#he does have like a longer and full face with rounded cheekbones

[jrueships]

GeeGee has such fat little face.

LOL

[littlemarianah]

How do you think Katniss and Peeta look like? Like, details about their appearances that aren't mentioned.

I kind of love this question because I have a lot of thoughts about it.

Peeta has hair just long enough to fall over his forehead, but he always makes sure to keep it neatly trimmed around the ears. His sparse eyebrows, light, almost the color of his skin. Almond-shaped eyes, small for his round face. The color is light, sweet blue. Completely kind. Flat nose, cheeks that rise when he smiles. He has broad shoulders to carry the heavy sacks of flour; thick arms, to knead the bread dough; He takes after his father, body practically made for the bakery. Not exactly athletic, but very strong. Hands with short, thick fingers always seem too big to manipulate brushes with such precision or to make such perfect drawings. He is full of moles and freckles on his body, due to his fair skin.

Katniss has thick long straight hair. Always escaping the braid, she always ends keep putting her hair behind her ears, she hates anything in her eyes. That's why she never cuts her bangs. Her long hair ends up framing her face even longer than it already is. She has thick eyebrows and right in the middle of them, even though she's so young, an expression line. Big eyes, alert, dark greyish color, like the color of a very heavy rain cloud. Katniss's eyes are easy to read. From fury, to sadness and joy. Everything is written on her face. Thin nose and deep cupid's bow, with a thin mouth. She doesn't have a lot of cheeks, like her father. When she smiles there is just one dimple on the left side. His fingers are long and thin, nails are always bitten. Her knees and elbows are bony.

None of them are particularly attractive, or stand out for some reason. They are normal, people you would see in any crowd. I love them so much 💞🌟 Looking forward to writing the toast babies' appearances lol.

Bonus: Appearance of Gale Hawthorne.

He's handsome, that's the first thing you see. Hair so straight it's always pointy on top of his head. Thick eyebrows, almost meeting in the middle. Complementing his long, gray eyes, always suspicious. He has prominent cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose. His lips are thick and match his prominent chin. He has strong shoulders, even if thin arms and legs. His hands were covered in calluses and scars, as were his forearms. His smile is sweet, even though he almost never smiles, when he does he seems to be a boy again.

[hadaad]

"Doesn't really feel like a win though, does it?"

The Grid is empty, nothing but a skeleton staff, those last stragglers who have no pressing need to return home... and his words seem to echo around the small back room. Colin's desk remains how he left it, perfectly tidy except for a comic book perching precariously on one corner and for a moment Zaf feels a tightness in his chest, a catch behind his ribs that suddenly makes it feel as if its far too difficult to breathe. One thumb pushes the comic gently backwards so its no longer in danger of falling, brown eyes flickering over it before moving to meet the gaze of his mentor .. chief .. friend.

Adam's eyes are tracing his expression, lingering on the swell of a bruised cheekbone, and the younger agent gives a soft smile, reaching upwards to prod at a well split lip as if testing for further damage. "I was worried it might've messed up my looks but I'm beginning to change my mind now. Ruth couldn't keep her eyes off me...though maybe that was because she was trying to assess if I had a concussion." His smile is less amused and more fatigued this time, almost pained by the burden of exhaustion that has started to settle heavy on his shoulders. The older agent is silent, features painted with an expression that Zaf doesn't recognize, and he frowns in response. "Colin wasn't your fault, Adam. We couldn't have known."

He waits a moment, feels his heart thumping in the hollow of his chest (one beat, two...) and fidgets as if his hands want to instinctively reach out for something. Instead, he offers another grin, words teasing despite the shadow lingering just beneath the surface. "I do remember you sending me onto that airfield though. So this ..." He points to his face, fingers gesturing as if encouraging his companion to take into account the full picture. " ... I'd say that might be worth a round or two, wouldn't you?"

[yerion]

jeon jungkook being perfect was a fact you could vouch for; up until he appeared to church without his dear fiancée and his chocolate coloured eyes that delineated so much kindness. the question is—why is it just you noticing his sinister differences?

pairing : jungkook x you. au(s) : vampire!jungkook, forced roommates!au, enemies to lovers!au. genres : dark romance, mutual pining, slowburn, angst, innuendos of suggestive themes.

content : you tear down jungkook’s fake front of being the most generous soul without knowing he’s an attractive yet menacing curse who lived for way too long. on days you want him to vanish, you sway at his sickly charms—and so does he.

your relationship with jungkook tied into a playlist.

previous chapter. next chapter. chapter directory. masterlist.

chapter two.

word count : 6,4k.

“can you spare some time?” jungkook now smiles in the way you expect. late for you and your suspicions. at this point, you’re just thinking—go on and surprise me more, jungkook.

“coffee’s on me.” you suggest. “for yesterday.” 

jungkook raises a brow. “are you sure?”

“let me,” you coax. “i’d say the time is quite perfect for it.” you appeal even further as you scan your surroundings once more. everyone’s already gone to where they should be.

should you be pleased that no one is near?

“undeniably a perfect time to share cups of coffee.” jungkook nods like he just bought your seduction. “sounds like a plan.”

“you said it was your first day today?” you almost confirm for yourself. this guy hosts chaos in his life; he has too many things going on. you won’t even be shocked if he confesses that he’s actually a father of two children. “how about we walk over to the café at the front? it won’t be as busy as before, so don’t worry about running late.” 

“i wouldn’t have asked you if i was in a hurry.” jungkook tilts his head in amusement. “do you have somewhere to be?”

you shake your head in denial. “not exactly.”

“let’s take our time then, shall we?”

the next thing you know, you’re walking side by side with him.

he’s half a head taller than you as he strides with confidence under the tender sunlight; one hand hooked onto his jean pocket, his beautifully proportioned legs leads him into taking bigger steps compared to yours.

he’s more focused on the scene ahead rather than glimpsing at you back and forth; which is an act you’d predict from him, knowing how much of a smart conversationalist he is.

a defined jaw, cheeks full and protruded—it gives him the heavenly balance of youthfulness and masculinity. his eyes are so round and almost reflective with a glimmer, but some strands of his hair are soon going to blanket the starry stars thanks to the attractive length he’s trying to maintain—not too short; not too long.

“does that mean you studied anatomy in the past?” with a subdued voice of yours, you gently intrude his silence.

“i unfortunately couldn’t make it further than second year of medical school.” he takes a hitched breath upon chuckling at his own failure. “but i was lucky to be acknowledged in the anatomy and physiology aspect of things, so here i am, giving out additional lectures whenever they need.”

jungkook likely excels in that too; based on the way he’s been conversing with you all this time, he’s been giving you the most detailed and thorough answers to your questions.

he speaks fluidly too. he hasn’t stuttered once or spoke too fast for anyone to understand. you can imagine how he’d be when talking to the students in his room.

“everyone’s been wondering what you do.” you confess as you study the side of his face while walking under the trees. shadows envelop his pale face, and you’re no longer able to watch the subtle changes to his expression. “an educator suits you.”

“you think?” his cheekbones move upward. you assume he’s smiling. 

“definitely.”

“can i ask how you injured that ankle of yours?” jungkook’s soft, deep voice blankets your ear like warm honey; a voice full of genuine concern. you can tell he’s not asking for the extra point into his account—that much you know after experiencing a life full of tangled twists and hazardous turns. “i happened to notice on the day we met.”

“and i tried so hard to hide it.” you easily admit your defeat in a whimsical exaggeration. “is this your interest in anatomy acting up or was i just awful at acting?” tightening your lips in wonder, you narrow your eyes at jungkook’s face of contemplation. 

“i have a feeling you’re going to take back your offer on the coffee if i answer truthfully.” 

“i didn’t know you had such a side to you.” you almost scoff before chuckling at his tenuous boast about himself.

jungkook stifles a laugh. “i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

and outside the trees’ embrace is the café.

situated beside the university fountains, the café is petite for everyone’s convenience; the smaller it is, the easier it is for the baristas to receive and submit orders.

from what you see, there’s three workers today—a good headcount for the morning wave of students desperate for coffee. their laughter enlightens you; it apprises you that your guess about the rush hour being over is quite true.

you sigh in relief. “there’s almost nobody around.”

“is there anything in particular you like?”

“i usually go for an espresso.”

“you do?” jungkook asks in surprise when he intentionally takes a bigger step forward. now you realise he’s been trying to walk at the same speed as you this entire time. “you’re the first.” he then says once he reaches the cashier.

“first of?”

“w—what can i get you?” the cashier stutters in nervousness. all the colour in her face has flooded into her cheeks, her shoulders are tense and her fingers are curled into her palms.

is she acting like that because of jungkook?

seriously? 

like, seriously?

“we’ll have two espressos to have here, please.” with his customary smile glued to his face, jungkook swipes his card before you can even process your flabbergasted thought.

“wait—” instinctively trying to block jungkook from paying, your hand touches his at the sound of a melodic beep. your body freezes at the familiar sound, knowing it’s too late to bother, so you simply heave out a sigh of disbelief. “that was my chance.”

“how about you decide where we sit instead—” he suggests teasingly. “—after your hand wakes up.”

“i—” you immediately rip your hand off of jungkook’s. “sorry.”

jungkook nods at the cashier upon confirming the order before walking relatively out of the queue, seeing that there’s a student waiting behind.

that’s another person witnessing you blatantly holding an engaged man’s hand.

wait.

jeon jungkook is engaged.

doesn’t that mean he should be wearing a ring?

that was the left hand you just held—his cold hand—but there isn’t a ring on it.

is there a possibility for it to be on his right hand?

it’s not—that was the hand you held yesterday.

“where would you like to sit?” with the receipt slipped in between his fingers, jungkook turns to you for an answer.

“how about outside?” you suggest. “the sun’s nice, it’s shining this way.”

“shouldn’t that be the reason to avoid the sun?” jungkook shuts down your invitation in the softest voice and the gentlest smile. without both, you’re sure it would’ve sounded like a warning.

“to some.” you reply vaguely. “we can sit over there.” you beckon towards the seat of two in front of the cake display full of creamy confectionery. it’s a place deficient of sunlight.

you know the silence he’s given you is indicative of an approval, but before you can entirely check his expression, you catch a barista approaching the counter to announce the freshly made coffees jungkook ordered just a minute ago.

“two espressos!”

“i’ll go.” you quickly insert. you need to remind yourself that this is not a race, but it feels as if jungkook actually started one. he isn’t good for the competitiveness you were born with.

like clockwork, everything collectively goes on like it should.

you, jungkook—the two of you happened to meet out of pure coincidence today.

and now, like two freakishly normal acquaintances who are on the same wavelength to maintain a conventional relationship as two catholics attending the same church, the two of you are facing each other—awkwardly—whilst sipping on espressos.

lips departing from the cup, you clear your throat before peering up decisively. “i’m curious what brought you to our church.” your face brightens; grinning heartily with your eyes in play now; they crinkle and shut tight, harmonising with the curve of your lips. “we’re quite undersized if you haven’t noticed already. that’s why you’re making such an impact in the community.”

“you’re flattering me,” jungkook breaks into a short, airy chuckle behind his cup. “but to answer your question, it was a suggestion. someone i know recommended your church, saying kazuha and i will be welcomed by a collective of friendly people.” he whispers, “which happened to be very true.”

his answer is so detailed yet so average.

it makes complete sense to know he has to consider a friendlier environment for kazuha since she’s not quite fluent in korean, so a friend’s recommendation would be easily followed and trusted.

nothing to note there, and nothing is finding you like electricity like earlier. you could swear his silence spoke so loudly to you back there.

was your instinct simply a figment of imagination?

“i assume it hasn’t been long since you moved to seoul,” you ask quietly. “is that correct?”

“i lived in greece for a while before living in busan for a few years.”

“greece,” you lower your gaze to reminisce. your daydreams were filled with overflowing desires to go to santorini one day—the thought still stands, if you really look further down in the crevices of your heart. “i didn’t expect that as an answer.”

“my parents got married there, loved it a little too much and stayed behind longer than anticipated.” jungkook chuckles deeply. “you and i both know how unpredictable life can get.”

“and you moved here because of kazuha?”

“because it all seemed to work out.” jungkook continues, “with the job opportunity of doing something i genuinely enjoy, and to live here with her. it’s much more convenient to stay in seoul if we have to go back and forth to japan as well.”

what if he really is a nice guy?

“that sounds like a dream, despite the constant moving.” bobbing your head with your lips subtly pouted, your thumb traces the curves of the porcelain cup handle. “it must’ve been scary, going from one place to another at a young age.”

jungkook sits in silence when he registers your last sentence. “it might’ve been.” he then admits emptily after a minute. the boy who possessed everything now looks hollow.

“my father is a neurosurgeon, so he’s never home due to surgeries, and my mother is a translator for celebrities, so she’s always overseas, always living in different times.” you try to make a relatable statement to lighten the mood. “so it was scary for me, to be left alone like that—since home didn’t actually feel like home, with anyone there but myself. i figured it might’ve felt similar to your journey.”

jungkook lifts his head to smile warmly at your story. perhaps it reached him, like you wanted it to. “your childhood sounds more tough than mine, if i’m being honest.”

“it might’ve been.” you mimic his words playfully. 

jungkook sets his cup down onto the table before looking straight into your eyes. “you said you were significantly interested in something rather than someone.” he tilts his head in wonder, “would that be ballet?”

“it would be.” you answer honestly. “so it’s not nice being handicapped with an injury.”

“tendonitis can be healed as long as you take good care of it.”

“how did you know?” you don’t sound shocked, but your eyes widen at his scarily accurate conjecture. “can you easily tell?” 

“don’t forget kazuha also follows your path.” jungkook grins when he alludes to his fiancée again. “she had the same problem in japan.”

“of course.”

“perhaps it’s your turn to tell me why you’re here,” he says. “i’ve been curious as well, since i can’t imagine what kind of business ballerinas would have at a university.”

“think harder.” you raise a brow teasingly, “this university has more than a normal university would.”

as told, jungkook indulges into deep thought.

his look of contemplation shows him habitually tipping his head to the side as his orbs dive straight to the floor.

at that, you become aware of his new piercings again. it’s even more noticeable now that it’s reflective.

“the dance studio.” he says after a short skip in time.

“that’s it!” you exclaim like you’ve been waiting this whole time for him to hit the bullseye. “i mean,” you notice how unnecessary it was for you to be jumping like that before turning noticeably nonchalant. “only here to take a few of my belongings i left behind.”

jungkook frees an amused laugh. “i don’t bite.”

instantly retreating to your cup of espresso, you take another sip before locking eyes with the guy. “j—just know that i’m taking care of myself.” you stammer in embarrassment.

“please stay away from physical activities.” jungkook leans over, both his elbows resting against his thighs when he does. “i’ll only say it once since i’d hate to be that person.”

“you’re…” you shake your head to cut yourself off. compliments will cause misunderstandings—you’ll save it. “thank you.” is all you mumble.

what if his voice changed a bit?

what if he has some new piercings?

what if he doesn’t wear an engagement ring?

what if he is overly sensitive to sunlight?

jungkook is right, maybe it’s time for you to face the harsher truths of reality rather than fixating on foolish deceptions.

there’s no need to corner such a flawless guy.

this isn’t the time to allow your imagination to run wild—you’ve graduated from such thoughts. 

what did you expect to discover anyway?

pushing himself back against the chair, jungkook coincidentally stares off to the side and catches the time on the wall. “i’m afraid i’m going to have to end our time here.” he states, “can’t be late to my first class.”

“go ahead.” you reply cordially. “i’ll see you on the weekend.”

“we’ll talk again.”

at his own words, jungkook stands, flashes another grin from above before exiting the café. the barista’s gaze is glued to his back as he leaves, and so is yours.

the second you watch jungkook disappear from your vision, your eyes return to the front, only for you to stop yourself from swallowing when you notice jungkook’s cup untouched. the cup is still full of black espresso, now cold from the wait.

in your hands are brand new pointe shoes yet to be broken into, and ahead of you are mirrors, enclosing you in a familiar darkness.

you sit there, and only a few lights are illuminated; they’re dimmed, not cranked to their maximum brightness.

it’s you that you want to see—nothing else. it’s always been like this for you, though the darkness scares you time and time again.

clenching onto your rigid pointe shoes, you stare blankly at your bandaged ankle. as much as you want to tear the damned thing off so you can slip your feet perfectly into your new pair of pale pink shoes, you just squeeze your eyes shut and sigh out to the greyed ceiling. 

will today become a mistake and a regret in the future?

there’s months left till the competition. a brief calculation of 90 days remaining until you fly out to whatever continent in europe and compete against ballerinas from different countries. 

the thought of it kills you—it crushes a bit of you inside and you’re in flames to impress, but you know days of patience is what you need rather than gruesome hours of practice.

endure it.

face it.

broken things can heal crooked, and that can’t be you.

the weekend found you like how monday would.

it caught you in a blink of an eye.

your weekdays felt like vacation because you were only resting at home, caring for your ankle while studying your old ballet videos.

you also might’ve squeezed in bits and pieces of your favourite series here and there and maybe cooked yourself two different instant ramen cups at an ungodly hour.

you overdid yourself there, but you settled down to officially declare this time as your resting period.

you exit your car, unknowingly stepping into a wet splash. the puddle below your feet pooled throughout your drive here, because after one week, the skies showered the world once more.

thankfully it wasn’t as persistent as last weekend, but it was still a hindrance on your way here.

cars were desperate to slow down ahead of you, and all you could do was groan behind your steering wheel while selling yourself to the sound of rain pattering against your windshield.

you frown at your partially soaked feet before shaking off any excess water stuck to your sneakers. thankfully it wasn’t your bad feet, otherwise you would’ve dealt with a wet bandage. “the rain and i definitely have issues.” you grumble to yourself.

looking ahead, you see the usual crowd of people at your church, waiting around for the doors of the church to open for today’s mass.

you’re exactly on time because of the downfall earlier, so you try to walk faster to avoid the fate of being the last person entering those doors. 

when you approach the front, you wave casually to the few people recognising you first—kim jisoo, park chaeyoung and kim mingyu. 

“you could’ve taken your time.” chaeyoung’s eyebrows both collapse in concern. “shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

you shake your head profusely to reassure chaeyoung’s restlessness. she’d always be the first to worry if anything happened to you. “i’ve been taking it way too easy.”

“have you now?” jisoo squints in scepticism. “that doesn’t sound like you at all.” 

“i have,” leaning forward into jisoo’s face, all you do is purse your lips and make a ‘tsk’ noise out of them frivolously. “you’d be surprised when you see that i’ve eaten most of the instant ramen you left behind last time.”

“really?” jisoo’s face brightens like the sun on a cloudy day when she hears that you’ve been outwardly taking care of yourself—eating what you want, sleeping as much as you want. “now i’m not worried—so, chaeng, don’t be worried.”

chaeyoung huffs before smiling widely. “okay,” she dismisses softly. 

“you say something too, mingyu.” jisoo pats mingyu’s shoulder—and it’s undeniably quite a stretch for her, since mingyu definitely has some height in him. “hasn’t it been long since you last saw her?”

“i think… it’s been two months?” mingyu thinks aloud. 

“hm,” you hum before cracking a laugh behind your hand. “i don’t know, you tell me. maybe it’s been three, or even one?”

“stop that,” mingyu uses his index finger to poke the middle of your forehead. you always get pushed back from this, consequently why the guy never stops. twenty more centimetres and you would’ve ran into his forehead with your own. “i went on my business trip when you won that competition.”

“impeccable memory.” you feign amazement by gasping dramatically. “how did that go anyway? didn’t you fly to beijing?”

“says you.” mingyu naturally lowers his hand. “it was nice, since getting out of here always feels good. like the air is different, the food is different, the people are different—”

“he hates us,” jisoo whispers noisily.

“he totally hates us.” chaeyoung whispers back just as noisily. 

“no way, mingyu.” you gasp more dramatically than before. “without you here, the air is also different and the church is different—”

“i want you to pray for your safety today.” mingyu quips. 

shrugging off mingyu’s wise words, your head turns, and you automatically notice jungkook engaged in a bigger group. some are laughing and exchanging carefree grins to one another, but the focal majority dons earnest expressions.

when you glance over, it’s as if jungkook physically felt your stare; he doesn’t make it a secret (not that it’s meant to be) the second he recognises you from afar.

eyes first—jungkook smiles, then you observe him slowly excusing himself out of the group crammed with adults and other younger adults close to your age.

“who’s that?” mingyu asks.

“that’s right, mingyu wouldn’t know since he was away.” chaeyoung says. “he joined our church recently.”

“he joined with his fiancée—” jisoo adds quietly, “who is weirdly not here today.”

she isn’t?

“great to see you again.” wearing a cool guise, jungkook never misses to sound proper. he offers everyone around a courteous smile to begin before returning to you. “are you taking care of yourself?”

“always.” you answer boldly. “and i assume your lecture went well, judging by your friendly face?”

jungkook chuckles at what you said. “even if it didn’t, i wouldn’t be making it noticeable.” he replies. “it went well, and i most certainly wasn’t late to it either.”

“as expected.” you praise. “also, is kazuha not with you today?”

“kazuha urgently flew to japan because her father suddenly had to be admitted for high blood pressure.” jungkook explains, “she couldn’t tell me when she’ll be back, so she preferred me to stay behind.”

“is that so?” you murmur. “please send her my best regards.” 

“i will.”

“that reminds me,” you almost forget to make your adorable and speechless friends known to the captivating (and taken) stranger named jungkook. “this is mingyu, chaeyoung and jisoo. they’ve been a part of the church for as long as myself.”

jungkook nods knowingly before facing the two girls first. “thankfully we’ve already met before.” he grins comfortably. “isn’t that right?”

“very right.” jisoo agrees.

“sure did.” chaeyoung straightens her dainty shoulders and tucks her hands into her blazer pockets. “it’s really nice to see you getting along with everyone.”

“you’re too nice.” jungkook deflects.

“that must mean i’m the last person you haven’t met.” mingyu speaks up. “it’s nice to meet you, jungkook.” he offers jungkook a hand. you espy how levelled this whole exchange looks—it’s got to be the perks of being similar height. “i’m mingyu.”

jungkook gladly accepts his hand and gives it a firm yet gentle shake. “it’s nicer to meet you, mingyu.” he replies. “let’s get along.”

“you bet.” mingyu grins smugly.

“we should head in,” jisoo suggests as she brings attention to the opening doors ahead.

the two doors swing open heavily with two female reverends pulling each door from behind. light leaks out of the fracture between the doors, faintly igniting the cool evening.

at that, the whole of the community moves towards the entrance.

when you walk in, the church is ablaze—from top to bottom, almost every wall is covered in stained glass. it’s a place where you can’t differentiate the time of the day when you’re inside; day or night—the church always stays unchanged. this church isn’t as vast as others, but reasonably cramped and compact—you can see everything from where you are—that being somewhere in the middle, closer to the back.

beside you, there’s chaeyoung with her eyes squeezed shut and hands clasped. jisoo and mingyu went over to the right together, meanwhile jungkook is one of the people in front.

upon taking out your rosary from your purse to clench in your hands, the priest climbs a short flight of stairs to stop behind the podium, standing before the pane of religious stained glass. 

the mass goes on for an hour. the priest peruses the bible, voicing the god’s prayers. when the first segment rolls over, someone is chosen to read the next prayer behind the lower podium alongside the priest. 

you, luckily, have gone up already less than a month ago.

as coincidental as it can get, jungkook happened to be today’s spokesman.

how merciless of them, to elect a newcomer like that.

nevertheless, in your mind, he seemed to be the perfect prospect anyway. not only does he speak eloquently, but you heard him—the guy never stutters. he delivers every word as if there’s a ribbon tied on top of each term. 

jungkook relaxedly rises from his seat and treads lightly to the podium on the left wing.

everything about jungkook is so blasé in this specific moment, which you assume is from his so-called experiences.

as so, he even seems to be aware of how sensitive the microphone can be, otherwise he wouldn’t be flipping the pages of the bible so quietly. you knew it—he’s in his zone.

“... mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.” jungkook articulates. “amen.”

“in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit,” the priest recites. “amen.”

like that, the mass reached the end.

it’s around 7pm when everyone scatters, returning to the normalcy of sharing conversations under the moonlight before concluding their weekend.

the moon looms over half of the people who remain, while the rest bid their farewells until next time.

consequently, that’s you saying your goodbyes to jisoo and chaeyoung, since they have a longer way to go.

“i’ll see you next week.” you mouth to the pouting jisoo and chaeyoung waving at you from ten metres away.

“did you drive?” mingyu asks beside you.

“i did,” you answer with your eyes fixed to the two girls ahead. you watch them vanish when they turn a corner into the car park before meeting mingyu’s eyes that were stuck onto you the entire time. “do you need a ride?”

“i was going to ask you that.”

“that’s awfully considerate of you.” you tease in a whisper. “i’m fine though, since i brought my ride with me.” nudging mingyu against his arm, you give him a toothy grin.

mingyu nods once. “you be careful on the road then.”

“don’t think my driving skills deteriorated because of a single injury.”

mingyu snorts at your furrowing eyebrows tagged along with your dauntless remark. “i’ve been thinking that way before you injured yourself.”

“oh,” you blurt blankly. “just go already.”

“i’ll see you next week—” mingyu drops his arm on top of your head. “—shortie.” he mutters playfully.

you kick the air when he’s staring back at you, already metres ahead. “i’m literally taller than jisoo!” you squeak when he’s gone.

in case you forgot anyone, you examine your surroundings once more.

apart from you, everyone’s waving to each other, fading into the coal black of the night, disappearing to pursue their car to rush back onto the road.

the headlights of some cars in the distance remind you of fireflies dancing in the dark; which urges you into a realisation that those glowing lights will be zooming off soon, turning off the majority of light in your life, so you decide to leave when the amber lights afar start to wane one by one.

walking quietly on your own, you reach your car—and that specific puddle you bathed your feet into last time. you squint and shake your head, denying the thought of making the same mistake twice.

after, your hands sink into your purse to fish out your car keys before going around the puddle to jump into the driver’s seat.

the car park is fully vacant, but there are vehicles lined up on the main road just up front. not that you desperately needed reassurance, but a part of you rests easy anyway, especially knowing that there’s mingyu out there waiting for the traffic lights to blink green.

you hum while fiddling with your phone to choose a song for the road. “perfection.” the corner of your lips lifts at your favourite song—charlie puth’s dangerously.

before you can press the accelerator with your beloved music playing in the background, you glance at the church one last time absentmindedly.

it’s like a built-in mechanism, checking out your back the second you abandon a place. you think nothing much of it until you catch a shadow walking past the spot you were exactly at ten minutes ago.

you must be seeing things.

if there was really somebody there, the lights would’ve switched on because of the sensors. 

for a split second, you feel a shiver run down your spine.

your neck and shoulders feel freakishly ticklish from it, but you want to prove yourself once more that you might be wrong.

your body slants to the right, your head peeking out to see more of the church. the lights are still off, and there’s no one there.

“what?” you spit out in puzzlement. “stop scaring me.” you whimper in the dark while decreasing the volume of your song. you’re not in the mood for a party in your car anymore.

you’re seeing things.

eyes clung to the church in hopes of finding nothing again, you silently push the button to start up your car. “this is because i rewatched ‘attack on titan’ last night.” laughing nervously under your heated breath, you move your gear stick into ‘drive’.

it’s at this moment you see the light flicker.

the light was brief and small, but you definitely saw it glint in your peripheral vision.

what was that?

which light was that?

you think back—if you possibly saw someone—or something go past the spot you were in earlier, it moved to the left—that being the church.

did someone leave something behind?

you think back once more—did you see everyone leave?

was anyone left behind—or did you not see anyone leave?

what makes you so sure that you were the last person out?

“why am i even thinking about this—” you sigh in disbelief. “let’s just go.”

wait.

hold on.

a thought crashes onto you—it ruptures everything in your head, and you’re thrown back into the endless pit of your unnecessary hyper analysis of everything and anything. 

you didn’t see jungkook go.

you didn’t see jungkook when you saw everyone waving to each other.

if you think about it, jungkook would’ve been heard or talked about at the last minute. knowing he’s the star of the church, no one would just let him go without saying a word or two to him.

you would’ve heard that if that happened.

you know you’re crazy; you know you’re insane for jumping to this conclusion and this is psychotic of you. 

you immediately shut down your car when you feel a silver of composure upon seeing that it’s only 7:40pm.

an illicit disaster can’t feasibly occur at this time, or no one would actually plot to do anything profane at this time of the night.

it’s still relatively early, and you’re going to sneak away and rely on security cameras if there’s really someone you don’t recognise in the dark, roaming around the grounds of the church alone.

conscious of the fact that retracing your steps back to where you were will trigger the lights, you duck your head and soundlessly approach another entrance of the church by looping to the side. it’s a separate entry for the priests, so it’s much more upfront than the main gateway.

you have no idea if you should be feeling rather grateful or rather dense (for obviously committing to this thought of yours), but at least there’s enough cover for you thanks to all the shrubs encircling the building. no human eye can detect you with this much darkness drowning you as well.

the only disruption for you right now is this door.

you can’t see through it because it’s not exactly transparent. anything you see through it is heavily hazy like a cloud, but you could try to make out shapes if given context. 

crouching down to align with the height of the shrubs, you push your ear against the door to pick up any noise from inside.

for now, there’s utterly no sound coming from the opposing side of the door; merely the sound of your ridiculously fast heartbeats.

determined, your jaw tenses up and your toes curl in your shoes as you persist in waiting for the next few minutes.

the sound of doors swinging open—it’s forceful and reverberating. it’s conspicuous that the person behind the door has no intention to keep themselves a secret, like they’ve come with a solemn purpose.

the sound of their footsteps is relaxed, unhurried, rhythmic… they know exactly what they’re here for, and it’s not their first time coming here.

otherwise, their steps would be broken up, wondering where to go in this pitch blackness.

“about your beloved girlfriend, that—” he cracks into a disturbing laughter. “i forgot which one.”

is that jungkook?

“the one you begged me to save?”

no way in hell that it is.

this guy sounds… completely different.

“she reincarnated,” he says. “and called herself kazuha.”

kazuha?

terror suddenly washes over you. your heart is now throbbing in your ear, and your muscles are completely frozen.

now you seriously feel your instinct screaming and pleading you to retreat.

even if your mind was detained with horror or not, you can barely understand anything—whatever the hell this guy is saying about saving, reincarnating and about kazuha—she wasn’t even here today.

“you should’ve seen the face she made when i bit her.” he snickers in a breath heavy and husky. “sorry, now i’m really bragging, aren’t i?” 

bit?

is kazuha… dead?

right after that, everything stopped.

you couldn’t hear his threats anymore, nor his steps or the sound of the door slamming back shut.

you can feel the rate of your heart slowing, but you already know every colour is drained from your face.

whatever that was feels like a fever dream to you, and you still don’t know whether to believe if that was true or not. life has never been this questionable to you.

shocked, you muster courage to drag yourself out of hiding. your car isn’t far from where you are, but you still think it’s smart to take your time.

god knows if that psychopath is still lurking around and talking to the skies.

you gradually find your way out of the shadows and see that your car is still undamaged. judging by how things are right now, you wouldn’t even be surprised if your car exploded into flames then ashes.

“ballerina?”

you stand there for a couple of seconds, feeling yourself shrinking away at the sound of your own title.

you try your hardest to contain any shallow breaths.

there’s a weight in your stomach now, and the pounding of your heart is starting to feel painful.

“may i ask why you’re here?” 

he killed kazuha.

“it’s not nice to ignore someone.” jungkook’s aura completely shifted. there isn’t an ounce of sweetness left in his voice, instead he sounds exactly like that voice from before—you prayed for it to not be his, but deep within, you knew it could only be him.

“i was waiting for you.” crossing your arms, you deadpan as you spin around. this isn’t time for you to argue, but you’d rather die than exhibit your fear. 

“were we ever that close?”

“if we’re close enough to sit across from each other and share cups of coffee,” you challenge. “wouldn’t it make sense for me to stop if i see them doing something awfully strange, like talking about reincarnations and biting into your fiancée?”

“the world calls that nosiness.” with his head lowered, jungkook takes steps forward.

everytime he inches closer, your body naturally flees by taking steps backward. 

your limbs are free; you’re under control again as you back away from jungkook. “and what does the world call you?”

jungkook finally raises his head and glares into your tentative eyes brimming in perturbation. “instead of talking so much,” his fingers creep around your neck, and you instantly stiffen at his cold hand connecting with the heat emanating from the base of your nape. “why don’t you try and beg me to save you?”

what the hell?

forcibly yanking you upward to be on par with his lips, putting you on tiptoes, he then whispers scarily, “amuse me.”

your heart is beating so frantically, you could actually feel your body beating as one. it feels nauseating when it clashes with the pure fear coursing through your flesh and bones.

your breaths are clinging to your throat and you’re failing to swallow them down.

your legs are paralysed and so are your shoulders. one single move, and you think you’re going to crumble and fall to pieces.

“no one wants to die.” you answer breathlessly. “did kazuha not tell you?”

retracting his hand, you carefully watch jungkook resort to putting both hands into his pockets instead. “she couldn’t.” he laughs huskily, “she had no idea she was dying.”

snapping your head upward, you scowl at his deranged smirk. ���what the hell are you?”

“i’ll tell you,” jungkook roughly lunges forward to press your body against the closest wall. your back lands rather softly against it, which makes you think to yourself—this guy is beyond capable of adjusting his brute strength—a strength nothing alike to a human’s. “but not for free.” he crooks his head into the side of your neck and breathes heavily onto your skin.

wait a minute—

panicking, you try to tear him away by pushing his chest.

he doesn’t budge, but you find a moment to steal a glimpse of his half-shut eyes that’s centimetres away from your face. 

the colour of his eyes are yellow.

“jungkook,” you interject. “you won’t kill me.”

his breathing stops, and you squirm as you watch the rest of his eyes open slowly. his yellow orbs are devoid of any emotion, but they look at you in fascination. 

“sure can.”

[hongism]

6:14 pm - p. seonghwa

↣ pairing: seonghwa x gn!reader ↣ genre: fluff ↣ wc: 1.1k ↣ for @astrojoong​: “OK for the request. either hwa or mingi. (u decide which fits ur idea better) 14 - Stuck together for a long period of time and 27 - “Sorry. You’re just…really adorable.” 🖤🖤🖤” ↣ warnings: language, some sexual innuendos 

“It’s been hours,” you sigh, near the point of giving up and crumbling to the floor. You don’t know who you’re speaking to because the stranger who occupies this (broken) elevator with you has been silent the entire time you have been stranded here. Admittedly, you haven’t spoken either aside from calling for maintenance because your stupid apartment building couldn’t get anyone else to come out here for the two of you. They are taking their sweet sweet time working on the damn doors, wherever they are because you’re stuck somewhere between floor four and floor three. But as soon as you speak to the empty air before you, there’s a huff of laughter that resounds behind you and fills the quiet.

“It’s only been half an hour actually,” he says once he’s done laughing at your misery, and you turn to face him with a frown painting your lips. You haven’t made any effort to look at him during these excruciatingly long thirty minutes, though you regret that a bit now because looking at him would have made the wait more than worth it. He’s… pretty in a way. Handsome, of course, has sharp cheekbones and a bone structure that the most beautiful gods would be jealous of, and a silky mop of ashen grey hair atop his head. But at the same time, his eyes are wide and curious, round like black pearls and shining a little under the yellow haze of the elevator light. A pretty and healthy tan to his skin that brings out the whites in his eyes some. There’s a bit of sweat on his brow thanks to the lack of a functioning air conditioner, and it’s enough to make his hair cling to his forehead in damp clumps, but still, he looks unfairly good.

“The heat makes it feel much longer than that,” you huff, bringing your arms up over your chest as a way of defending yourself. Now, the man releases a full-blown laugh that shows off a pretty set of straight teeth.

“I meant it’s only been half an hour since I started counting. I have no idea how long it’s actually been.” His eyes disappear into soft crescents when he smiles. The gesture makes his face contort into an expression that reminds you a bit of a cat, from the quaint grin tugging at his lips to the tilt of his head. You let your guard down upon hearing the jest, enough to drop your arms back to your side.

“Well, I wasn’t paying attention to the time either. I was—”

“Too busy trying to get us out of this, huh?”

“Y-Yeah…” you trail off. For the first time, a bit of embarrassment slips in, but that’s suddenly overshadowed by bitterness. “It didn’t seem like you were doing anything to help out.”

The man in the corner of the elevator lifts a neatly styled brow.

“You seemed to have it all under control.”

“You would just let me walk all over you like that?” You mirror his expression.

“I’m not afraid to let someone else call the shots. Not just in situations like these.” His words hit you like a truck, square in the middle of the chest and making you choke on the already stuffy air in the cramped elevator. “Park Seonghwa, by the way. Since we’re stuck here together, may as well know each other’s names, no?”

“That’s how you’re going to introduce yourself?”

“I’ve never been shy.” The man — Seonghwa apparently — takes a sudden step forward and into your space. You retaliate by backing up even though he’s still rather far away, pressing yourself further into the corner by the door. “There’s no time or need to be shy when you could be having much more fun.” He only steps closer with each word, and there’s nowhere else for you to go when he finally closes in on you. All you can do is try to hide from view as much as possible. “Besides, you still haven’t given me your name. Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s Y/n,” you mutter as Seonghwa lifts an arm. You think he’s going to touch your arm or something like that, but he merely reaches around you and hits the elevator panel behind you.

“The service light has been green for about thirty minutes. That’s when I started counting.”

“I — wait, what?”

The only answer you get is the lurch of the elevator as it pushes into action again. Seonghwa is the picture of balance as he stays perfectly still when it begins to move; however, you struggle quite a bit more with the whole idea of balance. You have to dart a hand out to steady yourself before you topple to the floor, securing a grip on Seonghwa’s arm, and he catches you just as quick.

“The elevator has been repaired for about thirty minutes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You scoff, doubly parts concerned about how oblivious you are and embarrassed by the blunder.

“Sorry. You’re just… really adorable. I couldn’t help myself when you got all huffy and pissy.”

“Thirty minutes of waiting because you think I’m adorable?” Your voice comes across as almost incredulous and accusatory, and Seonghwa looks intimidated for a grand total of two seconds. Then he breaks into a laugh and steps away from you as his amusement continues. “I hardly find that amusing, Mr. Park.”

“Mr. Park?” He echoes. He’s clearly trying to contain his laughter and smiles, but it does nothing to conceal the emotions when you stare him down. “I don’t even like being called that in the bedroom, my dear.”

“Oh, bite me. Shouldn’t you take me to dinner before calling me pet names?”

“Then why don’t I do just that when we get out of this elevator, hm?”

Seonghwa seems a little too smug as he stands there across from you. You hardly process the ding of the elevator and the slide of the doors. Part of you considers saying no flat-out without even deliberating, but then again — well, then again, he made a move that you would make too.

“Okay, but don’t get too excited. I’m not agreeing to anything more than dinner right now.”

“Done deal, Y/n.”

[keeper0fthestars]

recrudescent (i’m right here)

Din Djarin / gn!reader 

1.6k words

warnings: angst / comfort, repressed memories, heartache, nightmares (and the panic that follows), mentions of death / violence

summary: ‘the past beats inside me like a heartbeat’ - John Banville

a/n: please heed the warnings and do not read if you are affected by things like this. 

the prompt for this came from this post

~~

The explosion knocks you back into the dirt. Smoke and ash fills your mouth. Sticks to the back of your throat, stings your eyes. You will yourself to sit up because this time, you tell yourself, it will be different. The ringing in your ears makes you lightheaded, the heat of the billowing smoke gets in the way, but you don’t need to see, you know these winding streets in the dead of night.

You run.

You don’t have to tell your feet which way to go; you know all the shortcuts, avoiding the white helmets with their flamethrowers. You’ll beat them this time. Your heart pounds twice for every stride you take in the packed dirt, the smoke gradually thins the farther away you get, and they don’t even see when you dart across the main path. Climbing the wall, the familiar chase stars and you’re ready for it. Narrowly missing the jump over the ledge, climbing up to the next roof, higher and higher, until your boot catches on a loose edge. You hear rubble fall, knocking the helmet down with a grunt but you can’t look back, there is nothing there for you anymore. There will be nothing ahead of you either if you don’t get there soon. And warn them.

The burn in your muscles doesn’t come as soon as it did before, but you’re older now, stronger. You’re through the trees by the time it hits and like last time, you push even harder. They’ll still be there. They have to be. You will get there in time. You’re older now, faster. You’re getting close, the taste of hot coals once again thick in your mouth and you try to call their names, to warn them, but your voice doesn’t carry. It’s dry as parchment, singed and black.

The house glows orange from inside and no one is here. No no no. Not again. Where are they? There is nothing left of your mother’s curtains in the summer kitchen. The blue enamel flowers on her pottery blister in the heat and no longer match the embroidery on her linens. You smell the scorch of thornwood as the flames lick along the beds and doorframes.

Eyes burning with smoke, the rubble bites into your knees. They’re gone. Everything is gone. Where are they. Clawing at the gravel, every breath scorches against a raw throat, you wish the flames would swallow you too. The grief that comes is like an old friend.

From some hazy distant place, you hear your name; a gloved hand touches your knee.

In a rush of fear, you don’t look to see who it is, your instinct is to kick it away but your feet feel like they’re stuck in mud and it takes an enormous effort to get away from the looming figure beside you. Wiping the sweat and soot from your eyes, you try to focus on the reflective round head beside you. He’s speaking but you can’t understand the words. Something familiar tugs at your memory but you don’t trust your memory because familiar means grief and heartache and misery. And familiar doesn’t matter anymore because you couldn’t save them.

You never will.

The hand won’t let go; no matter how hard you push on it. Please. Where are they?

In your desperation, your foot finally connects with a plank of metal so hard you cry out, sitting up, scrambling away.

“You’re okay,” he says again, his hand still on your knee, “it’s just a dream.”

He’d been startled out of a light sleep; the sound of choked sobs echoed from the other side of the hull, filled his stomach with panic. Detecting your frantic pulse and he’d scrambled over to you. A broken name falls from your mouth, a name he doesn’t recognize, sounding slurred like you were underwater. Under the soft light from the panel over your head, sweat and terror shine on your forehead.

“Hey,” his soft voice blankets your senses with calm. “It’s me. You’re okay… you’re okay.”

The voice tugs at your brain again, the blurry figure is still here and your body reacts to his soothing words. You stop struggling and sit up against the wall, hugging your knees to your chest.

The sharp pierce of your own fingernails digging into your palms brings you back to the Crest.

Just a dream.

Face wet, your lungs are no longer burning from ash and dust, they burn from exertion. In your exhaustion, you make out the beskar helmet through wet eyelashes. It was just like all the other ones. The same explosion, the same suffocating panic, the same fire.

Cool air fills your head as you struggle to catch your breath but your muscles droop like lead, you start shaking.

But that’s ok because he’s holding you up.

With his broad chest and solid arms. You weren’t alone.

No matter how many times you relive it, you would never get home before they were taken away. You’d never get a chance to say goodbye. You turn your face against the fabric of his worn shirt to quell the hurt in your chest but the piercing shock of fresh grief claws at your throat, your mouth starts trembling unable to stop.

“I tried but I couldn’t get there.” They were innocent. “Why couldn’t they take me instead.”

Stomach heaving, the agony of memories spills down your cheeks. It’s the kind of sobbing that leaves your heart ragged and hollow, as if you were a child, bawling on your knees. You cried for all the things you’d never get to tell them, you cried for the years you didn’t dare let yourself grieve, for the years you’d spent fending for yourself.

There are no words in Basic that comfort demons like this. His other language snags inside his mouth and he almost whispers the mantra he knows for protection. Does it still count if he didn’t say it aloud?

Taking your trembling hand, he places it flat on his chest, holds it there. He feels your fingers curl into his shirt over his heart, clinging to the fabric. Your head sags against his shoulder.

“Hear my heartbeat?” the gentle vibration of his voice curls in your chest. “Just… focus on that.”

He knows dreams like this. He wonders what else you’ve kept hidden for so long. You’d not had a nightmare like this the whole time you’d been flying with him, he would have known if you did. Vicious memories can resurface without warning, but he still finds himself wondering what brought this on.

Your day together had been uneventful, nothing out of the ordinary: a stop for supplies and fuel, a quiet couple of hours at one of the markets. The only uncharacteristic thing that stood out in his memory was when something had caught your attention that afternoon and you’d backtracked down the alley, your eyes on one vendor in particular. Like a pinhole, his memory zeroed in on that little cart where it stood behind everyone else on the corner. Two young girls were selling soft-crusted loaves and baked sweets and you’d dropped enough credits on their table to pay a small army. He’d noticed the looks of awe on their dirty faces when they saw the pile of credits, way more than what the Quinn cakes and spiced rolls were worth. He didn’t understand why you’d decided to purchase the contents of the entire cart, but he’d noticed the tender longing beneath your smile when you crouched down and spoke to the smallest one, pulling wrapped candies out of your bag and giving them to her.

When you’d rejoined him, arms full on the way back to the crest, you spoke before he could frame a question. There’s a children’s shelter on the other side of town, and I’m going to bring it all there tomorrow before we leave

Something bites painfully into his heart, swallows his stomach whole. His shirt is tear-stained and soaked and your breathing has evened out but he has no intention of letting go of you anytime soon.

He wonders if you were that young. When you got left behind. He wonders if you were as young as he was, by the time everyone you’d loved was dead and gone.

He pulls you closer to his chest, carefully tucks your forehead against the soft fabric of his cowl under the edge of his helmet. You don’t object to the closeness, exhaustion quickly takes over and you curl yourself into him.

“I’m sorry,” your voice scratches, a lonely sob still hitching in your throat, “didn’t mean to wake you-.”

His chest expands under your head; a deep breath crackles through his helmet. The soft brush of his palm on the back of your head, he murmurs. “Don’t be sorry.”

Maybe you won’t remember this in the morning, he thinks, as he reaches over your head and taps off the light panel. His visor adjusts to the blanket of darkness and the faint glow of emergency lights. Eventually, he breathes a sigh of relief when his newly emitted readings finally tell him you’re in a deep sleep.

You’re oblivious to how he carefully shifts himself and lifts your knees, bringing your limp body down on the cot with him, giving you a soft place to sleep, cocooned inside his arms.

In your sleep, you’re unaware of how you turn towards his touch when the backs of his fingers trace feather-light along your cheekbone. You don’t know that his breath catches in his throat when a soft contented hum slips from your lips. You don’t hear the whisper of his voice from the modulator. ‘I'm right here.’

The soft home-y scent of fresh pastries fills his nose, but that was because the lot of it was currently piled in the Crest’s galley.

He’d go back there tomorrow and buy more.

~~

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[pipwife]

For the 1 + 5 game:

“So…did you also have to deal with carnivorous plants that had skeletal structures or was that just a me thing?”

for Beluz(or anything else if you want)

this turned out a bit longer than i meant it to xD

weird modern philip au where they're on a blind date after learning theyve both been to the b.i.??? wjdnsjdkd it got weird xD

enjoy!

"So… Did you also have to deal with carnivorous plants that had skeletal structures or was that just a me thing?"

Philip glances above his menu to his date with a small, surprised smirk. Despite the restaurant's full seating, it's relatively quiet, and so he speaks at an easy volume, "You want to talk about carnivorous plants so soon?"

Luz—that was her name, Luz, quick on the tongue like a whistle—smiles at him slightly awkwardly. "Better to get it over with?" she laughs. "I haven't met any other humans who have been to the Boiling Isles. I guess I'm a little excited."

"I understand." And he does; learning that there have been humans other than his brother and himself shook him through like an earthquake, leaving him shocked and ecstatic.

That the other human was a handsome young girl who wanted to meet up with him for what was essentially a blind date… A warm blush tickles his cheekbones, which he hopes she doesn't notice. It's been a long time since anyone expressed interest in him and longer still since he felt the same way.

Caleb and Evelyn were married, what, 40 years ago? And he had left that little polycule as soon as their first child was born. Philip had no interest in child rearing at the time.

Ah, but Luz awaits an answer, and so he shakes the memories away.

"To answer your question," he finally continues, setting the menu down and resting his elbows on the table. "Yes. I had never in my life heard of plants with bones—up until they were trying to eat me."

Philip doesn't find the memory very funny, but he takes in Luz' laughter with a smile anyway. He's always liked good-humored people. Caleb always has a bright smile even in the darkest of times—sometimes because of that darkness. His big brother is a strange man.

"Gosh," Luz sighs. "Sometimes I almost miss it. Maybe not the being digested part," she assures him. "But the rest of it? The red foliage, the warm air at the seaside… The people."

Philip has never related less—but his favorite person in the world certainly would. As much as Philip prefers his trees green and his seaside air cool, Caleb had felt differently… "My brother still lives there," he admits. "With his wife and children." (And grandchildren. As if Philip's creaky bones didn't make him feel old enough.) "I could help you go back and forth between realms—"

"Yes!" Luz pops up in her seat, attracting all sorts of stares, before realizing with a small, "Oh!" and making herself small again. "Yes," she says again, quieter this time. "I just… I want to see my teacher. And my little brother, King. I miss them."

"I have felt much the same," he tells her. "When my brother went missing… I did everything I could to find him." He looks down and laughs. "People thought I was out of my head. Our foster parents especially believed my talk of witchcraft was...concerning. But I knew. I knew I was right."

"And you found him." She sounds shocked—or even touched, perhaps. A hand is placed over her heart, her blue-painted nails bright against her dark button-up. "Despite it all, you found him." Luz sighs dreamily, before poking at the table. "That's how I feel about King and Eda. I'd do anything to see them again."

At that, Philip smiles wickedly. "Anything?"

Thankfully, Luz takes his flirting for what it is. Her cheeks darken as she blushes. "We'll see," she teases. A small smile twists her full lips. "We haven't even ordered yet."

Philip hums. "Of course." Still, he stares at her again, this time with renewed attraction. Her round face and long limbs make for a very pretty sight, especially paired with such masculine dress. "Whatever makes you comfortable. And," he assures her. "Regardless of how tonight ends, I'll still put you in touch with my brother."

Luz' shoulders relax and she smiles. "Thank you, Philip."

The sounds of his name on her tongue might be enough to obsess him. Still, he replies gently, "You're quite welcome."

[critrolesideblog]

Evening falls in the Pearlbow Wilderness with the last of the autumn leaves. A bitter wind heralds the coming of winter as it rattles its way through the skeletal trees, and the veil of gray that has been pulled across the sky all day awaits its cue to blanket the world beneath with snow. So, when a golden-amber light shines briefly in the wilderness, halfway between Erdeloch and Kaltenloch, there is no mistaking it for dying sunlight, which has not been seen by these tree trunks for some time, and it is little surprise at all, when a man with hair the color of a hearthfire appears out of the light with the soft crunch and thump of sturdy boots meeting forest floor.

The man looks north briefly, and then turns in a slow, clockwise circle, his azure eyes, bruised from lack of sleep, searching for any sign of his quarry. He hears the familiar, chittering call of an elf owl, and watches it take to the sky in a flutter of feathers and rustle of tree branches. A smile pulls on one side of his lips, and he hopes the bird is a good omen as he turns the slow circle again, but he finds only trees, trees, and more trees. The wind, delighted to have a new orange toy at its disposal, tugs excitedly at his hair. "Go where the wind blows, I suppose," he says with a sigh, and the leaves on the ground agree quietly that it is really the only sensible way to be getting along.

As he sets off west-northwest, he reaches into one of his coat's many pockets to touch the trinket housed there. It is a small thing, barely larger than a gold coin. He stole it over a year prior from a place far east of here. He turns it over in his pocket four times, before methodically tracing the design on its face with his thumb, a new habit he has picked up in recent weeks as he has searched for the woman it reminds him of.

Night arrives quickly in the autumnal wilderness, and cold quickly follows suit. Luckily, the man knows a thing or two about light and heat. He produces a flame in his unpocketed hand as quickly and easily as most people breathe. Most trees would be perturbed at the sudden appearance of fire in their midst, but the trees of this forest are old and delight in the man's bright magic. You are so close, they whisper as the wind glides across their branches. She is just there. The snow, sensing its cue, begins to fall then, kissing the man on the top of his head, shoulders, and cheeks, melting against his skin like a lover. Come, come, the flurries beckon. You are very close. He does not hear them, but he feels a renewed determination, or perhaps stubbornness, as he sets his shoulders and forges ahead.

It is the light he notices first. He extinguishes the flame in his hand, thinking it a possible trick of eye, but no, he can definitely glimpse a glimmer of light up ahead. He notices the trees next, the way they have created a path for him, their branches curling elegantly overhead like living archways. Finally, pace quickening, he catches the scent of woodsmoke and food on the air. As he gets closer, the glimmer coalesces into a series of arcane lights, like too-still fireflies, leading a path up to the door of a home, now visible in the clearing, and wreathing it in gold. He feels a pang of nostalgia as he is reminded of a tree, far away, glowing with daylight in a city of eternal night.

He blames this rush of sentimentality for his lack of caution as he steps through the final archway. He does not sense the arcane wire until he has already tripped it. He hisses in pain, flinching backward, as bright, white light sears his retinas. Old habit brings his hands instinctively level with his face, palms outward, a position of readiness disguised as surrender. He hears what can only be the door ahead opening with a groan, and a woman's voice calls out from the light, full-throated and wary.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Caleb, Caleb Widogast." He replies, trying his best to keep his voice level and calm, despite his mounting discomfort at the fact that he cannot see. "I mean you no harm. I am looking for someone. I believe her name is Torvi. I met her once, some years ago, and I wish to speak with her, if I may." He pauses to allow a reply, but all he hears is the wind in the branches and the faint crackle of a fire. He can feel his pulse thumping nervously in his throat. He ventures to speak again. "I," he pauses, considering how direct he should be. "I met her in-- in a place called--"

"I know what the place is called." The woman's voice is not soft exactly, but it is no longer quite so sharp. The lights dim back to their firefly glow. "You are not the first person from Vergessen to find their way here." He thinks it might be sadness he hears in her voice and ventures to open his eyes slowly.

As the black splotches on his vision reduce, the woman comes slowly into focus. He notices first the book in a sling on her hip, dark leather stark against the golden yellow of her dress. Next, the dishcloth in her hands, giving the impression of being caught in the middle of a chore and undoubtedly hiding any number of spell components. It is not Torvi. Torvi's face is the first clear memory he has after ... after. He thinks he sees a resemblance, in the shape of her eyes, the sweet-apple roundness of her cheekbones, the broad curve of her nose, the pointed slope of her ears. Her jaw is different, though, more square, her shoulders more broad, her stature just a bit too tall. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Maeve, Torvi's sister." She beckons him with a tilt of her head. "Come on in."

Caleb approaches with greater caution this time, as Maeve steps back, opening the door further. He casts Detect Magic with a practiced twist of his hand and spots no further traps on the path ahead of him -- at least, none that are currently activated. There are, however, a dozen different wards that he can see around the perimeter of the clearing and a dozen more traps besides. It is some of the most intricately woven Abjuration magic he has had the pleasure of witnessing, and he regrets, for just an instant before he steps through the doorway, that he does not have time right now to investigate it further.

His beleaguered eyes adjust to the candle and firelight of the interior to take in a simple but well-appointed home. There are cabinets and a large work bench along the far wall. Herbs of all varieties hang from the rafters. There is a bookcase filled to bursting with books of all sizes, some of which glow with magic. There is a large dining table, crowned with a steaming cauldron of stew, and there, in a chair by the hearthfire, is Torvi. She has a blanket pulled around her, and she is leaning against one side of the armchair, her arm curled beneath her chin as a pillow, gazing into the hearthfire, seemingly lost in thought, or perhaps, just lost. She gives no indication that she has noticed him enter.

He has had weeks to get used to the idea of her being alive and not dead, as he had assumed her to be from the moment Ikithon took posession of her holy symbol all those years ago, but no amount of mental preparation could have prepared him for the experience of seeing her there exactly as he remembered her.

"This will hurt." The first words to cut through the clouds in a decade, as the heart-shaped face of a half-Elven woman, with dark-brown skin and sunlight-on-honey eyes, comes into focus, her warm hands caressing his face. "Like saltwater on a wound, it is necessary. There is so much you may yet do." Her expression shifts, then, from an apologetic smile to slack-jawed awe. Her eyes are bright as they rove across his face. "I see the face of Corellon in you."

Now that he is within the warmth of the home, Caleb cannot attribute the tingling numbness in his face and hands to the cold. His heart pounds against his ribcage, as desperate to escape as he suddenly is, but he manages to draw in a deep, shaky breath. Breathe, he reminds himself. He  grips the charm in his pocket with all his strength, such as it is, and takes a deep breath again. Eins, swei, drei... It takes him a moment to realize that Maeve is looking at him expectantly. "Sorry?" He croaks.

"I said, if you want to speak with her, you'll have to wait, but if you're not in a hurry, she'll come around soon enough."

"Ah, ja, I can wait." He picks a point on Maeve's cheek, just below her eyes, to fix his gaze upon. Stay on task, Widogast. "I had hoped to speak with you as well. Perhaps, we can do that first." One of her eyebrows quirks upward.

"Alright," she says, after a moment. "We can do that over dinner. You can set your coat and things there" Though her words are phrased as suggestions, her voice rings with the authority of someone used to being listened to, as she motions to a coat rack by the door. Her eyes flick to his pocketed hand. There is still a wariness in the set of her shoulders, and the dishcloth still partly obscures one of her hands. Ah.

Caleb nods in acquiescence and acknowledgment, one paranoid arcanist to another, and removes the hand from his pocket slowly, palming the trinket as he does so. He turns away from her and divests himself of his scarf and coat, keeping the trinket in hand all the while. He keeps his eyes on the wood floor, the cob wall, the curling leaf design of the wooden coat hooks. When he turns back, Maeve has set three places at the dining table. "Ah, none for me, please," he says, waving a staying hand as he crosses to the table. She pauses, ladle suspended in midair, and her eyes pass over his thin form, even thinner now that he no longer has his coat, in frank, skeptical appraisal. Judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she finds him wanting.

"We feed our guests around here," she says, in the same authoritative tone, and ladles soup into each of the three bowls. Caleb's lips form a thin line, briefly, the only outward indication of his inward prickling at this insistence, but he quickly clears the frown from his face. He wants her amenable to his request, and if he has to eat a little, in spite of the knotted nerves residing where his stomach should be, so be it. He notices that his bowl, at least, is more broth than vegetable as Maeve retrieves a large loaf of crusty bread from a cupboard, tears off a large piece for each of them, and settles into the seat across the table from him. "So," she says, before digging into her bowl. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

Caleb takes a deep breath. "Are you familiar with a man by the name of Trent Ikithon?"

Maeve stills. Her eyes meet Caleb's, wary and discerning. "I know of him -- he is one of the members of the Cerberus Assembly -- but I have never met him."

"Count yourself lucky," Caleb says, forcing his face into a wry smile. He launches into a monologue he has rehearsed many times over the past few weeks, detailing some of the crimes of his former mentor, how Ikithon used Vergessen as a base of operations, the ordeal of his trial and imprisonment, the nigh certainty of the involvement of other Assembly members in Ikithon's crimes, and the painstaking, fruitless search to find anyone willing to testify against them. Maeve's eyes stay on him all the while as she takes in every word with a quiet, steadfast focus that reminds him of another wizard he knows. "So," he says at last, after pausing to eat a small bite of broth-soaked bread. "If there is any evidence you can offer, any testimony of anything you or your sister might have witnessed --"

"No."

Caleb blinks once, twice, three times. "No?"

"No," she repeats, softly. "I admire what you are doing, but we cannot help you."

"If you are afraid of reprisals, I can assure you--"

"I'm fairly certain you can assure nothing where the Assembly is involved," she says, with a cynical smile, "no matter how powerful you or your friends with the Cobalt Soul are. But, nevertheless, I have no evidence to offer. I witnessed nothing, aside from my sister's declining health, which is too circumstantial to be helpful, and any evidence she might offer would not stand up in court of law."

Caleb's shoulders and head curl forward as her words hit him like a blow to the chest. He hazards a glance at the woman by the fire, who has not moved over the course of their conversation. "Is she so unwell?"

". . . No." Maeve drags the word out into two syllables. "She is much better than she was, but..." She taps a quick staccato rhythm against the side of her bowl with her spoon, before gazing across the room at her sister. "Torvi was not insane before she went to Vergessen, only inconvenient. When she was a teenager, she began performing miracles and wonders around our village, and she was not shy about declaring their provenance. She was always blessing people that they may 'walk in Corellon's beauty' or 'may the light of the Archeart guide them.'" Caleb's heart sinks as he guesses where this story is going. Maeve shrugs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl. "We got fined every time the Reapers came to town. The villagers didn't care, so long as their kid was healed or their shop brought in coin -- a blessing was a blessing. But she didn't stop there. She also went after the priest to the All-Hammer that kept the shrine in our village. She said he worshiped the Empire, not the Gods."

"I bet that made her a lot of friends in high places."

Maeve gives a snort of humorless laughter at this, her cynical smile returning. "No kidding. My parents made a deal with the lawmaster: instead of sending her to jail, they agreed that her worship of "false gods"--" she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers "-- was a sign of her obvious madness, and sent her to Vergessen instead." She pushes her soup around the bowl with her spoon. "They thought they were doing her a kindness. But, regardless," her eyes flash up to catch his, hard with grim certainty. "Even if she was completely well, I think we both know the word of a convicted heretic and idolator is worth very little in the eyes of the law."

Caleb rubs his tired eyes with a sigh, as his left hand worries at the charm. He has so much work yet to do. Da'leth, Margolin, Tversky -- they were all too close to the Volstrucker program not to have been involved. They had to be removed from power for any real change to take place, and his search for concrete evidence and testimony had been so fruitless. When he had found record of Torvi's discharge from Vergessen, it ... it had felt like a sign, he admits to himself, cringing a little at the irrationality of it. A sign that perhaps he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He unfurls his hand to reveal the trinket: a small disc of silver engraved with two moons backed by a four-pointed star.

Maeve, glimpsing the symbol, tilts her head curiously. "Are you a devotee of Corellon?"

The idea that someone could mistake him for a devotee of any god is strange enough to make him fumble the charm as he turns it over again in his hand. "Ah, I cannot say so, no. I have never been much for religion."

Maeve's gestures with her chin toward the book holstered at his side. "Why bother with the fickle will of Gods when us mortals can achieve so much on our own?" It is not really a question. There is a book on her own hip after all.

Caleb nods. "That is part of it." He turns the charm over in his hand again, and a memory rises to the surface of his mind: the soft, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden prayer beads as they sift through his mother's clever fingers. She kneels before the shrine of Pelor, eyes closed, the dawn light shining off her burnished copper hair, prayers whispering earnestly through her lips. Much good that it did her. "For a long time, it seemed to me the supposed benevolence of the gods was nothing but a cruel joke." Bless my son that he may live always in Your light. "My view is a bit softer now, but ..." Bless our Empire that we may bring light to the dark corners of the world.

Maeve nods. Her eyes gleam with a cold anger. "I rage at that one, sometimes," she says, her eyes darting toward the moonlit star in his hand. "And argue -- one-sided." A wry smile twists her lips.

The sudden scrape of metal on metal makes both of their heads turn at once toward the front window. It opens with a creak and in hops a tiny elf owl.

Maeve rises and crosses quickly to the window. "You've been eavesdropping, haven't you?" She asks, as she closes the window with a sharp snap. "It's very rude to keep your guest waiting." The owl's head swivels to gaze at Caleb, and he recognizes immediately the familiar glow of Fey magic in the bird's eyes. With another little hop, it takes flight from the window sill and lands on the table a foot from him. There is a long moment of silence as the bird looks him over, this way and that, and -- pip, pip, pip-- hops a little closer, faerie fire still burning its eyes.

Caleb remembers well the safe, comforting distance of viewing the world through a familiar's eyes. "I had a little owl like you once," he says, softly. A smile tugs at his lips as he remembers Frumpkin perched on Beau's shoulder, his tiny feathers ruffled by the ocean breeze. "Well, he was a cat really, but he was an owl for a little while."

"She is a bigger owl really," says the first voice he remembers from Vergessen. "But she is small for right now."

Caleb takes a deep breath. Eins, swei, drei... He forces himself to tear his eyes from the safe visage of the little bird and face her. She is not quite looking at him, but she is facing his direction now. He can see clearly now that the light reflected in her upturned eyes is not fire but Fey. "Do-- do you remember me, Schwester?"

"Of course, I do," she says, voice soft and warm.

Caleb rubs his thumb over the design on the charm one last time. "I brought this for you," he says, holding it out for the owl to inspect. "To replace the one that was taken." The owl bobs its head this way and that in a circular motion, and then snaps up the trinket so quickly that Caleb barely has time to worry for his fingers before the bird is midair again. She lands on the back of the chair, dropping the charm onto Torvi's waiting palm. Her hand closes around it, and as it does, the light in her eyes grows and brightens until they shine like twin stars from her face. They are bright enough that Caleb is not able to look at her long without needing to avert his weary eyes. It is not unlike the ways he has seen Jester and Caduceus' magic manifest at times, and he wonders what visions her deity is granting her, as Maeve resumes her seat across from him.

The room is quiet for a long while, save for the crackle of the hearthfire and the occasional scrape of Maeve's spoon against her bowl. The tiny owl is beginning to doze on the back of the chair, when the light disappears from Torvi's eyes with a blink, and she looks down at the trinket with her own eyes for the first time. "Beautiful," she whispers, as errant tears spill down her cheeks.

"Schwester..." It feels cruel to ask, another sin to add to the pile, but she is here now. Really here, and he has traveled all this way. He has to ask. "Schwester, is there anything you remember about your time at Vergessen, any evidence you can offer, any direction you can point me in, to help me bring down those who used that place for evil?"

Still gazing at the talisman, she tilts her head in a way that reminds Caleb of a curious bird and seems to consider his question for a moment. "You were the first one I restored in that place," she says at last. "Half mad and half cursed, so young and so full of Corellon's beauty and magic." The ghost of a smile curls around her lips as she rubs her thumb over the design on the charm in much the same way Caleb had a moment before. "And now you have done so many beautiful and important things." And ugly and terrible things, Caleb thinks wryly. The scales are not yet balanced.

"I just need to do a little more, Schwester." A phantom, stinging itch starts up in his forearms, and his fingers worry against each other for lack of the charm to turn between them.

Torvi's eyes meet his without warning, and he is caught like a startled creature in the sudden glimpse of sunlight.

"Fuck, if I ever have to sit in a courtroom again, it'll be too fuckin' soon," Beau says, stretching in the dim lamplight outside the tavern. He makes a noise of agreement, and she glances at him. "Y'know, Yasha's got some unfinished business in Xhorhas. We've been talking about taking off for a few weeks, few months maybe, to go back to her old stomping grounds..." She looks at Caleb sidelong, and he can read the concern in the slight shift in the pitch of her voice, the rising of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, though she plays it off well. He knows he looks like shit. It turned out listening to weeks of testimony against his abuser was not a great aid to his already-fitful sleep.

"Gut." He says, and he means it. "It will be good for her to get some closure. She deserves it, and you both deserve some time to yourselves." He offers her a smile he hopes is reassuring.

She nods, and between one breath and the next, her arms are around him. He allows himself to lean into her vice-like grip, hugging her back as hard as he can. "Take it easy, while we're gone, alright, man? We'll kick some more Assembly ass when we get back." She releases him at last and gives him a pat on the cheek. "Get some rest, man. You deserve it."

Caleb feels the heavy weight of his allotment of Trent Ikithon's platinum and gold in his coat pocket and knows that he does not. "Ja," he says. "I will. There's just a little more to do."

"And then what?" The question snaps Caleb's attention back to the present. Torvi is peering at him, her eyes seeming to search in his for an answer. "A little more, and then what? After you find this evidence you need, will it be a little more still, or will you rest?"

If he found evidence against Da'leth and the others, there would be more trials. The web would unravel further still, and he would have new threads to follow. Not to mention, the problem of the ex-Volstrucker scattered to the winds. "Well, you know what they say," he says with a sardonic grin. "There is no rest for the wicked." Torvi does not return his grin.

"You are not wicked." She says this with such certainty that it sparks a small flame of anger in his chest.

"How do you know?" He asks, more than a little petulantly.

"I know." And there is something in the compassionate depths of her sunlit eyes that makes Caleb think, inexplicably, that she does know. She knows what transpired before Vergessen and since. The flame in his chest is quenched thoroughly. He tears his gaze from hers at last, eins, swei, drei... "Alas," she continues, once his breathing has evened out again. "My memories from Vergessen are... muddled." She concludes quietly. "But if I think of anything helpful, I can contact you." He nods, his eyes on the floorboards, as disappointment washes over him.

"I suppose I'll be on my way then." He says, quietly, and rises from his seat. Maeve rises with him.

"I'd like a favor from you before you go," says Torvi, as he turns from the table. He looks up, in surprise.

"Name it."

"I'd like you to hold onto this for me," she says, holding the talisman out with a smile. "I'm always losing mine."

"It's true," mutters Maeve. "I'm always finding them in strange places."

"This one means a lot to me," Torvi says. "I don't want to lose it." She holds the charm out toward him insistently. "Keep it safe for me."

Maeve looks at him sidelong and sighs. "If you don't, she'll just find some way of sneaking it into your pocket as you leave."

"It's true," Torvi agrees, and there is mischief twinkling amidst the warm affection in her eyes, a particular mix that reminds him strongly of Jester. He crosses to her to take the trinket back, and as he does so, her fingers catch his. He feels a familiar warmth settle over him. "May you walk in Corellon's beauty, Bruder." When Maeve had said the words earlier, they had sounded trite to Caleb's ears, but Torvi's benediction was infused with such sincerity.

Caleb bends forward slightly, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Danke, Schwester." She smiles at him warmly, as he releases her grasp and pockets the trinket.

Maeve opens the door for him as he hastily dons his scarf and coat and steps out into the frigid air. To Caleb's surprise, she follows him out onto the step, closing the door behind her. The clearing is now covered in a thin layer of snow, and their breaths create little puffs of fog in the dim glow of the arcane lights. Maeve leans out past the eave of the house for a moment to look up at the sky, but the stars are veiled with clouds. She frowns and straightens, crossing her arms. "Can I give you a little advice?" She asks, her voice pitched low, eyes following the meandering descent of a snowflake.

Caleb watches the snowflake, also, watches it spiral and drift, until it is lost in a sea of shadow. He is not sure he wants advice. He wants evidence, a direction to go in. He has lost his only lead, and now, he is back at square one.

"When I'm stuck on a spell," Maeve continues. "I find the best thing to do is take a break. Then, when I'm doing laundry or gardening or whatever, the solution will come to me." She reaches out a hand past the eave to catch some of the falling snow. "Even the Wildmother can't bloom all the time." A strong gust of wind swirls around them then, trying its best to push Caleb northward. Caleb adjusts his scarf and coat to stop its icy fingers from trailing down his neck, and Maeve shrugs. "Take it or leave it."

"Thank you," Caleb says with a nod. Maeve nods back and turns to re-enter the house, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

Caleb steps off of the porch, re-casting detect magic with a twist of his hand. He wants to be well clear of the Abjuration magic before he attempts to teleport. The snow crunches under his boots as he makes his way down the row of lights, and the wind whistles in the tree branches and tries, once again, to tug him northward, pulling at his hair this time, loosening it from its tie.

The sharp, clean smell of the fresh snow reminds Caleb of Eiselcross... of Essek. The thought of reuniting with Essek had been a light at the end of the tunnel, during Ikithon's trial. He had even spent time crafting his own Sending spell, so he could contact Essek once the trial was over. When the day came, it had felt too selfish to use it. There was still so much to do.

And Essek isn't the only thing awaiting him in Eiselcross. In the underworld of Aeor lies a crucible, a final test of his tentative, hard-won, untrustworthy goodness.

Caleb walks much further than he needs to. The snowflakes try to kiss his worries away. When this doesn't work, they stop falling, leaving only the wind carding its fingers through his hair with alternating sweetness and frustration. It whistles some more to catch his attention, but he is too lost in his spiraling thoughts to hear it.

He does hear another noise, though, or thinks he does. He cannot find the little owl when he looks up to the tree branches, but he does see a star. A single star, bright enough to shine through a thinning in the veil, twinkling, safe and familiar...

Caleb swears under his breath and yanks a copper wire out of his pocket, before he can think better of it. He shapes it much like he has seen Jester do numerous times and takes a deep breath. He visualizes Essek, his lilac eyes, his high cheekbones, the iridescent freckles dusted across his twilight skin, the elegant curve of his jaw, the small dimples that appear on his cheeks when he smiles, really smiles, and speaks the magic word. "Hallo, Freund, I--" It occurs to him suddenly that, although it is a very reasonable 6:13 in the evening in this part of the Pearlbow Wilderness, it is much deeper into the night at Vurmas Outpost. "I apologize I didn't think of the time. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Nine words left. "Thinking I'll travel to you soon... to exchange theories?" The words leave his lips with the ghost of a smile, and he thinks he hears a smile in Essek's voice as well, when he responds:

"Caleb Widogast, it is good to hear your voice no matter the time of night. I can think of nothing else I would rather do."

.

.

.

Notes: I rather extended the limits of Read Object and Read Mind from the Knowledge Domain descriptions, because.

[perriewinklenerdie]

Glad (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 1,5 k

Summary: OH3 Chapter 9 added scene. Ethan invites Claire for a quiet night in after her talk with Elijah.

Warnings: None

A/N: It’s fluff time again. The chapter suffered from almost complete lack of things-that-people-do-when-they-are-in-a-relationship so I fixed it.

Are you awake?

Claire fell onto her bed, fully ready to fall asleep, when a soft sound of an incoming message reached her ears. Her phone was screen side down from when she tossed it onto the covers, restless from her conversation with Elijah. He seemed to forgive her, even though she didn’t feel like she had anything to apologize for – she didn’t do anything after all.

The sight of the text made the corners of her lips go up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she replied.

I am. Why, do you want to do some not so innocent texting in all that free time you have on your hands now?

Satisfied with her answer, she moved to grab herself a sweater when her phone lit up again. With a spark of enthusiasm, she peaked at his response.

Not tonight. Can you come over?

Her eyebrows knitted together, she felt the pleasant feeling dissipate, worry taking its place.

Is something wrong?

The answer came almost instantly.

Nothing of the sort. I just missed you.

Once again calm, she grinned wildly at her screen.

That’s adorable. I’m on my way.

The drive to his apartment seemed to drag on for forever. She knew that there was no real rush, but regardless of all that, commuting in the evening was somehow even more exhausting that it usually was.

Claire entered Ethan’s apartment building and was immediately approached by Henry. The old man always greeted her with a smile, sometimes a cookie when she got to Ethan’s place first and forgot her keys and was always up for gossiping. This time, he asked her to wait by his desk and made a call without saying anything else.

She got confused even more when she heard a very frantic voice on the other end of the call. Henry put the phone down and smiled at her.

“You’ll have to wait here for five minutes.”

“Seriously?” she giggled, leaning onto the counter. He nodded, making a show out of zipping his mouth shut when she asked what was going on. “Did Ethan ask you to keep me here?”

“… maybe.”

Before she could say anything else, the phone called again, and Henry nodded towards the elevators. Claire thanked him, shaking her head at the antics of her boyfriend and their friend, then headed upstairs.

Ethan was already waiting for her, door open and a strangely nervous hint of a smile on his face. He caught her hand with his as soon as she was close enough. And that was it. No hug, no kiss – just a tight hold on her hand.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” she asked gently, stepping into his private space slowly. He nodded, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you… going to let me in or are we staying out here for the night?”

“Very funny.” he scoffed, his shoulders falling a fraction upon recognizing her attempt at a joke. Ethan’s eyes softened the longer he looked at her, his hand traveling up and down her arm. At last, he took a step back. “After you.”

Claire looked at him suspiciously, looking inside as she walked in. Three steps in, she stopped, taking in the sight before her.

The living room wasn’t the way she remembered it to be. The couch was pushed back to the far end of the room and in the very middle stood a masterly crafted pillow fort. Fairly lights – so many strings that she lost count – were sparkling, their full effect not visible yet as the main lights were still on. All over the floor, there were pillows and the smell that was lingering in the air told her exactly what they’d be drinking in a moment.

“Ethan- what’s going on?” Claire’s voice was a bit breathless as she turned to look at him. A faint blush climbed up his neck and onto his cheeks, an adorable smile staring back at her.

“You said you wanted a date, just me and you, in a pillow fort, with spiced wine.” He muttered, embracing her loosely. “So you could cuddle with me all night.”

Her eyes sparkled as tears gathered in them. She was tired beyond belief and couldn’t help it. With a soft moan, she hugged him, burying her face in his chest. His arms wrapped tighter around her immediately, pulling her closer.

“I also said ‘until you get sick of me’” she muttered, laughing slightly through her tears. Ethan shook his head, pressing a small kiss to her forehead.

“Impossible.”

They changed into more comfortable clothes and gathered their things in the fort. Ethan placed his hands on her shoulders as he guided her to the middle of the room. Leaving her there, he walked over to the light switch.

The moment the lights went down, countless of fairy lights revealed their shine, bathing the room in a soft hue. A tiny gasp escaped her at the sight, her excitement almost bubbling over. Wordlessly, he walked back to her side, taking her hand and pulling her onto the floor of their fort. While he covered her with a blanker, she asked.

“Did you just happen to have that many lights lying around the house?”

“I… found myself with a lot of free time and a lot of money to spend. Now that I think about it, maybe I went a bit overboard.”

“No, no, you didn’t. It’s just… amazing.” She shook her head, once again looking around the room.

His eyes never left hers, watching intensely as she fit right into the picture of his home. A heavy feeling reappeared in his chest, not for the first time that day. Being alone with his thoughts made him consider the events of the past couple of days and made him realize just how inconsiderate he was with his behavior.

“I’m sorry.” Ethan said, waiting for her gaze to meet his. Surprise flashed in her emerald irises, almost brighter than the lights. With a sigh, he took her hands into his. “I realized that your concern for me, the concern I so easily casted aside, was well-founded.” Her confusion melted, making way from understanding and vulnerability. “You’ve been nothing but supportive and I was acting off. You worry because you care – I know that.” Air caught in her lungs at his words, the edges of her face softening even further, radiating with emotions. “Because I care about you too. And I worry about you too.”

“Ethan, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You’ve been in this position two years ago, and instead of being considerate of how this is making you feel, I disregarded it all because of some ridiculous notions about what rules Bloom puts into place every time he decides to make a change. It’s unfair to you and you don’t deserve it.” raising her hands, he pressed a loving kiss to her palms, first right, then left, eyes never leaving her. “Forgive me, baby.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss. They both were exhausted and needed sleep, the only thing keeping them awake being each other.

Wine was getting cold, both having sipped on it only a couple of times. Cold, but not entirely forgotten, as Claire reached for her cup again when Ethan began recounting a place he saw while looking for fairy lights that day.

“It would be perfect to take a stroll through when spring comes round.”

“Have I told you how adorable you are when you care like that?” she placed her almost empty cup on the ground, smirking gently.

“I think you need to remind me.” he grinned, pulling her closer with his arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

“You’re adorable.” She pecked his cheek, lingering there for a moment. “Utterly cute.” Stroking his cheekbone, she leaned even closer, eyes meeting his. “I get weak in the knees.”

“Good thing we’re sitting then.” He said before kissing her sweetly, enjoying the game they were playing. With slow movements, he guided them into a horizontal position, draping his arm over her middle and resting his head on her chest, right over her heart. “This moment is perfect.”

“It kind of is, huh?”

With the tips of his fingers, he traced patterns on her hip. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”

“I’m glad you asked me to come here.”

Ethan raised his head from her chest to look at her. “I’m so glad I have you.” Claire smiled, nuzzling her nose against his before guiding him back into her arms.

“I’m glad I have you too.”

Notes

I’m back on my Ethan fluffy bullshit like I said I would. PB isn’t going to give me relationship content like they should so I’m going to write it myself. Like always.

I feel like all Ethan does lately is apologize for his screw-ups. Rightfully so, since his choices (pun absolutely intended) are less than in character for him. Real Ethan could never, but if he did, he’d apologize (and definitely use less exclaimation points).

Thank you for reading! <3

Tagging separately

[theweirdymcweirderson]

Some you win and some, well, you win. - James B. Barnes

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, James B. Barnes

Relationships: Bucky Barnes×Reader

Word count: 1206 (these are getting longer and longer, sorry) 

Summary: Bucky and the reader engage in some teasing games. 

Warnings: 18+, Pet names, Boyfriend!Bucky, explicit words, lead up to smut, teasing, Bucky Barnes’ fucking arm, light chocking I guess, kinda Dom!Bucky. That’s it I think, let me know if you fiind more.

Notes: You may wonder what this is, the answer to that is I don’t know :)

It’s written in a third person’s point of view, but it’s still reader insert, I guess. ‘*Name’ stand for (Y/n), sorry, I’m lazy :) 

••••••••••••••••••

She watches as he moves from the counter to the fridge, entranced by the way his sweats shift following his movements, loving the way they cling to his thighs. She’s in absolute love with those thighs of betrayal of his.

She can’t help herself; she’s fucking starving and James Buchanan Barnes is a whole damn meal.

His metal arm pulls the fridge open, and she’s certain her cheeks are flushing red courtesy of the thoughts swirling in her head about that beautiful arm in general, and those thick fingers of his in particular. His hand resurfaces from behind the door with a water bottle and the panties she’s wearing dampen before he even brings it up to his lips.

Her eyes are glued to him as his pink tongue darts out for a quick swipe over those full lips of his before the neck of the bottle makes contact with them. She groans her appreciation and his cloudy blues find her; a small, smug smile spreading on his face as he purposefully lets a drop escape to trail down his chin and along his neck. 

She envisions her tongue slowly licking up that trail and in doing so, she clenches her thighs together, anything to get some friction and alleviate the ache. Bucky is full on grinning now as he lowers the bottle, there’s a teasing laugh that lights up his eyes and she wants nothing more than to walk over to him and kiss the smugness off his beautiful face. She doesn’t, though, because she already knows how this dance ends, and it’s a very happy ending.

James Buchanan Barnes is a fucking tease and she’s a sucker for the anticipation.

“Something you want, dollface?”

She shakes her head, smiles seductively at him and slides down in the armchair she’s sitting on, spreading her legs as she gets in a more comfortable position for their little game. His eyes dart down, and they darken, pupils dilating to leave a barely visible ring of the steely blue she loves so much. Bucky lets his eyes linger and then slowly brings them up, taking his sweet ass time in mapping her body.

There’s a filthy promise in Bucky’s eyes when they meet hers once more, and her heart skips a beat when he leans back against the counter. He’s not going to make the first move. Teasing, however, he’s going to do plenty of that.

His hand reaches for the fruit basket and he has the guts of winking her way as he grabs a banana. She chuckles with a shake of her head, he might be sexy as hell, but he is just as childish.

Bucky takes his time as he peels the fruit, eyes locked on hers, watching as her gaze follows his fingers; he knows her weaknesses and he plans on using each one of them to his advantage. As he brings the banana up to take his first bite, he makes it so that his movements deliberately pull his t-shirt up in the process, blessing her with a glimpse of his well-defined lower abdomen. That’s the only reason behind his sweats always hanging low on his hips.

She loves the glimpses and he loves how much she loves them.

The happy trail she hardly has a chance to see, is like a neon sign directing her to the jackpot. If she wasn’t so competitive, she’d already be sliding to her knees. Her tongue pokes out, wetting her parted lips before it settles against the corner of mouth, teasing him as much as it’s teasing her as their minds wander.

His right hand finds his cock and he readjusts himself, the way his nostrils flare and his bicep flexes with the twitch of his fingers, informs her of the effect her simple actions are having on him. She feels forever in debt to whoever invented muscle tees.

Bucky undresses her with his eyes, and his next bite is far more frustration ridden than the first.

When he switches hands, brings the metal one down to cup himself, she crumbles, breaks and melts right there under his gaze and he grins wolfishly. She gets up, sways her way to him and he licks his lips, traps the lower one under his teeth when she comes to stand in front of him.

The half-eaten banana is discarded on the counter behind him as he leans back on his hands, waiting for her next move. He fucking loves winning.

Her hand reaches up, thumb tracing his bottom lip, releasing it from his teeth while she cups his jaw. She stares until she gets her fill and then leans up to ghost her lips on his.

“Such a pretty fucking face. Just made to be sat on.”

He ducks down, feathers his lips along her cheekbones as he walks her back until he has her trapped against the island. Thigh slotting between hers, he brings his hands low on her hips, drags them tortuously up until they borrow under the t-shirt she has on; the shiver that runs through her is nothing compared to things he's going to do to her and yet, it does things to him.

Oh yeah, he really fucking loves winning.

“Too bad, dollface, 's already taken.”

She pouts briefly, and damn if he doesn’t love the little jut of her bottom lip, always begging to be sucked on. Then her hands are moving from where they have found their place around his midriff, gliding down his sides, until they reach his Adonis belt and pull on the elastic band of the stupid grey sweatpants she adores on him. She may complain about what a tease he is, but she’s just as bad.

“Anything I can do to convince you to make an exception, sarge?”

“Getting desperate for it, aren’t we?”

He nudges her nose with his, whispers the words against her lips; hands pulling her down to press on his thigh as he flexes his quad just to get that sharp intake of breath out of her.

“Don’t get cocky, Barnes, you may have won this round, but I’m gonna have you fucking begging next time.”

A chuckle rumbles up his chest, husky and deep, and she feels it reverberating against her chest as his eyes bore into hers, flames lighting his calming blues with dark intent. He pulls her sharply up until their hips connect and she can feel how hard his cock is for her; he smells the arousal pooling in her panties, hears the gush of wetness.

“Bold of you to threaten when you know who’s gonna be making the rules, *Name.”  

“Bold of you to assume I can’t take your worst, big boy.”

The sentence finishes in a rush of breath out of her parted lips as he easily hoists her up, metal arm around her waist as his flesh hand wraps around her throat. She loves his blatant displays of brute force, they tap in some primitive part of her brain and never fail to render her a speechless, needy mess for him.

“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you, dollface.”

James Buchanan Barnes loves winning, and sometimes, when he gets like this, she really loves losing. 

Find more stuff here

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 10

* * * * * * 

Eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. E/c eyes blinking in surprise.

Across from you stands the entire team, in front of them is a large breakfast spread, and balloons. 

You smile with a shake of your head,“ what is all this for?” 

Tony smiles, rounding the corner to stand at your side. His arm circles your shoulder,“ as of today, you have officially been with us for a year.”

“Awe, guys this really didn’t have to be celebrated.” You tell them, once again looking at all the food on the counter. 

All of them instantly wave you off a layer of replies rolling over you varying from “you deserve it” to “Tony just wants to party” which makes you laugh. 

Said billionaire picks up two champagne flutes and hands one to you. 

“Y/n, this is to a year of being the greatest of friends, a shoulder to cry on, and pretty much the most important member of this team.” Tony holds his glass up and everyone follows in agreement.

Most important member is a stretch in your opinion but they all seem to think so. 

Taking a sip, you realize this orange juice is mixed with champagne. Which you should’ve expected from Tony. 

Everyone starts to dig into the breakfast, chatter filling the room like it usually does throughout the facility. 

“Y/n, congrats!” Peter exclaims, happily wrapping you in a hug that you return.“ I can’t believe it’s been a year. It’s like just yesterday I was learning your name right? And now we’re like best friends.” The boy rambles.

Chuckling, you give him another one armed hug,“ I was starting to see you as more of a little brother actually.”

His brown eyes light up, just like they had on Christmas.“ I’ve never had an older sister before.” 

“I know.” You chuckle again.

He smiles brightly once again and gives you another hug,“ I’m glad we met Y/n.” 

“Me too Pete.” You rub his back and then pull away. The both of you then going to fix a plate.

Setting your overflowing plate(thanks to Tony’s persistence) on the table, you move to pull your chair out, only for a certain redhead to pull it out for you. 

“One full year huh?” She winks at you and sits in the chair next to you. 

One year with the team and six months with her. 

All that time seemed to fly by in the moment but looking back on it now it’s like more than a year. A year of building these incredible friendships and the most important relationship you’ve had. 

“Crazy right.” You breathe a laugh.

Natasha leans towards you, arms supporting her on the table,“ call me corny but, this has been the best year of my life.” 

Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek,“ I couldn’t agree more,” the two of you meet for a short sweet kiss,“ also you are corny.” 

Laughing, the woman rolls her eyes and kisses you again. 

“As cute as you two are, I’d rather eat my food without all the PDA.” Wanda’s voice invades the small moment. 

“Sorry Wan.” You smile softly at her.

The younger woman waves you off,“ I was only joking. Partly.” 

When the rest of the team sits at the table, you take a moment to thank all of them. Not just for the breakfast but for being so welcoming and just incredible in general. 

All the relationships you’ve built wouldn’t have happened without them. And you wouldn’t have been able to help them if they didn’t trust you. 

They raise another glass to your thanks and Tony tells you it’s only the tip of the iceberg since he’s throwing you a party later. You’re quick to tell him that’s not necessary but he informs you it’s all planned already. 

There hadn’t been a “Stark Party” in a while according to the team. Sam and Peter were quick to thank you, saying they didn’t think there’d be one if you hadn’t showed up. 

You hadn’t been to one of Tony’s parties in years. Since long before both snaps. 

So you are, admittedly, excited for it. After you’ve gotten dressed you wait an hour after the party had started, as Tony asked you to, before heading out. And even though you were expecting the surprise, the number of people that shout “Happy One Year!’ to you startles you.

An excited laugh leaves your lips and once again Tony approaches you first. 

“Okay,” you nod,“ I’ll admit this is pretty great.” You smile at him as the two of you hug. Pulling away you then look to his wife.“ Pep, it’s great to see you.” 

She squeezes you tightly,“ I hate that you’ve been here a year and we’ve barely spent any time together.” 

Your eyes widen in agreement,“ I know. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a wine night.” 

Together the two of you quickly plan a night to do so. Pepper then urging you to go mingle. And you do, making your way through the large crowd of people, those you’ve met and others you’re positive you’ve never seen before. 

Until you approach a pair of both someone you know and someone you’ve only heard of.

“Y/nn!” 

A smile bursts across your face the second she smiles at you. The blonde woman’s energy contagious. 

“Carol! I missed you.” You hug her close, reminded of the months it’s been since she was last here.“ You didn’t have to travel all the way through the galaxy for this but I’m glad you’re here.” 

Her hands rub your arms as she pulls away,“ me too. I’ve missed you.” She then steps back, hand resting on the back of the woman you assume to be her girlfriend,“ Y/n this is Maria Rambeau. Maria this is Y/n.”

Maria smiles at you, holding her hand out,“ Carol’s told me a lot about you, it’s a pleasure.” 

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. This one doesn’t shut up about you when we talk.” You say teasingly, chin nodding to Carol who’s cheeks tint pink. 

The smile Maria sends to Carol is full of nothing but love and adoration. And if there was ever any doubt that Carol loved her, the smile she returns throws it out the window. But you knew.

Your body stiffens in shock when a hand presses to your lower back and you quickly relax once the familiarity of the soft skin and cold temperature hits you.   

Your girlfriend smiles over at you and you don’t even fight the urge to place a kiss to her cheek. Afterwards looking back at Carol and Maria.“ Maria this is my girlfriend Natasha. Tash this is Maria, Carol’s girlfriend.” 

“Nice to meet you. Carol’s told me a bit about you.” Natasha nods to the woman.

All the while Carol is smiling proudly at you, which you shake your head at in amusement. 

The blonde quirks a brow,“ girlfriend huh? And how long has that been going on?” Her tone is teasing and curious. 

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you mumble,“ six months.” 

Carol’s proud smile becomes knowing and you swear the heat rushing to your face could be felt around the room. 

Natasha, being the god send she is, excuses the two of you. Gracefully pulling you through the crowd to the designated dance floor. 

She pulls you to stand in front of her. Those cold hands circling your waist, hands locking behind you at the dip in your back. 

Focusing on this moment, your eyes scan her face, taking in her perfect lips, her cheekbones and those tiny dimples, and those eyes. God you swear those eyes were the start of it all. 

“You’re so pretty Natasha.” Your hands grip her hips a little tighter.

A smirk curves her lips,“ and you’re beautiful.” 

Despite your blush, you jokingly add,“ well you’re gorgeous.” 

She laughs, forehead resting on your shoulder,“ getting competitive are we?”

“Maybe a little.” You kiss her temple just before she lifts her head.

The two of you continue to sway to the lowly playing soft music, completely entranced by each other’s presence. 

For the last six months the two of you have reveled in these moments together. Some days you could spend together completely. Others you had to steal minutes throughout just to see each other. But it was all perfect.

Learning about Natasha has just proven to make you fall for her more and more. You could safely say your list of reasons why you like her has become reasons why you love her and it’s definitely grown longer.

As all good things come to an end, you’re pulled from your moment with Natasha, by the hand on your shoulder. It’s unexpected which startles you but you’re further startled by the force of the emotions hitting you.

You spin around and lock eyes with Bucky. The anxiety you’d just felt from him is hidden in his eyes, had he not touched you, you wouldn’t have known. 

His jaw clenches,“ can we talk?”

“Of course.” You nod, hand squeezing Natasha’s waist as you mumble an excuse me, and walk away with Bucky. 

Once in an empty hallway he turns to you, his feelings now showing. Fingers wringing together, his teeth abuse his bottom lip, and his eyes remained trained on the ground. 

Knowing not to touch him unless told to, you choose to speak softly,“ Buck, I can tell you’re incredibly anxious. What’s going on?” 

“I-” he swallows and when his eyes meet yours there are tears welling in them,“ I saw someone. Someone from HYDRA. I- I don’t know if I’m seeing things or if they were actually here.” 

This was a recurring problem with Bucky. One you’d discovered while taking him and Steve to the mall one day. Being in such large crowds overwhelmed the man, triggering his anxiety which in turn triggered hallucinations. 

When you addressed it then he revealed that he’d been experiencing these highly anxious moments for a while. The first time the hallucinations had him was months before you’d gotten there while he and Steve were out together. 

At that point you’d begun working him through breathing exercises. Coming up with ways to help him cope with the anxiety so that it wouldn’t reach a point where he hallucinated. 

“Bucky breathe. Five seconds in and out.” He starts to do as instructed. 

You then walk him through his five steps. Listing five things he can see, four things he can hear, three things he can feel, two things he can smell, and one thing he can taste. 

He’s calmed down but you can tell he’s still anxious.

“Hey,” your hands rub his arms,“ I’m gonna make it go away okay?” 

Brown eyes look into yours and he nods. 

Taking a deep, stilling breath in, you take away his major anxiousness, and project the happy excitement you’ve been feeling to him. 

Bucky brightens instantly, giving you a small smile, and squeezing your arms.“ I- thank you Y/n.” 

“Anytime Buck.” 

You wait for the man to disappear around the corner before collapsing to the ground. Your back presses to the wall as you breathe heavily. 

“Y/n?”

Overly anxious, you involuntarily jerk away from the redhead beside you. 

The woman’s heart races as she looks at you, eyebrows pinched together,“ Y/n what’s wrong?” 

“Just- hold on.” You speak through deep breaths. 

Natasha waits with you until you calm down. When your body finally untenses and you sag against the wall, your girlfriend moves to kneel in front of you. 

Fingers grazing your legs she asks, with a soft demanding tone,“ what was that?”

“It was nothing. I’m fine I promise.” 

“That wasn’t fine. When you left you you were fine. Just now, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” She presses. 

You push your hands up your face and through your hair,“ I didn’t. I was just-”

“Using your powers on Bucky.” She finishes, an almost hard look setting in her eyes. 

Her words take you by surprise. 

When she found out about your powers is lost on you. And what did she know about them? 

Eyes wide, you can barely ask what she’s talking about before she speaks again.“ Have you been using your powers on everyone this entire time?” 

“I- yes.” 

“And you weren’t going to say anything?” She stands. 

Following suit, you stand as well,“ I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to worry you. And I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it-”

A deep frown covers her brow,“ you never even gave me a chance. Am I correct in assuming you’ve been lying to me then? All those times I came to see you after your session and you told me you were fine?”

“That wasn’t necessarily a lie. I was fine it just took me a minute.” 

“Necessarily?” Green eyes narrow at you.“ Lying is lying I don’t care how technical you want to get about it. I do care that you’ve constantly been telling me to trust you and be honest, yet you’ve been lying since the beginning.” 

You open your mouth to protest or object but she’s right.“ Tash I’m sorry okay. I swear I was planning to tell you.”

“Planning or not, you lied. You could’ve just told me you weren’t ready to talk about it. How was lying the better option?” A deep sigh leaves the woman’s lips and she runs a hand through her hair, before simply turning to leave. 

“Wait Ta-”

She holds her hand up,“ don’t follow me Y/n. I need a minute. Just go enjoy your party.” 

With that she leaves you in the hall alone. And you can only blame yourself.

* * * * * *

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o  @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers​ @wildhoney32 @criminallyhamilton @fayhar @nat-km-mh @chicken-wang09 @trikruismybitch

[karasimpno]

I’m trying this again because the tags are being weird but this is for the lovely and patient anon who requested #43 w/ Oikawa!!

Omg I’m so angry this got deleted and I had to start over 😭I’m so sorry it took SO long - I tried to make it a little longer to make up for it, I hope you like it!!!

“What happens if I do this?” - Oikawa x Reader 1.9k words | warnings: established relationship, fluff, a liiiiittle nsfw

You were coming up on the end of the semester and already cramming for finals. You were determined to do better than last semester and had committed yourself to cracking down on notes and outlines at your desk every night for the last two weeks.You felt kind of bad for Oikawa, though. He had graduated last year and, ever the dutiful boyfriend, always came over to see you after he got off work. Sometimes he surprised you with onigiri or something pretty that made him think of you. Sometimes you would get to eat dinner together before you reluctantly returned to your studies. He would just wait patiently on the couch, watching tv or scrolling through his phone, hoping you could eventually join him or that he’d at least get to snuggle you to sleep.

This past week though, the gifts had become more frequent. It coincided with your growing stress but you weren’t sure if that was the reason for the influx in attentions or if he was just missing you. He had bought dinner the last three nights in a row and had even made you blush when he slipped a pretty new pair of underwear into your palm after you’d finished studying one night. You were too tired to do much more than kiss him before falling asleep in his arms, though. You sighed half-awake apologies and he pulled you closer, understanding.

Tonight though, your eyes were straining on your textbook and you felt yourself almost going crazy when he waltzed through the front door, twirling his spare key around his index finger. “Babe!” he called out.

“Bedroom!” you replied, not looking up from your reading.

“I know,” he teased, the slightest edge in his voice. You glanced over your shoulder at him, standing in your doorway, hair windswept and looking devilishly handsome as ever. A grin instantly spread across your face, the mere energy of his presence infectious. You sighed and swiveled your chair around. He had your favorite takeout in his hand and you felt yourself melt a little.

“Tooru...” you sighed. He closed the distance between the two of you, setting the bag on your desk and taking both your hands in his. The corner of his mouth was pulled up in a flirtatious smirk. You took a deep breath in, relaxing and soaking up the presence of your biggest source of happiness. “And how are you today my love?” he asked, releasing one of your hands and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You caught his hand as it skirted around your cheek and held it there, leaning into his touch. “Better now,” you hated to admit, feeling a little sappy and knowing he would make fun of you for it.

“Is that all it takes? Your big strong man coming home to save you from your studies? Well then I guess I didn’t need to pick up this-” he teased, picking the bag back up from your desk and turning on his heel with a glint in his eye. “No - Tooru - wait!” you called after him as he rounded the doorway. “Dinnertime!” he sang, and you got up and trailed him to the small kitchen, the smell of cooked food making your stomach growl.

He had set the bag on the countertop and was cleaning off the table. You reached into the bag and pulled out the plasticware and a paper box. In an instant, Oikawa was by your side, slapping your wrist. “Put that back! We’re having a proper meal tonight!” he reprimanded, pulling plates out of the cabinet. You huffed and put your hands on your hips.

“Does that mean you’ll be cooking then?” you smirked, receiving a glare from him. “No,” he retorted, mumbling about his cooking skills as he properly set the table, proceeding to snatch the bag away from you. You folded your arms across your chest and watched him serve up dinner for you, trying to keep the glowing feeling in your heart from cracking your teasing exterior. He even brushed past you to steal a candle from your room, lighting it between the two place settings.

“What’s all this for?” you asked, slightly bewildered, but beaming at this romantic gesture.

“It’s Thursday,” he said simply, standing across from you with an adorable smile on his face. You grinned, slightly shaking your head at him. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his. “And you’ve been working so hard....” his voice lowered, gently tracing a thumb over your cheekbone and looking down at you. Your heart felt so full as his eyes gazed into yours. “I love you so much,” you said, and pressed your lips against his. It was a sweet kiss, the both of you melting into the other’s touch. “Thank you for dinner,” you whispered with a content smile.

“Not to mention it’s hot to have such a smart partner!” he said, pulling away and giving you a hard smack on the ass, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. He chuckled and sat down, the two of you beginning to catch up about your long day.

By the time he had cleared the plates – he had even bought dessert – you were bending down to plant a kiss to his cheek, begrudgingly needing to get back to your studies. He caught your hand as you moved away, holding it fast and keeping you from retreating to your room. He wasn’t looking at you, just holding you in place. “Babe...” he started, and there was something different in his voice, something ragged. He interlaced his fingers with yours and you instinctively wrapped your other hand around your clasped hands. He pushed his chair back and moved in close to you, his nose hovering above yours. He used his index finger to pull your chin up. “I miss you,” he breathed. You felt yourself inhale and loll your head to the side with guilt, knowing exactly how he felt and what he meant. This week he’d been pulling out all the stops on his other love languages – acts of service, gifts, even words of affirmation when you got frustrated with your work. But quality time and physical touch, your two shared most important ones, had sadly slipped away this week.

“I know...” you whispered. “I just...really need to do well this semester.”

“I know” he pressed, the guilt and need intermixing in his voice. “But you’ve been working so hard. It’s almost the weekend. Take the night off with me,” he was practically begging, though his pride would never let him admit it. You sighed and pressed a kiss to your enjoined hands.

“Just let me get through a few more practice sets,” you bargained. “An hour or two, tops.”

“One hour,” he insisted, sighing. He reluctantly let your hand go as you winked at him. He smacked your ass again as you turned to go, making you jump and shoot him a wicked glare. He just chuckled and offered up his signature smirk again. You couldn’t help your grin as you turned back, his attentions fueling the first half of returning to your work. By the time an hour had passed, however, you had become overwhelmed by your studies and your brow furrowed at your computer screen again. Before you had even noticed the time, an hour and a half had passed.

Your nose buried in a textbook, you began to hear a soft humming coming from behind you. You groaned, checking the time. “I’m sorry babe... I just can’t seem to finish this,” you said. Tilting your head back in his direction without taking your eyes off your work.

“Mmm well that’s too bad...” he crooned, suddenly behind you, his hands melting down your shoulders. You sighed, your fingers sliding off the keyboard as you leaned back into his touch.

“Why’s that?” you asked him, your head tilting, exposing more of your neck. “Because...” he whispered, taking advantage of your exposed skin with his thumbs, working presses down your neck. His lips were suddenly by your ear as he began massaging your shoulders. “I had such fun things I wanted to do to you tonight,” he spoke. You groaned again, letting your head fall against his temple. “Well if I let you do everything you wanted to do to me, Oikawa, I would surely fail my classes,” you said, pointedly, but still feeling yourself melting into his touch. Your heart rate had picked up slightly and your face was growing hotter.

“Well,” he said, “what happens if I do this?” he exhaled, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear as his tongue darted out between them. Simultaneously, his hands began wandering over more of your body, the flats of his palms firmly making their way down your chest, your nipples hardening at even the briefest of touches.

“Mm, Tooru...” you moaned, weak at his touch already. You ran your fingers over his forearms, your skin prickling with heat, and something inside of you snapped. Tired of your studies, absolutely spent from days hunched over your books, away from his touch, working yourself silly, you decided you’d had enough. You pushed his hands off of you and spun the chair around, throwing your arms around his neck and eagerly beginning to suck a tender spot below the corner of his jaw. He let out a surprised little laugh and wrapped his arms around your lower back. You pulled away for a moment. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see,” you whispered, your eyelids half-closed, answering his question. You squeezed his shoulders and jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and crushing your lips into his, as the two of you had done many times before. He caught you with a low gasp and traced a hand up your thigh, turning you toward the bed. You could feel him grinning against your lips, and you pulled back for a moment, resting your forehead against his.

He crawled onto the bed with you still wrapped around his torso, letting you softly drop onto the mattress below him. You could practically feel his body vibrating as he began pressing kisses from your mouth, down your neck, down your clothed chest, to your stomach, where he lifted the fabric of your shirt and planted a sweet kiss ever so lovingly to your exposed skin. Looking down at him, you ran a hand through his beautiful hair, thinking of all the times he’d pulled your pants down with his teeth. It made you smile, growing a little more aroused at the thought. Nothing had ever quite done it for you the way this man’s love for you did.

“I guess tonight was a good night to try out that new pair of underwear you got me,” you said with a smile, your chest heaving at the sight of the corners of his lips turning upwards at your tone. “I love you so much, Tooru,” you sighed, your hand still toying with his hair, thinking about what a wonderful boyfriend you had. “Thank you....thank you for everything this week, for the dinners, the gifts, your patience....thank you –” he swallowed the rest of your sentence with his lips. Pulling back to hover with a smile above your lips. “I love you too, baby,” he grinned.

You found yourself continuing to say thank you many times that night.

[sirisuorionblack]

One Spanish latte

Sirius Black x Reader

Summary - The one time where (Y/N) was soo naïve and got an internship, and that led to three roommates and that led to one love. (Muggle AU)

Warnings - None.

"Gods," I groaned, taking hold of my best friend - Angelina's arm, "It's so cold,"

"Yeah," she shivered, pulling her coat tighter, "but it's your fault, I told you to get a better jacket!"

"And I told you this is the best I have,"

"OK, you two," my other best friend - Lily intervened, "Look at Jane she is going to make a fool of herself"

We, ten 17-year-olds with two teachers had come to London for an internship at the Black Industries.

"Lily! She is not making a fool of herself she is making a fool of us all!" I exclaimed as I watched her catch fight with a group of boys whom she initially intended to flirt with.

"OK, imma head there and solve it, that's too embarrassing to watch," I said and the two girls beside me rolled their eyes.

I dived before Jane and a boy who was the most annoyed by her, he had shoulder-length luscious hair, sharp jaws, high cheekbones and striking grey eyes overall this guy was the definition of handsome. No wonder why she started to flirt.

"Um, uh," I coughed, breaking myself from the trance as well as what seems to be him too. I glanced at her best friend silently demanding her to contain her friend.

"Uh, I am really sorry for that," I managed to stutter out, feeling slightly intimidated.

"Well, just tell your friend not to do something like...this always," said a boy, with hazel eyes, messy raven black hair as if it could never be tamed and round glasses.

Feeling embarrassed I looked away before the grey-eyed boy who was still staring at me said, "It's alright, mate,"

He then outstretched his hand "My name is Sirius, nice meeting you,"

My eyes wide at his introduction, "Hello, uh, Sirius,"

He smirked, "And you are?" Not wanting to tell him my name, I find the situation rather too awkward for my comfort zone. Before I could answer him one of my teachers had called me, "(Y/N) come on fast!"

He smirked as I pursed my lips, throwing him one last glance, I rushed to the other side.

That was 3 weeks before, now including both of my best friends and I had gotten the internship in the Black Industries, today was the last day our teachers and classmates would be here before they had to leave back home. With one final trip to the coffee shop, they were off to their home.

Once we had settled down in the far corner, the waiter had come to take our order. I was shocked would be an understatement when I saw the same handsome boy - Sirius - I had a run-in with. He had a smirk on his face as he saw my shocked face and asked for the order.

"And for you, ma'am?" He finally asked me, the smirk still present on his face; though he never took his eyes off the notepad I had a deep intuition that he knew I was staring.

"Uh, um," I cleared my throat, "one tall iced caramel macchiato,"

He noted looking back at me and winked, "Coming right back,"

He walked back with a slight jump in his steps and as he went behind the counter I could see him whispering to the bespectacled boy that I had seen other day and another one - tuft brown curls, warm hazel eyes, a scar running down his face and we could classify him as cute but definitely not my type.

A nudge to my arm woke me up from my trance, "What are you doing, (N/N)?" Angelina asked, a smirk in her face.

"Shut it," I grumbled.

"So where are your dorms?" One of my teachers asked.

"What?" I asked puzzled, "Dorms?"

"Yes, the Black Industries provide you dorms. But you said you didn't want it though,"

"What!?" I asked annoyed and angry, "I was never even informed about dorms!"

"Yes, we had informed you, giving a form for you to fill and you said you didn't want,"

I had a snicker from the other side of the table, "Jane!? You did it, didn't you!?"

She had a smirk on her face as I looked away exasperated, "Oh my goodness,"

I stood up, the anger shooting up to my head but Angelina knowing me better than myself pushed me away from the table and muttered, "Its OK. Don't give in, that's what she wants."

"Well, I have no roof over my head now and that because of her,"

"They won’t compensate for it now besides if you do anything now, you have a maximum chance of losing the internship,"

I groaned and walked to the counter trying to calm myself down and forget the fact I am basically homeless now, "Um, hey," I called out to Sirius who seemed to be the only other person there along with the cute boy.

His eyes widened, "Yes?"

"Can I change my order?"

"What? Uh yeah. What do u want?"

"One Spanish latte,"

"Hot or cold?"

"Hot,"

He passed the order to the guy next to him - Remus, after I had seen his badge - who had grumbled something under his breath and left inside.

"What happened?"

"Huh?"

"You know, you look kinda mad,"

I scoffed, "oh, do I now?"

"I mean," he shrugged, "You look hot when you're mad"

"Woah! That's a big step to take,"

He shrugged once again, "Anyways, is everything alright there?"

"Nah, I actually got an internship and they allot us dorms if we want and some random girl meddled in my business and now I am homeless,"

He chuckled and I glared at him. "Dude, it's not funny,"

He put his hands up in the air, mocking surrender, "You could share your friends' dorms,"

"No, their dorms are full," I groaned looking away, "These people, gods!"

"Um," Sirius glanced at the other boy (James - from the badge again) a conversation sparking with their eyes and then he slid a visiting card across the counter, "you can call that number, perhaps you can get a room,"

"Thanks," I looked at the card and then back at him, "Thank you very much,"

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking, where are you doing the internship?"

Taking the coffee in my hands, and shooting Remus a grateful look, I turned back to Sirius, "Black Industries"

His eyes widened and he choked on nothing while James had burst out laughing behind him.

"This will be your room from now on and remember no exchange!" The house owner had warned strictly before rushing away.

Looking at the path he disappeared with wide eyes and a frown, I turned around fumbling in my bag trying to find the keys though before I could even fetch out my keys the door unlocked automatically...by someone in!

"Sirius!?" I exclaimed, staring at his "innocent" demeanor.

"You remember me!" He grinned, throwing an arm around me and dragging me inside the flat, "I am really sorry but you have to share a room with us,"

"First of all - Us!?! Is there more of you," I asked.

"Yes!" A chorus was heard, making me jump as I turned to see Remus and James.

"We live here too," said James.

Remus outstretched his hand waiting for me to shake it, "Welcome," he said calmly.

"What the hell!? Are you kidding me!? You lot could be criminals for all I know!"

Sirius gasped dramatically, "how can you!?" He moved to stand in front of me, his hands stretched beneath his chin, "do I look like a criminal?"

I couldn't help but let out a small giggle and nod, “but I still am not gonna stay with the three of you!”

“Oh come on!” Sirius said, as he moved behind me, taking hold of my shoulders as he whispered in the tone of villains trying to manipulate, “something is better than nothing,”

And lets just say he was good at that, “Fine, but promise me, no funny business,”

“We promise!” 

Did I know in the tiniest bit that we would become thick friends something similar to what I had between my best friends yet there was a small gap between Sirius and me; the relation between the two of us was different from that I shared with James and Remus, something that I couldn't identify, something that included longing stares, lots of forehead kisses, a huge variety of nicknames and hugs lasting longer than normal friends but I still didn't know Sirius' last name, he never allowed me to see it either.

"Love!" Sirius hollered from the kitchen, "(Y/N)! Come here fast!"

"Oh my gods! Yeah! C 'mere!" Remus's voice joined.

"What happened!?" I asked frantically, running into the room only to see the pan on the stove on fire, Sirius holding a jug of water and about to pour.

"No! Don't do it!"

It all happened in a slow-motion, he poured the water on the burning pan and the fire grew, hitting the ceiling and burning it.

"Oh, my gods!" I exclaimed, running a hand through my hair and rushing to the kitchen.

"Dude..." I breathed, turning to look at Sirius, "What the-?"

I chuckled, "You are useless at kitchen, idiot,"

I didn't notice how rapidly his smile slipped, and his breath quickened, what I noticed was however the way he sprinted to his room as if hiding something. 

I stared after him not knowing what I did wrong, 'idiot' was something I used in a normal instance. I turned to look at Remus, my eyes blown wide, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Uh," he looked around confused, "You kinda did, but it's alright, I will take care,"

"What did I do wrong?" I asked, afraid I had made a grave mistake.

"No, nothing, actually," he said, quickly wrapping an arm around me and rushing back into Sirius' room.

A week later things were back to normal (as normal as it could become) my friends were coming to our home. Yeah, that's what this was, my home.

A knock on the door alerted their arrival. I smirked at Remus, "She is here,"

Remus pursed his lips a light blush on his cheek, "shut up" he grumbled, walking to the door.

"Ooh," James cooed, "Eager are we?"

You see, Remus has quite developed a crush on my best friend Angelina but as everyone does, he denied it.

After the exchange of greetings and loads of chat later, we resigned to the couch in front of the TV with pizzas and cokes.

"What movie do you guys want?" I asked. The rest of the people in the room started going on with the suggestions, denying for almost everything until, "Fault in our stars," James, I scrunched my eyebrows looking at him before he glanced at Remus and Angelina. My mouth formed an 'o' shape as he grinned.

Squeezing the two of them together on the couch I sat next to Sirius who had an arm draped around the back of the couch which looked more like around my shoulder.

The movie - well, had gone...good. But the plan, it was sailing in the right path with such a speed. Within minutes into the movie, Remus's arm was around Angelina's shoulder, her head leaning on his shoulder.

I turned around to look at Sirius, who seemed to be watching the same scene beside me and as I turned our faces were so close my nose was almost touching his. He stared into my eyes, my breath quickened as we slowly leaned in before the door bell rang loudly startling the both of us and pulling away with bright red cheeks.

Sirius groaned lightly standing up and walking to the door and opening it. There was a courier at 11 PM. Sirius' eyes widened looking at the man before him and as I noticed closely it had the logo of the Black Industries.

"Mr Black," the man nodded as my breath hitched and Sirius shot me a worried glance before turning back to the courier, "Your mother asked to deliver this,"

Sirius' breath once again came ragged as he took the parcel in his hands and closed the door.

I stared at him dumbfounded as he looked back at me, his grey orbs holding an almost fear. I cocked my head to the side, "Mr Black?"

He looked away, fiddling with the parcel in his arms. With a few long strides, I was in front of him, "You are a Black?" I asked again.

He shook his head, "I was a Black," he chuckled without any humour in it, "I am disowned,"

My shoulders dropped. He was disowned. Repeated in my head. I had missed such a major part of his life. I took hold of his hand, gently guiding him to my room and shutting the door, not caring about how disrespectful it was to my friends but they would understand and this was way more important to me.

He sat on my bed, the parcel still in his hands. I moved to kneel before him, taking away the parcel and keeping it on the bedside table and encased his hands into mine, "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked gently.

Sirius' bottom lip quivered as he looked around my room, trying not to let the tears in his eyes fall. It broke my heart, the always cheerful Sirius was now looking so vulnerable. I let out a ragged breath, placing my hand on his cheek and swiping my thumb below his eyes.

"She disowned me, my sweet old mother. Said I was a disappointment, useless traitor, betrayed the family name for being friends with "common people" as she likes to call. I didn't make any mistakes. I just wanted to be free, I just wanted a family that will love me; not order me. I was scared, love, I was scared that if I told you, would start hating me or even worse...leave me an-and decide you don't wanna be friends with me."

By now tears were cascading his cheek like a waterfall and stung my eyes.

"No, no, no, Sirius, I would never leave you," I said, furiously wiping my tears and pulling him into my arms, "I could never leave you, Sirius, I swear. I love you,"

He pulled away, "Huh? You love me...?"

I nodded rapidly, placing a long kiss to his forehead, "I love you,"

He wiped his tears and beamed at me and chuckled excited, repeating, "You love me, she loves me," to himself. He repeated that so often that it was painful to even hear.

So, I smashed my lips against his, shutting him up and the force pushing both of us onto the bed. He kissed me back with the same amount of passion. Smoke and lemon mixing with strawberry and creating a new taste, sending us to a state of pure bliss.

I pulled away, still laying on top of him, both our lips swelled from the kiss and wide grins.

Sirius turned us around so that he was hovering above me, my hands on his chest and his forearms resting on the bed holding him upright. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ears, "I love you too," he muttered before crashing his lips onto mine once again.

[lucille-grim]

**DESCRIBING THE BODIES OF KURAMA AND KUWABARA IF THEY WERE FEMALE INSTEAD OF MALE**

My take on this.

I am writing this mainly for my fan fictions, but also for all of you who may not get a clue as to what these two would look like as females...

KURAMA:

Shuichi is the second tallest member of the team, then becomes the tallest member when Yoko. As Yoko, she would have the same color scheme, the silver hair, golden eyes, pale skin, etc. What and who she is in reality would not change. The eye shape may change a bit from his male self, notably to appear more feminine and have the big, baby eye shape, but the sensuality will be there and so will be the cold, callousness of her darker side. As Shuichi being female, her eyes are more friendly and she appears to be more open...that is, her eyes won't normally seem cold and neither would they appear too erotic. Shuichi won't have constant "bedroom eyes" that may appear more frequently on Yoko. She would have pretty eyelashes, perhaps a double row. Her hair would be similar to Yoko's, which ever color it changes into.

The eye shape she would have:

Since Kurama is small framed when it comes to bone structure, no matter the form as a male, he would appear rather dainty as a female. Even more, Kurama appears to rather flat and not meaty when it comes body shape as a male... Don't expect his female self to be any more or less. Himself as the female sex won't make him be very curvy. She won't have full ample breasts, thick thighs, broad hips, nor a "lady hump" in the "trunk". She will have small yet perky breasts and faintly curvy, that is, she would the minimal amount of shape. Sorry. Kurama himself is nearly straight as a board, is so especially in the back as far as his "backside" is concerned.

What does Shuichi got going for herself?

Her very pretty face, her rose red hair, green eyes, intelligence, skills, and popularity. She would wear the best clothes that money can afford.

KUWABARA:

Kuwabara would be almost an opposite when it comes to matters of body shape. Kuwabara as a female would be rather curvy. In fact, she would be curvaceous to being downright voluptuous in shape. Copious melon sized breasts, broad hips, plump round bottom in the back, thick thighs and babydoll legs, smaller waist, an hourglass shape, and with a bit of lean muscles to boost to firm her up. She also might have a few scars on her body, too, because...

The body is a different gender, but her life would be no different than his.

Her hairstyles would depend on what she would style it as. I believe she would grow her hair out, that it might have a slight curl or wave or be straight, but she would wear it up in buns rather than allow it to flow freely. Being involved in physical violence would cause her to wear her hair up, to roll it up into tight buns, most likely two buns on the top back of her crown. Her hair would also be either ginger in color or black. Her eyes would be dark to where her irises appear looking absolutely black as like night or as creepy black holes.

Her face would appear heart-shaped since her male self has an angular shaped face. The shape of her eyes won't be the classic big, baby eyes, instead they would appear more narrow and more almond to square shaped, appearing sharp and exotic rather than soft and rounded. Her eyelashes will appear fuller and longer at the top outer edges of her eyes. She would have a button, upturned and somewhat pointy nose, her cheekbones won't appear as prominent and would be hardly noticeable. In Japanese culture, those of the female gender are drawn with much softer features than males and females rarely ever have prominent cheekbones if ever.

Coming from a secretly very rich and powerful mob family, despite her older sister being a hairdresser (perhaps to help throw suspecting people off), means she might wear very nice clothes. However, the family is terribly dysfunctional, abusive and in some ways neglectful toward her...unless family reputation is at stake. She would most likely wear styles from basic to outlandish or unusual street clothes to traditional, the latter being because she likes traditional Japanese clothes, including formal wear. Her make-up will not consist of neutrals and she may give herself that old Japanese flair to the corners of her eyes...

Example of eye make-up with eye shape I mentioned earlier:

(Lady Kayura is 12 years old in Yoroiden Samurai Troopers.)

Kuwabara craves attention deep down, but she does not get the kind of attention she hopes for. Most of the attention she receives is negative to being highly detrimental. Kuwabara has the worst luck out of the four.

MORE ON THEIR EYES:

TO MY YYH FAN FICTIONS:

[wylanvnneck]

Hi hi! Congratulations! Can I ask for a Jurdan shot with the prompt in miscellaneous, *kiss post break up*? Thank you 💖

Miscellaneous Prompt #4:  *A kiss post break-up that neither was expecting but both needed* (action prompt)

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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Jude relished the burning sensation in her thighs as she completed her third round of the massive fountain at the center of the park. The early morning air was cool and the sunshine was just starting to heat up the place, creating the perfect setting for her usual morning jog. This particular spot was practically deserted, the only sound to be heard was the chirping of the birds and the light rustle of the trees and this type of peace was precisely what she needed before yet another tough day at work where she’d have to deal with her asshole colleagues. Well, just the one colleague. Cardan Effin’ Greenbriar.

The thought of his smug face and ludicrous cheekbones was enough to make her quicken her pace, a bead of sweat making its way down the side of her flushed face. Thoughts of his betrayal flood her mind and she wonders how she could ever have thought of him as roguishly charming. The man was a scoundrel, a blackguard. He was also not worth thinking about. She pushes the image of his floppy black locks and dark eyes away from her mind and runs even faster, leaving all her problems behind. This moment is cathartic, it was escaping all her turmoil, it was freedom and she relishes it.

Suddenly, she picks up on the sound of a twig snapping nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she spots a figure moving behind her, walking slowly and close to the trees lining the pathway, as if they didn’t wish to be seen. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her mind whirs, defensive martial art positions running through her head. From a young age her father had instilled in her the dangers of being out alone in deserted spots and the importance of always watching her back and she’s now on high alert as the figure behind her seems to be trying to move even further into the trees, still only a few feet behind her.

Thinking fast, she turns at the next corner and ducks behind a thick tree to the side, crouching her body behind it. The wood is scratchy under her sweaty palms and her heartbeat is racing at a mile a minute, the tension cutting through her body like a sword. Her surroundings seem sharper, more vibrant in her anxiety and soon enough she hears the light footfalls of someone approaching the turn. Seconds later, the figure is almost right in front of her, stopping when he realises that she’s no longer on the path. Finally she manages to get a good look at him and when she does she can’t help but let out a shocked gasp.

“Jude?” Standing right there in front of her with a bemused expression is Cardan Greenbriar, her colleague and ex-fling. She refused to think of him as anything else. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“What am I doing? You’re the one who’s been following me like some perverted creep.” Stretching herself back to her full height she steps away from the tree and onto the path to face him, her eyes narrowing and her blood pounding. How dare he act as if she were the one acting bizarrely.

“I-” The tips of his ears turn red and his hands wring together, “That’s fair I suppose. I was just umm…”

“Yes?” His blundering manner is uncharacteristic and confusing. Usually, he was the most overly confident bastard out there. Cardan Greenbriar was the suave type of guy who always knew exactly what to say and when, a talent that made him extremely useful as Head of Sales for Elfhame Enterprises, the company owned by his father Eldred Greenbriar, where they both worked.

“I simply wanted to talk to you alone for a bit but I figured that you’d avoid me at work and avoid any calls and texts from me too so I thought I’d come meet you at the park on your daily jog instead.” The words come out in a fast-paced stream, nearly unintelligible, his cheeks now red as well.

“Let me get this straight, you wanted to talk to me alone so you decided to stalk me at the park on my morning run and nearly give me a panic attack in the process?” She almost can’t believe her ears.

“When you put it like that it sounds wrong!” He huffs.

“How exactly am I supposed to put it, Cardan, that’s exactly what you did!”

“Alright so I may have lost my nerve and decided to trail you for a bit before approaching you. I realise now that that was a dumb idea.”

She resists the age to facepalm. “You think?”

“Look can’t we just put this all behind us?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh whilst bringing her hands up to lightly massage at her now throbbing temples. “Okay, you said you wanted to talk? About what?”

The entire time that they'd been talking his stare had been trained somewhere near her chin, but now he raises his gaze to directly meet hers. “About us.”

“There is no us.” He’d made certain of that.

He takes a step forward, eyes blazing and she takes a larger step backwards, determined to keep her distance.

“Jude, you have to give me a chance to explain, you owe me that at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

There was no possible explanation that he could give for what he’d done. They hadn't always been at loggerheads, her and Cardan. At least, they hadn’t been for some time until the last week. When Jude had first joined the company last year, she’d despised the overly arrogant son of Eldred Greenbriar, thinking of him as the rich, self-entitled jerk that she was forced to work with.

Then a couple months in, he managed to persuade her to go on a date with him, one date and then if she didn’t want to agree to another he’d get the message and move on. So she’d gone, expecting to hate every minute of it, except that she hadn’t. They’d actually gotten along surprisingly well, he’d taken her to a chill little Diner, not the over-the-top fancy restaurant that she thought he’d pick and he’d opened the car door for her like a gentleman. They had chatted for hours about their multitude of shared interests and drank Carlton beer and drunkenly waltzed together along the floor and it was perfect and wonderful and crazy.

After that they became an item, they would share heated interludes by the otherwise deserted office printing machine in true cliché Office Romance fashion and they’d even kissed under the mistletoe at the office Christmas party and things were going great, until one day, Jude overheard a conversation between him and his brother, Balekin Greenbriar, Eldred’s right hand man and future heir of the company.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, she was only coming into Balekin’s office to hand over a file when she’d recognised Cardan’s voice saying her name. She would never forget the words that she had heard him say. ‘She’s a distraction...only a pointless fling....thought it would be fun to get under her skin....you know I like a challenge’.

The memory of those words alone are enough to bring back the hurt that had ripped through her when she had stood motionless on the other side of Balekin’s door, desperate to get away but trapped by her own denial and desire for self destruction.

Now she watches as he agitatedly ruffles his unruly black locks in front of her. “I swear to you, what you heard me say to Balekin, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“Then why would you say it?” She’s torn between turning tail and leaving him there, turning her back on him for good or staying and waiting for his explanation, waiting to hear his reasons, why he’d done this to her, to them.

“You don’t know my brother, Jude.” His voice, his expression, his everything is bleak and open and vulnerable, begging for understanding. “He takes pleasure in destroying the things I love. It’s a game to him, one he’s been playing all my life, taking away what stops me from being miserable, and I couldn’t let him do that with you.

“Not with you,” he repeats, stronger. “You’re too important. So I knew I had to convince him that you meant nothing to me.”

Everything about his demeanour suggests sincerity and it definitely seems like he’s telling the truth and she wants to believe him, to trust him, she really does.

But she’s been hurt before and she doesn’t think she could chance being so again.

“I can’t trust you.”

“Yes, you can. You can choose to.” He steps forward now, close, so close, unrelenting.

She rises to the occasion and raises her face to meet his, a scant inch between them. “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

It’s a standoff now, neither willing to back down. The sun has made it’s way much higher in the sky and the yellow sunlight is beating down on them, the heat adding to the fire that has ignited between them.

“Stop being so stubborn, dammit,” he bites out, frustrated.

“Make me,” she sneers.

She doesn’t know how it happened, nor how she didn’t see it coming, but in the very next second Cardan’s lips are on hers, moving furiously and his arms are on her waist, holding her against him in an almost punishing grip.

It appears that he hadn’t quite seen it coming either because he pulls away from her before she has time to process more than a tingle running up her arms, his dark eyes wide and pupils dilated. They’re both breathing fast now, so close that they share breaths. They stare for a moment.

Then, with lightning speed she throws caution to the winds and wraps her arm around his neck, crashing her lips to his once more and this time she registers that his lips are soft under hers and he tastes like hot chocolate and breath mint and it feels glorious. It’s only been a little more than a week since they’d last kissed, but it felt like an eternity.

Minutes, hours, or days later they break apart, gasping for air and clutching at each other, neither one willing to relinquish their grip. Cardan rests his forehead on hers and looks at her with a startling amount of adoration and she knows right then and there that, scary as the thought is, she would forgive him anything, including this.

“Give me another chance?” He asks, pleading.

“Yes,” she breathes before reaching up to lose herself in kisses once more.

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

I’m not entirely happy with this one tbh, but anyways here you go @franktastic-fangirl, thank you for sending in the prompt and for the congrats!🌻

Tagging my taglist (although I’m not entirely sure that I want y’all to read this, lol)- @cupcakesandkittens ​, @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln ​, @thewickedkings ​ and @kittkatandbooboo ​💕

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my TFOTA taglist :)

[fallinnflower]

will you be there?

hoshi x reader (apocalypse!au, established relationship, drama, fluff)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: this was originally written for my best friend’s birthday a few years back, and she’s given me permission to post it here while i’m in a bit of a slump with new writing. it has been edited/polished before posting!

You scarcely remember how it all started, where the end of the world began. The road’s beginning seems so far from you now, and you might think you had dreamed the world before were it not for the hand that holds yours as you scope out the farmhouse nestled in the valley’s swell. 

The image is like a painting, you think, except that the silence enveloping you both leaves you rattled rather than at ease. The end of the world does that, you think, as Soonyoung squeezes your hand gently, shouldering his way carefully into the house. Your free hand rests habitually on the blade tucked against your hip (really just a glorified kitchen knife, but better than nothing), and the hardwood floors exhale dust as you step silently across them. 

For the first time in hours (probably, but what is time when the sun has been hazed out by clouds in this part of the country for the past several days as you’ve wandered?) the two of you cease touching, sparing glances before you move to comb through the house. His eyes sparkle the way you recall the night sky, and you allow that thought to steel your resolve as you pick through the kitchen, the cupboards creaking as you open them. 

In one, you find an assortment of cans, and choose to grab two just in case you find a reason not to stay in this place any longer. 

You find no signs of danger or disturbance within the house — no other raiders have come through, and the house must have been left in a hurry. It still looks lived-in, and that is the disconcerting part; a breathing relic. In the dining room there is a fireplace, and on the mantle are color photographs behind unmarred glass, a tablecloth still draped over the four-seater table. The chairs are pushed in; beside the mantle, on a hook, hangs a dog’s leash and a set of car keys. 

Vehicles stopped working an eternity ago, but you can vividly remember your first date with Soonyoung, when he was too nervous to stand close to you on the bus until it became overcrowded and rattled on the road, and you could feel his heart beating quicker and quicker—

You can’t be sure if it is the dust or something else choking you up, and so you move back towards the front door. 

Soonyoung deems the other half of the house clear, and mentions that he saw a well out in the yard. If there’s water, he mentions, you might both be able to manage some sort of bath. You tell him about the food and the fireplace, and he smiles,

“Dinner and a bath, then.” Even with the dust streaking his face, he’s still the most stunning boy you’ve ever seen. 

His fingertips graze your cheek, and you smile in return. 

There are two battery-powered flashlights in the house, one in the kitchen and one in the master bedroom. While most of the linens have been eaten through by moths, the winter supply had been safe in a trunk with mothballs, and the towels you both deem suitable to your needs. You take trips to the well to fill the bottles you carry in your bags, and the large bowl you had found in the lowest cabinet. Soonyoung starts a fire while you measure out water for the bag of rice you had found in the cupboards. 

It’s the closest the two of you have gotten to domesticity since you fled your city apartment, determined to get off the grid like everyone else, stuffing a backpack with food and some clothes and running. You’re loath to admit it, but you find yourself looking back a lot. 

Soonyoung is heating the extra water over the fire, humming as he watches for steam. Beside him sits a bottle of shampoo and one of conditioner, along with a small, yellow bar of soap. A smile curls up the edges of his lips, and you thank whatever deity is watching over you for letting you keep him, if nothing else. 

You wash his hair first when the water is hot enough, gently combing through it. The water turns the color of dirt as you card your fingers through. He keeps his eyes shut, a contented noise rising from the base of his throat as you massage his scalp, and you can’t keep yourself from smiling. Even when the world has been turned upside down, your Soonyoung is just the same.

You rinse out his hair in the backyard with a bucket, and trim his bangs with scissors you found in a kitchen drawer. He shakes his head like a dog, and you break the stillness of the valley with your laughter. 

Soonyoung compliments your cooking; he grins his cheeky grin and you pinch one of his cheeks. He’s thinner now than he was, paler with the dust washed away, and you know he’s scraped some of the rice onto your plate when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You aren’t stupid, but you can’t bring yourself to argue; you’ve done the same for him.

You let your hand linger on his cheek, running your thumb along the line of his cheekbone, and he leans in to press his forehead to yours. 

“I love you,” he says, softly, like a secret, your noses brushing. You smile, close your eyes because you feel the tears stinging there,

“I love you, too.”

Even before you started dating Soonyoung, you knew he was going to be an important person in your life. Call it a hunch, call it Fate — the moment you met him, you just knew. 

It didn’t take you long to fall in love with him, though; after Joshua introduced the two of you, you realized he was just one of those rare, lovable people that drew others to him. He had a natural presence, as Jihoon had put it, and you were a moth to his flame. 

Your study sessions turned into study dates turned into just dates, and three months in he accidentally said he loved you before hanging up over FaceTime and turned the brightest red you’d ever seen him. 

(He still blushes when he says he loves you, tips of his ears turning pink, and it’s one of the things that makes you look to the past rather than the future.)

At night you lie down on the bed in the master bedroom after shaking out the sheets and checking the mattress. Soonyoung lets you use him as a pillow, and you follow his heartbeat like a lullaby as he runs his fingers through your freshly washed hair. 

You hear him humming and you think about the past, detached, catching fragments of your memories as they pass by—

Stars. Dancing. He always loved to dance, but not as much after Jihoon disappeared. Everyone went off the grid so quickly. You wonder who’s left; sometimes it feels like just the two of you, wandering alone. 

You wonder if anyone has made it to Joshua’s house, the safe one by the beach where rumor had it some people could be safe from the end of the world for just a bit longer. 

You wonder if Joshua is alive. 

Soonyoung continues humming. You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and bury your face in his shoulder. Some questions are better left unanswered.

The rumble of thunder startles you awake, the walls of the house faintly trembling with the force of it. It takes you a moment to adjust before you realize just what is happening.

Soonyoung stirs awake before you can even think to rouse him.

“It’s raining,” you whisper, and you watch as the excitement spreads slowly across his face, first widening his eyes and then curving them into crescents as he smiles. A flash of lightning makes his eyes spark, followed closely by another rumble of thunder that rattles the windows. Soonyoung laughs, the sound soft and yet so overpowering that you can’t help but follow suit. His fingers bunch up in your shirt and pull you closer by the small of your back, laughing breathlessly against the crown of your head.

“Soonyoung,” you say, voice just a little louder than before, and he hums in response. “Sing for me?” He hesitates, but in the end, he breathes out his reply slowly,

“Alright.” Soonyoung’s eyes slip closed as the storm picks up outside, the rain slanting towards the windows, and you tuck your head against his shoulder as he clears his throat. His voice is soft — it’s been so long since he’s sung for any reason — and he sings a song you remember Jihoon composing what seems like a lifetime ago. You watch his face carefully, the way his eyes stay closed as he concentrates, the way he shuts them tighter as his voice begins to tremble—

He gets through the first chorus before his voice finally warbles to a halt, his breaths shaking past his lips. You pull him closer to you, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair as he takes deep gulps of air. 

He doesn’t cry, because crying is for when people are dead, and neither of you wants to admit that Jihoon (or Seungcheol or Joshua or Minghao or—) is possibly gone. 

The rain drowns out the sound of his shaky breaths until it lulls you both to sleep. 

For the first time in a long, long time, you wake up before Soonyoung, your head resting on the pillow beside his. The sunlight washes over his face through the dusty windows, his lips slightly parted. They look a little chapped, you notice, and it sends a small pang through your heart; he’s still beautiful, but he’s not the same Soonyoung he used to be, the bangs you cut for him choppy and sticking out in all directions, his cheeks no longer as rounded out, dark bags under his eyes. You swallow thickly, reaching out to smooth down his hair, still thick and soft despite it all, standing out in stark contrast against the pale yellow sheets.

Soonyoung’s nose twitches slightly as the tips of his hair tickle his face, lips quirking up on one side into something almost like a smile in his sleep. It strikes you, then, hard and heavy in your chest, that you love Soonyoung more than anything in this godforsaken world; you’ve chosen to live with him, knowing full well you will more than likely die with him, too. 

You don’t regret it, even as the heaviness settles into your chest, feeling almost slightly like sobs trapped in your throat.

Soonyoung opens his eyes before you can dwell too long on that feeling, and they sparkle like stars even as he blinks tiredly at you. You smile, but it feels a little shaky, and run your hand through his hair again,

“Good morning.” A beat, and then, “I love you.” The drowsiness on his face is replaced by a smile so bright it brings tears to your eyes. His eyes still squint in the same 10:10 lines when his cheeks bunch up beneath them, and you feel the familiar warmth spreading through your chest. 

You used to talk about what your calling might have been in terms of occupation, but now you think it’s always been Soonyoung that was waiting for you at the end of the road. 

The two of you are slow to get up that morning, making the bed and packing away more clean linens in your packs. With the light spilling in through the grimy windows, it’s clear to see just how dilapidated the house is; both yours and Soonyoung’s footprints are visible in the dust and dirt coating the floors. You take a second sweep of the house, finding a few utensils in the kitchen that you had missed the night before, along with some dish soap. You can’t remember the last time you and Soonyoung had regular access to soap like this, but the family that had lived here seemed to have bought some things ahead of time. You imagine it’s because they lived so far from the nearest town.

There are gardening hats hanging by the back door, and you offer one to Soonyoung and take the other for yourself. When the two of you step out into the sunlight, packs filled and straw hats perched atop your heads, you can’t help but smile at the image of him beside you, his eyes squinted against the sky as he picks out the direction you need to go. 

“That way,” he says. “We should reach a city in a few hours.”

“Okay,” you reply, because there isn’t really anything else to be done but agree with him. After all, with the world gone the way it is, you’ve found yourself putting as much trust as possible in Soonyoung. (Which, in all honesty, isn’t so different from how it was before the apocalypse started.) The two of you walk through what used to be the house’s backyard, with remnants of an old garden still visible, stakes jutting up out of the ground. You can’t help but think this must once have been a nice place to live. 

The two of you follow the parallel lines of dirt and sand through the grass, walking on until you find the road.

Soonyoung was right, you reach the city within a matter of hours; the sun hasn’t even set by the time you find yourselves passing old stoplights more frequently. You watch them sway with the breeze, not a single bird perched on the wires, and wonder when things got this bad. The two of you stick close to one another, peering into windows and cautiously toeing open doors. 

“We should just stay here for the night,” he says, and you nod. A nagging part of you knows that Soonyoung isn’t quite ready to reach your destination, isn’t ready to see which of your friends have survived and which have been consumed by the desolate world which now consumes you. To be honest, you aren’t sure you’re ready, either, but how could anyone be?

The two of you find an apartment above a coffee shop just by chance, and while Soonyoung moves forward to scout the bathroom and bedroom you find yourself standing alone in the small living room, staring at the dusty couch with tears stinging your eyes. It’s really more of a glorified studio apartment than anything, and it reminds you so acutely and painfully of the apartment you had just recently gotten with Soonyoung, and how the two of you spent ages trying to find a cheap couch to fill your barren living room; dishes and silverware and bedding, all those stupid decorative pillows neither of you needed but bought for the hell of it and put in an apartment you’ll never get to really live in or likely see again—

Soonyoung returns to the living room to find you exactly where he left you, face in your hands and openly sobbing for the first time since you both started running for the coastline. He doesn’t say a word, just pulls you into his arms and presses his cheek against your hair, squeezing comfortingly at the fabric of your sweatshirt. You cling to Soonyoung as though he’s a life preserver, and you feel his shoulders tremble as he redoubles his grip on you.

“I love you,” he whispers, as though his voice will break if he raises it even slightly. 

You open your mouth to reply, but you only cry harder. He presses a kiss to your hair, and you both stand like that until you finally relax enough to scout through the rest of the rooms. Neither of you bring it up, but it’s all you can think about all through the evening, watching the shadows lengthen along the walls and floors. You wonder how many people have ransacked your apartment by now.

You fall asleep clinging to Soonyoung as tightly as possible. He’s the only thing you have left.

In the morning, you manage to make a little bit of coffee for the both of you with some old, yet somehow fresh, coffee grounds from downstairs. It’s bitter, and there are bits of coffee floating around in the cup, but Soonyoung smiles at you as if you’ve given him a valuable gift. 

He spreads a nice, glossy map across the coffee table in the living room, and shows you the route you’ll be taking to the coast using a red permanent marker. 

“I found this in one of the kitchen drawers,” he explains, looking up at you with a small smile still playing at the corners of his lips. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “We’ll be at Joshua’s tomorrow at the latest.” 

You smile in what you hope is a reassuring manner, reaching out to squeeze Soonyoung’s hand and hoping that’s enough; there’s nothing you can say to assuage his fears, and so the two of you merely get on with your morning in the usual way, and set out before the sun is too high above the horizon. 

The seasons are changing, and it makes you realize just how long you’ve been on this journey already. It had still been the heat of summer when you last saw other scavengers; the beginning of said season when you had last driven a car, or seen a working electric light. There’s no explanation for what happened (and it’s likely to stay that way, with no means of researching the event or spreading such information), though you aren’t sure you’d be comfortable with one. In some ways, the conspiracies that had been flung around in the early days of the outages are enough to leave you tired of searching for answers you won’t get.

The two of you hold hands on your walk, and you can feel the slight chill that lingers in his fingers, a sign of autumn approaching. The trees look deader the longer you walk on, and you wonder how you’ll manage to survive the winter (if you get that far).

You stop yourself there, picking the pace up slightly. If Soonyoung notices the sudden, slight change in your demeanor, he does nothing to stop it; merely matches pace with you, so you won’t be alone.

Neither of you say a word, as is typical, conserving your energy, but he squeezes your hand just a little to let you know he’s beside you still.

Before the grid shut off, Soonyoung had been a dance instructor and choreographer. He loved his job. He had a stage name he’d given himself when he was just barely a man: Hoshi. The Japanese word for star, like the ones that shine in his eyes when he smiles. You’ve associated the two ever since, Soonyoung and stars go hand in hand. Jihoon used to say he was born to be on the stage, he called it destiny. Written in the stars.

You’ve never agreed so wholeheartedly.

At your next stop, you find an actual apartment building and climb all the way to the first floor, kicking in doors and salvaging whatever you possibly can. Very few items of any use have been left behind, but you find a battery-powered CD player in one of the bedrooms and opt to take it with you, along with a small case of CDs you find. Soonyoung meets you in the hallways with an old tote bag full of cans and two bags of rice, then smiles somewhat mischievously at you. It reminds you of the Soonyoung before, flighty in the best way, when he says,

“Did you know this building has rooftop access?”

Lying atop one of the first blankets you had ever stolen, back when you still felt guilty every time you took a belonging from an abandoned home, dishes from dinner scraped clean beside you, you and Soonyoung watch the sky turn from violet to black. Old ballads play through the somewhat grainy speakers of your new possession, and you tuck yourself against your boyfriend’s side. Soonyoung’s hair smells like the sunlight that had been beating down on you both all through the day, and you can’t help but to run your fingers through it every now and again as you stare up at the stars that glitter so brightly in the sky.

Under other circumstances, the lack of light pollution would have seemed like a breath of fresh air, and yet…

So much has changed, and so quickly. Even Soonyoung, a constant at your side, is different than he was; you can’t remember the last time you saw him dancing, saw his cheeks rounded out with laughter he couldn’t contain. Calling him your boyfriend feels too impermanent now— he’s your life partner. Of this you’re certain.

The song changes to one you can remember hearing over the radio back when you and Soonyoung first started dating, and you take his hand and drag him up off the blanket.

“Let’s dance,” you say, and you swear you see the stars darken in contrast to the light that suddenly emanates from his eyes as he pulls you close to him. What you do couldn’t be considered dancing in any academic sense, merely swaying to the music and occasionally spinning until you fall into each other’s shoulders with laughter spilling softly past your lips, but it’s the lightest either of you have felt since the start of summer. You take his broad, unabashed smile as a sign that the times are changing for the better.

He smiles at you for a long moment before pulling you against his chest once more, his lips close to your ear. The two of you still way gently to the rhythm of the song, and you let your eyes slip closed, resting against his chest.

“I’m so happy I know you,” he says, softly, and you bite the inside of your lip to keep back the sudden tension you feel in your jaw, the tightening of your chest. Tomorrow, you will reach the coast, and everything will change again— though for better or worse, you can’t tell.

So you tighten your hold and squeeze your eyes shut, savoring the moment.

“Me, too.”

When the next morning dawns, you can see the differences in Soonyoung. He moves a bit more hesitantly, though you’re sure it’s far from a conscious decision, fueled by the anxiety that comes with the knowledge that later today, you’ll find out just how many of his friends you can confirm to be alive. It’s a daunting thought, that this whole journey is about to come to an end; there will be a place for you sleep, semi-permanently, and a house with other people to surround you—

You rest a hand on his shoulder when you notice him staring blankly into his bag, nearly finished packing, and when he looks at you his face bears a troubled smile. He takes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, and returns to his packing with a soft, resigned sort of expression on his face. It would be so easy, you think, to tell him everything is going to be okay, but it feels too wrong to lie to him like that when neither of you know what’s going to happen even in the same minute. All you can do is take his hand as the two of you embark on the final leg of your journey, the sun beating down on your shoulders and the wind carrying just the slightest chill.

Soonyoung halts slightly when he catches the scent of salt in the air; when sand begins to appear in the crack of the roads you wander down; when you can no longer deny how close you’ve come to the end of the road. You don’t have a back-up plan if nobody is waiting for you, and your hunts for provisions have been conducted with the focus of getting you to the coast and won’t last you for too long beyond that, especially if you don’t have a plan. 

You pull him to a gentle stop when you realize you’re both overwhelmed by your own thoughts, and scrape together a lunch of dehydrated fruit. It had been a rare find, but you hope it will lift both of your spirits to have something sweet and familiar. It’s the best you can offer. Soonyoung seems to know what you’re trying to do, because he smiles when you press the food into his palm.

“We’ll figure it out,” you say, and he sighs when he’s finished chewing. He drops his head to rest it on your shoulder, and you reach up to brush his bangs aside.

“I know.” His voice sounds as though he’s carrying the weight of the world. You hope he’ll let you help shoulder the burden. It’s with that thought in mind that the two of you continue on your way, the map your only source of guidance. 

Neither of you have been to Joshua’s beach house since a spring break that seems like a very, very long time ago, and memorable mostly because Hansol did one too many jello shots and fell off the diving board into the pool trying to show off. On that trip, you had both been cuddled up in the backseat while Jihoon snapped at Mingyu after he made his third wrong turn. Together you have little more than hazy memories of the house’s location, and so you’re forced to rely on the directions Joshua had given you when this plan was first hatched and the maps you’ve picked up along the way. 

Many of the houses you pass along the way showcase lawns littered with broken, summer-themed decorations; flags and plastic lawn ornaments that no longer serve any practical use and have been tossed around by storms. The windows have been knocked out, leaving drapes that flutter past the broken glass and wave in surrender to those that pass.

You wonder if anyone has tried to raid Joshua’s house while he’s been in it, if any of the houses that seem slightly less damaged are also being lived in while people do their best to survive. It’s hard to imagine that you and Soonyoung may be in a similar position soon.

When you’re close enough to hear the sea, Soonyoung stops and trades his map for the small scrap of paper where you had hurriedly written down Joshua’s directions. In them he had given landmarks, though how many of those have survived it’s difficult to say; you and Soonyoung navigate the streets slowly, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon. The only sounds are the scuffing of your shoes on the sandy asphalt and the lonely calls of gulls in the distance. 

A shock of pale blue to your right catches your eye, and you glance down at the paper in Soonyoung’s hand before tugging at his sleeve.

“That’s one of the landmarks, isn’t it? The big blue house over there?” You point first to the line on the note, then direct your boyfriend’s gaze to the house. He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re a genius,” he coos, and there’s more energy in his steps now as you follow him. According to Joshua, if the two of you continue down the street that starts at the blue house, you’ll find his at the end, which is the only thing you really remember about that spring break; Joshua’s house at the end of a little culdesac, a tiny white number to cap the street off.

And you know the house the second you see it, even if the windows are sealed shut and there’s no music pouring out of the door as you approach; you recognize the car in the driveway, although now it’s covered in sand and grime; you recognize the mailbox with the little birds painted on it, the half-porch to the side, the gated backyard that you know houses a pool (or what remains of it).

Soonyoung stops at the end of the driveway, staring up into the house as though the windows were the eyes of a great beast, and you take his face in your hands and force him to look down at you. You’re sure his heart is pounding just as loud and fierce as yours, a heavy weight of anxiety taking root in your stomach at the same moment that hope bubbles up in your chest. Everything is about to change; you can feel it when the wind whistles through your hair.

“No matter what happens,” you say, pressing your forehead to his and watching as his eyes flutter shut, as he takes a deep and calming breath. “I’m with you.” He almost smiles as those words leave your lips, and you step away, reaching out for his hand.

It is Soonyoung who knocks, keeping you positioned just slightly behind him for fear of who may be inside, and for a long moment it seems as though nobody will answer. Your heart throbs in your chest, your hands shaking as you press your palm against the grip on your blade—

“Hoshi?” Someone on the other side of the door asks, softly. You see Soonyoung’s shoulders tremble.

“It’s me,” he says. The door slowly opens, and there stands Joshua, thinner and more disheveled than you remember him but still sporting that wonderful, cat-like smile. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the both of you, and opens the door all the way, stepping aside,

“Welcome home.”