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therealvalkyrie · 4 years ago

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exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.”

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page.

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima x fem!reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq fanfic #valkyrie writes #exactly the spring #haikyuu fluff #ushijima fluff #don't look at me i'm posting this early bc i'm IMPATIENT #*sobs*

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bananaofswifts · 5 years ago

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Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

#taylor swift #evermore #review

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decks-writing-blog · 4 years ago

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Indirectly a Hero

This fic is inspired by my prior doubt about ever being able to even reach 5BC let alone get anywhere close to beating it. So basically thinking about what that would look like in universe brought along the question of what would happened if the Collector decided to just make the Panacea without Beheaded there because they're too weak ever get that far?

Just for the record I now know I can beat 5BC even if it is with a a little bit of help from one of the new aspects in the beta patch (I feel it's technically possible without that but is a very tall order). I reached the Collector for the first a little while ago only for him to glitch. T.T Once he's fixed though it's only a matter of time before I get that 1st 5BC win. Perhaps for the 2nd 5BC win for the true ending I'll insist on doing it without the help of an aspect, depends on how I feel though because this game is hella hard.

The door opened with little more than a creak of its hinges, signaling the state Beheaded was in even before they’d entered the room. Which they did rather slowly, hunched over as they clutching at wound in their side, blood leaking freely through their fingers. That wasn’t their only wound either. Various injuries marred their body and tattered their blood-soaked clothing. They left a dripping trail behind them as they walked further in.

Collector watched them make their slow, painful way over to him. “You’re going to fight the Hand of the King like that?” His tone was mocking but it was hard not to feel a little pity for them given how often he’d seen them in such a state by now. Especially in comparison to their usual swagger. Though at least this way they didn’t destroy the door as they entered.

Beheaded lifted a hand to flip him off. They were still as rude as ever though, that was good to see.

Despite that, as always, they handed over all the Dead Cells they’d collected since last Collector had last seen them. He’d long since run out of stuff to give them in return but they thankfully still handed them over without even needing to be asked to. Seems it was just habit for them at this point and Collector wasn’t going to question it lest they stop doing so.

They then moved on, heading off to fight the Hand of the King again. Given their state, they would almost without a doubt lose again too. They’d only managed to defeat him a grand total of three times now. The last time had been quite a while ago too. But given how many other times they struggled long and hard against various other obstacles and enemies, they’d probably eventually prevail again. Unless Collector found that cure for the Malaise first.

He turned to looked at the container behind him now brimming with fresh Cells. Thanks to Beheaded, he had no shortage of Cells to experiment with and thanks to Time Keeper, no shortage of time to do so either. As a result, he was starting to get close to… something. Whether that something would actually be an effective cure was impossible to say. At this point he doubted it, but it was the only thing he had left to try so he was going to. Just a little bit more and he’d have it.

Time was impossible to measure in a time loop and thus there was no way to even guess how long it had taken but Collector finally had the ability to create a panacea. A mythic cure from a children’s tale, it wasn’t likely to work. But if it failed, there was no hope left for the island anyway so it wouldn’t change anything. Now all that was left to do was to wait for Beheaded to show up and he’d reveal it to them.

Except… Beheaded never showed. Despite Time Keeper’s best efforts, the Malaise was still getting worse, increasing the amount of undead roaming the island, making them more aggressive as well. Beheaded, already having a hard time, was struggling even more now. Rare was the attempt they got anywhere even close to the castle, let alone to it and then all the way here.

So as much as he would’ve preferred one last dose of Cells from Beheaded as well as the opportunity to show them the panacea, he couldn’t wait forever. And really, he was only procrastinating because this was the island’s final hope so if it failed there was nothing more he could do. It was about time he just got this over with though

After one last look around the empty observatory, he turned to look at the Catalyst. He’d been planning to use fresh Cells from Beheaded for this but they clearly weren’t up to the task of reaching this point so he’d just have to use some of the spare Cells left over from all the experiments that had led to this. Most of them he’d used up in said experiments but there was still enough left to do this at least once or twice.

He left to get a Cell storage container from the other room. Upon returning it didn’t take long to hook it up and transfer the Cells over. He then positioned a flask underneath its spout and turned it on.

The Cells spun and danced within the machine, condensing down into a liquid form and pouring into the flask. It glowed blue, coming up to almost the halfway point. He hadn’t used quite enough Cells. Not that it mattered a whole lot anyway as it wasn’t likely to work.

So with no one to share this experiment with – and what a vast shame that was – he grasped the flask by its neck and unceremoniously lifted it to his mouth to take a small sip. The liquid had the consistency of honey and had a sharp bitter medicinal taste. Unpleasant but not too bad really. Now if only…

The surge of energy that shot through him surprised him enough to send him to his knees. Oh! That felt good! With a chuckle, he stood back up and… nothing. He did nothing because despite the sudden pressing urge to do something there was nothing to do. So instead he growled and strode over to pound a fist onto his desk, making the glass beakers on it rattle as if in threat of breaking. He growled at them, barely resisting the urge to swipe them off the desk to shatter onto the floor.

He needed more Cells! … Well it was a good thing he knew where to go to get more.

***

After bursting through the door, Beheaded paused because Collector was back. He was standing there just as if he’d never left, his equipment operational and glowing with Cells once more. The fellow who’d taken his place was still there too. The two of them looked to have been having a conversation that Beheaded’s arrival had interrupted as they both looked over at them.

“Hello,” Not Collector said, their voice even cheerier than usual. Yeah, they idolized Collector or something, didn’t they? Beheaded had never cared enough to pay attention nor would they start caring now.

So ignoring them, Beheaded strode up to the Collector. They pointed at him and then gestured around before lifting their arms in an exaggerated shrug to make it a question. They’d assumed he’d died but apparently not. So where had he disappeared off to and more importantly why?

“Greetings. I apologize for my absence. However, I trust out little arrangement is still in place.” His voice sounded almost a little… strained? There was certainly a different energy to it than before. Something had changed. What though?

Out of spite and sudden renewed distrust, Beheaded was tempted to refuse and keep the Cells for themself. With Collector being even more suspicious than usual, giving him what he wanted might not be a good idea. Though… they’d never trusted him much to begin with so not a whole lot had really changed, huh? And they had literally no use for the Cells and thus had no real reason to want to keep them on top of the fact that if they ever came across another blueprint, his services in making it for them would be welcome. They could’ve possibly given them to Not Collector but doing so would’ve most likely been just a roundabout way of giving them to Collector. So with one last warning finger shake, Beheaded handed their Cells over.

“Thank you.”

Even if Beheaded were capable of replying they wouldn’t have bothered as they moved on, resuming their quest. It was still early but they had a good feeling about this attempt. They were going to see what was on the other side of that door behind the Hand of the King for sure this time. … Hopefully anyway. Really just reaching the damn castle again would be an achievement at this point. But they were for sure going to get through the door eventually and whatever was on the other side better be worth all this pain and effort.

Many, many failed attempts later. Long enough for Beheaded to hand over enough Cells for Collector to make enough panacea to cure the Malaise entirely

The relief Beheaded felt at finally making it through High Peak Castle was dashed almost as soon as they were entering into the passage because now they’d have to fight the Hand of the King. They hadn’t even so much as seen him in so long and had never been great at handling him and they’d been royally sliced to bits in the castle. Leaving them with an empty potion flask and far more damage to their body than they were comfortable with. Unless a miracle occurred, they were going to fail against the Hand. A shame but… at least they’d made it this far, pushing the bar just that little bit more. Perhaps next time they’d fare well enough to stand a chance though. … Not likely. Eventually though they would… eventually.

As always they went to Collector, giving him all their Cells without a word from him. But as they turned away to head for their ‘death’, he spoke. “I must thank you for your assistance.”

They paused and turned to look back up at him.

“The Cells you’ve brought me have been invaluable in my experiments. To thank you let me assist you in your endeavors again.” He pulled out a vial filled with an orange liquid; a health potion.

It was very possible this was a trap or trick of some sort but if it somehow wasn’t, it was their only hope of beating the Hand of the King, even if it wasn’t a large hope, and at least seeing what was behind that door. In the worst-case scenario, they could always detach from their current body and slink off to find another, as they’d have been doomed to do very shortly anyway. So as he extended the vial towards them, they snatched it out of his hand and tipped it back.

As their form absorbed its contents magic rushed through all their tendrils throughout the body, repairing the damage that had been done to it in a flood of pleasant warmth. Dropping the vial, they looked up at Collector again to give him a thumbs up and a nod before heading off, reenergized and ready to take on the Hand of the King.

Except they took only two steps in that direction before darkness encroached on their vision. Their control of the body faltered, making them tip and fall to their hands and knees and then even that was too much as they flopped over onto their side. Of fucking course it had been too good to be true.

“Sorry friend.” Collector maybe even did sound a little apologetic. “But I need you out of the way for a while. You will come to no harm though, I promise.”

Beheaded wanted to lift a hand to flip him off but unconsciousness dragged at them, pulling them down towards nothingness despite their best efforts to fight it. When they woke up though, they were so going to…

~~~

They were lying on a bed, a soft one too with a blanket thrown over them. The ceiling above them was nothing special but as they stiffly rolled over to look at the room, they recognized it. The room in High Peak Castle with all the beds. They were on the one closest to the door.

Exhaustion had driven them to taking naps in all sorts of strange and dangerous locations but they’d never felt even tempted to take one in this room. It was too dangerous and too close to their end goal for them to feel even remotely capable of relaxing here. So how come they were waking up here? … Collector! He betrayed them with a drugged healing potion.

They threw off the blanket and rolled out of bed, moving with far less grace and precision then they should’ve. Whatever they’d been drugged with hadn’t completely worn off yet. It was affecting their control of the body which made them angrier. As soon as they found Collector, he was going to get a piece of their mind.

As they made their awkward way towards they door they reached for where their crossbow should’ve been hanging on their back. Of course it wasn’t there, else how would they have been lying so comfortably on the bed? A quick check revealed it wasn’t anywhere else on their person either. A look back confirmed it wasn’t lain out near the bed or anywhere else in sight. All their other gear was missing as well. Leaving in them in the middle of one of the most dangerous places on the island without a single way to defend themself.

What was Collector even trying to accomplish with this stunt? They’d just ‘die’ and head back to get a new body and come hunt him down. Maybe they shouldn’t even try to fight; just abandon this body here and head off for that new attempt now. … But no, if possible they wanted to know what was up here sooner rather than later. And who knows, they might get lucky and find a weapon or two nearby.

So shaking themself a little they continued onward out the door and into the castle hallway. They were in luck, it was empty. Perhaps all the monsters they’d cleared out on their way through earlier were still gone. The time loop hadn’t brought them back yet or no new ones had come or whatever else happened that normally brought them back hadn’t happened yet. It was long shot but they could hope.

As they made their way through the castle, they became more and more sure that was the case. The halls were empty. There were blood splatters here and there and chopped up monster remains but that’s it. Which was nice, given their lack of weapon and the fading lethargy from the sleeping drug but… strange. Something was different here. … Beheaded didn’t like whatever it was.

Having even just a rusty sword and a barely functional shield would’ve made them feel quite a bit better about this situation. If they could find even a single enemy maybe they could steal its weapon? A hard feat for sure but better than trying to fight with just their hands and feet. Though if push came to shove, they’d gladly just punch Collector in the face. Not that trying that was likely to work out in their favor. Anyone who could move around the island as much as he did, had to be quite good at one form of combat or another and thus not someone to be taken lightly. If they took him by surprise though perhaps they could get away with a solid hit or two before he stopped them. He deserved nothing less for tricking them and…

They paused as they came upon a large door they’d never seen before. Which honestly wasn’t too surprising, they’d explored the castle far less than the rest of the island – other than the distillery anyway because fuck that place, they’d rather not have to deal with barrels exploding in their face every time they turned a corner. Other than its slightly larger than normal size though there wasn’t much special about the door. So with nothing better to do, they kicked it open and were met with the loud satisfying crunch of wood cracking as it swung around and slammed into the wall.

Inside was… the Hand of the King! What was he doing inside the castle!? This was no fair! They didn’t even have a weapon. Oh, they were so fucked! But wait even though he’d snapped around to face them he was unarmed! His lance leaned against the wall nearby. Beheaded sprang for it. Defeating him with his own lance would be so sweet! What better vengeance for all the times he’d ruined their day?

Their hand was within inches of its hilt when the Hand caught them by their forearm. He yanked them rough back and around, twisting their arm to force them to face him as he pulled them up so they could barely stand on their tippytoes.

Welp, they’d tried, got to give them credit for that, right? They tensed, prepared for the pain of being sliced or speared through or perhaps he would just tighten his already painful grip and crush the bones in their arm and then go through break all their other bones too. So they should probably just detach from the body now and…

“Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance.” Collector stood at the Hand’s side, looking down at them. “Always kicking and rolling through doors. However, given your obvious goal just now, I must warn you if you insist on remaining violent, I have a glass jar in my lab that would be the perfect place to securely contain a specimen such as you. Understand?”

Would a glass jar be able to effectively contain them? … Depends on how tight the seal on it was. And on how tough the glass was. Both of which Collector could probably easily ensure were more than strong enough for the task. Also, he no doubt could find a way to prevent them from pushing it off the table or whatever too. So such a threat was actually threatening and given Beheaded’s less than ideal position of being weaponless and held firmly by the Hand, it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it right now. So… they nodded, even lifting their free hand to give a halfhearted thumbs up.

“Very good,” Collector said with a nod.

The Hand didn’t let go of them yet though. Instead, he tightened his grip a little before speaking. “The Alchemist told me what you are and where you came from. Perhaps if I had known before, I wouldn’t have attacked you immediately.” There were certainly instances were that would’ve been nice and would’ve resulted in far less pain and failure. Overall though it would’ve been less fun. “It’s too late for that now though. You killed what was left of the real King. I’d snap you in half for that but the Alchemist has asked me not to so I shall refrain… for now.” With that, he let go of their arm at last.

They stumbled, barely keeping themself from falling. They shook it off, backstepping as they pulled their arm in. Putting them closer to the lance but… something had clearly changed.

Tearing their gaze from the Hand, they quickly scanned the rest of the room. It was a map room; a table with a model of presumably the whole island sat in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. The blacksmith and his little backpacked buddies sat at the other end of it. Time Keeper was here too, standing on the other side of Collector. She was watching them intently but also seemed uninclined to attack them for some reason.

Even if they grabbed the lance or had any other weapon, they were at a huge disadvantage here if things went sour. Or more like if they went more sour since this was already quite an uncomfortable position to be in. Fleeing was an option but they needed to know what the fuck was happening.

“I’m sure you’re quite confused,” Collector said. “Long story short, using the Dead Cells you provided me, I managed to create a cure for the Malaise. So congrats, you are indirectly a hero. We are currently discussing what we should do next with so few people left alive.”

“And we’ve already decided,” Time Keeper added, glaring daggers at Beheaded, “that regardless of whether you are still technically the old King or not, you’re not getting the role back ever.”

Unable to return her mean look, Beheaded lifted a hand to flip her off instead - they should be able to be King again if they wanted to. But… it was halfhearted and quickly dropped because… was the Malaise really gone? Just out of nowhere like that? What did that mean for them? All they really knew was fighting the Malaise infected monsters. And… the time loop, that had to be over now too, right? So what was going to happen next?

And they’d never reached their goal! They’d been going to defeat the Hand of the King and then go through the five Boss Cell door and then probably fight whatever was on the other side. They’d been pushing for that for so long and now all that was just over? That was so unfair!

Their whole life was over, wasn’t it? Because the run through of the island, killing all the monsters was all they’d ever really done. With the time loop happening they’d blindly assumed it’s all they’d ever do. What were they suppose do now?

“… don’t even need a new King,” Time Keeper was saying as Beheaded tuned back into the conversation. It had apparently resumed while they’d been reeling.

They didn’t really care though. And it’s not like they could contribute to the conversation or anyone would welcome it if they tried so… they turned and left. No one tried to call them back.

The Malaise being cured and presumably eradicated from the island made the strange emptiness of the halls as they strode through them make much more sense. It made traversing them a lot less exciting and a non-accomplishment. But… getting sliced to bits, stabbed, exploded and all sorts of other things did hurt quite a bit so this development wasn’t all bad. That didn’t make it any less aggravating that it hadn’t happened on their terms as it should’ve. Nor did it make the idea of finding another way to entertain themself any easier.

They paused as they finally found the outdoor throne room. The fire that had been around the throne had finally been put out or had been allowed to peter out on its own. They continued on, going past it and beelining for the little room behind the fountain. Even if the glory and achievement of reaching it the way they’d intended had been stolen from them they were still going to see what was behind that door.

It was already open and hanging ajar as they approached. They kicked it the rest of the way open, making it slam loudly into the wall. Doing so provided nowhere near as much satisfaction as reaching it after defeating the Hand would’ve but it was still better than just pushing it open.

And on the other side was… a small room and an elevator. The elevator went up a long, its chains rattling loudly the whole. At top was another safe passage room. On the other side was… a lab. No monsters though, nor the sound of any nearby. There probably had been though, right? Before Collector cured the Malaise and fixed everything. It would’ve been nice to see some new enemies even if said new monsters probably would’ve quickly destroyed their body. But no, all that was over and now… What were they supposed to do next? … Even if they’d had any real interest in returning to their prior existence’s role as King, they wouldn’t be allowed to. Leaving them to do… what? …

Shaking off those thoughts once more, they continued on to explore more. Much of the equipment was now broken shards of glass and debris on the ground. Despite that, it didn’t take long to determined that the lab had clearly belonged to Collector before it had been taken over by monsters. Which no doubt was cause of the destruction.

Way up at the top of the tallest tower was a large room that seemed to be the only part still functioning as a lab. Amongst other smaller equipment stood a large cylindrical machine with a lot of weird parts coming off it and a spout on the front as if to dispense something. Its inside still had a glimmer of blue something coating them. Undoubtedly this was where Collector had concocted the cure, using all the Dead Cells Beheaded had gathered and given to him.

With an internal sigh, they walked over and turned around sit on the ground and lean back against the machine. What would have happened if they’d reached this place before Collector fixed everything? Probably something interesting, right? They would never know for sure though. It could’ve also been boring, just Collector finally telling them what he’d been working on all this time.

Which if they had known what he was using the Dead Cells for they probably would’ve continued giving them to him. Though if they had known they could’ve demanded their right to finish their self-assigned task before he did his thing, cutting off the supply entirely if need be.

Even as it was though, he surely could’ve waited just a few more attempts, right? However many it took for Beheaded to reach this point on their own. Which to be fair probably would’ve been a lot given how prone they were to getting their ass handed to them. But with the time loop happening, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He could’ve waited.

It was too late now though and probably no going back. They had no choice but to move on and figure out what they were going to do next. Maybe they could leave the island and head off in search of another adventure. Or maybe they should try to return to their former life and insist on being King. Perhaps they should do something else entirely. … Ugh, making important decisions sucked. They had to though… eventually. For now though they were going to just sit here be bitter about their victory being stolen from them.

#my writing #dead cells #the beheaded #the prisoner #the collector #the hand of the king

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shadow-dancing · 5 years ago

Text

Some (썸)

Part of a Sports AU collab hosted by @leesmrk

Dedicated to Dee —🌿 Inspired by a fan video of Denis Ten & Yuna Kim, as well as Robbie Williams.

Words: 4,052 Genre: sports AU, figure skater!jisung

Listen: She’s the One ; Vuelie ; Some (썸)

The figure skating competitions at the Winter Olympics came to an end with the conclusion of the free skate for Ladies' singles. It was your first time representing your country at the Olympics, & you had clocked in at 140 points, landing you at 5th place.

The event after the competitions was the Gala Exhibition, where the individual & pair skaters who either won or were close to winning a medal got to perform routines—showcasing each skater's personality & performing tricks— followed by a group skating. You were one of the selected skaters to perform, & while you could hardly wait to perform the routine for your individual program, you were incredibly nervous for the group dance.

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[Practice Day 1; 5PM]

You panted, finishing your individual routine with a flourish. Yulia, a fellow skater clapped, praising you. You laughed & curtseyed dramatically, thanking her as you skated off to grab some water from the bench. There were a few people in the audience who had come to watch the practice & they waved at you; you waved back.

"ALRIGHT EVERYONE GATHER IN THE MIDDLE!" A voice boomed over the speakers, almost making you choke on your water.

You turned just as a burly man jostled into your arm; the man apologized curtly as he walked off. Unfortunately, you had forgotten to cap your bottle, & some of the contents splashed onto the windbreaker of the skater near you. You gasped, & the skater looked down at the wet patch on his jacket. You recognized him—tall & baby-faced, Park Jisung was the 19-year-old gold medallist of the men's singles. He was well known for his agility & grace, as well as his ability to execute triple Axels with ease. Jisung was immensely popular amongst skaters; you've heard people say he was very friendly & funny, & got along with everyone. You had never spoken to him, as you saw yourself as a mere nobody amongst the industry giants. & now you had blown the chance to make a good impression.

"I am so sorry!" You wailed as you juggled between capping the bottle & grabbing a towel to wipe the water.

"No, don't worry! It'll dry," he assured you with a wide smile. With that, he pulled off his blade guards & set it on the side before he entered the rink. You stared after him, quickly following.

All skaters made their way to the centre, where the burly man stood, a mic in one hand & a clipboard in the other; a silver whistle hung around his neck. He introduced himself as Mr. Khan, the choreographer for the group dance, & gave a brief rundown of the group dance. You swallowed nervously��for the first part of the group dance, individual male & female skaters would pair up, & have a sort of waltz on the ice. Immediately people began excitingly searching for pairs, making a racket as they talked up a storm with who they wanted to partner up with, but Mr. Khan blew the whistle around his neck.

"Quiet down, I will pair you guys up!" He said, turning to his clipboard as skaters erupted in groans of dismay.

One by one, skaters were paired up, & then it was your turn. By this point only a few skaters were left, & you really hoped you were paired with someone you were familiar with.

"Y/N!" Mr. Khan barked. You raised a tentative hand. "With Mr. Park Jisung!"

You swallowed. Skaters & the crowd oohed & aahed, congratulating you as you made your way over to the gold medallist, whose faded pink hair made him stand out among the crowd. His face showed obvious signs that he had no idea whose name was just called, but his eyebrows shot up as you sidled up to him.

"Oh hello, it's you! I'm Jisung," he smiled, nodding politely.

"H-Hi, I'm Y/N," you introduced, holding out a hand.

Jisung took it, gave your hand one firm shake, & you both proceeded to stand next to each other in silence, watching the other skaters chat livelily with their partners. You felt incredibly small standing next to the gold medallist, having won no medals yourself. Jisung on the other hand, felt very shy being paired with a girl, especially you—he had no idea who you were but he found the meet cute between the both of you funny, like something out of a romcom.

Mr. Khan called for everyone to listen up as he began to play the music that was to be used for the group dance—Love Story, by Richard Clayderman. He arranged all skaters into groups by gender, with females standing in front of the males in 3 rows, & males behind in 3 rows. He gave a demonstration of the first choreography for females, where they were to skate forward, make 4 loops, & stop at the end of the rink to address the audience, before facing behind to hold both arms out to the males. Males will then skate forward, make 3 loops, & reach out to the females. Taking their partner's hand, the couples will break into 2 groups & sort of waltz with their partners. After 5 practices of the first part of the choreo, it was time to waltz.

"Excuse me, may I use you to demonstrate the closed hold?" Mr. Khan asked, addressing you & Jisung. He shrugged, looking to you for permission. You nodded, & Mr. Khan pulled you both out, speaking into the mic to get everyone's attention.

"Face your partner; males, step to the left a bit. Ladies, left hand on men's upper arm near the shoulder!" Mr. Khan instructed. You rested your left hand on Jisung's upper arm, ignoring the need to admire how well developed his biceps were. You could hear screams & hoots from the audience.

"Men, hold the ladies' right hand in your left, & put your right palm on the ladies' shoulder blade, on the bra strap."

Jisung took your hand without hesitation, but at the mention of where his other hand was supposed to go, he looked at you in alarm, the panic obvious in his eyes. Your face was on fire, but you nodded. He flushed, but pressed his right palm on your shoulder blade, avoiding eye contact with you.

"Okay now sway side to side with your partner! Sway with grace!" Mr. Khan said, swaying like seagrass against the ocean currents.

You & Jisung swayed... Not so gracefully. In fact, you were as stiff as a board—as if the fact you were holding a man so close wasn't bad enough, the whole world will have their eyes on Jisung during the gala, & you feared making him look bad. Jisung on the other hand, was equally stiff—he felt incredibly awkward holding you intimately when he couldn't even look you in the eye, & was worried he was making you uncomfortable.

"Hey don't be so stiff—you two look like drunk octopuses! Loosen up & sway like a lazy ocean hugs the shore! Be the epitome of grace!" Mr. Khan commented as he skated by, checking up on each couple.

You slouched, a nasty pit of anxiety swirling within you. Jisung noticed the further drop in your confidence, & wanted to say something to lighten the mood but he didn't want to say something that would make the situation worse, opting to keep his mouth shut instead. You both attempted to sway much more gracefully, but Mr. Khan's sigh of disappointment was proof it wasn't going well.

3 excruciatingly long hours passed before you were allowed to leave the rink for the day. You broke away from Jisung immediately, giving him a small bow before leaving the rink quickly. Jisung watched you speed walk to the back after slipping on your blade guards, his heart heavy. You sat in one of the bathroom stalls, wiping the hot tears that fell—you were making a fool of yourself with your nerves, & worse of all, you were probably embarrassing Jisung too.

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[Practice Day 2; 7AM]

Jisung awoke from an exhausting sleep, having tossed & turned all night. He felt awful; after you had exited the rink, Ten, a friend & the silver medallist, told him you were clearly uncomfortable, & this ate at him—he wished he had said something to break the ice between the both of you sooner.

He was determined to set things right today. He informed his coach he was leaving the Olympic Village for a bit to get something, & used the bicycle-sharing system to bike into town.

Jisung stopped in front of a little florist. He peered through the glass doors—it looked like a mini greenhouse with flowers & leaves everywhere. Gingerly, Jisung pushed open the door, & was greeted by a little old lady who was forming a heart shape with some roses. Next to her was a huge flower display, bursting with bright colours.

"Hello dear. Wait please, I'll get my grandson to help you," she smiled as she hobbled to the back.

Jisung looked around at the abundance of different flowers, a thought suddenly occurring to him—he had no idea what to get you.

"Hi there, how can I help you?" A very tall man, with jet black hair & a cheeky glint in his eyes, approached Jisung. Jisung glanced at his name tag—Johnny.

"Hello. Ah, I'm looking for... A flower to give my skating partner," Jisung mumbled.

"Skating... Oh? You're that 2-time Olympic gold medallist, Park Jisung!" Johnny gasped, giddy with excitement. He straightened up & recomposed himself, & held a hand out. Jisung shook it.

"But aren’t you a single skater?"

"I am, but I have a partner for the gala. I, uh, made her feel uncomfortable & awkward during practice yesterday, & I wanted to make amends," Jisung confessed, heat rising in his cheeks as he remembered yesterday's events.

"Okay. Anything in mind?"

"I was hoping you could help me."

"Sure. What's she like?"

"I don't actually know."

"Then, is there anything you'd like to tell her?"

Jisung paused. He wanted to say many things—he wanted to apologize, say something to ease up the tension, & mostly, he wanted to befriend you.

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

"Can we start over?"

You blinked, registering the question. Jisung had appeared at your room, out of breath, & hammered at your door so hard the someone called the security guard to remove him from the premises. After apologizing to the guard, Jisung pulled a yellow daffodil—wrapped in a plastic package & tied off with a pink ribbon—out from the bag in hand & thrusted it into your face as he blurted out the question.

"Ah, sorry. Let me start again," Jisung corrected himself, facepalming. "I want to say, I'm sorry with how we hit off yesterday, & I want to start over. Can we?"

"YES WE CAN!" Your roommate, Irene, yelled from the balcony, where she was hanging clothes.

"IRENE!" You screamed in horror, throwing your disposable slipper at her. She laughed as she closed the sliding door, & your flimsy sponge footwear bounced off the glass harmlessly.

Steam was practically coming out of your ears as you hid your face in utter embarrassment. Jisung failed to hide his amused smile, but held the flower out once more. You hung your head, but took the flower, looking up momentarily to give him an embarrassed smile.

"Thank you for this."

"Shall we go practice our waltz?"

"Okay, I'll just put this here..." you quickly placed the daffodil on your nightstand, grabbed your bag & shoes, & shot Irene a look as she giggled. You closed the door, & faced Jisung. "Alright, let's go."

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

"Okay, no breaking eye contact, yeah?" Jisung reaffirmed. You nodded.

You both got into your closed hold, eyes trained on each other, never breaking away even when swaying, which was more twisting than swaying as you both swayed at your own rhythm, pace awkwardly unmatched. Skaters who passed by eyed you both weirdly. It was definitely awkward continuing to stare at each other for longer than necessary, & you looked away first, much to both your relief.

"What was that?" Ten asked, face scrunched & arms crossed—Jisung had asked him to spectate & give pointers. "It looked more like an intense staredown at a punching ring than an intimate dance."

"You're both as stiff as a pine tree, both trying to be the lead. Let Jisung lead, & you follow!" Ten instructed pointedly at you.

"Trust each other. Once you're as loose as a ripe durian, you fall—" Ten dramatically keeled backwards, free falling. Jisung let go of you quickly as he shot forward to grab Ten, who laughed in delight, by the front of his windbreaker. "& you trust this guy here to catch you. Wanna try?"

"Next time I'm letting you hit the ice," Jisung grumbled as skated over to you, & you held your hand out for him to take. You looked up at Jisung, & he stared down at you. Relax, trust him, let him lead.

You relaxed into his hold, & held his hand firmly. He swayed, & you followed in his rhythm. He led you into a gentle sway, & your pulse quickened at he stepped aside to twirl you. He pulled you back into his tender embrace, & Jisung's breath hitched in his throat at how close you were when you came to a stop.

"EVERYONE GATHER AROUND FOR REHEARSALS!"

Ten groaned, rolling his eyes. "Way to ruin the moment, Mr. Khan."

Mr. Khan had everyone run through the routine. Everyone got in their positions, & Mr. Khan cued for the song. You readied yourself & pushed forward with the rest of the female skaters, making your loops, addressing the audience, & turning back to await the males.

An idea formed in Jisung's head & he dropped on one knee as he glided to you, arms open as if he were welcoming a hug; he pouted his lips & stuck his chin up in a faux gentleman persona. You chuckled & amused him; you received him with arms dramatically outstretched & knees slightly bent, like a curtsey. He broke character, giggling as he enclosed his hand around yours; you pulled him up, & he spun you in his arms before slowly dipping you, careful not to lean you back too much or risk concussing you on the ice. Jisung's heart skipped a beat as you squealed with ecstatic laughter.

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[D-day; 3PM]

Jisung examined his appearance in the long changing room mirrors. He spent an hour poking his eyeballs out while putting on blue coloured contacts; he managed to find a fellow skater to put brown eyeshadow & light touches of red lipstick on his face so his features could be seen.

He wore a getup akin to Anna from the movie Frozen as his music choice was Vuelie, the opening to the movie. His top had a light to dark blue gradient, with a mandarin collar & poet sleeves. A gold waistband wrapped snugly around his waist, & his black trousers had some gold accents going up his pant leg as a nod to the gold patterns on Anna's boots. He had a short magenta cloth that cascaded down his left shoulder like a mini cape, pinned in place by a silver leaf cape clip on his left collar bone & linked to his top button with a silver chain.

"Looking good, Jisung!" Ten sang as he skipped by, dressed in a black shirt & white pants with a red cloth tied around one of his belt loops.

"Thank you. I'll see you out there," Jisung waved as he walked out the changing room.

Out on the rink, he took in the sight of the dozens of excited skaters warming up on ice, whizzing by in their unique outfits & updos. The seats were packed with people, their cheers echoing through the stadium. Jisung removed his blade guards & stepped out on the ice to practice his individual routine. The rush of the wind was against his face as he sped down the rink, executing his jumps & spins flawlessly. He spun to a stop, almost clocking you in the face when he raised his arm.

" Whoa Y/N! I'm sorry!" He said quickly, moving his arm.

"It's fine, I shouldn't have come so close," you assured him. You held your head up & put your hands on your hip, posing dramatically to show off your dress. "What do you think?"

Jisung took in your appearance—you were dressed in black from head to toe, with a black empire dress with sheer bishop sleeves; intricately sewn diamonds on your dress sparkled in the bright lights of the stadium. You had bold dark eyeshadow, & your glittering hair was brushed back into a ponytail.

"You look very pretty," Jisung said earnestly.

"Thank you. You look very princely yourself," you smiled, adjusting his cape straight. "Would you like a few rounds around the rink?"

Jisung took your hand in response, & pulled you forward. You both went around the rink several times, practicing the part of the group choreography that came after the waltz. Soon the lights cut off, signifying the start of the event as all skaters got off the rink.

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

As the piano slowed & She's the One by Robbie Williams slowly came to an end, you finished your routine with a spin, your arms hugging your shoulders; you opened them, dropping into a bow as the audience gave a round of applause. You waved, exiting quickly so the next skater could come on. Jisung waited at the side, holding out some water for you.

"That was lovely, I liked your song!" Jisung spoke into your ear as he handed you the bottle.

"It was what got me into skating in the first place, I wouldn't be here if not for it," you panted, taking a swig of water.

"I should be grateful for it, then, otherwise I wouldn't have met you."

You choked, your heartbeat picking up as heat rose in your cheeks. Jisung thumped you on the back, asking if you were okay as you coughed. You nodded. Jisung continued to pat you on the back gently until your coughing fit died down, & by that time, it was his turn.

"All the best!" You gasped out. He nodded & left.

You swallowed the ticklish sensation with a quick gulp of water, eager to watch Jisung's performance. Vuelie came on, filling the stadium with the powerful vocals of the Norwegian female choir, Cantus. Jisung hit his choreography hard, executing multiple turns & jumps along while bobbing his head along to the vocalisation. With a deep breath, he glided forward to perform a difficult triple Axel & quadruple toe loop combination he wouldn't dare attempt in a competition. A diapason of applause came from the audience & skaters alike, as his routine came to an end with a final sit spin. Jisung gasped for air, catching his breath as he bowed to the audience. He turned, catching sight of you clapping with all your might, your eyes lit up & shining in the fancy stadium lights. Heart racing & cheeks flushed; he made his way over to you; you held your hand out, & he grasped it as he put on his blade guards.

"You were absolutely brilliant! Especially the triple axel & quad toe combo!" You praised, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

Jisung flushed, mumbling a thanks. People were starting to stare as you went on holding his hand, & his blush deepened; not that it could be seen in the dim lights. You finally realized people were staring—especially focused on you holding onto Jisung's hand. You jerked away quickly, cheeks burning; Jisung's face fell, but said nothing.

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

Gingerly, you pushed forward into a smooth glide with your peers as the music cued; the audience clapped & waved as you all opened your arms out towards them. You turned back, focusing solely on Jisung—he slid forward with the male skaters, completed his loops without a hitch & made his way to you on one knee, arms opened. You grasped his hands, & he entwined his fingers with yours as he pulled you into the closed hold. You felt delicately light, as Jisung gently swayed you to the melody & gave you a careful twirl.

You wished the tender moment lasted a little longer, but the tempo picked up as Love Story faded into Chopin's Minute Waltz. You kept next to Jisung as all skaters began to circle the rink, performing inside & outside parallel spread eagle with their partners, spinning twice before finally breaking away to perform the skater's preferred jump choice. You struck the ice with your toe pick, propelling yourself into a triple Lutz while Jisung swept himself into a triple Axel. Jisung slid forward & set his hand around your waist, gently pulling you forward to circle the rink with the rest of the skaters once more, before gathering at the centre of the ice for a massive group hug with your peers. The audience brought the house down as they screamed & clapped; you lined up with the skaters, & dipped into a deep bow to the audience. One of your fellow skaters brought out a selfie stick & their phone, calling for everyone to gather around for a wefie. Jisung slung his arms around your shoulder, & you leaned your head on the crook of his neck, smiling widely as the photo was taken. Jisung almost fainted with joy but managed to grin for the camera.

You hung back to wave & take photos from the audience, & a child even gave you a fat dolphin plush, much to your delight. You rubbed the child's hair, thanking him, & waved to him one last time as you made your way to the exit. You make your way backstage, adrenaline coursing through your vein as you slipped on your windbreaker, the dolphin tucked safely under your arm. You curled your fingers into a fist to warm the tips of your fingers a little—it was getting pretty cold now that you were drenched in sweat.

"Y/N!"

You turned to see Jisung dashing over to you, struggling to pull on his jacket while holding a large bouquet of roses & his water bottle at the same time.

"Here let me hold that," you offered, taking his water bottle & reaching for the roses next, but Jisung shook his head. He stopped fidgeting with his jacket, & held the roses out to you.

"W-Would you like to have dinner with me?" He stammered, very red in the face.

"Me?" You asked in disbelief, your cheeks starting to tingle as heat rose.

"Yeah," he nodded, hiding his face behind the bouquet. "If-if you want to, of course!"

You gaped, mouth opening & shutting like a fish. Jisung pursed his lips, awaiting your answer.

Finally, you found your voice. "Yes, I would love to."

Jisung's eyes brightened, & he took his bottle from you as held out the roses to you once more. You accepted the roses, taking in how pretty the flower arrangement was.

"This is really beautiful, thank you," you grinned, holding out your free hand to him—he closed his huge palms around yours, warming your frozen fingertips.

"Where should we go?"

"I'll go wherever you go."

"Then... I know a nice place nearby. Shall we?"

"Let's."

Smiling uncontrollably & heart hammering in his chest, he pulled you forward gently, walking in front so you didn't have to see how incredibly red he was getting. You were partially hiding your face in your flowers, your neck & cheeks burning & your stomach doing happy flip flops.

You both passed Ten, who was filling up his water bottle. He eyed Jisung's red face, how you were hiding your own face, & the hand holding.

"You two a thing now?" He smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"NO!" You both yelled in unison, hurrying out in embarrassment.

Ten stared after you both, blinking in confusion.

"Kids these days," he chuckled, going back to filling his bottle.

- 完

#nct scenarios #nct jisung scenarios #nct jisung imagines #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct jisung #nct dream jisung #au:some #au:썸 #au:some(썸)#nct sports collab

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

Text

Routine

I fully own this is incredibly self-indulgent.

A bit of Freddie/Reader, with Freddie helping the Reader out with the changing of their testosterone patches (something I use myself, so this is my admission that this is completely echoing my own experience here with them.)

Also some smut, because I've been in that sort of way lately when it comes to writing lol.

My thanks to Rushing and Finn on the DL Server for beta reading this and helping out with the editing process!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

"I'll only be a few moments," you say, and slip into the bathroom of your and Freddie's hotel room.

You've been with Freddie for awhile now, but even so, you've not yet had to change your testosterone patches in front of him. It isn't that you've hidden it or anything (and he knows well that you're trans and that you use the patches; he's seen them on your body after all.) It just simply hasn't happened where he was around to watch it happen.

Part of it is that they need changing in the evening, and usually you just dip away and do it quick and then come back to wherever you might be at the time: home on the couch with Freddie, on tour and in a hotel bar with the lads, etc.

But now he opens the door as you're mid-patch removal on the first of the two you wear each day, and he winces as much as you do as the tough adhesive refuses to let go of your leg hair and skin.

"This is why you said it's better to take them off in the shower or bath?" he asks, and sits on the edge of the tub.

You nod, and keep gently tugging at the patch as the edges come slowly off.

"Would warm water help?"

You nod again, but don't stop. If you stop, then you'll really feel the pain of pulling it off, and that's no good.

He hisses in pain as the patch finally comes away. "You said something once about rinsing the spots after you take those off too, didn't you?"

"Yeah," you reply as you set the first spent patch on the counter and reach for the second one still on your thigh.

He stands and gently grabs your wrist with one hand, the other snagging a clean washcloth off the counter. "Let me help."

You watch as he wets the washcloth under the sink with warm water, then kneels in front of you.

You'd taken off your trousers and pants for this; easier to be nude than to try and worry about getting water on your clothes while rinsing the spots down before putting on new patches.

Which makes it incredibly intimate, to have Freddie kneeled there. It's not the first time he's been in that position, sucking at your small cock, fingers in your cunt. But this is different, and intimate in an entirely different and affectionate way.

He rinses over the spot where the first patch was first, wincing at the raised skin as his fingers trail over it. "That's normal, right?"

"It is," you reply, and run your hands through his hair, unable to help yourself. "Between the adhesive, the aluminium in the patch, and the T gel, it can be a little harsh on the skin. Doesn't help that my skin is sensitive to start. But I'll take this over needles, for now at least."

He nods, and leans in to kiss the spot, but you stop him with a touch to his cheek.

"There's residue, might not taste the best."

He shrugs, and kisses just beside the spot instead.

"If this hurts too much, let me know," he murmurs, and uses the washcloth to dab at the edges of the patch, only working to pull the tab of it up once it's sufficiently damp.

It's better than pulling it off completely dry, and you can't help but moan a little at the relief. It's always nice, taking the used ones off at the end of the day, but having someone else do it for you? A wonderful dream you hadn't even realized you'd had.

He kisses your hip, and giggles as he keeps working. You've never told him your method with a washcloth, but he's picked up on it regardless, alternating between dabbing at the patch and gently tugging it off your skin.

Once it's off, he stands briefly to set it on the counter by the first, and rewets the washcloth.

He returns to his knees and rinses off the second spot, but there's a glint in his eye this time.

"If you'd rather not have me do this, just say and I'll stop," he says. "But forgive me the urge..."

Even as he moves the washcloth over the spot, he leans forward to kiss your hip, the top of your mons. His tongue flicks out to lick at your cock, then down to your folds.

His free hand reaches to your ass, to hold you close to his mouth as he works to suck at your cock. His eyes are shut, long lashes gorgeous, but for a moment he blinks and those brown eyes meet yours, and you melt.

After another few moments, he abandons the second spot and tosses the washcloth to the counter.

You take the opportunity to move and lean your back against the counter, spreading your legs wider as he adjusts himself on the floor.

"If your knees hurt, we can move to the bed," you suggest, but he shakes his head and reaches for the dirty towel you'd used during your shower earlier, tossed to the floor because frankly that's what you'd both been doing to ensure you didn't confuse clean towels for dirty or vice versa. He folds it quickly and moves enough to shove it under his knees.

"You've got a solution for everything," you smile, again brushing your fingers through his thick hair as he kisses at your thighs.

He shakes his head slightly and smirks before sucking again at your cock, moaning around it. He makes it no secret that he gets off on being able to get you off like this, and there's the added sweetness of what he did for you with the patches making it even better now.

Because truly, it's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you. It's not just additional acceptance of that part of you, it's the concern and care and love that inspired him to follow you in to begin with. That he wanted to see this part of your life, this little day to day thing that's become as important as drinking water or brushing your teeth.

His arms loop around your thighs, helping to hold you up as his tongue alternates between your cock and inside your folds, licking and sucking and leaving you weak in the knees.

"Freddie," you try and forewarn him the closer you get to your orgasm, but he only sucks harder at your cock.

You nearly fold in on yourself as you come, thighs shaking as you try not to trap his face in between them.

You end up pushed up on the counter some as he suddenly scoops you up and swings your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place with his arms while his mouth stays busy at your cunt.

He only stops once you've come back down to yourself, and he sits back looking utterly pleased.

"Did that help to ease the hurt of those some? That's what my idea was, after all."

You slip down to the floor and kiss him with a smile. "It did. Do you want to help me put the new ones on too?"

He nods, and stands with you, watching as you free the first one from its packaging.

"Let me," he takes the patch from you, and waits for you to point to a spot on your other thigh.

"Just make sure and press round the edges of it," you instruct as he places it, fingers gentle on your skin. "Give the adhesive time to take hold."

"It certainly fucking holds though," he remarks, but his fingers stipple over the edges of the patch until it seems firmly set.

"It does, but not if you don't press it on well and make sure not to get it wet for three hours," you chuckle.

"No shower together tonight then?"

"In three hours from now, sure," you reply. "But not before, or these could slip off me."

He nods, and takes the second patch from you once you have it ready.

You point to another spot near the first new patch, and lean into his touch as he places the second patch.

His fingers press the edges of it down, then move to trace the slightly dark circles from past patches that are fading all over your thighs, then to the ones on your hips and stomach. The ones on your upper arms have faded more, but a few have bruises from where you failed to stop itching them, after the patch was off. It almost tickles, the way they linger on your skin. Softly, sweetly, the same way he'd touch you while laying together in bed.

You rest your head against his chest, and hug him close. "Thank you. For everything."

He hugs you back, and kisses your forehead. "Of course. Now, shall we get back to the bar downstairs? See if the boys managed to leave our drinks alone while we were gone?"

"I should probably put on pants and trousers first."

"Overrated, but if you insist," he giggles. "We'll only be taking them off later."

"True," you smile, but you redress regardless.

---

Later, downstairs sitting at the bar, your hand twitches as you try to itch through your trousers at the still irritated spots from the used patches.

Without a word, Freddie reaches over and takes your hand in his, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

#text post #LeeH writes #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury x male reader #freddie mercury x trans reader

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hollandroos · 6 years ago

Text

How Could I Not? | Two

Playlist | My Masterlist | Wattpad | Series masterlist

Tom Holland x Reader | Fwb with a pregnancy added in the mix. Inspired by an ask that I received.

Summary: You and Tom are only supposed to be friends... friends who sometimes take things a step further and friends who can’t seem to spend longer then a few days apart. But that can all change with a positive pregnancy test. Suddenly you have to work together more then ever to prepare for the new life you created. But is it really that easy?

Warnings: Pregnancy and a FWB relationship. A very brief mention of adoption & abortion as well as a drunk reader at the start in a flashback. Morning sickness as this answer from my survey suggested:

Words: 3.2k

One year ago;

One fifty-three am. Of course there had to be an in and out open at one fifty-three am, when the two of you were in dire need of a burger and a shake– at least you were, Tom seemed more concerned about whether or not you were about to throw up in the middle of in and out despite there only being one employee watching you with hawk eyes and a janitor mopping the floor awkwardly.

Swish, swash.

The mop swipes back and forth, wetting the floor and you giggle with your head against Toms shoulder, salty and slightly undercooked fries between your teeth. The janitor wore a frown and oversized bags beneath his eyes, things that told you he’d rather be at home then cleaning up in and out at nearly two am with a drunk young adult and her best friend.

“I think he’s been mopping that same place for the last five minutes.” You giggle to yourself, drunken mind finding it hilarious. Tom could only shake his head, glad he’d chosen to stay sober that night because you were truly and utterly out of it. On a completely other planet. While it was funny, it was also concerning.

“I think that’s his job,” Tom responds, knowing the words would go in one ear and right out the other. He passes you the drink, placing the straw tauntingly close to your lips. “C’mon, you need to sober up before you go home and throw up all over your living room.”

Leaning against his denim jacket, you take a mouthful of the shake, screwing your face up when the creamy, strawberry flavoured goodness goes straight to your head. Still, Tom had made sure to grab your favourite flavour and your drunk self appreciated that. “Sorry I dragged you out of the party, I was hungry and they had no good food.”

“You raided the kitchen?” Tom chuckles, taking a few of your fries between two fingers. He smothers them in ketchup. “And it’s okay, that party was lame anyway. I’d rather be here with my best friend.”

You furrow your brows, whipping ketchup off of the side of your mouth with a napkin. “Best friend? What’s he like?” You mumble.

Tom thinks. “She’s pretty cool, despite not knowing her alcohol limits.” He pauses, one hand toying with strands of loose hair that he had access too with an arm looped around your shoulders. “She’s super cute and really likes in and out when she’s drunk. When we were eighteen she got me my first job and at twenty she broke her ankle trying to show off at a party and I had to sit with her at the emergency room for nearly four hours. I’d say she’s reasonably funny too, the whole package.”

“She sounds great.” You hum softly, feeling your eyelids grow heavy against his shoulder. The denim of his coat brushes against the side of your face and you breathe him in, screwing your face up at the almost overwhelming smell of alcohol despite the fact that he’d been sober all night. “Hey, Tom?” You speak.

“Yeah, love?” He takes the milkshake from your hand, sipping from the same straw as you had.

Your face falls, morphing from exhaustion to shock and suddenly the side of his denim coat doesn’t seem like the best place to be laying your head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

And in an instant Tom is up and trying to get you up too, the napkin discarded as he moves hastily. Fries discarded and your drink is spilling over the table, pretty pink stains the napkins and for a moment the smell of the milkshake is more apparent than the taste that sits at the back of your throat, a warning. Tom only sends the workers an apologetic look.

“Oh fuck, c’mon, let’s get you to the bathroom.” He pleads, grabbing your upper arm and tugging you out of the booth. And you feel it in the way your head pounds and throat burns, drunken eyes glazing over and in the uneasiness of your stomach.

“No, I’m gonna…”

Current;

You haul forward, hair falling over your face but Tom is quick to pull it back in a makeshift ponytail.

“You’re okay, just let it all out,” Tom says, running his free hand up and down your back comfortingly. But after a couple of weeks of this, you were over it. The initial shock had worn off days ago and you’re left pleading with your mind, hoping to get all of it out sooner rather than later.

The back of your throat burns but by now it’s nothing new. The taste lingers but Tom is the one who reaches for your toothbrush first, handing you the necessity with minty toothpaste already on it. You hum a small thank you, taking the thing from him but not yet putting it to use. First, you collapse down beside him, letting out a huff of air as you attempt to catch your breath. And for a few seconds, nothing manages to remain still and your head pounds but Tom is right there through it all.

“That’ll never sit right with me.” You groan, leaning against his shoulder. Toms comforting arm remains around you, having heard and read about morning sickness on numerous occasions. Your eyes are glazed over and hair sticking out all over the place and he moves his hand to your head, brushing the strands down.

“I’m sorry, that didn’t look… particularly fun. Is there anything you want me to do for you?” Tom offers. He makes a mental note to google it later to see what he can do, but he remembers that somewhere he read something about peppermint tea helping.

You shake your head, already afraid to look at the time. “Thanks for just being here.” Your voice is slightly croaky as you talk and you nearly apologise for making his shirt smell disgustingly of vomit.

“What’d I say, we’re in this together, yeah? You don’t need to thank me.”

Tom keeps his own fears to himself, comforting you for the time being but he can’t help it when his gaze lingers on your clothed stomach for a few moments. His free hand remains against the bathroom floor but the urge to see if there was a bump yet, even just the slightest one was definitely in the back of his mind.

You hum softly, eyes fluttering shut and for a moment you remain in his arms, just the two of you on your bathroom floor and you allow the silence to simmer. Goosebumps decorate your arms and at the same time your cheeks are hot, beads of sweat sit on your hairline but somehow he still holds you, giving you as much time as you need to come back to Earth after emptying your stomach.

In the next room, the sheets have been thrown off of the bed on both sides instead of just yours and where Tom had slept the night before was a semi-permanent indent in the form of his figure.

Usually, when you shared a bed he’d lace his legs with yours or keep one arm thrown around your waist. Sometimes his head would creep onto your pillow and you’d wake up to a small patch of droll and his mouth hanging wide open, or fingers laced with your own. If you were feeling cuddly you’d attach yourself to his chest, but not last night.

Last night he barely moved, staying on his side of the bed and you stayed on your own. You were separated by an imaginary wall, neither of you daring to creep onto the others side and you were almost frightened that the news had possibly ruined your friendship– which wouldn’t have surprised you at all, but last night instead of the warmth of his arms you were welcomed by cold, yet occupied sheets.

You’d be lying if you said things hadn’t shifted. Because they had and massively too. The only thing preventing you from expressing these changes was the fact that you wanted him on your side. And Tom wanted you on his side too. You’d rarely ever not been on each others side, you were Y/N and Tom as others would say and the thought of being on opposite teams scared you to no end.

You were on each others side when he decided to drop out of uni because the routine was making him miserable, even without failure when you were jobless and nearly homeless and he let you sleep on his couch for two months. You took his side when his ex and your ex-best friend tore his heart in two and stomped on the shattered pieces with no remorse and not only were you on his side that night but you were tangled up in his sheets too.

All thoughts are interrupted by a gentle purring followed by small cat noises and the bathroom door cracks open. A small, cream coloured cat pads into the room and your heart instantly melts. He meows upon seeing the two of you and brushes up against the bathroom counter, ears perked up in bliss.

“Oscar wants to say good morning.” You speak, patting your lap in hopes the pet would clamber towards you. Instead, he goes to Tom.

Tom screws his face up, remaining unmoving as the thing prances towards the two of you despite the smell of puke in the air. “I hate him.” He scoffs.

“Tom!” You scold, leaning out of his grasp to pet the cat that prances towards you, feet padding across the cold bathroom floor. “Morning, baby.” You coo, reaching forward to take the cat who brushes against an unsuspecting Toms leg.

“I really don’t know why you got that thing, he smells weird.” Your best friends hatred for cats was probably at the top of the list of things you couldn’t stand about him, right above the fact that he hated pickles in his burgers and would sometimes sneak into your apartment at ungodly hours, scaring the life out of you.

You gape, pulling the cat closer and Tom moves gently but doesn't get far. The cat paws his arm. “I got him because he’s cute and he keeps me company.”

“I’m cute and I keep you company!” Tom argues.

You giggle. “Someone just can’t handle me having more then one boy in my life, isn’t that right, Oskie?”

The cat purrs and for a moment, Tom softens. His hatred for the pet fades as he watches you give it gentle snuggles, scratching behind the cat's ear and you coo softly. Tom had seen you with that cat a million and one times, he hated Oscar the most when you bought it around to his flat and the cat would bound around like he owned the place– but Tom would admit that he enjoyed seeing you soften up. He enjoys seeing you so in love and so smitten with another being.

While you’re petting the cat, your mind shifts to the life you created and how soon enough, everyone was bound to know. Far too soon for your liking but still, you could push it away for as long as possible, right? You could keep the truth hidden as deep down as possible, make it you and Toms secret.

“Tom?” You speak gently, gaining his attention and the cat pounces off of your lap. “Just until we sort this out and work out a plan, this stays between us, okay?” You plead.

He knows straight away that you’re talking about the pregnancy.

“I thought we did sort it out?” Tom asks, furrowing his brows. His eyes shirt from the maroon shirt you wore to your face.

You remove your head from his shoulders, pushing yourself up using the bathroom sink and flush the toilet with one hand, starting the tap with the other. “We’ve hardly even talked about it. This a baby, not dinner plans or a new car… we need to talk about living arrangements, if we’re going to keep it–”

And the needle drops. Because Tom is quick to intercept, raising a hand in confusion.

“Woah Woah Woah, If we’re keeping the baby?” Tom steps back, catching you off guard. You lean against the counter, the sink cold against unsuspecting palms and you sigh. Because there it was.

You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling the sudden tension. “This is why we need to talk about it.” A sigh escapes your lips. “We need to talk about what we’re going to be bringing out baby into and just… money, Tommy.”

He knows you have a point and loosens his shoulders, feeling guilty for snapping.

“And we will, we will talk about it, we can, I promise.” Tom is the next to sigh as he grips the roots of his hair, bathroom floor cold against bare feet and he shivers at the realisation, but admittedly you looked like you were struggling more in only the tea and underwear.

Not even twenty-four hours ago he was ready to break down your door after hearing nothing from you in a week. He was complaining to Harrison about how sick you must’ve been– nearing going against your word and calling an ambulance to your house if you were really sick enough to bail on bowling and the idea of hearing Harrison complain about his lack of love life. He had nearly convinced himself that your damn cat had died, that’s how quiet you’d been.

So at the realisation that you were carrying his child– bringing to life a being that would be a perfect representation of the two of you he begins to chuckle. It’s small, breathy laughs at first before there are small crinkles beneath his eyes and his teeth are on display.

“What?” You huff, folding your arms across your chest. “Tom, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He says between short laughs. “It’s just that… we’re having a baby. Jesus, we’re having a fucking baby.”

Tom wasn’t amused, no, he was goddamn terrified and as were you. At the sound of his chuckles evening out, you release your teeth's deathly grip on your gum and glance down at your feet, tapping cold toes against bathroom tiles.

“We’re having a baby.” -

The waiting room was quiet for a weekday.

In fact, there had only been one other woman and she had left with a smile on her face that you swore could reach the stars. The lady– maybe early thirties had glazed over eyes and her husband beamed about the fact that they were having a girl. At that statement alone your chest had ached, fingers brushing over your clothed stomach.

Brochures sat next to you, ones about adoption and where to go next– some that had to do with abortion and miscarriages and one on how to know if you were ready for a baby but you don’t touch any. You swallow nervously, tasting mint gum on your tongue and your nervous chewing intensifies. On the other side of the room was a corner with a series of toys from legos to Barbie dolls and books with silly names, some you recognised from your childhood such as the very hungry caterpillar and brown bear.

You’d hardly realized that your leg had been jittering up and down non stop since you’d first sat down in the plastic, faded waiting room seat. But it had been and Tom had been watching from the corners of his eyes. So when he notices you slip your lip between your teeth, chewing on the skin he takes your hand in his own.

His red coat is big and chunky and the ends rest against your hand.

“Just relax, yeah?” He prompts, squeezing your hand gently. You’d admit that it was definitely comforting, but that doesn't stop your erratically beating heart. You tell yourself that it’s just like a normal check-up, that it’s just like any other appointment– only that it’s not.

“I’m trying.” You mutter, though you were still trying to convince yourself of that fact. “I can smell coffee on your breath.” You groan, taking the ‘distraction’ route. “New rule, you’re not allowed to drink coffee around me.”

Tom gapes at you, face morphing into shock and concern at the statement. “What? But I love coffee.” He complains.

You shrug, trying to hide the evitable smirk that was begging to take place on your features. “So do I, but I’m going without it for the sake of the child that you put in me so I’m sure you can bare waiting until you get home while I, will be waiting nine months.” You come to the conclusion right there in the waiting room that him sipping his extra sweet, caffeinated drink around you just wasn’t going to work. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

Tom shakes his head, deep brown curls brushing against his forehead but doesn’t say anything else because all the signs showed that you were terrified right now, as was he so he silently agrees to your new deal. Realistically, he could still enjoy the energizer at his own flat around Harrison. Whereas you would go without.

A radio hosts voice breaks through the walls, talking about some weird way to win masses of money through the station but you don’t listen. Instead, you look down and begin to play with his fingers instead of your own and Tom discards the fact that watching you twiddle with his fingers helps calm his own nerves.

In his pocket, Toms phone buzzes and be tugs it out, nearly dropping the thing but manages to regain himself. Luckily your eyes are still on his hand and anxiously, you now toying with the ends of his red coat, picking at stray strands of cotton.

Harrison: just woke up, what the fuck did you do this time?

Tom chews on the inside of his gum and quickly slips his phone back in his pocket. That was a conversation they needed to have in person.

It’s then that the doctor steps out of the office, glancing around the quiet waiting room before her gaze lands on the two of you and your interlocked hands. She’s a gentle woman with her hair pinned back and cherry coloured lips, mascara paints her lashes and a series of small pins in the shape of hearts, teddy bears and flowers sit reasonably close to the collar of her uniform.

Tom wonders if that was supposed to make them feel calm. Instead, it reminds him of when his mother used to force him into the doctors to get shots and he’d kick and scream the entire time up– until the nurse would hand him and his brothers a lollipop.

“I think you’re up next.” she smiles warmly, teeth peeking through coloured lips.

And Tom hates that he feels your hand tighten around his because he feels guilty and he remembers that you’re partially here because of him. Of course it takes two to tango but god fucking damn, a huge part of him blamed himself and it was consuming his every thought at the minute.

He swallows, standing up with you.

“You got this, I’ve got you.” He comforts, much like earlier that morning before you’d briefly bickered, then he’d rushed off to work for a few hours at the bar but his mind had barely left you. “Let’s go see our baby.”

Part 3!

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readyplayerhobi · 7 years ago

Text

Apricate

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 13.2k

; Warnings: Oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, dubious use of a champagne bottle

; Synopsis: A summer vacation in the Mediterranean is the idea of heaven for many people. Sun, sand and azure sea as far as the eye can see. But what happens when a chance encounter results in you basking in a very different kind of sun?

; A/N: Major thanks to @yminie for the beautiful moodboard ;-; but seriously...how could I NOT write a summer vacation fic for Hoseok with that pic??

For hundreds upon hundreds of years, the Mediterranean has been at the centre of trade and life for those living around its warm, azure waters. From the Egyptians who had worshipped their gods of the deserts to the Greeks who had prayed for their sea god to give them calm seas for travel.

Underneath the cerulean waves lay the remnants of cultures that had risen and died, from the Romans to the Phoenicians and more. The rise of empires, the fall of civilisations, the wars that humanity had wreaked upon itself over millennia; the Mediterranean had borne witness to many things.

And now, it was bearing witness to your excited ramblings to your best friend through a smartphone. The tiny device was pointed at your face, giving you a perfect view of her exasperated expression while you happily spun around, giving her a front seat view of the spectacular and awe-inspiring sight of the Greek island of Santorini.

You’d spent the past hour slowly climbing the, frankly ridiculous, number of stairs that had been carved into the island a long time ago. There had been the option to take a donkey, but you’d felt that you couldn’t possibly use a donkey without feeling guilty.

It was 34 degrees right now and looking at the poor things made you want to wrap your arms around them and lead them into some shade. So instead, you’d clambered up the steps by yourself and had spent five minutes practically lying on the floor while feeling like you were dying.

You were in shape, but there’s being in shape and then there’s climbing that amount of tall stairs in shape. Why were they so big?! Wasn’t it bad enough that most of the tiny streets were so high given the rugged landscape that had been caused by a volcanic eruption millennia ago?

Any other complaints you’d thought about having though, had vanished completely when you’d finally stood up and walked along the top for a little. The view was truly stunning, and took your breath away. How did people live in places like this?!

White-washed buildings gleamed along the side of the island where they clung onto the land like stone spiders, desperately defying gravity while the occasional blue dome topped a building here and there. Jagged rocks led down to the ocean, which was gently lapping along the edge to produce white froth that topped the crystal clear waters, leading out to a deep blue that sparkled in the sunlight.

For a moment, you’d simply rested your elbows against the white wall that protected people from falling down the edge and watched the world drift by. It was almost easy to imagine yourself thousands of years ago, to try and imagine how the Greeks had lived during the time of influential people such as Socrates, Aristotle and more.

Five minutes of admiring the scenery had left you wanting to share what you were seeing, and so you had produced your phone from the small bag that was looped over your shoulder. A few Instagram photos later, because you might be fantasising about ancient cultures but you did live in the 21st century, and you had been calling your best friend, mindful of the fact you were probably going to be hit with a huge phone bill later.

But she had to experience this!

Lisa had answered your call grumpily, informing you that it was too early in the morning to be on the phone to you. Despite the fact that you were showing her one of the most beautiful sights you had ever been witness to.

If anything, she should be used to it by now. You’d saved up all your vacation leave and had taken it all at once, blowing through your meagre savings to take you on a trip through the countries that surrounded the Mediterranean.

A degree that had majored in Ancient History and minored in the Classical Studies meant that you had a vested interest in the ancient cultures that had proliferated along these venerable shores. It was just good fortune that the museum you worked in had been enthusiastic about you taking a whole month off to explore the very countries where their most popular artifacts came from.

In fact, your manager had made you promise to make note of any interesting facts that you may learn from the native tour guides. An interactive exhibition was being planned for children, with your photographs being used alongside 3D images of the artifacts. Honestly, they should be paying you for this.

Your month long trip had taken you from the awe-inspiring pyramids of Egypt, to the shores of splendid Turkey, to the island of Malta, to the historied cities of Italy before finally landing upon Greece. A few days had been spent in Athens before you decided to head out to Crete, the largest island in Greece and discover the Minoan palace and other treasures there.

A day trip to Santorini is how you’d found yourself currently gushing about the wonderful landscape around you, though you were glad that you had chosen Crete as your base for the final part of the trip. You weren’t sure you could handle all the hills all the time!

“You’re coming home in a few days right?” Lisa queried once you finally brought the screen back to your face. Resting against the wall once more, you held the phone out in front of your face and nodded, letting your head tip back to take in the blinding sun.

“Yep, four more days and then it’s back home. I am going to have the worst case of holiday blues, I swear.” You groan deeply, though Lisa laughs through the tinny speaker at your misery. Her eyes are puffy from sleep and you smile in fondness, noting how young she looks when she’s just woken up.

“Oh, my heart bleeds for you as you stand there in Greece. Make sure to bring back some good stuff from there okay?” She says and you laugh, spinning around so that you face the stairs once more and sigh deeply.

Heading over, your sandals slapping against the worn stones in the quietness of the day, you acknowledge her request with a salute. Figuring that you may as well get some use out of the ridiculously expensive video call you’re making, you go to ask her how life is with Taehyung now that they’ve moved together.

Only she makes an intrigued gasp and you watch as suddenly your screen is filled with her nose and upper lip. “What are you doing you freak? I don’t want to see your nose hairs!” You squeal, moving the phone even further away while looking in disgust.

“Who...is that hottie behind you? In the yellow shirt?” She asks, completely disregarding your comments. You pause and slowly turn around, eyes scanning over the small group of tourists who had boarded the boat with you in Crete. Most of them were from the same tour group as you, all being picked up at the same point in the town you were staying in.

Subtly looking over everyone, you note that the majority of yellow wearers are women and frown, wondering if perhaps she didn’t see it properly. Only then suddenly, a pale yellow the colour of a spring chick comes into your vision and your own brows raise.

The shirt is a button up, looking light and comfortable with the top few buttons undone to reveal an expanse of smooth, golden skin. His sleeves have been rolled up and reveal equally toned arms that practically glow in the sunlight, while the sun makes his black hair shine beautifully.

Comfortable, white trousers adorn his lower half and you wonder half heartedly if they’re linen - truly the perfect fabric for heat like this. He looks bright and colourful, every inch the tourist yet with a sense of exquisiteness that marks him as different from your regular tourists.

He turns slightly to look out at the sea and you swallow. High cheekbones sit beneath softly rounded cheeks, while his jawline is as sharp as the rocks that meet the sea down below. An aquiline nose slopes down before turning up ever so slightly at the end, making the perfect resting place for the Chanel sunglasses that cover his eyes.

For a moment, he looks utterly unattainable until a young girl says something in front of him to cause him to smile. And that is when you truly lose your breath, for it’s like the sun itself has come to life in front of you.

It’s the only explanation for the way his face practically lights up from within as he smiles, the movement taking up his face and revealing perfectly straight teeth while his lips become an endearing heart.

How have you missed this man on your walks?

He looks utterly at ease with himself, his hands pushed into his pockets and an expensive looking watch resting on his left wrist lazily. Not a damp spot can be seen on his summer-island clothing, and it makes you flush with embarrassment as you realise that your pink vest top is currently red in certain areas from the sweat of the walk up.

And that’s to not even mention the amount of boob sweat you have going on, or thigh sweat. Or, perhaps even more humiliatingly, butt sweat. In fact, you’re glad that you’re wearing pale denim shorts today, otherwise you’d have a rather lovely sweat patch along your ass crack if you had chosen linen like him.

“I don’t know...I think he’s part of my tour group.” You murmur, vaguely aware that Lisa is still on the line with you. It’s only when she lets out a laugh of amusement that you refocus back on her, blinking a few times to regain focus until she finally comes back into your vision.

“Wow. You look taken by him. He looks pretty hot. Maybe you should see about a holiday fling?” She says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively until your cheeks flush with blood once more. Spinning around, you turn away from him and begin to make your way back down the stairs.

“Don’t be stupid! Did you not see him? He looks way out of my league! I mean, the man isn’t even sweating. He’s wearing Chanel sunglasses so god knows how much the rest of his outfit costs. That is a man, out of my league.” You hiss at her, wobbling slightly as you take a wrong step and almost go falling down the whole lot of stairs.

That would be painful. And humiliating.

She simply huffs and watches you with a smile, one brow quirked while her chin rests in her hand. You know that look. You’ve spent years watching that look as she ropes you into some dumb thing. It’s the look she wore before she got Taehyung, and he can be a grade A idiot sometimes.

Okay, so he’s sweet. But still!

“You could at least try! I mean...if he’s in your group then you’ve got the boat ride back...and then the coach ride back. You could try. You don’t need to be in his income bracket to enjoy good dick.” Lisa says crudely and you groan loudly, rolling your eyes as you wave your phone around and hope she gets motion sickness or something.

“Shut up.” You hiss at her, glancing around paranoid and relieved that there’s no other tourists around. Greece’s islands were full of British and German tourists you’d noted, and the German’s appeared to have exceptional English skills. It really wasn’t in your daily itinerary to accidentally become someone’s holiday story as ‘that thirsty American girl who was talking about holiday dick on the phone’.

The heat was excruciating with the minimal wind that was coming off the sea, and even though you were going down the stairs and not up, you could still feel the sweat slowly dripping down your back and between your breasts. Did guys get this issue?

“I am not going to ask the outrageously handsome man if he wants to sleep with me tonight. He could have anything! He might not even speak English! Have you even thought of that?” At the other end of the phone, all the way back in New York, you watch as Lisa rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn, tapping her hand over her mouth.

“You don’t need to speak English to get dick. I’m pretty sure he’ll know the word for sex. If not, you could always try…” She trails off before resting the phone on something and simulating sex, pushing a finger through another circled finger. Practically screaming, you have a small tantrum on the steps before pointing at her.

“You’re terrible, you know that? Why am I friends with you? You’re like...half a world away and you’re still pressuring me into sex!” You groan, rubbing the back of your hand over your forehead to get rid of the perspiration there. She laughs loudly, the sound tinkling through the tiny speakers and you can’t help but smile at the sound. Okay, so she’s an ass but you still love her.

“I’m trying to get you laid. You like sex. You like hot men. You’re loving Greece. Why not have sex with a hot man in Greece? A three-in-one!” Hissing through clenched teeth, you stop and take a deep breath, closing your eyes while you take in the hot air. Honestly, it’s not so fortifying when the air feels hotter than your lungs.

“Goodbye Lisa. I will text you later, send you pics. I’ll make sure to buy you some yummy Greek treats and you’re also getting one of those wooden dick keyrings they sell all over the place.” You give her a saccharine smile, waving fingers as she sputters about wooden dicks.

Ending the call, you let out the breath slowly and feel your shoulders practically fall to the floor. She’s right. You do like sex, and you haven’t had any for what? Six months now? Any longer and your damn hymen would grow back and you’d gain second virginity.

But a holiday romance was too...cliché. Imagine going home with that story! And what if you got pregnant?! It’s a Mills and Boon story come to life. Shaking your head, you continue on down the stairs and resolve to take in the view once more to centre yourself.

He was hot, sure. But you’re probably never going to see him again once you both get off the tour bus. And that’s more than enough reason to keep any sexual thoughts to yourself.

Yes, you won’t be getting his dick tonight. But there’s nothing against imagining his dick when you’re in the quiet, darkness of your room later.

The trip back to your hotel had been awkward for you, given that you were now almost supernaturally aware of Hot Man’s presence. In fact, it was almost to the point that you wondered how the hell you’d never noticed him before.

An extra wary eye had allowed you to spot his pastel yellow shirt situated towards the back of the boat, stood watching the wake that the vessel created as it cut through the deep blue waters. Immediately, you’d taken a seat towards the bow of the boat instead.

You know, just in case he suddenly developed telepathy and caught wind of the inappropriate thoughts that were running through your mind. Like whether it was possible to have sex on a boat this crowded in the middle of the Aegean Sea.

Instead, you’d rested an arm against the side and watched quietly as the great expanse of ocean passed by under your watchful gaze. It still blew your mind to imagine that people millennia ago would undertake the same journey as you, only their ships were made of wood and relied on the wind or pure manpower.

As you’d inhaled deeply and took in the pleasing scent of salt soaked ocean, you hadn’t been able to help but smile slightly at the cooling wind that had whipped through your clothes as the ferry sped back towards Crete. How wonderful it would be, to simply live on the ocean like this. Not a care in the world.

Implausible obviously, but still. Your meandering thoughts could have perhaps be blamed on the ever beating sun that shone mercilessly in the sky. There was no wonder that the Greek islands often looked almost barren of green plant life, and yet you knew there to be many forms of life that had not only endured but evolved.

You’d spent the rest of the trip back having silly thoughts like that, letting yourself fancifully imagine what it would have been like to live during the age of Greek gods and so forth. Honestly, it’s a wonder you’d managed to make it through your holiday without getting stuck somewhere because of your flyaway thoughts.

The ride back to your town had left you with your heart in your throat as Hot Man had casually gotten onto the coach as well. You’d chosen a seat close to the front, but the seat next to you was free and you’d barely even taken a breath until he’d walked past, heading further to the back.

You’d gotten off the coach before him however, so you weren’t entirely sure where he was staying in the small Cretan town you’d pick as your final destination. The sigh you’d let out was ambiguous, and you were not entirely sure if it’s because of relief or sadness.

The next three days were spent exploring the town you were staying in, along with a few of the nearby towns and enjoying the delicious food and warm friendliness of the Greeks who inhabited this small piece of heaven.

There had been more than a few hours spent lazing on the beaches that dotted the mountainous island, admiring the sapphire waves as they hugged the shore lovingly. Numerous souvenirs had been bought for friends and family, from cute pewter keyrings with tiny blue glass beads featuring the painted eye that was so common to boxes of loukoumi for those who have a sweet tooth.

You’d spent plenty of time in the various cafes and bars dotted along the seafront and watched with a mixed sense of awe and discomfort as coach drivers swung their huge beasts of burden down tiny streets that had been designed for carts, not buses. The inches that separated a wall from the coach often left you cringing, and yet they didn’t seem to care at all.

Greeks carried on with their lives as you watched, going to work or eating out at a few of the restaurants because while you were enjoying the island as a holiday, for them it was simply their home. Lyrical words were spoken at a fast pace between friends and family, almost musical when they really got going, and yet always filled with a passion that seemed to show on their faces as well.

Your own Greek was not very good, not nearly as good as your Italian, with just a handful of important words mastered such as please and thank you. Your knowledge of the Greek alphabet was almost redundant as well, with signs often being bilingual in English, and many time multilingual with German and Russian too.

Yet you still enjoyed the pleased smiles you got when you stuttered out a ‘kalispera’ in the evening or ‘kalimera’ in the morning. The words always felt so pretty to say though, and even if you got it wrong they still gave encouraging smiles that meant you felt okay trying again later.

Something that you had most definitely noticed, with a growing sense of awareness that left you feeling you’d gained some bizarre sixth sense, was Hot Man venturing along the same streets that you did. You never actively noticed him - it was more like you’d catch a glimpse of a smartly dressed man out of the corner of your eye and quickly glance over.

He seemed to have a penchant for light coloured clothing that looked comfortable and not too hot. Two days ago, you’d seen him wearing tan coloured linen shorts that came to his knees and a pale green t-shirt, whereas yesterday he’d been wearing a tan and baby pink version of his Santorini outfit.

Not that you’d been overly paying attention to his wardrobe or anything.

It had become very obvious that he was in fact, an expensive man as his clothing was subtle yet practically reeked of money. Not to mention his every changing roster of designer sunglasses that sat primly on the bridge of his nose.

Despite this, he was beyond friendly and seemed to get on with whoever he was talking to, despite any language barriers. His deep voice, so pleasing to listen to, had travelled to you a few times along the gentle sea breeze and you’d been satisfied to discover that he spoke English too.

Not that you’d been hoping he did or anything.

Still, you’d enjoyed subtly watching him as he walked along the old, charming streets of the Cretan town. It was nice to see someone enjoying the atmosphere of the place as much as you were, and not simply looking for the next alcoholic drink.

Unfortunately however, tomorrow was your last day and you’d no longer get to sip fresh apple juice while gazing out over the oil smooth sea, or wake up on fresh sheets to blissfully warm sun peeking its way through the glass door. Nor would you get to peek upon your Hot Man and fantasise.

Each country you’d visited had seen you carefully counting your money, only splurging on the last day at a fancy restaurant in each location. Today was finally the turn of Greece, and you’d decided on a small place that overlooked the ocean, figuring that you’d enjoy the delicious food while observing the awe inspiring sight of the sun slowly dipping below the waves.

Which is where you found yourself now, sat on a wicker chair with a basket of small, delicious rolls of bread in front of you and a bowl of salty olives to snack on. You’d decided to finish your trip with a meal consisting of your favourite food that you’d discovered in Crete.

A plate of dakos was sat on the table. The crispbread, olive oil, creamy cheese and ripe tomatoes was an explosion of taste in your mouth and the perfect starter to put you on until your lamb souvlaki arrived later.

You were preoccupied with daydreaming as you slowly ate, watching the beautiful scenery in front of you, the sky slowly painting itself vivid yellows, soft pinks and warm oranges as the sun slowly began to make its way down to the sea.

As such, you didn’t notice the presence that appeared at your side, nor the way he watched for a few moments, amused. A low cough, clearing his throat quietly enough to not be obnoxious to other diners but enough to catch your attention, caused you to look away from the sea. Eyes widening at the sight in front of you, you sat up straighter and wiped at your mouth, hoping there was no embarrassing food on your mouth.

Or down the white sundress you’d opted to wear for your final night. He let out a soft laugh, the sound causing that heart stopping smile to break across his face and make tiny butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt. Erm...I was just wondering if...maybe you’d be okay if I ate with you? I was over there but...the view’s better here.” White teeth flash at you, his strange mix of hesitation and confidence causing you to frown slightly. “I mean, if you don’t want to then it’s fine. It’s just...it’s my last night here and...well I wouldn’t mind being in the company of a pretty woman and a beautiful sunset.”

His words almost cause you to choke and you splutter, one hand covering your mouth while your other gestures towards the chair opposite you. He sits down slowly, looking like a dream come to life. Today, he’s gone for all white. A white button up, with the buttons just low enough to give an alluring tease of defined collarbones beneath golden skin and white trousers.

Black hair moves across his forehead gently in the subtle breeze and you can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath when he finally removes those sunglasses that have remained attached to his head. Beneath them, are crescent shaped brown eyes, warm and filled with kindness and amusement.

Dear god, he was stunning. Staring at him in the restaurant, his profile standing out from the outstanding picture of natural beauty surrounding him, you realise how the people of this country thousands of years ago had believed in a god who brought the sun to life every day.

Because you could quite easily believe that Apollo himself had taken human flesh and sat opposite you.

“Thanks. I was worried I might seem a little weird. I’m Hoseok.” He holds out an elegant, long fingered hand to you. “Jung Hoseok.”

Stuttering, you shake his hand shyly and let him know your name, eyes falling to the table as you take a bite of your food to occupy your mouth. Lisa had been joking when she’d suggested a holiday fling with him, and you’d been serious when you thought that nothing would ever happen.

Yet here he was, sat opposite you and looked more delicious than the food you were eating currently. Hoseok calls for the waiter and asks for a bottle of white wine to be delivered to the table, smiling pleasantly and thanking him once the expensive bottle arrives.

He pours himself a glass and looks at you, brow raised while he shakes the bottle slightly. You nod slowly, watching as the clear liquid fizzes inside the glass and reach out, taking a long gulp of the crisp, dry drink.

“How long are you in Crete for?” He asks idly, giving another smile to the young girl who delivers his starter and diving into it. Dragging your fork through the food on your plate, you feel your cheeks heat with awkwardness.

“Just tonight. I leave tomorrow to go home, like you.” At that, the delicate smile that has so thoroughly charmed you makes another reappearance. In fact, if you were reading his face right, he looked positively delighted at this news.

“Oh really? What a weird coincidence. Let’s consider this a fruitful night hmm?” He says, raising his glass to you in a toast that has you letting a tiny smile over your lips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve kept seeing you around this place by the way. Which is weird, because it’s a small town but it’s not that small.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another bite of food.

You wish you were strong enough to lie, but instead it comes blurting out. “You have. I mean...I’ve seen you around too. And...we went on that trip to Santorini together. Kind of. I mean, not actually together. But...you know what I mean.”

Hoseok watches with a single brow raised, amusement rippling over his face as he chews slowly. He swallows as he nods. “Yeah, I thought so. Honestly, that’s why I came over. I was pretty sure I recognised you and...well you’re pretty and you look interesting.”

Well, now your body is definitely heating up and it’s not because of the sun.

“I’m not that interesting. Really. Unless you find museum curator’s interesting.” You blurt out, running a hand down your dress to smooth out any wrinkles. At that, his face opens up in interest and he sits forward, placing the knife and fork onto his now empty plate and looks at you with enthusiasm.

“A museum curator? Oh wow, I wasn’t even sure if you’d finished college.” He stops suddenly, face blanking before cringing. “Oh god, I’m sorry. That sounded weird. Oh no it was weird. I’m sorry.” He repeats, hands coming out to try and placate you, despite you not being bothered.

“Why is that weird?” You ask and he flushes, tanned cheeks dusting with rosy pink.

“Well...I’m 33 and as soon as I said it, I realised how weird it would sound if I thought you were like 21 or something. Oh god, I wish I’d never said anything.” He grimaces, running a hand over his face exasperatedly and you laugh.

“No, no. That is very much a compliment Mr Jung. I’m 29, I’ve been doing my job now for four years. In fact, that’s kind of why I’m in Greece. I’ve spent the last month in Turkey, Egypt, Malta, Italy and Greece as my specialty is ancient Mediterranean cultures.” Why you’re suddenly babbling about your job, you have no idea.

But he looks completely fascinated and begins to question you about it; the exact cities you’d visited, the food you’d eaten, the sights you’d seen and even what kind of work you did in the museum. It had been a long time since a man had been genuinely interested in your job.

You seemed to unfortunately attract men whose eyes literally glazed over when they heard the word museum usually.

Hoseok however, is completely intrigued and asks plenty of intelligent questions. Not only that, but he’s knowledgeable about museums too. An in depth conversation between the two of you last over the main meal, you with souvlaki and him with a Cretan speciality of smoked pork.

It’s halfway through his conversation about the German Historical Museum in Berlin that he suddenly stops, blushing even harder as he scrapes his fork over his empty plate. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’ve been babbling about myself and not even telling you anything interesting.” His lips turn in a wry smile and you reach forward without thinking, fingers resting on the smooth skin of his warm hand to stop his fretful movements.

“It’s fine, honestly. It’s lovely to meet someone who enjoys museums as much as I do. But I am kind of curious about you in turn.” He snorts and wipes his mouth with a napkin, leaving the white fabric slightly red.

“Erm, well. I’m a director for a PR company in New York City.” He says, the words almost mumbled, as if he didn’t want you to hear. Which isn’t surprising, as your own brows raise. You’d already informed him that you lived on the outskirts of NYC, your museum small and humble compared to the giants in the city.

As such though, you were well aware that for to be someone so high up in a PR company in one of the most expensive cities of the world, he was probably earning some serious bank. Though, you could guess that from his clothing. It had been a slightly heart stopping moment to realise that he was wearing over $30,000 on his wrist, the watch only familiar to you because Taehyung was some weird watch aficionado.

“Do you have any fancy clients then? I bet it must be a nightmare when something goes wrong.” You ask lightly, running your finger along the rim of your wineglass and completely missing the way his eyes focus on the slow movement.

“Yeah, we’ve got some big clients. And yeah, they’re an equally big pain when something goes bad. But when you pull it off, that’s a good feeling.” He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet yours and you can’t help but bite your lip to try and stop the weird feeling in your chest. Hoseok is truly gorgeous, but did he have to be so damn nice too?

“I’d say I’m glad I work in a museum, but what’s the more nerve wracking job? Failing to do damage control well for a multi billion dollar company...or accidentally breaking a one-of-a-kind, millennia old antique?” The words are teasing and his hissing grimace is equally as playful.

“That’s a tough one. Probably yours if I’m being honest. Is anyone really gonna give a shit about one company making a boo-boo when they do that every other year? On the other hand...breaking a priceless ancient Greek vase...yeah history isn’t gonna look kindly on that.” He taps his fingers against his sharp jaw and you laugh lightly, happy that he played along with you.

Your conversation continues on for a while, allowing you both to have little glimpses into each others lives. Wild tales of friends soon come from you both, trying to one up each other while tender moments are revealed about your families. It’s strange, how you’ve barely known him for an hour, yet feel more comfortable with him than people you’ve known for years.

“How come you’re travelling alone then? You’re obviously a sociable guy, so I don’t know why you don’t have a partner or friends with you?” You query quietly, thanking the waiter as he brings a plate of baklava to your table for the both of you, along with some freshly cut fruit. The shot of ouzo that always seems to accompany meals being consumed with grimaces from you both.

He coughs as the liquid burns down his throat before sucking on a piece of melon, apparently oblivious to how utterly seductive that move is. Humming to himself, he swallows the fruit before continuing on. “I always travel alone. I do have friends, but they’re always busy with either jobs, or families now. So...I figure why not? I want to go abroad, what’s to stop me? What about you? You’re on your own, and have been for a month.”

Smiling, you nod your head as you acknowledge that he’s got you there. Biting down on the baklava, you enjoy the sweet flavours before responding to him. “Same really, my best friend was busy and my other friends are busy being moms and wives right now. This has been a dream trip for me for years and when the museum gave me the option to do some work for it too, I thought it was too good to not do. Gotta be bold sometimes right?”

Your bright smile has him responding in kind, teeth gripping down on a grape before his tongue slowly pulls it into his mouth. Licking your lips in response, you find it almost bizarre how your body seems to think everything needs to be done a little more alluringly, licking your fingers slower than you normally would.

It’s a slow game that you’d only realised the two of you had been playing since he’d sat at the table, and apparently one he’d been aware of longer than you. But you were pretty sure he’d caught on by now, and his tan skin, practically glowing in the light of the setting sun, was just crying out for you to touch it.

“Yeah, sometimes you gotta be bold.” He repeats, tone even deeper than before and you clench your thighs together at the rasping syllables. The plate between you is empty now, and you both sit there for a moment, simply staring at each other with expressions that said you were still hungry for something.

Lisa’s words float through your head slowly and you watch Hoseok quietly for a few seconds more, your easy conversation slowly dying as the growing sense of awareness between the two of you takes over. Chewing on your lip nervously, you grip your white sundress with slightly trembling hands before taking a deep breath.

Sometimes, you have to be bold.

“Are you free tonight?” You ask bluntly, causing his brows to rise in surprise before the corners of his mouth tips upwards in a pleased smile. He looks happy at your question, and you wonder if he always gets girls asking him for sex or if he’s usually the one to chase. Whatever his normal options, he seems to be reciprocative to your obvious suggestion.

“Why yes I am. Would you like to join me? I’m staying at a villa and it has the most beautiful view of the sea.” He states flirtatiously, eyes lighting up with anticipation while he bites at his lip slowly, teeth pulling the luscious pink skin before letting it drag back out. Watching the movement, you suppress a groan as his tongue slides across his lips, leaving behind a soft sheen of wetness.

“Crete does have very beautiful sea views.” You practically whisper, internally embarrassed at how desperate you’re beginning to sound for him. But he seems to be reciprocative, almost enthusiastic to your blatant display of desire.

“And I have some delicious champagne if that’s interesting to you. I’d love to hear you tell me more about Ancient Greek history, you must make a very good teacher when you lead tours occasionally. I’ve never been so interested in history.” He gestures over to the waiter for the bill and you can’t help but smile at the praise, idly wondering if he’s being genuine or just trying to butter you up to get in your pants.

Though you reason to yourself that you’ve made it pretty obvious that you’re reciprocative to him, and so presume he was being genuine. He did seem to be very interested in the random history information you’d bombarded him with earlier.

“I could, if you really want that. But I’m sure we can both think of something more interesting to do.” Placing down a bunch of Euros to pay for your half, making sure to leave plenty to tip the wait staff on your last night, you watch as he lets out a laugh, hands clapping together in delight.

He adds his own money to yours, the amount surely eye watering to the staff, but doesn’t blink an eye at it as you both make your way out of the restaurant. A quick ‘yassas’ to the waiter on the door and you’re standing in the street, Greek music filtering through the air as a nearby venue’s traditional Greek night gets underway. Hoseok stands next to you for a moment, breathing in deep and taking in the warm, island air.

Without a word, he reaches out and grasps your hand firmly, long fingers intertwining with your own before he’s squeezing gently. His hand is large and warm, the skin smooth and comforting as he begins to walk down the street. You follow him leisurely, appreciating that he’s not practically yanking your arm off for sex and take a moment to drink in the sight of his tall, lean frame.

Your perusal doesn’t go unnoticed as he catches your eye, lips breaking into that familiar, heart shaped grin once more before he tugs you closer and takes a moment to press his nose into your hair. “Do you like what you see?” He asks quietly, hot breath fanning a few strands of breakaway hair and you heat up at the high school-esque question.

Looking up at him demurely, you let your own tongue wet your lips and watch with satisfaction as his eyes track the moment heatedly, irises blowing out slightly as his nostrils flare. “Very much. But I think I’d like it better in your villa.” Where this minx came from, you have no idea.

He chuckles and turns back, pulling on your arm slightly as his long legs eat up the distance. “Well then, I think we better hurry up hmm?”

When Hoseok had told you that he was staying in a villa, you could honestly say that you weren’t sure what you were imagining. You weren’t too up on what villa’s looked like. What you saw however, was jaw dropping and made your brows raise in surprise.

White washed walls alternate with pale stone and everywhere you look there are glass doors that lead out to a serene pool, outlined in white tile. It was surrounded by high walls on three sides, providing utter privacy while the back was open to the beauty of the ocean. There was no beach, the craggy seafront didn’t allow for that, but it was still a truly stunning view.

He hadn’t been lying.

Unusually, there was no key for the front door and you watched as he simply input a code into an electronic keypad, a beep sounding as the door unlocked itself. Inside, a security system was turned off quickly and you were left to marvel at the interior.

It was a study in modernity meeting tradition, with dark wood furniture dotted around the open plan rooms while sleek, black metal takes up where wood can’t. A ridiculously large television sits proudly against the wall of the living room, facing two black sofas that are covered in subtly patterned blankets.

Greek style art and vases dot the area, bringing bright splashes of colour to the sparse room and you can’t help but admire the decorating skills of whoever owns this place. When you query this, he lets out a hiccuping laugh as he bends down in the kitchen, disappearing behind a luxurious island in the centre.

“My friend, Jimin. If you want to see rich, then you should see him. Guy’s an investment banker on Wall Street, he makes the kind of money that makes you sick.” You stare at his watch as he says that, brow raised as he sucks his lower lip in amusement. “Hey, if I’m saying that…” He shrugs, lean shoulders lifting underneath his shirt.

Sitting on one of the backless stools that frame the counter, you rest your chin on your hands as you watch him pull a champagne bucket - a champagne bucket! - out from one of the cupboards and fill it with ice from the freezer before adding in around a third of cold water. He then places a bottle of expensive looking champagne in it before heading over to the fridge.

There doesn’t look to be a lot inside, but you do note with interest the bowl of strawberries he pulls out and sits inbetween you both as he heads over. Another bowl is produced and he breaks some Belgian chocolate into it, putting it into the microwave to melt before strolling over and holding a final piece between two fingers.

Brows raised, you watch as he gestures towards your mouth his hand, jaw tilting up to signal his want. Keeping eye contact with those luscious, dark eyes, you let your lips fall open slowly and allow him to place the piece firmly on your tongue, the softest moan leaving you as the decadent chocolate begins to melt in a burst of flavour.

His fingers remain for a moment, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to wrap your lips around them, sucking ever so softly before using the tip of your tongue to wipe away the chocolate residue that had melted. Hoseok isn’t as quiet as you with his groan, but a hundred emotions seem to flutter across his face, and every one of them is firmly in the desire range.

The ding from the microwave distracts him, causing him to have to pull his gaze away from your mouth and you watch him shake his head in amusement as he brings the bowl back over. “I don’t know why that surprised me, but I appreciated it. A lot.” He whispers, coming around the counter to sit next to you.

Placing the bowl down, he takes a seat on the stool next to you and maneuvers his legs so that they’re surrounding your knees. Leaning forwards, you inhale sharply as his face is only inches from yours and your eyes flutter slightly at the expensive cologne that emanates from him. Is there anything better than a man who smells good?

The answer is yes, A man who smells good, feeding you chocolate dipped strawberries.

Which is exactly what Hoseok does, fingers trailing over the juicy, red fruits until he finds one he likes and picks it up. Glancing to you, he makes sure you’re watching as he dips the pointed end into the melted chocolate, twisting it slowly to make sure it has an even coating before lifting it back it up, waiting until it stops dripping.

You’re not sure why it’s so sensual, but just watching him has you clenching your thighs and letting out a stuttering breath. He’s close enough that he can hear it though, and see your reaction to him, and you watch a tiny smirk kick up one corner of his mouth.

“Open wide.” He murmurs, bringing the strawberry to your lips and giving a pleased smile when you do so immediately. “You’re very obedient, I can’t even begin to describe how much of a turn on that is.” His laugh is breathy and you can feel it over your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms.

Instead of letting your respond however, he places the strawberry into your mouth and watches as you bite down on it, careful not to bite his fingers. The bitterness of the dark chocolate soothes the sweetness of the fruit and a tiny whimper leaves you as you stare directly into his dark eyes.

“Good?” He asks, placing the remains on the counter while preparing a second and taking a bite himself. You chew and swallow carefully, licking your lips once finished and watch as he takes his time to eat his own.

Slowly, the strawberries disappear on the plate and despite the fact it’s evening and the temperature is lowering outside, it only seems to be getting warmer inside until you get the urge to tug off your sundress. But not yet, you sense it’s too soon for that still.

When the final strawberry is left and the chocolate has begun to harden again, Hoseok takes a glance at it before focusing back on your lips and grinning. Scooping up the final bits of chocolate, he goes to feed it to you and you open your mouth as expected.

Instead, he slowly drags the strawberry over your lower lip, smearing it in rich, dark chocolate before sliding it into your mouth sensually and letting you bite down. Before you can even attempt to start chewing it properly, he’s closed the gap between your faces and a shudder wracks your body at the feel of his wet tongue as it slowly trails over the sweet layer, lapping it up before licking into your mouth.

Moaning out, your arms automatically wrap around his neck as he kisses you slowly, mindful of the strawberry that you’d still to swallow. By the time he pulls away from you, the kiss only seconds long yet feeling like he’d been kissing you for minutes, he simply grins and opens his mouth, tongue flat to reveal the strawberry you’d bitten.

Chuckling at the look on your face, he chews it and swallows before grabbing the bucket and standing up, reaching for your hand and tugging you towards the railing-less stairs. The upstairs is much like the downstairs, and you spy two closed doors before he’s leading through the only open door.

The bedroom is everything you expect from a high class villa like this, with a queen sized bed currently covered in plain white sheets and pale blue silk throw pillows artfully placed at the head. But that’s not the jaw dropping bit. No, it’s the fact that two of the four walls are simply glass doors, and you watch as he opens them up until half of the room is open to the elements.

It’s bathed in an orange glow as the sun is still setting far out to sea, the slick waves reflecting a distorted mirror image of the visual beauty happening overhead. You could spend an entire holiday out here on the balcony, gasping in wonder as your hands grasp the glass balcony wall.

Hoseok places the bucket on a wooden table before heading over to you, arms coming around your sides before they rest next to yours on the glass. The evening is still warm, though the breeze brings the cooling fingers of night. Your hardening nipples have nothing to do with that though, and everything to do with the hot body pressing itself gently behind you.

He feels solid and oddly reassuring, the width of his chest resting against your shoulders while you feel the shadow of a solid erection brush past the apex of your ass. Hoseok is evidently a master of seduction however, as he doesn’t push too hard on that front, instead resting his head on your shoulder as the two of you look out at the sea.

“Tell me an interesting fact about Greece.” The words whisper from his mouth, low and guttural so as not to interrupt the mood. Humming to yourself, you bring one finger to tap against your chin and enjoy the way he laughs, breath dancing past your cheek as he looks at you slightly.

“The Greek alphabet was the first to have vowels written down.” You respond, voice breathy from his proximity. He’s quiet for a moment before he lets out a bark of laughter, arms moving to wrap around your waist for a moment as he rocks you from side to side before letting go and sitting at the chair on the table.

A finger runs along the rim of one of the champagne glasses he seems to have produced from nowhere and you watch as his tongue runs along his teeth slowly. “I love it when you talk history to me.”

Sniggering, you sit in the chair opposite him and cross a leg over the other, resting your hands in your lap to keep them from quivering. He may have joked about his age earlier, but the control that came with that age was really showing through now as he pours a third of a glass full of champagne.

Honestly, you want to jump on him right now and see if his skin is that stunning all over.

Taking the glass from his offered hand, you swirl it for a moment before taking a sip of the cold liquid. You’re really not sure what the etiquette for drinking champagne is, but he doesn’t seem to care as he swallows it down almost greedily.

It’s overwhelmingly bubbly at first, almost getting up your nose and you make the most attractive sneeze as it does so, nose wrinkling as your head shakes. He chuckles at that, an amused smile prominent as he watches you get used to the texture and flavour.

“What do you think?” He asks, lifting up his own glass to gesture to you almost lazily.

Almost instantly, you’re grasping for words as you have no idea how to describe it. Taking another drink, you let it rest on your tongue before swallowing slowly. Humming as if you know what you’re talking about, you nod sagely. “It’s...crisp...and...champagney.” Immediately you’re cringing while he starts guffawing.

“Oh god, I’m sure Dom Perignon would be ecstatic to hear that.” He snorts, head tilting as he swallows the final bit in his cup. Your eyes widen in response though and you reach out slowly, turning the bottle until the label comes into view and you choke loudly.

Holy shit! He was feeding you Dom Perignon. A woman he’d barely known for three hours and here he was, letting you drink champagne that probably cost...well you didn’t even want to think about it. And you’d just described it as ‘champagney’!

Hoseok watches you suffer for a minute before smiling, leaning over and taking the glass from you before setting it on the table. “It’s fine, not everyone likes it. And I’m not expecting you to suddenly fall in love with it. It’s not to everyone’s taste..”

You groan quietly, pushing a hand into your face as embarrassment takes over. This man, this beautiful man, was so out of your league it’s not even funny. And yet, with the way he’s looking at you right now, he makes you feel as though you’re right at home next to him.

“I do think I know something that will be to my taste though.” He whispers, the words light and yet swarming with desire and dripping with lust. You watch him for a few seconds in admiration, eyes tracing over his face and the way the setting sun sets his skin ablaze.

“Wha-” Anything you’re about to say is cut off though when he suddenly grabs your hand and tugs you out of your chair, practically falling into his lap and gasping as your hands press against his firm chest to stop yourself from hurting him. From your elevated view, you get to take in the stunning sight of his statuesque face as he gazes up at you, want painted over every inch.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He whispers before a hand is wrapping around your neck, pressing gently until your lips meet once more. It’s chaste at first, lips pressing against soft lips until his tongue slowly trails along the seam in an unspoken request for more.

Granting it, you let them fall open enough for him to gain entrance and a quiet moan leaves you as he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth before tangling it with your own. He tastes sweet from the strawberries, dark from the chocolate and expensive from the champagne. Truly, Apollo turned to flesh to burn you up from the inside.

While his mouth takes yours on a slow dance of seduction, his fingers are moving in their own dance of persuasion as they skip and play along the straps of your dress before reaching your waist. Each touch sends tiny shivers of pleasure and he plays your body like marionette doll, a press here and a stroke there until your front is plastered against his own.

Breaking away from you for a moment, he looks down to where your breasts are pressed to his chest with a pleased smirk, enjoying the way they look along with how they feel. Rubbing his hands along your waist a few times, he watches you closely as they move down to your ass, gripping tightly and encouraging your hips to grind against his erection slowly.

A low groan leaves your throat as your head falls back, exposing the expanse of skin to his eager mouth while he hisses in response to the friction. Each slow grind of your hips corresponds to a harsh suck of his mouth on your throat, colourful bruises blooming to life at his rough treatment.

And yet your own hands grip his hair firmly, tugging in response to each pull of his mouth until he’s ripping himself away. Looking up at you with hooded eyes, almost black in the dimming light, he gasps before licking his lips.

“Oh yeah, you taste better than that. But I bet you taste even better somewhere else.” He states boldly, huffing a quiet laugh as your thighs go to clench closed at his words, only to squeeze his hips instead.

You expect him to let you stand up and move the activities into the bedroom, only he surprises you in a display of strength that has the centre of your thighs releasing even more slick to ruin your panties. Gripping the underside of your thighs, he grunts as he lifts and stands at the same time, planes of muscle under his shirt shifting while his biceps have their own moment of glory and stretch out his sleeves.

An unbidden whimper leaves your mouth at the sight as he deposits you onto the table, pushing the ice cold bucket away from you and leaving your legs draped over the edge. Lifting your head to look at him, you’re about to speak when he suddenly begins to slide his fingers up your calves.

Connecting your eyes with his, you watch with widening eyes as he begins to push the hem of your sundress over your thighs, the material tickling your hypersensitive skin until finally he can’t move it anymore because of your ass. Raising a brow at you, he gives a pleased smile when your hips lift up, allowing him to push the fabric further up to reveal the flat expanse of your stomach.

He doesn’t stop though, and keeps going till he’s tugging the dress over your shoulders before throwing it into the bedroom somewhere. It’s at this point that he takes a moment to simply admire you, eyes taking in the sight of your exposed skin under the dying sunlight and he lets out a sigh of pleasure, content with what he’s seeing.

“Christ, how can anyone look at the scenery when there’s you to enjoy?” He whispers, leaning forward and pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss to the centre of your stomach. Gasping at the wet feeling, your hands twine through his hair as he begins to leisurely kiss and lick his way upwards until he’s sucking on the soft, vulnerable skin of your breast.

“How can anyone look at the items in your museum when you’re there?” He presses a kiss gently before letting his tongue play over the hardened nub of your nipple, grinning at the wanton moan that escapes you as he does so. “I bet there’s not a thing in that museum more awe inspiring than the sight in front of me right now.” He murmurs before his mouth is sucking on your nipple, the pressure immense and almost painful before he’s letting go and admiring the way it puckers for him so prettily.

My god, who was this guy?!

Hoseok lets his tongue play along your breasts, swirling around the tip of your nipple before lovingly sucking it into his mouth. He stops suddenly though, pulling back before his eyes glance to the bucket next to your head, the metal sweating in the evening warmth. Giving the sensitive bud a light grazing with his teeth, he pulls away before tugging the bottle out of the ice.

“What are yo-Hoseok!” You cry out, giving a slight shriek as he pours the cold champagne onto your peaked breast, a husky laugh leaving him as his head dips down immediately to catch the fizzing liquid as it trickles down your chest. Gasping out at the sensation of his scorching tongue heating up your cooled flesh, your fingers slip into his soft hair and grip firmly.

“Hoseok! What are you doing? This is way too expensive to be...licking it off me.” You pant out, hands pushing his talented mouth even closer despite the words you’re telling him. He laughs gruffly, letting his nose brush against your skin as he follows an errant trickle before staying in place, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin over your ribcage.

“You’re wrong,” He says, voice slightly muffled as he tips a small amount over your nipple and immediately goes chasing. “This is exactly the right way to drink champagne. Why spend $300 on a bottle if you’re not going to lick it off the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”

It takes a moment for his words to penetrate your lust filled mind, but when it does you look down at him with wide eyes to see a toothy grin before those teeth bite down on the tender flesh. The price makes you eye the bottle warily until his compliment filters through and your stomach twists on itself, your legs clenching around his hips.

You don’t need to respond to him as he seems to understand what your body tells him silently, and he smiles sweetly, pressing a warm hand down on your trembling stomach muscles. He moves it slowly up to your neck, pulling you forwards slightly before he tips the bottle to your lips, letting you swallow a small amount before he’s placing the bottle to the side and swooping down to attach his lips to yours.

The taste of the champagne swirls around both of your mouths as he leisurely strokes your tongue with his, his cooled hand now grazing your side in slow movements until he pulls away and shifts backwards.

Eyes flicking to yours, his lips kick upwards before he’s sitting back down and spreading your legs for him, eyeing the sight of your slick dampened panties like a feast that’s been laid out just for him. Slowly, and making sure that you maintain eye contact with him the entire time, he shifts closer in the chair until you can feel the burning heat of his breath on your pussy.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He asks and you want to cry from the need to have his tongue, his fingers, anything, touch you and relieve some of the ache. Nodding, you slur out some response to him and reach down, grasping for his head only to watch him jerk out of the way with a happy smile.

“Okay.” Is all he responds with, and you expect him to play some more games with you. Only he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans forward and places his mouth over the damp fabric of your panties, tongue pressing firmly to wet them even more. You can’t feel his tongue properly, can’t feel the slick wetness of the firm muscle and it drives you mad as he uses the fabric to lazily dull some of the pleasure. Whining at him, you grasp for his hair again and listen to his amused chuckle as he once more ducks out of the way.

A finger dances and skips it way along your inner thigh before it’s accompanied by his others, his nails lightly scraping along the sensitive flesh there until you’re shuddering with need. Humming in delight at your reactions to him, it’s with those deft fingers that he suddenly grabs the panties and tugs at them forcefully, the fabric almost burning in the speed that he pulls them off.

Gasping out an ‘oh’, you’re about to say something until suddenly those luscious pink lips wrap themselves around your clit and suck deeply. Crying out, your head hits the table with a thud as your hips undulate towards his mouth, body clenching on itself at the pleasure.

As he sucks, you feel the tip of his tongue playing with the tiny bud and immediately you’re writhing, uncaring of the rapidly cooling breeze that has the hair on you standing on end. How could you care, when this unbelievable man is between your legs and is worshipping you like a Greek goddess?

Hoseok hums to himself, a song you don’t recognise, but the effect is instantaneous as the vibrations cause tiny quakes of pleasure that have your legs tightening around his head. His elegant nose is pressed to your mound and you heat up as you hear him inhale unabashadley, taking in the scent of your arousal as he drags his tongue down to your weeping entrance.

Extending out that wonderful, talented tongue, he dips it into your pussy as far as he can before he curls it upwards, ever so slowly pulling it out to drag along your walls. An animalistic cry is pulled from your lungs as he does so, the sheer heat of the muscle combined with the slickness making you extra sensitive.

“Hoseok, chri-Hoseok please.” What you’re begging him for, you don’t know, but he seems to be pleased at what he’s hearing anyway. A loud clanking noise makes you jerk in surprise as you shift, watching him grasp the cold champagne bottle and bring it between your legs.

You go to stop him, afraid that he thinks pouring champagne down there is a good idea, only to let out a garbled noise as he presses the freezing glass to your clit. The temperature of it has your body shuddering in an excruciating combination of ecstasy and pain as he presses it firmly against you, circling it in slow motions that has shocks of pleasure fizzing in your veins.

“Jesus fucking-Hoseok!” You cry out, part of your mind aware that he’s using a bottle of fucking Dom Perignon as a sex toy. Hands grasping for him, you grip his wrist firmly yet don’t pull it away. No, if anything, you actually want him to go harder.

But he takes the choice away from you, pulling the bottle away before enveloping the cold little bud into his mouth. A mouth that now feels as hot as the centre of the sun and the temperature difference has you shrieking out, hand letting go of his wrist to pull at his dark hair.

He carries on for another few minutes or so, happily lapping at your clit in tiny kitten licks before sucking on it long and deep before he evidently decides he’s had enough foreplay. Standing, he grips under you and tugs you to him before lifting you up in one swift movement, your legs wrapping around his waist quickly while your arms lay around his neck in a languid movement.

“No orgasm?” You murmur to him, disappointed. A low laugh leaves him as he leans forward slightly, pressing soft yet damp kisses to your collarbones with a pleased noise.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get everything you’re hoping for.” He whispers, moving his head so close to your own that your noses are almost brushing against each other. The sun has slipped beneath the horizon and already darkness is chasing, the moon beginning to become brighter as it takes its rightful place.

Hoseok strides into the bedroom, pushing past the gauzy curtains before carefully laying you on the bed, a knee pressed to the mattress. Observing you for a moment, he lets out almost a sigh of utter desire and contentment, running both hands along your waist almost reverently before he’s leaning down, catching your lips in a quick yet deep kiss.

Standing back up, you push up onto your elbows and watch with greedy eyes as he begins to unbutton his shirt, going even slower once he catches your eyes with an amused grin. Each button gives way with ease, slowly revealing an expanse of tanned skin that under the sun, you’re sure would be golden, but in the slowly strengthening moonlight begins to pale slightly.

You swallow slowly, worried that you’re drooling at the sight of his torso as it’s exposed. Hoseok is lean yet incredibly toned, the muscles of his abdomen clearly defined yet not obscene and it makes you pant slightly, even more wetness coating the insides of your thighs.

He doesn’t take the shirt off though, nor does he take off the obscenely expensive watch adorning his wrist. Instead, he keeps his eyes firmly on you while unbuttoning his pants, the movement slow and seductive before he drags them, along with his underwear, down his muscled thighs.

Almost immediately, his thick cock bursts free and bounces in the air, a drop of clear liquid beading at the tip in his excitement. You don’t even realise the low noise of sheer, desperate need that you let out until Hoseok himself lets out a snort, shaking his head while a hand runs through his hair slowly.

“You look like you’ve seen something you want.” He rasps out, climbing onto the bed in slow and measured movements until he’s hovering over you. A slow roll of his hips has his cock grinding against your pubic bone, the hot shaft twitching at the movement as he lets out a deep groan of satisfaction.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispers, almost inaudible as he dips his forehead to lean in the crook of your neck. “Every part of you is amazing, you know that?” You can’t help but laugh at his words, spurred from the pleasure his dick is sending into his body but you still take the opportunity to let your hands drag along his slim back, feeling the indent of each muscle and biting your lip at him.

“I want you.” He states bluntly, lifting his head to let you see the sheer dark want in his eyes and you keen out softly, lifting your head up to chase his lips in a wanton kiss of need. It’s lazy and unhurried, despite the constant grind of his hips against yours and the pool of liquid excitement between your legs.

Pushing at his shoulders, you separate and he lets you roll him over until his back is resting against the soft mattress of his bed, an impish smile taking over that makes him look very young. Straddling his thighs, you smirk down at him as you grasp his cock firmly in one hand, enjoying the way he lets out a quiet whimper before his eyes close as you stroke him.

“I want you too. Condom?” You ask quietly and he pauses for a moment, a look of panic washing over his face before relief filters through quickly soon afterwards. He nods towards his pants and gasps out something about a wallet, eyes rolling back as you give him a particularly tight squeeze.

It takes mere seconds to root his wallet out of his pocket before you tug out the single foil wrapped condom, brow raising at him. “Didn’t think you were going to get lucky huh?” You ask cheekily, bouncing back onto the bed and enjoying the way he laughs for a moment before his hands grab for your hips.

“No, but then again I wasn’t expecting to meet a goddess either.” Hoseok states, lip quirking up with amusement. You let out an ‘ooh’ noise as you roll the condom down him slowly, enjoying the sight of him.

He has a pleasing penis, you decide wryly. Not long, but girthy enough to know he’ll feel good and with the slightest curve that has your inner muscles clenching around air. A few more strokes has him especially solid in your hands and you straddle his hips, running the tip of him along your pussy in eased movements.

Moaning quietly, you enjoy the tiny sparks of gratification that pop in your veins as you coat his stiff shaft, your wetness lubing him while each press stimulates your aching clit. For a good 30 seconds, you simply enjoy using him to get yourself off before your eyes open and you catch the sight of his pained expression.

“Ready?” You whisper, shifting up slightly while you align yourself with him. His eyes are firmly focused on the where the tip of him is slowly edging its way into you, a gasping groan leaving his throat easily. Despite this, he somehow remembers your question and nods his head, hands resting firmly on your hips as he waits for your move.

You don’t respond to him, but instead sink down and let out a breathy moan as he stretches you deliciously. It doesn’t take long before you’re resting on his hips, his cock as deep in you as he can get and you sigh out, rocking your hips in a slow circle while you squeeze him internally.

He pants out a pained gasp, hands gripping tightly and you feel his hips reflexively jerk up into you, the movement pushing him further inside. Grinning slightly, you begin to rock with more intent, each slow roll of your stomach causing your hips to undulate on top of him and slide him in and out of you in slow, lazy drags.

“Fucking hell, you feel so fucking good.” He grunts and you can feel the strain in his hands, desperately wanting you to go faster on him but unwilling to push you yet. Reaching down, you take one hand of his and press it firmly to your breast, squeezing his fingers around you and getting a jolt of satisfaction when he shifts to pinch your nipple playfully.

You let him use his other hand to direct your hips further, the speed of your rocks increasing until all that can be heard are the slaps of flesh against flesh, the slick wetness of his cock inside you and the pleasured pants and moans from the both of you.

Leaning forward slightly, you let the angle shift and enjoy the way he soon picks up the slack, his hips jerking up into you in solid thrusts. Each movement has his cock dragging against your g-spot, with tiny, gasping whimpers leaving your mouth until you’re whining quietly, head dropping even further down.

“Touch yourself princess.” Hoseok says, his voice so deep and guttural that it sounds as it he’s speaking from his chest. He removes his hand from your chest and instead grips your ass firmly, the muscles in his biceps becoming noticeable as he moves you in time to his thrusts.

The noise you let out isn’t intelligible, but it’s a confirmation of his request and you bring a hand to press at your clit slowly. Experienced fingers push the hood of the pebbled bud away before you begin to circle, and almost immediately a rasping cry leaves your throat from the pleasure.

“Good girl, keep doing that.” He whispers, shifting slightly as he braces himself better before he begins to pound into you. It sends ricochets of satisfaction through you as your body jerks forward with each slap of his thighs against your buttocks, each drag of his cock pressing against all the sweetest spots inside you.

“Oh god Hoseok, oh god,” You moan out, eyes closing and denying you the beautiful vision of Hoseok looking fucked out with need and desire. He mutters encouragements to you, his voice low enough to send your inner muscles quivering around him and you slow in your movements between your thighs.

How are you possibly supposed to orgasm with this much pleasure happening?

But he senses your thoughts and brings a hand to press against yours, encouraging you to keep pleasuring yourself while he takes care of the rest of you. “Cum for me princess, come on. You can do it.” He pants out, his abdomen flexing underneath you and the white of his shirt almost glowing in the moonlight.

A pinch of your nipple combines perfectly with a swirl of your fingers and a thrust of his cock, the three events combining together to push you over the edge and you find yourself falling into the fizzing pit of overwhelming pleasure. Garbled noises of gratification escape you as you cum, eyes clenched shut as your inner muscles convulse repeatedly around his thick shaft.

Hoseok is moaning out in response, hips working even faster until he suddenly presses firmly into you once and a guttural groan rips from him. Even through your orgasm, you can feel the rhythmic twitching of his cock as he empties into the condom and by the time he’s finished, his hips are making tiny movements to let him ride out the final sparks of pleasure from his orgasm.

Slumping forward onto his chest, you both simply lay there for a minute in a silence that is only broken by the ragged pants from the two of you. Underneath your head, his chest is heaving for breaths and you feel the sticky sheen of sweat on both of you, cooling rapidly in the night breeze that rolls through the open windows.

“That...was every bit as good as I thought it would be.” Hoseok laughs raspily, running a tired hand along your back slowly before shifting you to the side. He sits up tiredly and tugs off the condom, disposing of it before standing on shaking legs and disappearing.

The tiredness of your day exploring, combined with the relentless sun and Hoseok’s ministrations has you dozing off before he even comes back from the bathroom, a towel in hand and a fond smile as he takes in your sleeping figure.

You wake the next morning slowly, eyes blinking blearily at the sun brightened room and it takes a moment for your memory to come back to you. A muffled moan leaves you as you curl into the soft, white pillow and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of sex and the undeniably expensive scent of Hoseok.

It’s only after a few more minutes of blissful quiet, the only sounds the distant crashing of the waves on the shore, that you realise it’s actually eerily quiet. Shifting in bed, the sheets wrapping around your body tightly as you do so, you spy an empty bed next to you.

The pillow isn’t even dented anymore, telling you that Hoseok has been gone for a while. Tugging the sheet against your chest, you sit up and look around in confusion. There’s no champagne outside, and the room seems oddly clean.

Swinging your legs over the edge, you’re about to stand until you note the white sheet of paper that flutters slightly in the gentle wind underneath a seashell. It’s then that you note your bag is next to the bed as well, instead of on the couch downstairs where you’d left it last night.

Reaching out, you take the note and read it quietly.

Princess,

Sorry if this all sounds awkward, I’ve never had to write a post-sex apology note. I should be better at this as a PR expert.

I’m sorry to leave you like this. When I said it was my last night, I meant literally. My flight is in the early morning and I had to leave to make it. I meant to walk you to your hotel but fell asleep too.

I’ve cleaned the villa, don’t worry. All you have to do is make sure everything locks behind you. Feel free to take the last of the champagne with you to make your last day even better. I really want to thank you for last night, I enjoyed both it and you.

I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me but I’ve left my number for you. When you’re back in New York, I’d love to visit your museum if you’d be okay with that. Maybe you can even give me a tour? Or even if you just want to talk, I’d like that too.

Yours,

Hoseok

Smiling down at the note, you reach into your bag and pull out your phone, glad it still has some battery left. It takes only seconds to enter his number into your contacts list and you sit there and admire it for a moment, your empty stomach bubbling over with a multitude of emotions.

Placing both down on the nightstand, you head out to the balcony and rest your arms on the glass edge, careful to make sure you remain covered even though there’s no one there to appreciate. Watching the slow but steady movement of the cerulean ocean that stretches as far as the eye can see, you can’t stop the smile that creeps over your face at everything that happened.

Any trepidation you had about going home is gone now, and instead there’s just a tremor of excitement that is ready to burst inside you. Yes, you think that you’re ready to go home now, especially given you have something so wonderful to look forward to.

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wiredandrewired · 6 years ago

Text

Was trying to actually work on something but my brain is stuck on loop. So instead I’m gonna make a post of the Voltron stuff sitting unposted in my writing WIP folder to help me organize my thoughts.

I guess since I’m posting this, if you have anything you wanna say/ask about any of these feel free. I respond well to outside interest.

1. Project ReVolt is without a doubt the project I’ve posted about the most here. And talked about in random tags. And tangents. Originally it was just the name the project had in my internal brain filing cabinet but it’s kind of spread and stuck to where my wife and I just refer to it as that when we talk about it.

ReVolt is basically going to be a VLD series rewrite more along the lines of how my wife and I would have done it or at least liked to see it done. In some places it will probably stick pretty damn close to the events of the series canon, but in others go completely off the deep end. We’re each going to be doing one, so a lot of the headcanon and worldbuilding and such that we’ve worked out together in various other stories and RPs will be consistent between the two stories, but it will also give us a place to veer out and do things without the others’ input (as we’re not gonna let each other see our fics until they post, tee hee). I’ve done a SHITPOT of rules and infrastructure work using actual alchemy tracts to try and make sense of the series’ largely Powers As The Plot Demands system, and am pretty convinced I’m going to A)fall hard into my very common Esoterica Ranting Mode pitfall and B)enrage literally everyone who reads it with my character and plot choices. Most conservative estimate says this will be six ‘books’ long as again, we’re doing literally the entire series. Current status: at the ‘ridiculously large amount of notes and setting up actual arcs and outlines’ stage, and waiting for the wife to finish ‘Happier HOPEless’.

2. There Are No Monsters Here is a fic I really want to do but cannot seem to get off the ground, set to take place entirely in the ‘last universe’ from season 8--the one native-Honerva died in and crazed-death-god-Honerva picked out as her ideal and tried to wedge herself into. I guess the basic idea was that, like the ‘main’ universe, it got rebuilt pretty much as it was prior to Nightmare Mom Ruining Everything, and I have it with no one fully remembering the events of season 8 that took place there, but characters really closely tied to those events having some itching feeling that something happened, and all the Altean alchemists agreeing that some kind of massive quantum Event certainly occurred even if they don’t know what.

Mostly the story exists as a place for me to have a canon-compliant AU that still lets me explore stuff like Altean history, the racial and cultural tensions of the Coalition, dink around with Oldadins that DON’T die in one fell swoop, a living Daibazaal and Altea, Lotor growing up with a decent-but-not-without-strains relationship with his dad, teen Allura and tiny Lotor being absolute shits to each other while also coming to terms as they grow up with who and what they MUST be both on a political and quantum scale, and generally prove that even a perfect universe isn’t, all in one place. The title is entirely facetious, and anyone who’s read any of my alien culture headcanons for this series knows that. Lol. Current status: lots of bits and pieces, but no good beginning or connective tissue. I have a lot of notes, some arc outlines, and a few scattered scenes and bits of dialogue from later in the story, but my god, I CANNOT get it off the ground.

3. Someone Must Get Hurt (But It Won’t Be Me) is supposed to be a pretty wholly Honerva-centric fic that starts...sometime in her youth?...and carries forward to an as-yet-undetermined point. Probably her death. I mean the first one. I’m not sure. Another chance to dig my fingers into Altean culture and Alchemy, this time leading up to All The Bad Shit That Happened, with the added bonus of being done from a focal point of a character I have a lot of really strong feelings about both positive and negative that’s resulted in me somehow being EVEN MORE wrapped up in her than I was before I added abject knee-jerk trauma hatred to the mix. In no way meant to make Honerva more sympathetic, I think I just want to write her even more like my mother so I’ll feel EVEN BETTER about killing her? Idk man my feelings about her are so complicated. Also an excuse to write a shitpot of her and Zarkon because listen, I’m really glad they’re married because I ship them so fuckin hard. Current Status: SO many notes. SO much infrastructure. Like three pages of an opening I’m almost definitely throwing away because I can’t decide where, when, or how to open but feel like this isn’t it. One short but very telling scene of Honey and Zarkon from late in the story. I’m obsessed with it but I can’t get anywhere.

4. Currently Untitled Demon Hunter AU started because my wife talks to me about Happier HOPEless a LOT and I just got an itch in my bones to work on one myself. In spite of the entire Demon Hunter AU thing getting started by a prompt on a Shance blog, neither Shiro nor Lance are set to appear for at least a chapter? And I am not confident in my ability to not veer off into utter non-shipping anyway because man, am I bad at it. Or like...just an entirely different ship for either or both of them. Current Status: A lot of vague notes, a POWERFUL urge to structure the chapters and overall arc after Ripley’s Gates even though that limits my chapter count and means I will DEFINITELY have 20k+ word chapters, and about seven pages of the first chapter so I guess I’m committed now?

5. Currently Untitled Post Series Fic basically exists for me to vent my frustrations about two main things: The Universe is Fucking Huge And There Are Dangers Other Than Galra, and The Galra Empire Was Huge and Is Not Going To All Fall In Line Behind Voltron Coalition and Especially Behind Keith Who Just Arbitrarily Fucking Decided To Tell Them They Couldn't Pick A New Leader According To Their Own Traditions And Need To Do What They’re Told Now What The Fuck. Also there was a lot of stuff in the series that got left hanging, and while ReVolt is an IN-series fix-it fic, I wanted something that patched up loose ends in a way that was satisfactory to me but also kind of canon-compliant. Current Status: A lot of notes and screaming. No one has seen my progress on this and they might never.

6. Dog Runs And Death Dreams is a warmup file turned deeply self-indulgent series of scenes in which I choose to assume that Shiro’s rare neuromuscular disorder was left so ambiguous so I could plug the symptoms of mine into it. It’s genuinely not any deeper than that. The whole thing is set pre-Kerberos, and includes copious Shiro x Adam content because of it, but also not the kind that makes me feel good about writing because that means it includes the ‘slow fizzle’ that leads up to their breakup before the mission. Ugh. Working on it does make me feel better when I've been having symptoms, though, and I’ve been letting myself write it, unchastised, in a really loose rambly way that I usually deride myself for. It’s just cathartic. Current Status: no notes, no plan, just strain-writing between seizures, but somehow it feels like it has some kind of structure and just keeps growing? Possibly too close to the bone for me to ever post.

7. Birth and Rebirth was born out of two things: the fact that Zarkon is shown to have two ENTIRELY DIFFERENT reactions to first being presented with his baby son in different flashbacks and different seasons, and the fact that in spite of the flashbacks we get at the end of the series, earlier on, the impression I got of Lotor and Zarkon’s relationship wasn’t of a young man who had never had affection from his father, but who had instead lost it. Well, three things: I have a lot of underlying issues at work, at play, and at large when it comes to the Galra Imperial Family. Also, anyone notice the monitor blips in the first baby Lotor flashbacks indicate a heart murmur? Anyway, it was supposed to be a thoroughly self-indulgent and thoroughly self-hurtful examination of Lotor’s early life and the death by degrees of what was left of his father in the husk Rift Adventures left behind, but I got stuck on it a little way in. Current Progress: ten pages, a lot of notes, and some wistfulness. I keep hoping I’ll get inspired to pick it back up again. Contemplating rewriting some of the beginning, maybe it’ll help?

Bonus entry that is not actually in any form of progress soever:

50/50 Voltron Trashfire Edition is spawned from the ‘50/50′ challenge on an old TF board I used to haunt. It’s a fifty-prompt smut challenge using the list of ‘50 reasons to have sex’ from some tv show, and the idea is to write a different ship for every prompt (hence the name). My wife is blazing through it and has several (like twelve?) up on her AO3, but I’ll be utterly blunt: I haven’t written fifty porn fics in my LIFE. Over ALL my fandoms. Current Status: Literally all I have done is assign a ship to each prompt, and I might actually have some prompts with just question marks beside them still. I have one aborted start to one entry. That’s it. It’s not happening. But the empty file is technically in the folder, SO.

#things Rewire Writes #disregard I'm decompiling #writing woes #fanfiction: the struggle #the state of the rest of these makes me a little worried about Revolt tbh #I need to unclog the writing pen in my brain

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vgm-in-irregular-time-of-the-day · 7 years ago

Video

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DAY 1200) Charge Cycles - No One Cares About the Letter L

Composer: me (Chimeratio)

DAY 1200!!!! To celebrate, posting music to a soundtrack I wrote myself AGAIN of course. As I’ve said before it’s to a quirky puzzle game by my cool friend CHz (who has helped out a ton with this blog! thank you CHz!) You can play it here!: https://chz.itch.io/charge-cycles

As I’ve stated every time, I write music without actually paying attention to or writing in the time signature changes, just writing in 4/4 or 1/4 or whatever and ignoring barlines (though definitely consciously making sure my writing is free enough for odd time/polyrhythms/polymeter to form itself). So these timesig changes I had to spend a lot of time figuring out on my own just now as much as I would with any other song pretty much.

This soundtrack has music where the drums are only playing when triggered by your actions in the game, so for these soundtrack uploads I just played one version first and the other version second. In this case the version without drums plays first and then the version with drums plays second, but the loop point is still 1:49 really.

This song is ridiculously polymetric to the point I’m going to have to write the timesig chart out multiple times for different layers and in general am going to have to talk about a bunch of parts separately. Here I go!

1) Focusing mainly on whatever I personally consider the ‘base’ groove at a given moment (ie what i’d actually write on sheet music):

(0:00 - 0:15) 6 bars of 4/4, 1 bar of 7/8

(0:15 - 0:24) 3 bars of 4/4, 1 bar of 5/4

(0:24 - 0:33) 4 bars of 4/4

(0:33 - 1:05) [4/4, 4/4, 11/8, 4 bars of 4/4]x2

(1:05 - 1:12) 4/4, 4/4, 24/20*

(1:12 - 1:21) 3 bars of 4/4, 2 bars of 5/8

(1:21 - 1:26) 2 bars of 9/8

(1:26 - 1:44) [3 bars of 4/4, 1 bar of 17/16]x2

(1:44 - 1:49) 4/4, 4/4, 2/4

(1:49 - end) [same as 0:00 - 1:49 except with drums]

*Yes that is a bar of 24/20, it’s very concretely interpreted as irrational time to me personally, rather than a sudden tempo shift with metric modulation. The bass is doing constant quintuplets, but it does 24 in one bar instead of an even group of 5 so you can’t count it as 5/4 or 4/4 or anything. Some might argue this would be easier to read as a tempo change where the quintuplet becomes the 16th note temporarily, but I feel it’s best thought of as just quintuplets at the same tempo as everything else. If someone wrote it out as metric modulation where the quintuplets become the 16th note though it would still be a perfectly valid way to write it!

As another note, the drums from 3:11 to the end are all just a constant quarter note pulse, but I still wrote x/8 and x/16 time signatures over it because I felt those were a more dominant feel at those points, and instead interpret that hi-hat click as beat displacement layered on top of non-4/4 timesig changes until it finally lines up toward the end.

Also yeah the 4/4 at the VERY start here for the first 15 seconds mostly only makes sense in the with-drums version of the tune. Otherwise your only real feel to go by is the part I have listed below. If you were writing an arrangement for people to play this where you didn’t have drums come in the first time, the way this does, you’d be better off writing the first 15 seconds the way I have it below.

2) Focusing on the main mixed meter synth figure

(0:00 - 0:15) 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 11/16, 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 6/8, 5/16

(0:15 - 0:33) 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 11/16, [the rest of this section is random notes from the 7/8 + 13/16 + 7/8 + 11/16 groove being randomly chosen (based on the random hard L vs hard R panning) and the L layer and R layer going out of phase with each other at different rates. This is barely audible in the final mix but here’s :15 - :33 with this layer isolated to make it easier to hear. https://instaud.io/2P1Y ]

(0:33 - 1:05) [7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 11/16, 6/8]x2 (note: this section has two layers of that bass synth, one offset to play 1 16th note later and 1 octave higher. Both layers have completely different random panning as well, so this makes it challenging to feel this mixed meter pattern clearly because more likely you’ll be paying attention to the high note that’s a 16th note late, or accidentally alternate what part you’re hearing)

(1:05 - 1:37) [same as the version 1 of the timesig chart since that synth line isn’t present here]

(1:37 - 1:44) 7/8, 13/16, 7/8, 11/16

(1:44 - 1:49) 7/8, 13/16, 13/16

Additionally at :20 there’s a layer that’s playing this same figure added on top except it’s playing in dotted 16th notes relative to everything else. It’s a solid loop of 7/8 played at the tempo of “if those dotted 16ths were 8th notes”, rather than the tempo of everything else (this was inspired heavily by Fez - Knowledge, which does a similar thing). I guess you could interpret them as being played in 21/32 time too, but that’s a weird way to think of it since it’s all groups of 3 32 note beats.

3) The organ and piano stabs

These are basically RANDOM, there’s not really a convenient way to write a time signature chart around them even if they exist in a “polymetric” state to everything else, it’s really just random rhythmic stabs to convolute this even more hahaha. I just picked a random feeling rhythmic feeling that I thought sounded cool. There is methodology to their layering against each other however:

In the first use of them from :06 - :15 though the piano rhythm is exactly the same as the organ rhythm except delayed to play 15 16th note beats later.

The 2nd instance from :28 - :33 is just hocketing (one instrument playing in the gaps of the other).

In final instance at 1:30 - 1:44 the piano rhythm’s exactly the same as the organ rhythm except the piano rhythm is delayed to play exactly 7 quarter note beats later.

4) The polyrhythms in the drums!!

Starting at 2:56 the drum loops start stretching/squashing an amount of beats into one bar that isn’t the same tempo as everything else.

2:56 - 2:59 is 6/4 squashed to the space of 4/4

2:59 - 3:01 I already addressed far above, it’s an irrational time bar where there’s 24 quintuplets, but you could interpret the drums there as 5+5+5+9 6/4 squashed into the space of 24/20 but that obviously makes little sense.

3:01 - 3:04 is “10.6666.../16″ stretched to the space of 4/4 (this is really just dotted 16th notes in 4/4 except since that doesn’t line up nicely with 4/4 evenly the last beat has 1/3 cut off of it)

3:04 - 3:05 is just normal 16ths/32nds in 2/4

3:05 - 3:06 is 11/16 stretched to the space of 2/4

3:06 - 3:08 is just normal 16ths in 4/4

3:08 - 3:09 is 4/4 stretched to the length of a 5/8 bar

Then after that it’s back to normal 16ths in 4/4 for the rest

In sheet music you’d most likely just write these as tuplets, but I’m describing them the way I am here because they’re drum loops originally at different tempos, so this should make the sound easier to understand exactly how I stretch/squashed their speed.

I really thought it would be fun to play with the feel being entirely different with drums vs. without drums so that’s why I did a ton of playing around with that. In the drumless version of that section obviously it all just feels like normal 16ths in 4/4 (or 5/8 for 2 bars) but once the drums come in that feeling entirely changes.

- - - - -

HOPEFULLY THAT ADDresses everything and hopefully I explained it all articulately enough for it to all make sense! This track has possibly the most rhythmic eccentricity going on in this entire soundtrack, despite arguably being the most conventionally pleasant one to listen to and technically being mostly written in 4/4 in typical sheet music. You wouldn’t think it’s this difficult to write out but it definitely is.

Oh yeah also this has my voice from when I was like 15 years old in it hahaha.

This tune is in general a tribute to what my taste in music (and life) was like when I was that age so it borrows a lot of traits from it.

That was when I first got into steve reich and that sort of polymetric minimalist music (it is probably very obvious that this is inspired by steve reich and similar minimalism stuff haha).

Was also when I first got interested in tracker music (some patches from this are the same as ones in tracker module files I was really into at the time and stylistically this is vaguely similar to some of the tracker musicians I listened to a ton back then).

I also was just very enamored by electronic music with this type of sound to it.

It’s also when I first started using fl studio so i intentionally used a few fairly blunt fl studio sytrus/etc presets here haha.

Among various other reasons I could list, this tune is a pretty personal tribute to my life and interests in 2007, a time I consider one of the best in my life. Just felt like adding that info in right now!

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deadcactuswalking · 4 years ago

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 27/02/2021 (Ariana Grande, Digga D, Ella Henderson & Tom Grennan)

I like how on the UK Singles Chart, even if it’s kind of a slow week, we still have nine new arrivals to get through. Joy, let’s just start with the rundown. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

As you’d expect, a lot of the debuts from last week were pretty flimsy on the UK Top 75, the range I cover on the singles chart, and hence a lot of it’s gone, including all of the slowthai songs, even “CANCELLED” with Skepta which reached the top 40. Another big top 40 debut that’s disappeared is, again as you’d expect, “UK Hun?” by the United Kingdolls. We do have three pretty big drop-outs though: “No Time for Tears” by Nathan Dawe and Little Mix, ”Really Love” by KSI featuring Craig David and the Digital Farm Animals and finally, “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio. It seems that finally we’re making some room for the Spring hits to come tunnelling in by next month. That also shows in our notable fallers, as we have “Levitating” by Dua Lipa and remixed by DaBaby at #37, “Whoopty” by CJ at #39, Taylor Swift’s re-recorded “Love Story” plummeting off of the debut to #41, Fredo’s album bomb continuing to linger as “Ready” with Summer Walker and “Burner on Deck” with the late Pop Smoke and Young Adz are down to #44 and #64 respectively, “you broke me first” by Tate McRae at #47, “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi at #50, “Siberia” by Headie One featuring Burna Boy off of the debut to #58, “willow” by Taylor Swift at #59 (Not a good week for Taylor), “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran at #69 (The bigger question should be why it’s here at all), “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper at #71 and “Apricots” by Bicep at #73. For our gains, well, it’s pretty weird trying to find our replacements for all of this, as we have “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers back to #68 as it takes advantage of a slower week, “Roses” by SAINt JHN and remixed by Imanbek having a weird second wind at #60 – and the same goes with “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles gaining big for some reason up to #46. Otherwise, we do have some genuine rising hits in the top half of the chart, like “Mixed Emotions” by Abra Cadabra at #45 off of the debut, “Regardless” by RAYE and Rudimental at #43, “Astronaut in the Ocean” by Masked Wolf at #35 (Because I guess since Logic’s retired, people are looking to Australia for a half-baked replacement), “Believe Me” by Navos at #33, “Little Bit of Love” by Tom Grennan at #32... Okay, if we’re going to give rising artists their first top 40 hit, why is it these guys and not Kali Uchis? Though I have a feeling we’ll talk about her next week. Anyway, our other notable gains are “Love Not War (The Tampa Beat)” by Jason Derulo and Nuka at #31, “Arcade” by Duncan Laurence and FLETCHER at #29, “My Head & My Heart” by Ava Max at #25, funnily right next to Joel Corry’s “Head & Heart”, “Commitment Issues” by Central Cee at #18, “Up” by Cardi B at #17, “Your Love (9PM)” by ATB, Topic and A7S at #15 and “Latest Trends” by A1 x J1 at #12, with no real movement in the top 10. With all that out of the way, let’s stay cautiously optimistic for our new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “All You Ever Wanted” – Rag’n’Bone Man

Produced by Mike Elizondo and Ben Jackson-Cook

You probably know Rag’n’Bone Man for “Human”, one of the biggest hits in the UK of the 2010s that never really crossed over stateside. I was never a fan of the guy’s music in its over-produced blues-pop crawl, so I didn’t really expect his next album to do anything for me... but I feel like it does matter to a lot of people. His first album was big – and not just moderately – with several hit singles, and he would later hop on Calvin Harris’ “Giant” to more success. With that said, I don’t know why this lead single from his upcoming sophomore effort Life by Misadventure took a month to get to the lower reaches of the chart, even with a video. Has his hype fizzled out? Is there something more behind this or do people genuinely not care enough to check out the guy’s music past his debut record that had a bigger push? I don’t know but I do know that I actually quite like this... I mean, a lot. Finally, Rag’n’Bone Man found some faster-paced production that works very well with his signature baritone voice, as this almost post-punk-esque groove may be stiff but it chugs along nicely, especially with the layered guitar loops and those inspired distorted synth bloops, with some real dynamic mixing. What I feel is missing from this is stakes, at least in the content – it seems more observatory than telling any real narrative or drama that warrants such a rocketing song, especially that screeching guitar solo. I don’t think that really matters, though, as the subject matter is interesting enough in how he discusses places he’d spent his childhood in like Brighton and London and how they’ve changed since, with a pretty understandable level of both nostalgia and anger levelled at whoever made those changes... knowing he supports Corbyn, there could be some political undertones here, but I digress. The song caught me by surprise, I hope it sticks around further than a couple weeks.

#70 – “Lifestyle” – Jason Derulo featuring Adam Levine

Produced by Rice N’ Peas

So, Jason Derulo struck gold with the TikTok fame and his return to the #1 spot as he stole some Pacific Islander’s beat on “Savage Love (Laxed – Siren Beat)” with Jawsh 685, and in 2020, everything seemed to go right for Derulo at a good time, even netting a BTS remix in the process. Now ever since then he’s been alternating between original tracks and more “borrowed” Pacific Islander beats, and this is one of those original tracks, which sounds nothing like the siren or Tampa beats so I’m pretty sure we know what the aim really is for those tracks. Whilst he’s had some success in the European markets, he hasn’t had much in the US so a catchy pop single with Adam Levine, detached of the Maroon 5 brand as that continues to fade away post-“Memories”, seems like an apt but desperate attempt at latching onto said market. God damn it, I’m embarrassed to say that it worked because this should not be a good song. It’s got a pretty funky synth riff and bassline that makes this otherwise pretty embarrassing track a lot more listenable, as Derulo’s delivery is pretty insufferable (but still pretty sonically appealing; the guy sounds great with a lot of Auto-Tune). There’s a lot of nonsense lyrics, both literally in the post-chorus and more ridiculously in the first verse, full of lyrics about how an unnamed woman is “shining bright just like Rihanna-na”, one lyric out of the whole song that is generally pretty weak lyrically, as you’d expect. The chorus is really damn catchy though, and propelled by horn lines and pianos that sound pretty triumphant, even if the clipping falsettos sound like garbage, and Derulo’s ad-libs in Levine’s verse are just hilarious. Honestly, Levine sounds better with this hook than Derulo does, mostly because Levine is aptly and actively not trying, which is much more fitting for a messy dance-pop track. With just two verse-chorus structures, as well as two post-choruses, this is basic and practically unfinished; there isn’t a bridge. With that said, I can’t hate this at all, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s the fact that Levine’s reverb-drowned “Lifestyle!” backing vocals are cut off in the mix during the chorus... that did genuinely get a laugh out of me, don’t ask why.

#65 – “HEAT” – Paul Woodford and Amber Mark

Produced by Paul Woodford

From just a glimpse of her work, Amber Mark seems a lot more unique and soulful than most of the replaceable dance-pop singers, but for the purposes of this song and hence this show, that’s all she is, and Paul Woodford is just the boring DJ. This is a dance-pop song with 90s MIDI-sounding pianos, odd vocal processing, generic string patches, a house groove accentuated by a lot of fake hand-claps and a weak, barely-there drop. The time house-pop does something interesting for the first time in years in the mainstream beyond this garbage that’s been living in German night clubs in the 90s for decades after the fact, is the day I am a much happier woman. Skip this.

#61 – “Didn’t Know” – Tom Zanetti

Produced by Sjay

If you want proof of how slow a week this is, there aren’t even lyrics for this on Genius. Anyway, I don’t know or care who Tom Zanetti or Sjay are because guess what this is? Another house-pop track. To be fair, this one has more of a bass-heavy deep house groove and bassline, and a pretty cringeworthy rap verse from who I assume is Tom Zanetti, going for what seems like a Chicago house vibe but missing any of the soul or big diva samples, relying instead on a checked-out delivery from someone no-one knows the name of. Really, what do you expect me to say about this? It’s a sex jam, but it’s so basic and minimal that those keys in the chorus end up sounding as eerie as they do seductive, and overall, there’s genuinely nothing to grab from this other than that Tom Zanetti shouldn’t be rapping... whoever that even is. I did look up the guy and it makes perfect sense that this guy was making bassline music decades after that was big, because this screams “failed attempt” to me, and hopefully if the British public have any sense, it’ll be a failed attempt on the charts. We’ll have to wait and see on that front, I guess.

#57 – “Time” – JLS

Produced by Oswald Hamilton (or Biggz the Engineer)

So, legendary(?) boy band JLS are probably one of the bigger names from the craze of R&B and pop bands and vocalists that got big from The X Factor but JLS had actual staying power for at least a little while, mostly because, well, there was always a place for them in the late 2000s and early 2010s, where it wasn’t uncommon to see these dance-pop tracks flooding the chart. They weren’t that great, obviously, but they didn’t need to be as what mattered to the audience and label was that the four boys kept their charm and style by the time they released a new record every November and that a couple singles off of it went to the top 10. That comment about longevity must not have lasted, however, as whilst most members were able to find some kind of success solo, usually in broadcasting like Marvin Humes, people weren’t really demanding a comeback, I suppose, as whilst this is their first charting song since their 2013 farewell “Billion Lights”, this new reunion track hasn’t made much noise at all and is probably here off of sales. I mean, the lyrics aren’t even on Genius yet... oh, wait, it’s some other guy that happens to be called JLS. Huh. Well, that makes sense, but, like, you’d want to change your name if it was that closely related to a big name, especially if you weren’t a family-friendly boy band and were instead a pretty awful rapper relying on a weak UK drill beat with absolutely no energy at all. Okay, so this sounds like several rappers here, so I assume it’s a rap group or collective. Either way, not many of these people have much charisma to talk about, like at all, and this beat can’t carry them on that lone piano melody alone, even if it is kind of menacing. The song feels twice its length, and something screams industry-made to me. I don’t know, maybe it’s because it’s a debut single, but they’re not signed to any major label so that’s just speculation. With some research, I found that it’s by two guys called Switch and J9 and a lot of fans were confused why it was uploaded under JLS, when the original song, on YouTube, isn’t even called “Time”. It’s called “Look”. I can only see this as kind of a scummy marketing ploy by a label, as I don’t think an independent distributor would be willing to change the name, artwork and artist name to believably look like JLS. I don’t know about any of this but really the song isn’t bad or really worth caring about, just a game of finding the impostor. To be honest, I’d love for JLS’ actual comeback single to be a drill banger in response, but again, we’ll have to wait and see. For now... who even gets the royalties for this?

#56 – “CLOUDS” – NF

Produced by Tommee Profitt and NF

You know what’s decidedly less fun than UK drill rappers masquerading as late 2000s boy bands? Christian rap. To be fair to NF, he’s less outwardly Christian as he is just family-friendly pop-rap with a lot of technical skill and that’s fine, although it does mean his fanbase consists pretty much exclusively white kids who think they listen to “real rap with a message” and dismiss anyone with a darker skin tone as mumble-rap. Though I don’t think NF purposefully lets into that demographic, at least from the little I’ve heard, I don’t doubt that he knows that’s his base as he continues on this lead single from his upcoming mixtape CLOUDS to criticise rappers who “go Hollywood” whilst also acknowledging how violent some of his lyrics may seem, which kind of seems like an odd thing to say in this context. I mean, NF here is only being clean rather than Christian, but not in a Lecrae way where he’s genuinely a versatile and soulful rapper outside of the religious stuff that tends to work its way into a lot of his work. Instead, NF just kind of meanders over a condescendingly bad piano-based trap beat, with pretty pathetic flows that really undermine how much technical skill this guy supposedly has. I mean, if he’s going to imitate Eminem with even more filler bars and unfunny mid-verse skits. To be fair, I can’t complain about the dude’s energy, and the beat does get better as it gathers a lot more energy in its choral grandiosity, but I feel like this one starting verse just lasts for days because of how little is actually said in three minutes, and that second verse is shorter but says even little. That’s before getting into some of these lyrics as it really is just nonsense half of the time. He claims to be “not artistic” – I don’t know why Nate meant by that but it just comes off as how it is on paper: hilarious – and also flooding the first verse with a series of ridiculous metaphors you’d be hard-pressed to wrap your head around, including questionable name-drops for... Bill Gates, of all people. I do find it ironic how despite his fanbase wanting to make you think you’re not smart enough to get NF’s really “clever” bars, the Genius annotations for one of the few kind of cool lines here show that it completely goes over their heads. NF says, “Got something in my cup, ain’t codeine”, which you can stretch – pretty reasonably – to be a Biblical reference. The song’s about fame and success, so referencing “my cup runneth over” makes a lot of sense. The annotations says that it’s unclear what’s in NF’s cup, and a comment corrects him, saying that it shows in the music video that Nate’s cup has water in it. Nice one, guys. At least Eminem murders women and Hopsin’s a racist piece of trash, what does this guy have?

#38 – “test drive” – Ariana Grande

Produced by Foster, Mr. Franks, TBHits and Murda Beatz

Ariana Grande released the few bonus deluxe tracks from her Positions album last week, and of course, at least one charted – not many others could as you can’t have more than three hits at a time on the UK Singles Chart. I know, it’s silly. Honestly, I think the deluxe tracks were in most cases better than the standard edition, and I think if we cut out the annoyingly large amount of filler in that total package, we could have a pretty damn great record from Ari, but as is, it’s really just fine and suffering from all of the issues her past few years of music have. With that said, “test drive” might be my favourite ever song of hers, with its gorgeous 90s R&B keys that lead us in to a bouncy house beat from Murda Beatz of all people (in a similar vein to “motive” from the standard edition but with actual sound design). There isn’t that much of a bass in the groove here, but it makes up for that with its twinkling synths and Ari’s delivery which sounds convincing and infectious through the whole track, which may be short at just barely more than two minutes but does not waste that time with its incredible chorus and whilst I would have preferred some more complexity or meat to this production, particularly the percussion, this dreamy blend of 90s pop styles is really fun as is, especially in that final chorus with those subtle strings and bleep-bloops coming in, to the point where you don’t really care how abruptly it ends... which actually might be a pretty fitting end for a track about a youthful, very sexually active relationship. Yeah, this is pretty great – check it out.

#36 – “Toxic” – Digga D

Produced by Trinz

Speaking of bonus tracks, here’s a bonus track from Digga D’s most recent mixtape, Made in the Pyrex, and any goodwill I had for this guy is gone because this song is deplorable. You can say it’s satirical all you want – and to an extent it probably is – but I really can’t sit here and listen to a rich guy talk about how awfully he treats women for three minutes. Basically, the song is about influencers that want to “suck his bone”, and honestly that would be fine if he kept it about the sex, rather than how much he seemingly hates these women, calling them good for nothing sex objects with the subtlety of a dusty red brick. Misogyny is common in rap music and popular music as a whole, and it’s forgivable because, really, objectification is so commonplace that there’s no point in fighting it off, and really there’s nothing wrong in a rapper saying “my girlfriend is attractive” because... well, yeah, she probably is. There’s also nothing wrong with a rapper describing or depicting sex, because sex happens, and there’s also nothing wrong with rappers describing their conflicts with women because, again, they happen, and music is never supposed to represent a perfect life or perfect human. You can express your flaws and irrational emotions, even if they are “toxic”, in your music because it’s a form of human expression that knows few bounds, and as long as there’s some kind of tact or thematic approach, I really do not mind and will often try and justify it. However, when you’ve got a guy with no charisma or personality describing how he uses his fame on Twitter to his advantage for cheap sex, what really is the point in listening to this guy? Do you enjoy hearing about how he constantly condescends and insults the women providing him with cheap sexual desires? Sure, they never sent you letters while you were in jail, but they were never supposed to. These are Instagram models and social media influencers you use to get your rocks off by sliding in DMs, not long-time relationships, and you know that, so why are you complaining when your emotional desires are not met beyond intercourse... especially when you clearly don’t care about hers? I guess Digga D is being “toxic” on purpose as the title and chorus ensues, but this is too overly-specific and based in what seem to be real-life situations for me to stick with this and justify any of it, especially him referencing the models’ substance abuse, how he refuses to drink fancy wine she bought her instead of his cheap Magnum tonic wine – a sexual stimulant from Jamaica. All that would be fine if it weren’t for how he takes this back to real life by mentioning his ex-girlfriend, breaking all illusions of satire and fantasy. In the second verse, he continues to slut-shame and condemn women for... travelling abroad? Profiting from OnlyFans? Wearing Rolexes? If you want to talk about how many designer accessories you wear, how many places you’ve been, how many women you’ve had sex with and how many women you use for your own benefit and no one else’s, as you do in all of your songs, then where’s your excuse for criticising women for doing the same thing? Oh, right, there is none! I heard a few weeks ago and talked about on this show how the government has to see Digga D’s lyrics and censor them in the case that they’re too violent. It’s pretty telling how this misogynist piece of shit slipped through those cracks, huh?

#28 – “Let’s Go Home Together” – Ella Henderson and Tom Grennan

Produced by TMS

Okay, so this is our highest debut this week, and it’s from singer Ella Henderson, who you probably know from “Ghost”. She was another X Factor singer and this song actually dates back to 2016, where it was leaked online as a duet with James Arthur. More than four years later, it sees an official release with the slightly-less-trendy Arthur replaced with Tom Grennan, similarly non-present pop singer. I’m surprised the label’s even letting her release this pretty generic pop ballad with an acoustic pick-up and lyrics about going home together while drunk, as well as trap-esque percussion because of course. I mean, her second album has been shelved for half a decade, and Tom Grennan himself has kind of been in limbo until recently, and it’s not like he’s doing anything interesting or different here with his insufferable mumbling delivery. There’s an unfunny bait-and-switch in his verse at some point that I think even James Arthur would have pulled off better, and Grennan’s last line in the bridge is genuinely just one of the worst moments in music this year, Jesus Christ – you’ve just got to listen to that part, I guess. The song’s really not worth speaking more about and I want to wrap this up.

Conclusion

A slower, less chaotic week yet still a mixed bag and mostly bad. I’ll give Best of the Week for Rag’n’Bone Man for “All You Ever Wanted”, with a really close Honourable Mention for Ariana Grande’s “test drive”. Worst of the Week should be pretty damn obvious given that Digga D’s “Toxic” even exists, but Dishonourable Mention really is a toss-up. I guess Tom Zanetti’s “Didn’t Know” might be the most embarrassing song here... apart from “Lifestyle” of course but that song really is just okay. For next week... who cares? Here’s this week’s top 10:

Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank if you’re interested – really, I just talk about Weezer more often than I should – and I’ll see you next week.

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queenangst · 8 years ago

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Lifeline

Time loop AU. When Keith wakes up after crashing his ship to stop Naxzela from exploding, he thinks it's a dream. And then it happens again.

Some days he dies like this, closing his eyes to a light that burns him to the core. Other days, Keith dies with a knife between his ribs, or in the hull of a ship, or with the others as Naxzela renders the sky to pieces. Over and over and over. Again and again.

read on ao3 / ffnet / a lil thank u to @kcgane for making these tracks because. they’re good.

chapter one

Keith’s eyes shoot open.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, going so fast that it feels like his chest might split open.

His hands are clenched into fists at his side, not meant to throw a punch, but instead mimicking his grip on the controls of a Galra ship. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his shirt is clinging to his skin.

“A dream,” Keith says, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. “A nightmare.”

It has to be. Has to be.

Because the last thing he remembers… the last thing he remembers—

A clipped wing. The distant voices of his teammates through the comms. Matt and Lance and Hunk and—Shiro’s voice, of course, sounding strained, and…

…he leans forward as the ship picks up speed. There’s no time to think, but Keith has never bothered much with thinking, anyway.

This is the only option. The rebel ships can do nothing. Voltron is too far. Keith is the only one who can make a difference; if he doesn’t act, then everything he’s been fighting for will fall.

The ship shudders a little, but Keith pushes it, faster, further, gunning for the barrier.

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and counts down from ten. There’s a blanket over his legs and a knife under his pillow and this, this is real, and dying is not.

His breathing evens out after a bit. There’s things to live for, after all.

Keith strips his shirt off, making a face at the resistance it gives. It doesn’t take long for him to get dressed in the thin black suit and then the armor that follows.

There’s the echoing of footsteps from down the hall. It sounds awfully familiar, but Keith ignores it in favor of studying himself in the mirror on the wall.

A moment later, Kolivan is standing at the door.

“Keith.”

He fits on the last of his armor but keeps his hood down. There’s no need for it.

“You need me?”

Kolivan inclines his head. “I am about to speak to Team Voltron. I think you should join me.”

Keith nods. “Got it.”

They make their way to the bridge. It’s not unlike the Castle’s, but it is smaller, with only standing positions at the controls. Keith crosses to the front, and Kolivan pulls up the comms channel.

They patch through to Voltron.

Compared to the Blade’s ship, the Castle is brighter, and past them, Keith catches a glimpse of orange sky. Shiro and Allura, as expected, as standing in the front. Between them is a map of the system, one that Keith has long since had memorized.

“Entire Galra fleets have been mobilized,” Kolivan says. “Zarkon seems to be out looking for Lotor.”

Keith grits his teeth at the mention of Lotor, but he keeps quiet.

“It’s only a matter of time before he gets the Empire back in order,” Shiro says. His face is grim and determined. Keith likes the look; it means he has a plan. “We need to take advantage of this moment.”

Allura’s mouth is set in a frown.

“What are you getting at, Shiro?”

A dream—memory—flashes through Keith’s mind.

“The coalition,” he says without thinking. “Naxzela.”

Shiro meets his gaze, approving. “Keith’s right. We need to assemble the coalition we’ve been building. With intelligence gathered by the Blades-” Here, Shiro inclines his head toward Kolivan in a show of thanks. “-and coalition observers, combined with the power of Pidge’s Galra tracking software, we’ve put together a detailed map of the Galra Empire.”

It spins into view, purple and blue planets dancing in the air.

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been here before, has seen this map before. It’s like there’s something he’s missing, a piece of a puzzle dangling just out of reach. Like he knows a passcode but not the last number, but he needs to unlock this—whatever it is.

Shiro’s gone through the first part of the plan already, but it doesn’t matter. Keith has a feeling he already knows it.

Dream, dream, he chants in his mind. Dream, dream, dream. Not real.

“If this works… the Voltron Coalition will have taken back a third of the Galra Empire’s territory. It would be a huge victory.”

“And inspire a new wave of rebellions.”

Shiro crosses his arms. “There’s no time to waste.”

The fight would be crucial—a critical blow against Zarkon. Keith scours his mind, trying to see if he can fit enough pieces together to find an outcome.

There’s nothing. Cold settles in his stomach. Nothing after that burning light brighter than the sun and quiet and jolting awake in his quarters, sweat on his skin and a scream on his tongue. He doesn’t know if it will work or not, but… he does know he could trust Shiro.

That has to be enough.

On the other end of the channel, Shiro turns to face the team.

“Suit up,” he orders.

Kolivan turns and begins barking orders of his own. Anju’s already set course for their coordinates. Keith spots Inek weaving through the Blades, her shorter stature and barbed tail making her easy to identify.

Keith already knows his role. He’ll be with Kolivan and a few others to infiltrate the cannon. He’s needed there.

“Are you prepared?”

Keith blinks. Kolivan looms over him, a figure intimidating to most.

“You seem distracted,” Kolivan offers when Keith doesn’t respond. “The mission we are about to undertake is an important one. You need to focus.”

This—this conversation he doesn’t remember. Keith sucks in a long breath and tries to clear his mind.

It doesn’t matter if he’s done this before or if he’s dreamed the way the day would go or, hell, if he’s woken up in a different reality. In every situation, he needs to be on top of his game.

Focus, Keith thinks. Patience yields focus.

It’s enough. Keith nods. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

“Worry,” Kolivan says, like he doesn’t know the word. He’s already turned away. “Keep the comms channel open.”

On Voltron’s side, the others are getting ready. Shiro is ready in less than a minute; when he catches Keith looking, the corners of his lips lift up. He lifts his hand like he wants to touch Keith’s shoulder but settles with a wave.

Keith swallows and waves back. He can’t get the sound of Shiro’s voice in his mind, can’t escape the feeling that they’re walking into a trap.

He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. He can’t run on feelings alone, not right now, and—well, Shiro might not listen to him, anyway.

Behind him, Lance and Allura are talking quietly together. There’s a smile on Lance’s face that Keith hasn’t seen in a while. He glances over, and his grin grows wider before he turns back to Allura.

Pidge, Matt, and Hunk are gathered around a laptop. Probably discussing the Galra-tracking tech. As he watches, Shiro crosses over, putting a hand on Hunk’s shoulder casually as he leans in and speaks to them. Pidge adjusts her glasses and nods, and Shiro uses his other hand to ruffle her hair.

Keith is suddenly hit with a pang of loneliness.

The scene is a familiar one. He’s seen it before, has lived it before. Keith glances down at his Blade suit, and his mouth turns sour with the memory that he no longer belongs there, with them.

“It’s time to gather the coalition,” Shiro says, straightening and crossing back to the map. “We need our friends and allies from across the universe now more than ever. With their help, we finally have a chance to turn the tides of this war.”

This is it, Keith thinks.

“We’ve been waiting for this moment, and now we are more prepared than we’ve ever been.”

Allura’s eyes blaze with the light of a thousand suns. “Let’s do this.”

Keith falls in step behind Kolivan as the screen blinks out. It’s replaced with a map, and the Blades begin to speak in low voices together about strategies and their own roles in the upcoming fight.

Keith follows Kolivan and a few other Blades to their mission ship. They’re about three times larger than the pods in the Castle, better suited for missions but still small enough to escape notice if they’re careful.

“The broadcast will be starting soon,” Anju reports, already at the controls. “Setting coordinates now.”

“Power to the thrusters,” someone says.

“Ready to fly.”

“Go,” Kolivan says, and they take off without fanfare. Keith stands shoulder-to-shoulder with another Blade, the two of them gripping a bar as they stand in line. They’ll be dropped not too far from the cannon’s base before they cut through the brush to ambush it.

“Broadcast is live.”

Kolivan nods. “Play it.”

Allura appears on the screen. It strikes Keith then, how much her presence resonates. He feels like she’s in front of him, staring at them. Her eyes are sharp, her chin lifted in pride. Regal, commanding, and the face of a revolution.

“Fellow members of the Voltron Coalition,” she says, and he feels the words in his chest. “If you are hearing me now, it is because you have pledged to stand together with Voltron in the fight against Zarkon and his enslavement of the free peoples of the universe.

“But that enslavement is about to be dealt a crushing blow. The time for a full-scale attack on the Galra Empire is now. Far in the future, when they speak of this day, they will speak of our sacrifice, but they will also remember this as the day that freedom began to overtake tyranny.

“You all have your missions.”

Keith lets his mask cover his face.

“We’re approaching,” Inek says.

“You know what to do.” Allura’s gaze bores into him. “Good luck. We’ll see you on the other side.”

The other side, Keith mouths to himself, pouring over the words, but then the doors open. Wind ripples into the ship, buffeting at their suits.

One by one, they drop into the open sky. Far below them, grasses and trees wave like they’re waiting for him.

The Blade next to him leaps. Keith blinks, and then there’s only four Blades left on the ship—Anju and Inek to pilot, Kolivan, and him. He can feel Kolivan’s gaze on him even through the mask.

Then he lets go of the bar and falls.

It’s kind of exhilarating, the fall. There’s a split second where he feels weightless, the blood in his veins singing. And then Keith curls in on himself, the ground racing up towards him.

He rolls when he hits the ground, carrying his momentum into a run. Shadowy figures dart through the trees, one moment there, the next gone. This is the way of the Blade—never seen, never heard, deadly and efficient in their every move.

The cannon is perched on the edge of a cliff. From far away, Keith spots guard after guard standing in protection.

The comms crackle.

“Blades!” Captain Olia cries. “We’re in trouble! What’s the status of your cannon? Blades!”

Keith darts through the trees, lungs burning.

“Copy, Olia,” he says, voice muffled by the mask. “We’re en route. Hold on for just a little longer.”

Up ahead, the Blades are breaking through the trees. Keith leaps over a gnarled root and finds himself out in the open again, the cannon looming over their heads.

It’s massive, as big as one of the Blade’s main ships, and Keith knows from sight that it can take out a fleet in minutes.

They scale the cliff easily. Keith is one of the last to reach it; he grits his teeth and throws himself upward, the claws in his suit extending and gripping onto the cliffside easily.

A rock crumbles under his hand. Keith keeps quiet like he’s been taught and finds another hold, sweat already making itself known on the back of his neck.

There’s a hand in front of his face—Keith looks up and sees one of the Blades waiting.

“Thanks,” he says softly, gripping it. The Blade only nods as he’s pulled up, and then they split up, surrounding the base.

The sentries guarding the base are fast. Keith is faster.

He pulls his knife from its sheath and cuts clean through a sentry before it can react. Keith tosses his knife and then catches it to drive home in the other sentry’s back.

He’s first up the steps leading to the cannon. Footsteps follow his as they keep going.

Short blasts of gunfire ring in the air, and then there’s silence. Keith grins to himself.

Inside, there’s a captain surrounded by guards, his voice bellowing orders. He’s not even done when Keith rams into a guard.

He trusts the others to get the job done and guns for the controls, vaulting over a sentry’s head as a blade takes it out. There’s the sound of falling metal as he reaches the controls, gripping it tight.

Keith drops his mask, mouth curling into a victorious smile. “Now let’s see how this thing works.”

“The Zenfama Saiforge cannon is ours!” Coran announces. “Naxzela attack is underway.”

Keith wastes no time. Kolivan sets in a target, and he lines up his shot, watching numbers and figures dance across the screen. He can’t fully understand Galran yet, but he knows enough.

“Olia, come in,” Kolivan says. There’s no response. “Captain Olia.”

“We can’t take this fire for long!” Olia yells. “Blades, we need your help.”

“We got your back,” Keith reports. He reads as much as he understands, makes the necessary calculations, and then takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Patience,” he murmurs. “Patience yields focus.”

There’s snatches of panicked conversation over the comms. Now is the time to attack.

“Fire.”

“This one’s for you, Lance,” he mutters, and then he fires.

The beam tears through the sky, bright purple as it rips past clouds and into space like a backwards-comet. Keith’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches it disappear.

“Shields down, Captain!”

“Alright, let’s get control of that cannon!”

“Get ready,” Kolivan warns.

“I am,” Keith says.

“Zaiforge Cannon Base is ours!”

“Ready to provide the Taujeerans with cover,” Keith says, gearing up for his next shot.

“Cannon acquired. Ready to provide backup.”

“Copy that. Coalition, you’re clear to begin.”

He’s not there with the fight, but Keith doesn’t need to be. It’s in him, fire through his veins and water in his lungs.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Ships fall under the force of the cannons, torn apart by their strength.

“We’re doing it,” someone reports.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

“We’ve almost taken the entire area!”

“Communication is back online,” a voice warns. Coran repeats the words a moment later, but it’s Shiro who replies.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve just about taken Naxzela.”

The planet’s name sends a chill down Keith’s spine. He has a feeling it’s not as easy as it seems to be. There’s something else at play here, and Keith knows it, but he can’t remember what.

“It appears at all of the planets we’ve engaged have been pacified, if not totally liberated.”

“Good,” Kolivan says sharply.

“Wait. There’s another Galra battle cruiser approaching Naxzela.”

He can see it.

He can see it in his mind’s eye, the shape of it, the cannons, every detail down to the shield that surrounds its hull.

Keith’s eyes widen.

The shield.

—heading for the barrier, his ship painted with reddish-purple light that washes over him—

“Sector Zar Niomfor is clear. Let me see if I can get a line on that battle cruiser.”

Keith’s already let go of the controls, turning towards the exit. There’s no time to explain.

“It’s not gonna work,” he says breathlessly, pushing past his fellow Blades. “Matt, it’s not going to—”

Matt cries out over the comms, a noise of surprise that makes Keith stumble.

“Zaiforge cannon Senfama, are you still operational?”

Keith tears out of the base as the entire cannon powers down, the lights going out. An alarm begins to sound.

“Negative.” The word falls from his mouth.

“That incoming battle cruiser must have shut them down remotely!”

And then, after this—

“Shiro,” he calls. “Shiro, do you copy?”

“No artillery support?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But—”

Matt cuts in. “What should we do about that cruiser?”

“The cruiser doesn’t matter. It’s going to be too late. We’ve almost secured Naxzela.”

Keith’s feet have guided him to a Galra ship. He leaps in and takes off without thinking, tearing through the sky. Orders be damned, the Blades be damned—he needs to get to Shiro.

“Shiro,” he gasps. “Listen to me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Get off Naxzela!”

“We can’t. We just need to take out the last of the heavy artillery, and it’s ours… Keith, where is this coming from?”

“Please, Shiro,” Keith says. “Naxzela’s a trap. You have to get off.”

“Oh, quit being paranoid,” Pidge snaps.

“I’m not—”

He bites his tongue. They’re not listening to him. They’re not listening to him.

Keith pushes the ship harder, burning through the atmosphere as he wheels around to face Naxzela.

Something is about to happen.

He can’t stop it.

The feeling of foreboding grows stronger as the team continues. Pillars, he thinks, or generators, something like that rising up on the planet’s surface.

“I say we get outta here,” Lance says, his voice carrying over the comms. “Pidge, plot a course for our escape.”

“I agree with Lance,” Keith chimes in. “For once. You have to get off Naxzela.”

“Hey, look at that. Keith agrees. Let’s go.”

“Hold on.”

And then there’s a collective cry from the team. Purple light inches across the planet, covering it. No.

He has to take out the cruiser. If he can take it out, none of his dream will play out like he remembers.

Except, a dark part of him whispers, curling at the edge of his mind. Except you will die.

“No, I won’t,” Keith says. “Not this time.”

And he sets course for the cruiser and flies.

“Captain Olia, Matt, Rolo, do you copy?”

“We hear you. What’s up?”

“I need backup,” Keith says. “We have to take out that battle cruiser somehow. It’s messing with Naxzela.”

“Team Voltron, you there?”

“Their comms are down. Keith, what’s your plan?”

“Uh, don’t have one. You think you can get the cannon back online somehow?”

“Probably,” Matt says, and Keith feels hope blossom in his chest. “But it’ll take too long. If I had Pidge here, it’d be faster, but working by myself, I can only get so far.”

“Dammit. Coran!”

“Here, Keith.”

“You think you could give us a hand with this shield?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Number Four. I’m on the other side of the galaxy, and I don’t have enough of Allura’s energy left to work the teleduv. And—oh, that Galra fleet heading towards Naxzela stopped.”

“Stopped?”

“Quite a distance away, too.”

“Perhaps the Galra decided it’s too well-fortified to attack.”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than he intends. “Victory or death. The Galra accept nothing else. I need your help. The only thing left to do is attack the fleet.”

A beat. Keith held his breath. “We’re with you.”

“Stay where you are, Coran. We might need you there.”

The role of leader—of Black Paladin—comes back to Keith easily. He streaks towards the cruiser, rebel ships falling in formation behind him.

“Ready,” he says in a low voice. “Follow my lead. We’ll need to fire at once—hopefully it’ll be enough to break through.”

“Copy that.”

“All other members of the coalition should get out,” Keith orders. “They’re not safe. Coran, if you can help—”

“I’m on it, Keith.”

“Keith, can you hear me?”

His heart leaps in his throat. “Shiro!”

“We need to stop Haggar.”

“Way ahead of you,” Keith says as they line up together in front of the barrier. “We could really use your help if you can get here. Hey—you guys ready?”

“Just say the word.”

Keith powers up his ship’s blasters as strong as it’ll go. “Fire!”

Ten beams slam into the cruisers’ shield at once, but Keith already knows it’s not enough. “Keep it up!”

Allura’s voice is weaving in and out of his ears, commanding but frantic.

“Keith, it’s not working,” Matt growls.

“I know. I know.” I know.

“We’re not going to make it,” Hunk yells.

Enemy fire clips his ship’s left wing, and he dips.

Keith knows what has to happen next. Knows, because there’s no other option left; knows, because he’s seen this; knows, because the surety of it is rooted in his very bones.

This time, he says, “It’s been an honor flying with you guys.”

“Keith?” The rebel ships disappear out of sight as he dives. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?”

It’s like this again.

Keith feels like he’s trapped in a dream, a bit like he’s floating in between realities.

Red light falls over his ship. Keith leans forward, forcing his ship to go faster, further, gunning for his target. The ship shudders, like it knows, too, and Keith thinks, this is how it ends.

He closes his eyes, and the light swallows him whole.

#vld #vld fanfic #keith #vld s4 #vld s4 spoilers #keith au #voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #vld keith #happy birthday keith #i promise i will write u something happier tomorrow #my vld #my fanfic

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