to your hair?!"

His oh-so-perfect creation was wearing eyeliner so thick it made his eyes look like black holes, and was that also lipstick on his lips? He was fairly sure he didn't own any lipstick of that dark shade, which meant he must have borrowed it from the Manson girl. And his hair. It was tousled up and--oh Ancients--shaved on one side.

"Hello, father," he said in a sulky voice, and Vlad wondered if he had practiced that tone with Manson before coming to them.

Speaking of Manson, her parents looked moritified. Pamela chuckled nervously and said, "I'm so sorry about that, Mister Masters." She shot her daughter a glare, but Sam just responded with a cheeky grin.

Vlad coughed, loudly, before he regained himself. "It's all right," he told Pamela, but he glared at Daniel. "Excuse us. Daniel, could you come speak with me somewhere private?"

Daniel's expression seemed to morph into worry for a split second, but Sam sent him a reassuring smile, and he relaxed. Vlad frowned. He would have to be careful about letting the two interact in the future.

Daniel followed him out the hall and into an empty hallway. Vlad stopped and stood over him.

He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then said as gently as possible, "What the sweet butter biscuits, Daniel?"

"It's Niel," his son muttered, and this time his broodiness didn't seem practiced.

Vlad frowned. He didn't know why Daniel was so insistent on that nickname. It wasn't even spelled correctly--the E should come before the I, and Neil isn't really a nickname one would expect to come from Daniel. "Yes, I believe you've told me that before," Vlad muttered, "but--"

"But you never get it, do you?" He crossed his arms and growled, "You keep naming me after Danny."

There was that angry tone again. He had no idea why, but Daniel had been less than friendly to him ever since that night in the restaurant...

Vlad scowled and informed him, "Of course I would. You're his clone."

"But I don't want to be." He was avoiding Vlad's gaze now, and Vlad thought he heard something in his tone besides anger...sadness. "That's the thing, Dad. I have his genes, but I'm not Danny. And I--I just want to be your son, not your creation."

"That's absurd. You're my son because you're my creation."

The boy flinched. Vlad realized he must be serious about wanting to differentiate himself from Danny.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He had guessed, since he used some of his own DNA to stabilize him during the cloning process, that Daniel would end up a little different from Danny, but the boy was beginning to seem even more rebellious than Danielle had been. At the rate this was going, he wouldn't be surprised if he were to follow his sister's example and run away...

Vlad sighed deeply. "Dan--...Niel," he corrected himself. The teen looked up at him in surprise as he continued, "I don't care if you're different from Danny. To be truthful, the only reason I had wanted him as my son so badly was because he's a hybrid, like me. I wanted an apprentice who can relate to my struggle, and Danny happened to provide the perfect blueprint. But I know you're not him, Niel, and I don't mind. You're still my son."

Niel blinked rapidly. Vlad's words must have deeply affected him, because black lines of ink ran down his cheeks where the tears spoiled his makeup. In a choked up voice, Niel said, "You called me by my name."

Was he really this emotional over a name? If Vlad had known, he would have called him by his silly nickname sooner. Niel shuffled to Vlad and enveloped him in a hug.

Vlad forced himself to push down his dislike of being touched and instead patted Niel in what he hoped was an affectionate manner. "That's right, son. Now can you get off me? I think your makeup is coming on my shirt."

Niel sniffed and tore himself away. "Sorry," he mumbled. He looked up at Vlad with glossy eyes, and Vlad was once again struck by how similar they were to his own, and how different they were from Danny's. "Did you really mean all that?"

Vlad wore a smile and said, "Of course. I would never want to be rid of such a perfect halfa like you."

Niel grinned. Good. The boy was happy, which meant Vlad could be content in knowing he won't run away like his other failed clone.

"Run along, now," Vlad told him now that their emotional conversation was over. "Oh, but wipe away that eyeliner first. You look like a blasted raccoon."

"Yes, Dad," Niel said happily and scurried off. Vlad looked down at his suit and wrinkled his nose at the tearstains that muddled his shirt.

At least Niel was no longer angry at him. That manson girl seemed like trouble, though, and Vlad didn't like how close the two teens appear to have become. He spent the rest of the day watching Niel with one eye, just in case.

#Danny Phantom #dannymay #dannymay2020 #niel masters #sam manson #vlad masters #fic #fanfiction #writing #mine

[telesthisia]

“Dear my beloved hero, my dear friend, Link, Champion of Hylia... hello, are you well? I am uncertain whether or not this letter will reach you... perhaps courage will find me this time and I will not hide it away with the others but. 

I miss you. I hope that you are well... I hope that you are enjoying your adventures outside of Hyrule...”

ALRIGHT Y’ALL NOW IT’S MY TURN WITH DEPRESSED CRYPTID PRINCESSSSSSSSSSS!!! If you haven’t already might I suggest checking out Blue’s post about how her Zellie is a swole 172 cm aka 5′8″ GODDESS!!! It’s quite the read but as with all her headcanons, it’s a fun read so def check it out if you haven’t already. BUT LET’S DO THIS!! For this pose I went with a simple cute one with Zelda holding a letter that’s addressed to Link. She has two years worth of unsent letters all to him, while the penmanship is neat in all of them there’s a lot of crossed out sentences in each one before she folds it up and places it in a small box that she hides under the bed. The one she’s holding in her hands is the last one before giving up on ever contacting him and wishing him all the best on his journey. It hurts how the only time they could ever have that same connection is when darkness strikes her kingdom, believing that the happiest she ever was is that dream sequence she has with Link in the manga... for their connection was the strongest she’d ever felt. Lining up with the 90s comic bittersweet ending, she feels lonely now that Link is no longer by her side since their duties keep them apart, but she believes in the future and believes it’s best to move on. ;v; alright more things under cut because I tend to ramble!

Midway through drawing this, I realized that my notes on the draws wouldn’t be easy to read, so I’ll put all my messy thoughts on Zelda’s appearance after the events of Oracles and ALTTP! My post won’t be nice looking, I tend to get a bit distracted when excited, blame the ADD and super sorry for that!! Keep in mind that Zelda’s main verse canon is three years after the events of ALTTP and a year after Oracles!

This is more of an art thing if anything and part of the messy notes I can’t add, but Zelda has a petite-pear shaped body. The shoulders and back are smaller than the hips which are wider than her shoulders. It’s something I gotta keep in mind when doing full body draws aaaaa! But her rare blood disorder has affected her growth, which is why she’s tiny (5′0″ my dudes but she’s 5′0″ full of love for you) and so freaking pale too. The paleness of her skin is meant to show that she looks a bit on the sickly side. I try to give her kind looking eyes that are big and wide!! And dark blue in color!! She has a bit of a sleepy look to it to make them look more calm and gentle!! Sadly, she’s physically weak and doesn’t have the stamina or even the heart power (Without triggering a fainting spell) to go body building for that sweet eight pack. The complexion she has is blemish and scar free because when you rich you get only the best skin care..... aside from the freckles covering her face. Makeup does make it appear lighter but when Zelda’s not wearing her royal get up the only makeup she tends to wear is eyeshadow and the blue lipstick! So those freckles? They’re there for the world to see! They cover her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her shoulders, and back!! Noble kids used to make fun of her for her freckles but Zelda found a way to refute their teasings by insisting that her freckles were from when children of the fae would give her small kisses for luck! Her ears a little longer than most Hylians, it comes with being from the royal family and yet another hint to her divine origins. 

She is almost never seen without the little tiara she wears when in commoner clothing, the one with the three stones hanging from it! In truth, it’s a gift given to her by the oracles and their colors correspond with the oracles rather than the goddesses, which is why she’s wearing it all the time as a means to remember them. She loves those girls :’) while the bracelet is the same one we see in ALTTP! That one is a bit of an important piece of jewelry. It was a present from her father on her sixth birthday, when exploring the stalls of a nearby town yet affected by the sudden onslaught of plagues and droughts, she’d been fascinated with it and her father bought it for her because how can you say no to baby Zel??? It’s a simple fool’s gold bracelet with no design to it and you can find it anywhere, really, but she loves and wears whenever she can when wearing commoner clothes. Sadly, the maids in charge of dressing her up in her stuffy royal dresses would never let her go around the castle wearing that due to how cheap it is. And finally, the earrings and pendant of courage... I’ve mentioned it before but she’s always wearing the pendant. It was given to her by Link before Link went away on his journey and since then it’s become an important symbolic thing where it gives her courage she lacks. Hence why she wishes to give it to the person she marries so that they too can feel the same courage. With the dress I’ve designed for her, it’s more noticeable, but sometimes she’ll wear it under her clothes if she feels it wouldn’t match her outfit! And the Triforce earrings? Her mother’s!! She’s never seen without them, that’s like seeing Bayonetta without her glasses with the earrings pft. 

So something that’s fun to point out is her shade of blonde! Originally, she had a more golden tone to her hair color, hence why the close up with her eyebrows the color is super darker than the blonde (I tend to color them black but that’s the actual color of them, only reason why I color them black is because I love the contrast with light hair and dark eyebrows ;w;) we see in this draw! So, why’s her hair lighter? Well, Zelda suffers from a little something called Marie Antoinette syndrome. What the hell is that??? You may ask yourself and it’s more or less where the hair turns white from extreme fear and shock, it’s used in the realm of fiction since irl something like that can’t really happen. Due to the various stresses, traumas, and extreme fear she’s endured by witnessing the death of her father, the priest and countless others as well as being kidnapped twice and being used for sacrifice one time and nearly a blood sacrifice to revive Ganon another... well, it affected her mentally giving her trauma and physically all that stress poorly affecting her already bad health. So, the lighter her hair, the more stress she’s been through and that’s probably why whenever you see me draw Zel you’ll see her with pale hair... (I kinda want to make it white because that’s peak Ambercore BUT PLATINUM BLONDE IS CLOSE ENOUGH WE GOTTA KEEP THE BLONDE!!!!!) As always, the hair floofs are very important to her design! It’s what makes her friend shaped!!! That said, I just think it’s a very cute design choice hence why I kept it here! Her hair is longer than in oracles and ALTTP, growing it out to her hips and just above the tailbone! It’s super long, there’s no meaning behind why she grew it out this much aside from failing to keep up with it due to how fast it grows. The public, naturally, believes differently and as common with the mindset of those times believe that she has long hair to show her status as a member of someone who comes from wealthy background. She’s a little hurt by this assumption, really, as it implies she does nothing but brushes it all day as well as showing off her status when it’s actually neither of those things. The floofs, shows that it’s a bit on the messy side as proof that she doesn’t do that at all... but instead spends her days exploring ruined places of decay and death! 

The dress she wears is one of her favorite ones, she has dark boots underneath that goes up to her shins because I think that’s peak character design. The dress is two layers!! The first being the blue overlay and the second a plain old white dress with the collar showing off her shoulders, the cut of the collar is almost reminiscent to nightgowns, the sleeves are short and poofy and in the back is a ribbon, no real reason for that aside from me thinking that’s cute. In truth, I based her outfit off of historical dresses worn in those times for commoners. Their clothes tend to be more simple and Zelda much prefers to wear the dresses of commoners than her silken royal gowns with the heavy gold regalia. Though the pink dress she wears in alttp (and SSBU) is for more important events such as when she was crowned as the next ruler for the throne, she also has a wide wardrobe of various dresses which I will be basing off of Tudor era and a little later in 17th century.... 

In short.... I tried to make her as friend shaped as possible. 

#headcanon. #about. #headcanon 019. #eyyyyy i'll add more to this once i can think of more BUT THAT'S MORE OR LESS THE HEART OF HER DESIGN!! #blue's post ninspired me ;v; nintendo hire us we make amazing zelda designs OK?!?!?! #this post is a mess but more or less notes to keep track of with my zelda's apperance it differs a bit!! #amber's crap crap art.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 72

Devi and Johnny attend a fancy party. Previous! Next!

--

The Social

           “-it’d be a great opportunity-.”

           “Mom…”

           “-there’ll be lots of people-.”

           “Mom.”

           “-you might even meet a man-.”

           “Mom!”

           Devi buries her face in her hands. During their one year trip through space, she found herself missing her family and resolved to visit them when she returned. Now she’s very much regretting that decision.

           “I’ve told you a million times,” Devi says sternly, “I hate. Going. To parties.”

           “I know, dear,” her mom, Marylyn, replies calmly, “but after your yearlong disappearance, don’t you think it’s time you finally did something with your life?”            Devi groans. She didn’t tell her parents the truth behind her trip- not that they’d believe it- so they think she just went on some kind of pilgrimage. Which actually isn’t that far off.

           “I am gonna do something with my life,” Devi insists, “I’m an artist, remember.”            “But when was the last time you made any money off your art?” Marylyn asks.

           She sputters, offended. “We-it-it-I-I haven’t a chance yet. I just got back two weeks ago. Things will pick up.”

           “Devi,” Marylyn says sternly, “I really wish you could follow your dreams but you need to be realistic. You have bills to pay, groceries to buy. You don’t wanna end up homeless, peddling your paintings on the street, do you?”

           Devi groans with annoyance.

           “Now, at this social, there will be plenty of upper management workers for many high level businesses,” she continues, “if you were to meet them, they could put in a good word for you and you could get a very high paying job.”

           “Great, be a desk jockey,” Devi growls, “I’d rather slit my wrists.”

           “Okay, that’s enough,” Devi’s dad, Roger, finally speaks up. “Marylyn, if she doesn’t want to go to the party, you can’t make her. But, Devi, your mother is right. You need to be more realistic and consider your future.”            Devi looks away, seething with irritation.

           Later that night, she’s lying on the floor of her studio, flipping a paintbrush between her fingers.

           Making a living through her art has always been the plan and it’s always been hard. She’s had moments of weakness but she’s never wanted to give up. And where has it gotten her? The only job she had that involved painting was with NERVE Publishing, and that sure didn’t work out.

           Sighing heavily, she stares at the blank canvas hanging over her. Mocking her with its blankness. Her dad’s words swirl around in her mind. He’s always been so supportive of her. Have things really gotten so bad that even he’s losing hope?

           She sighs again, dropping the paintbrush.

---

           “You want me to what?” Johnny asks incredulously.

           “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Devi groans.

           “A party? Really?”

           “Not a party, a social.”

           “What’s the difference?”

           “It’s fancier,” Tenna remarks, leaning over the arm of his couch.

           Johnny groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why me?”

           “I don’t wanna go alone,” Devi replies, “and I can’t bring Tenna. She’ll stand out too much.”

           “And I won’t?” he scoffs, “people go out of their way to stare at me in restaurants.”

           “You at least know how to be quiet,” she argues.

           “Whaddya mean?” Tenna snorts, “I can be hella quiet.”            They both stare at her incredulously before Devi looks back at Johnny. “Look, just…come with me, please?”

           Johnny groans loudly and immaturely. “What day is it?”

           “Saturday.”

           “That’s in two days!”

           “It’s tomorrow.”

           “Fuck!”

           “What’s all this screaming about?” Cammie asks as she rolls in from the kitchen.

           “Johnny is accompanying Devi to a social,” Tenna replies.

           “Oh, wow, that takes me back,” she snorts, “I had to attend a ton of socials with my parents when I was about your age. Don’t you worry, Devi, I’ll get him cleaned up for it. You won’t even recognize him.”

           “Thanks, Cammie,” Devi smiles weakly, “it starts at 8 so you’ll have to pick me up at 5:30, just to be safe.”            “Ugh, fine,” Johnny groans, folding his arms like a scolded toddler.

           That Saturday evening, Devi does some last minute touch-ups to her makeup in the bathroom. Or she tries to, but her hands are shaking too much. So she just grips the counter in aggravation.

           “This is a bad idea,” she states.

           “Hey, maybe you’ll have fun,” Tenna suggests, leaning against the doorway.

           “Not likely,” Devi grunts as she slips by her.

           Stopping in the living room, she incessantly taps her foot and checks the time. It’s not 5:30 yet but Johnny is always late. She can’t afford to be late to this thing if she wants to make a good first impression.

           She groans and squeezes her arms as she paces around.

           “Look, D, if you don’t wanna go to this thing, then don’t,” Tenna says.

           “No, no, I-I wanna go,” Devi insists, “or…at least I should.”

           “But you’re like super stressed.”            “It’s just because I haven’t been to any kind of social event since before we went to space,” she points out, “I’ll be fine once I’m there…probably.”

           They both perk up at a knock at the door.

           “Ooh, I’ll get it,” Tenna chirps and races over. Devi stays where she is, sighing heavily and hanging her head. She looks up when Tenna exclaims excitedly and steps aside, gesturing dramatically.

           “M’lady, your date,” she says as Johnny walks in. He’s dressed in a three piece black suit and tie with his hair smoothed back. He’d be almost unrecognizable if it wasn’t for his permanent scowl and pouty slouch.

           “Don’t call me that,” he growls and faces Devi. His scowl disappears in a flash when he sees her. Her black hair has been styled to have tight curls at the ends and she’s wearing dark purple lipstick to match her beautiful purple dress with spaghetti straps and a slit up the right side, with black pumps.

           “What?” she grunts, starting to feel a little self-conscious.

           “Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away. “You uh look nice.”

           “Oh. Thanks,” she replies, “uh so do you.”            They both stare at the floor in awkward silence.

           “You two are so cute,” Tenna comments, popping up in between them before pushing them out the door. “Now get out there and have fun, you crazy kids.”

           As they both stumble into the hallway, she slams the door behind them and they look back incredulously.

           “She knows that’s my apartment, right,” Devi grunts.

           They both shrug apathetically and head out.

           After getting into Johnny’s car, they begin the 1-2 hour drive across the city, depending on the traffic which is always bad. They’re mostly quiet and just listen to the radio. But the sound of Devi’s incessant tapping on her arms catches Johnny’s attention, and he eyes her curiously.

           “So why do you wanna go to this thing?” he asks, “doesn’t seem like you.”

           Devi hesitates for a second. “…I just thought I should try meeting some people.”            “But you hate people,” he points out.

           “Yeah,” she sighs, “but it’s…I don’t know. Important, I guess.”

           “Hmm,” Johnny grunts, unconvinced, but drops the subject. For now.

          They arrive at the venue around eight o’clock. It’s in a penthouse of a fancy, expensive hotel. As they pull into the parking lot, Johnny eyes everyone going inside with disgust.

           “Prissy, self-important, sticks-up-their-asses…” he mumbles incessantly.

           “Be nice,” Devi warns, “or at least don’t do anything.”            They exit the car and go into the hotel. Both of them immediately feel out of place in such an expensive looking place, like if they just look at a vase for too long it might crack.

           They walk briskly to the elevator and enter it with two other couples in nice clothing.

           “Are you going to the social too?” one of the women asks.

           “Uh yeah,” Devi replies, smiling awkwardly.

           “I’ve never seen you there before. First time?”

           “Yes.”

           “Oh, you’ll enjoy it. It’s simply lovely. Good food, nice folk.”

           “Th-that’s good,” Devi comments, trying to be polite. Meanwhile Johnny doesn’t even try to mask his scowl.

           The elevator arrives and they exit into a large room. On the far wall is a giant window overlooking the city; the wall to their left has a doorway leading to a big balcony. In the middle of the room is a long table with lots of different kinds of finger foods and punch. And clustered throughout are groupings of rich folk, their chatter mixing into a cacophony of “stock market” and “economy”.

           Directly outside the elevator is a suited man with a notebook who is checking off the names of guests.

           “Hello there,” he says politely as Devi and Johnny approach. “Names please?”

           “Um Devi D,” she replies.

           “Ah yes, your mother said you were coming,” he says and Devi visibly cringes. “And this is?”

           “Uh this is Johnny, my…um…”            “Date?”

           They both rankle at the word but don’t argue and he marks down Johnny’s name.

           “Okay, enjoy the party,” he says and they pass.

           “Hoooookay,” Devi sighs heavily as she looks around. Most everyone is grouped up, like a middle school dance. But there are a few by themselves at the food table. They seem to be scanning the room, like her, but more analytically and less fearfully.

           A rustling by her side breaks Devi’s train of thought and she glares at Johnny as he tugs at his tie.

           “Would you stop that,” she hisses.

           “I hate it,” he whines, “a noose is more comfortable.”

           “Just-.” She smacks his hand away and takes a deep breath. “Just stay here and don’t do anything.”

           He huffs and folds his arms as she walks away to the food table.

           “Be confident,” she tells herself as she approaches a well-dressed man holding a glass of punch.

           “Hello,” she says, waving to him. “I’m Devi.”

          Her skin crawls as he looks her up and down, but she maintains her smile and he smiles back.

           “Hello, Devi,” he says and shakes her hand. “I’m James. It’s a pleasure.”

           “Likewise,” she replies, “so, James, what is it you do?”

           “I am so glad you asked,” he purrs and hands her a business card. “I am CEO of High Rise Banks.”

           “High Rise?” Devi questions as she looks at his card. They were the second biggest bank in the city, before Mussolini banks went under.

           “Yes,” James says proudly, “as you can imagine, our stocks have really risen since Celio Mussolini passed, may he rest in peace.”

           “Uh, he’s not dead,” she points out.

           “Yes, but he might as well be. His reputation is ruined.”

           Devi struggles not to roll her eyes and smiles instead. “That’s really interesting, James. I bet working in such a…lucrative bank is a great opportunity.”

           “It sure is,” he beams, “and a beautiful woman such as yourself would be a great secretary. Why don’t you give me a call sometime and we’ll set up an interview?”

           Devi fights every urge in her body to gut-punch the creep and maintains her smile. “Great. Happy to.”

           “Fantastic,” James purrs before walking away.

            As soon as he’s gone, a heavy sigh heaves through Devi’s body and her smile drops like a ten ton weight. She looks at the business card again. This is good. She probably has a high chance of receiving a job now because of this. It’s good…right?

           A heavy pit grows in her stomach as she stares at the card and she sighs again.

           “What’s that?”

           “Fu-!” she bites her tongue to keep from shouting ‘Fuck!’ as she spins around to Johnny, peeking over her shoulder.

           “I told you to stay put,” she hisses.

           “I saw you talking to that guy and got curious,” Nny shrugs, “I caught most of it. You were really talking out your ass. You don’t care about ‘High End Banks’ or whatever the fuck.”

           “No,” Devi admits as she pockets the card. “But I need a job.”

           “So you wanna work with these pretentious assholes?”

           “It’s not about what I wanna do, it’s about what I have to do,” she states and turns away. “Why don’t you eat some snacks or something and don’t bother me.”

           Johnny watches her walk away, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

           Devi spends about an hour talking to people around the party. She didn’t notice before, but most of them are rich, self-important, pompous, creepy white men, sometimes with pretty women hanging off their shoulders like a trophy. And they’re always happy to talk to another beautiful woman, especially when she keeps smiling at everything they say.

           It really leaves a disgusting taste in Devi’s mouth.

           Johnny watches the whole thing from the table, scrutinizingly observing Devi’s every move. He refuses to interfere, even when a group of women hanging around one older man laugh and insult her like teen girls, and she doesn’t snap back. Not even when another man gets a little too close into her personal space and she doesn’t even step back.

           But Johnny can feel himself at his limit when a third man starts getting too touchy. He takes Devi’s hand and starts rubbing her arm. Johnny spots Devi’s other hand twitching, like she wants to slap him. But she doesn’t.

           As the man reaches her shoulder, Johnny steps in, grabbing his arm and pulling it back.

           “Johnny!” Devi exclaims.

           “Who the-!” the man starts to bark but freezes up when Johnny glares at him. Johnny lets go of his limp arm and leads Devi away, despite her protests.

           “Johnny! Stop! What are you-!” she snaps as he leads her out onto the balcony, letting her go as he closes the door behind them.

           “Why didn’t you punch that guy?” he asks, “I can tell you wanted to.”

           “Of course I fucking wanted to,” she snaps, “I want to punch everyone in there! But I can’t. I’m trying to get these people to like me. And I told you to stop bothering me!”

           “Then why’d you bring me here!”

           She stops, unable to answer.

           Johnny takes a deep breath to calm down. “Look. The only reason I didn’t snap that guy’s arm and disembowel him with the punch ladle is because I know this is important to you. But I’m not just gonna watch you degrade yourself.”

           “What choice do I have?” she asks hopelessly, “nothing has been working out the way I want it to. I need a job if I’m gonna survive and art is just…is not working out.”

           “Have you even tried?” Johnny asks, “we just got back from space like a week ago.”

           “Two weeks.”

           “Whatever.”

           Devi sighs and looks off the balcony silently, rubbing her arms from the chill of the night air.

           “Why are you trying to be this person?” Nny asks, “what happened to the badass Devi who never took anyone’s shit? Who helped sabotage an alien ship? Who kicked my ass?”

           Devi chuckles lightly but quickly grows somber again. “I don’t know. Maybe my parents are in my head but…I just think…maybe I should start acting like an adult.”

           “And who decided this is what being an adult is?” he questions, gesturing to the party. “Granted, I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t have to be this. Right?”

           She doesn’t reply, just looks into the party forlornly.

           Johnny sighs and leans against the railing, folding his arms. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life. If this is what you want, I’ll…I’ll stay out of it.”

           Devi smiles at him gratefully and looks back at the party, then at the city skyline off the balcony. What does she want?            “Right now…” she mumbles, “all I want is to…enjoy this view.”

           Johnny looks at her with surprise before turning to the city. “It is a nice view.”            They stare a second longer when the door opens.

           “Devi, everything okay?” James asks as he walks out.

           “Uh, yeah,” she replies, “everything’s fine.”

           “That’s good,” he says, “so, listen, why don’t you join me at my after party at my house? Some other guests are coming, as well as some friends.”

           “Ah, no, I don’t think so,” Devi says, staring at the floor.

           “Oh, come on,” James insists and steps closer. Johnny’s eyes narrow angrily but he forces himself to stay put. “A pretty girl like you; you’d be the center of attention.”

      ��    James reaches forward and gently brushes his finger against Devi’s cheek, and her patience snapping is nearly audible.

           She slaps James across the face, knocking him off his feet. He’s so in shock, he doesn’t even move; just lies there, rubbing his aching cheek. Johnny is surprised too by her sudden shift, but even more pleased.

           “That’s it. That’s fucking it!” Devi shouts as she leaves the balcony, everyone staring at her with bewilderment. “Fuck this shit! I am sick of trying to live my life everyone else’s way. I’m gonna become a freelance artist even if it kills me!”

           She stomps to the food table, taking out all the business cards she’s earned tonight, tearing them to pieces, and dropping them in the punch bowl.

           “Johnny!” she barks.

           “Coming,” he chimes, stepping over the still shocked James- but not before giving him a quick kick in the gut- and racing after her. They enter the elevator and leave behind a really stunned party.

           They’re quiet as they get into Johnny’s car and drive away. Then Nny asks, “so…what now?”

           Devi takes a couple deep breaths, running her fingers through her hair. “I know where we should go.”

           A little while later, they arrive at the hill where they had their first date, a long time ago. Leaving behind their uncomfortable shoes, as well as Johnny’s tie and coat, they get out and sit on the hood.

           Devi breathes the air deeply before stretching and sighing happily, lying back against the windshield.

           “Fuck,” she breathes, “it feels like…a huge weight was just removed from my shoulders. What a waste of time all that was.”

           “Yeah,” Nny agrees, “still, pretty worth it to see you floor that asshole.”

           “Yeah,” she chuckles.

           They’re quiet for a second as they stare at the stars.

           “Thanks for coming with me,” Devi says.

           “No problem,” Nny replies.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myocs #myart

[megatraven]

Blush

Summary: MC wants to learn how to do her makeup, and asks Alex to help her Pairing: Alex & MC A/N: @seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana here it is!!! :D The makeup fic!!! I admittedly should have said something sooner, but I don’t wear makeup and idk how to apply any of it well, so I kind of,,,,, winged it--- Anyways! I hope you like it still! :D (reposted to fix the read more)

Based off this post

AO3

________________________________________

Alex knocks on the door as they shift from foot to foot, grinning a little when they hear a voice call out from inside.

“Coming! Be there in a sec!”

The door flies open then, startling Alex just a bit- they hadn’t expected for MC to be so quick. Their surprise melts into a warm smile, and the girl before them grins widely, barely restraining herself from throwing her arms around them.

She used to do it no holds barred, but, well. The pride of a thirteen year old rivaled Alex’s own, being just on the cusp of freedom.

“Alex, you came!” she said, excitement pouring off of her. She stepped aside so they could come in and eagerly pushed them past her mother, who offered a smile in greeting, and her brother, who just laughed at the sight.

“Of course I came, I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re so busy lately I didn’t think you’d really come.”

Alex rolls their eyes, but her good cheer in contagious as she drags them into the bathroom. It’s a little cluttered, her mother’s makeup all over the sink and  floor. They can’t hold back the laugh that leaves them, especially not when MC turns around and smacks them on the arm, a pout on her face.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying!”

“I know, I know! But do you really need seven different lipsticks?” they ask, picking a couple up and admiring the colors. 

She mumbles something in return, crossing her arms. Alex sets the makeup back down and ruffles her hair, giving her a gentle smile.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Let’s just put most of this back- some of it is too complicated for a beginner. We should start simple, okay?”

Making a show of mulling it over, MC finally nods, grinning brightly once more. 

“Okay, that makes sense.”

Alex smiles back and then gets to work putting away everything they don’t need. When they finish, they’re left with some mascara, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and blush. They even keep out a couple containers of nail polish, in case MC wants to practice that, too.

“Do you want to watch me put it on myself first, or just launch right into teaching you.”

“Can we do it at the same time?”

Alex blinks. “Oh. Yeah, of course!”

They hold out a rag to her they set aside, and search the cabinets for something to clean their faces with.

“First we have to wash our faces. In my case, I already have some makeup on and I need to get it off before we do anything. In yours, you should always start with a clean face anyways.”

They both take a few minutes to clean up, and once they’re done, Alex sits on the floor across from MC, holding up the blush.

“We’ll start with this.”

Alex takes the brush and picks up some of the blush with it, watching MC grab her own and copy them. When she’s ready, they bring it to the apple of their cheek and apply it before brushing it out towards their ear. They repeat with the other cheek, blending it perfectly. 

MC watches them attentively, and immediately dives in to try it on herself. It’s a little uneven, not fully blended, but overall not bad for her first time. Alex grins and takes her brush, gently fixing her blush.

As they work, they see her actually blush, and they decide to do her a favor by not mentioning it. She’d probably kick them out for teasing her, and they still had a few things to get through.

“Not bad. Just be careful not to apply too much, and blend it out evenly, okay?” they tell her, and finish up on fixing it.

She nods ones, resolute.

“Got it. What’s next?”

“Next, we go for the eyes.”

They settle into a mostly quiet time together, save for when Alex is explaining what they’re doing, or MC asks a question.

She flinches a few times, and her hands are a little unsteady when she tries putting on the eyeliner and mascara. Alex leans forward and looks into her eyes, sees the determination in them and smiles.

“Trust yourself,” they tell her, grabbing hold of her hand and guiding her through the motions. “It won’t get in your eyes if you trust yourself to be careful. Take it nice and slow.”

She does, and, surprisingly, she doesn’t flinch again, or jerk her hand away when it gets too close. Her focus is intense and Alex can’t help the wave of warmth that comes over them. They certainly had a soft spot for her, and the pride they felt from watching her learn so quick left them feeling lighter than before they came over.

“So... why the sudden interest, anyways?” they finally ask, their curiosity getting the best of them. They had a feeling they knew why- and weren’t sure they’d like the answer- but they wanted to catch up with her regardless.

They didn’t think she could get any more red than she had earlier when they were doing blush, but she practically burns under their fingers.

“Um, well, there’s this... person,” she mumbles, looking away from them for the first time since they arrived.

“Oh?” Alex smirks, elbowing her lightly with their other arm. “A person? What about them?”

She brings her free hand up and scratches at the back of her neck, suddenly shy.

Adorable, Alex thinks, smiling brightly.

“Come on, spill! What’re they like?”

MC fidgets in place for a moment before she speaks up again. “They’re really nice. And funny. And really smart.” Her voice grows softer, and Alex hangs onto her every word, despite the spear of protectiveness that shoots through them. “I’ve known them for a little while and I really like them, so I just- I thought they might notice me more, if I was wearing makeup. Or they might want to hang out more...”

Before Alex can ask anything more, MC abruptly pulls away from them and stands up, looking in the mirror at what they’ve finished so far, and smiles, turning back to them. A blush still lingers on her cheeks, but Alex let’s it slide again.

“So what do you think?”

“I think it’s a pretty look for you.” They stand and check their own work, angling their face this way and that. “And for me, too.”

“Really!? Mom!” she shouts, and bolts from the bathroom, startling a laugh from Alex. They wait in the door for her to come back, listening to her gush to her mother. From where they are, they can just barely see her preen under her mother’s compliments, and their heart thumps in delight.

They might not be as close with MC as they used to be, but she is still their best friend, and they love seeing her so happy. 

After a few minutes, she makes her way back to Alex and- finally- throws her arms around them in a hug. She squeezes tight, and they hug her back, patting her on the head with one hand.

“So are you happy with your makeover, or do you wanna keep trying?”

Pulling away from them just enough to look up at their face, she grins, and a mischievous twinkle lights up her eyes.

“Can I do your makeup next? And your nails too?” She gave them the largest puppy dog eyes she could muster. “Pleeeeease?”

As if they could say no to that. With a sigh- though they didn’t actually mind- they nodded.

“Alright. But I get to do your nails in return.”

“Yes!” she cheers, and hugs them again.

With her face pressed up against their tank top, they almost miss what she says next, her quiet words muffled by the fabric.

“Thank you, Alex.”

Anytime, MC, they think, and hold her a little tighter. Anytime.

#lovestruck voltage #lovestruck #alex cyprin #alex x mc #alex #afk mc #astoria #astoria: fate's kiss #astoria: lost kisses #afk alex #cyprin #afk cyprin #my fic