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moonleeai · 2 years ago

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Namaste Collab: Teri Hasee Ka Noor

Title : Teri Hasee Ka Noor

Pairing : Hoseok x female reader

Word Count: 13.8k

City/State : Kashmir / Goa

Timeline : February / March

Rating : Mature 18+

Genre : travel au, friends to lovers, fluff, baby angst, SMUT

Warnings: unprotected sex, slow burn, explicit language

Summary : Hoseok takes best friend duties seriously and makes it his mission to cure your winter blues. He intends well by surprising you with a tropical vacation but it starts off colder than anticipated. Hoseok fixes his mistake in time for the hot weather to stir something in both of you, but will his flirty nature hinder the flame?

AN: The meaning of the title is “the radiance of your smile/laugh”. Thank you Baby Queen Jiya @btsstan12 (ao3) for the beautiful banner. It’s so much more than I expected and I love love love it as much as I love love love you.

A huge shout out to Jasz @downbad4yoongi, Sara, and Kari for beta reading this and helping me so so much! xoxo

Special thanks to @sugarwithtea , @btsstan12 (ao3) and @apotatomashedbybts for having me in your desi BTS fanfic collaboration! It was so fun learning about India! I hope you like my take on it ☺

Read More Stories here: Namaste Collab Masterlist

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Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Life is so boring sometimes. The highlight of your month was buying a cordless vacuum for your newly renovated hardwood floors—adult things. You love your job as a dance director at your best friend Hoseok’s dance academy. He keeps the days entertaining, but you’re tired of repeating the days in the same ways. Today, after teaching the last class of college dance majors, you helped Hoseok do the nightly cleaning of the studio. He blasts hip-hop music and moves rhythmically around while sweeping, and you wipe down the mirrors, watching how his body flows to the beat like a graceful bird gliding in the wind. He glances over and catches you staring, you quickly look away and grumble.

“Hurry up, Seok. I wanna go home.”

“For what? It’s not like you have plans!”

He wasn’t wrong. Your best friend of a few years knew exactly what you were going to do tonight. Nothing; your favorite thing. He used to get offended when you wouldn’t come out to clubs but quickly realized you just enjoyed the comfort of being home. Once he learned that about you, he started inviting himself to your place instead.

Hoseok is a man of many talents, but he’s most known for dance and his ability to choreograph and practice until perfection, spotting any slight flaws in a millisecond. The hottest dancer there is, was, and will ever be. His presence is a force known as J. Hope or Jay, his stage name. Hoseok is an above-average gentleman, J. Hope is the motivator everyone needs at the end of an exhausting practice, and Jay– well, he’s the performer with the sultriest moves.

The next song comes on, and you both pull your faces into surprised expressions. The song-- Troy Sivan’s “Youth”-- was one of your favorite duo choreos from back in the day. Quickly, you both jump into place and begin the dance from muscle memory. This time though, you two are a little too close, and Hoseok decides to improvise; instead of grabbing your hand at the end, he pulls your wrist up, raising your arm above your head, making you spin, and your back firmly presses into his torso. He places his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, swaying your bodies together. You can feel your temperature rising, and the need to melt into his hold almost takes over.

“Ahh…I love this dance!” Hoseok nearly screams in your ear, forcing you to pull away, hand over your ear. He laughs and goes back to cleaning while you’re glad to have a reason to walk away. Hoseok is a very touchy-feely friend, and it never bothered you until recently. During the holidays, you were both single and spent too much time together. Too much because now... now you think you’re falling for him.

You both like the same music, the same movies, and you both love to dance. So many of the holiday nights turned into spontaneous dance battles or deep conversations about those things you equally enjoyed. His laugh was beginning to be your favorite sound, like poetry in pretty handwriting. Every giggle and smile from him filled your soul with something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You finish the mirrors and watch him two-step to the trash can. He glances over as if he can feel your eyes on him and gives his charming smile. The smile that drew you in and made you crave his friendship. He embodies comfort, like the feeling of a favorite oversized sweater on a cold day, wrapping you in warmth.

“Let’s stay here and dance.”

“No, Seok. I’m hungry.”

“We can order takeout.” He walks over and reaches for your hand, but you pull away, knowing you’d give in to whatever he wanted once the slightest spark ignited your bones from his touch.

“Let’s go to my place… it’s close; we can grab food and move the couch to dance. Plus, I have all the alcohol.”

Hoseok watches you, amused by all the layers of clothing you put on as if you’re preparing for a snowpocalypse and your strawberry lip balm. He knows you are a tropical person at heart, and every winter, you believe it just may be your last. Your beach-loving, sun-soaking spirit is having the most challenging time battling winter blues this year, and Hoseok is going to fix that. He’s been planning something and intends to tell you tonight. Only if you would give him the time to do so; he’s been dying to say something but hasn’t found the right time all night, and now you’re rushing to get home.

“Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

“Oh, I was just…lost in thought.” He throws a midweight jacket on, “Let’s go!”

“At least put this beanie on, Seok! You’re going to get sick one of these days!” A hint of a smile plays on his lips as he gently takes the hat and turns away from you to hide his flushed cheeks. He’s always faintly enjoyed you taking care of him.

After grabbing food and arriving at your apartment, you hurriedly remove your shoes, rush over to your freestanding electric fireplace, and turn it on. Hoseok, still at the door hanging his jacket, tells you to throw your jackets over to be hung. Then you both sit at your coffee table in front of the fire to eat.

“So, I’ve been wanting to tell you some news.”

“What news?”

“I’m going to close the academy for a week and go on vacation.”

“Va–? What! To where? When?!”

He stifles a grin and tots his tongue over his teeth, “India.”

“In–! Are you serious right now? By yourself?”

“Well…no. I bought two tickets and have everything planned out. A week in a tropical place–”

“Jeong Hoseok! Who are you going with?”

“I was hoping… you?” The last word comes out so soft and shy you almost miss it.

“You’re serious?” Hoseok nods his head yes to your question. “O–Okay! Yeah! I’ll go!”

Cutely, his shoulders rise as he half states and half questions, “Soooo… we’re… going to India?”

“We’re going to India!” I could kiss you right now!

But you don’t; you settle for a tight embrace and huge smiles before you both return to eating. After a few beats of awkward silence, you’re looking up pictures showing each other beaches and cabanas. The excitement is too much to hold in, and you both surrender to fits of giggles. Hoseok throws his body into your lap and you’re enchanted by his comfortable sound.

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On the plane, you sit back and get cozy in the oversized seat. Thankfully Hoseok splurged a little for business class. The dijon yellow cushions and extra pillows make it feel like you’re sitting on the couch in the tranquility of your home.

Achoo! You look up in disgust as you were just sprayed unexpectedly. A child in front of you stands in their seat, looking at you. Snot running from their nose is enough to tell you they probably have a cold but– achoo!-- the menace is sneezing directly at you. You swat at the air to rid your space of the germs and scrunch your nose at the kid, making them turn around in their seat.

“Let’s look up the places and try to plan what to see and what to do before you lay this kid out,” Hoseok says, pulling the reservation up on his phone.

“More than the beach?” You laugh because that’s all you want to do. Sit in the sand and sun, letting your body absorb enough heat that might keep you content until summer arrives.

“Well… I saw a boat ride on Dal Lake. The boats are pretty, and yes, the beach, of course.” He shows you a screenshot that he took of a row of wooden boats painted in pastel colors with vibrant cushions. The boats are beautifully resting on a still body of water, but the background catches your attention. There are snow-capped mountains exquisitely reflected in the lake. Snow-capped. Snow.

“Seok, when was this picture taken?”

“Mmm, I just got it off the internet.”

You connect your phone to the Wi-Fi and ask for the resort’s name.

“Well, it’s two hotels because the package is split into like a north and west tour. Gulmarg and Goa. It was rated pretty high.” He pulls up the reservation and shows you the booking. You type in the first name.

“Hmm... How do you spell the city?” The first picture that came up showed a building with a snow-covered roof.

Hoseok spells it out as you slowly type in the name along with ‘things to do’ and choose the first option. You notice a few pictures with snow again.

“Seok. Did you happen to check the weather for this time of year?”

“What? No. It’s India. Isn’t it always hot?” You both stare at each other. As quick as uncertainty weighed on your chest, his candied hazelnut eyes swept it away, sweet and syrupy, glazing over any discomfort.

“Let me see the reservation again.” Kolahoi Green Resort, Gulmarg. A luxury resort is nestled near India’s most popular spot for skiing. Skiing. I can’t strangle him on the plane. Reading on, you also see he’s booked a honeymoon package, whatever that means. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Seok…maybe you should read the whole resort description.” You tilt his phone toward him and hold your finger under ‘skiing’ and ‘honeymoon’.

His expression turns into a panic. Eyes wide, he covers his mouth with his hand.

“I am so sorry. I swear I booked the beach package! I saw honeymoon packages, but I didn’t think I chose that one. I was only looking at the differences in price.”

You pull the phone back and start reading the entire reservation. There is, in fact, a beach for four days, but only after the one by the ski lodge for three days. Three days in the cold, which you just left. To say all excitement has left your body is an understatement. You immediately begin thinking about the lack of clothes you packed. Your suitcase is full of cute sundresses, tank tops, and shorts. You don’t even remember packing jeans. Luckily, there are the sweatpants and hoodie you’re wearing on the plane. Maybe, just maybe, it’s warmer now. You look up the weather in hopes of quelling your thoughts.

“Seok, I don’t know if I have enough warm clothes for three days in the cold. The temperature is like 11 to 15 degrees Celsius. I– I only packed dresses and–”

“I’m sure we can buy some clothes somewhere. You can also wear some of mine; you know I overpacked hoodies and sweats.” He goes into compassion mode, a voice of reason. There’s always a solution to a problem; he does just that as you both continue talking. His voice is a soothing palette of neutral tones, easing you into solace.

“Yeah.” You turn and stare out the window with your hands tucked under your thighs. Hoseok can feel how disappointed you are and will spend these hopefully not-too-cold days doing whatever he can to see you smile.

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The resort is pretty. Not your cup of tea with the patches of snow still covering the surrounding property, but you can kind of see the appeal. The receptionist gives some information on the area and informs you that it’s the last weekend for skiing since it’s warming up.

Warming up. Ha! Skiing is the last thing on your mind, but Hoseok’s body wiggles, and his face lights up. When he turns to look at you, you return a small smile, feeling your cheeks heating up. As the receptionist hands over the key card, they congratulate you with best wishes, and you both walk away confused.

“What was that about?”

“No idea,” he rushes through those words to get to the next subject, “but would you want to snowboard tomorrow? The sign says they rent out everything, even snow gear.”

“Seok.” You press the button on the elevator, and the doors open instantly.

“Please! I promise I will do whatever you want if you do this with me!” Hoseok begs as the elevator ascends to your floor.

“I literally want to stay in a warm room the entire three days.”

“No way! The lake boat ride is here.”

“Okay. Then I want to be inside for the rest of the time.” You joke, waiting for him to open the door.

Hoseok scans the room key and holds the door open for you. You walk through and see pretty decorations. Gold balloon letters spelling ‘congratulations,’ flower petals leading to, as well as covering, the bed in a heart shape. The four-post bed has a canopy with sheer white linen cascading down, surrounded by fairy lights, illuminating a tray with a champagne bottle in an ice bucket and two glass flutes.

There’s only one bed.

Across from the bed is a large two-seater sofa in front of a gas fireplace. You walk further inside with Hoseok on your heels, following the flower petals that continue through sliding doors into a spa-like bathroom. Flameless tea lights and votives of various sizes cover every possible surface area. While everything is beautiful, you’re both still confused.

“What in the world?”

“Do you think they gave us the wrong room?”

You both walk back to the bedroom and find a card on the small table. You pick it up and read it aloud, “Congratulations, newlyweds. Best wishes from the Staff at Kolahi.”

Hoseok finds another note. “Look at this! It’s not a mistake. It has our names and ‘please call when you’re ready for your complimentary desserts.”

“You did book the honeymoon package, Hoseok!” You start laughing because, honestly, what else can go wrong?

Hoseok submerses in your laugh. He’s been worried, but now a warm tingle is stirring inside him, and his heart beats faster. He watches as you go back to the bathroom.

“Ah! It’s a jacuzzi! We have our own hot tub! I want to use this right now!”

Hoseok freezes at the words. A hot tub… in the room… where you both have to sleep… for three days. The beach is a vast open space, so being in a bikini among a sea of others is no big deal… but you’ll be wearing one so incredibly close. Intimately close. The blur of you walking by brings him back to the present.

He clears his throat as you walk to your suitcase, “Don’t you want to explore the area first? See what all is out there?”

“Oh. True. Yeah, let’s do that. We can use the jacuzzi to end the day. I could use a nap, too.”

“No naps. We have to get on this timezone. Come on! We’ll unpack later; let’s go look around.”

Down in the lobby, you sit on a loveseat in front of the fireplace while Hoseok talks to the receptionist. You pull out your phone and check to see how far the lake is that Hoseok is dead set on. It’s two hours away and all the way back by the airport. You close your eyes and let out a deep breath, frustrated by the lack of planning. When you open them again, you see an activities book on a table next to you. You pick it up and start browsing through the pages.

There’s a gondola ride, shrine, temple, and three restaurants. Anything indoors sounds excellent. One of the restaurants is a glass igloo, and you immediately look for Hoseok to tell him, knowing he will love it.

He comes up beside you, and you flash the page so he can see the igloo.

“I was just about to tell you about that!” He plops down next to you, showing some notes he took on his phone from the receptionist. Pretty much everything in the book you’re holding. “They said the gondola is beautiful at sunset, so we could do that first. Then come back to eat–”

“Then jacuzzi!” You shriek, too excited for a night of relaxation.

Hoseok looks at you, baring a tight-lipped grin; your eyes trace the lines ending in dimples, then float to the mole on his upper lip. He unexpectedly jumps up, pulling you both from a haze and holds his hand out for you. You take it and make your way to the gondola.

Staring at the cables disappearing into the distance, you remember Hoseok’s fear of heights.

“Are you going to be able to do this?”

“Yeah, I should be okay.”

You both continue following the small crowd and chatting. You were cold at first, but the constant conversation has seemingly kept you warm by occupying your mind. Or maybe it’s his presence.

Closer to the front, you can see that the ride is in two parts–ten minutes to the first stop and then twelve to the last. The gondola fits six, but with the small number of attendees, you get a cable car to yourself. You sit across each other and observe the surroundings as it ascends the mountainside.

“I feel so dumb.” Hoseok sighs after the statement.

“What? Why?” you ask while sliding your lip balm over your lips. Hoseok watches and notices the way your lips shine afterward.

“For one, not checking the weather. And two, I had no idea there were huge mountains here!”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn’t know either. Now we do.” You offer a smile, plumping your cheeks into two small plums. Hoseok melts into the seat, responds with a simple grin, and gazes back out the window.

You pass over pine trees and snow-submerged valleys. You stay on, opting not to get off at the first stop, and before you know it, you’re at the peak. You would’ve never known Hoseok was afraid of heights, at least on the outside. A frigid breeze slices across your bare face when you step off the gondola. Your body quakes as you follow people to a scenic point.

The setting sun plays peek-a-boo with the fluffy clouds, displaying pastel colors across the sky and a fiery glow on top of the mountains. Hoseok asks you to take fun photos of him, and you laugh while getting every angle possible. A lovely couple offers to take a picture of both of you, and you return the favor for them.

After a few more steps along the mountain’s edge, Hoseok grabs your wrist and starts jogging, “I’m done! It’s so cold!” You giggle, keeping up with him, and breathlessly throw yourselves back into a gondola. This time he sits next to you. When the door shuts, and the cable car begins descending, he wraps his arms around you. He wiggles and gets as close as possible, pulling you into him and placing his chin on your shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this; let’s warm up.” His warm breath strikes your neck, and a kaleidoscope of warmth ignites in your stomach. You rest your head against his and take a deep, shaky breath. That’s how you remain the entire ride down, quietly wrapped in each other as the light disappears from the sky. You’re tempted to ask what’s on his mind, but you also don’t want to read too much into his actions. He’s always been touchy in a friendly way, and you don’t want to ruin it.

After dinner, you walk back to the suite and discuss the delicious food. You can’t help but think about how great the hot water in the jacuzzi will feel. In the suite, you open your suitcase and pull out toiletries, pajamas, and bathing suits. You start to feel shy about the itty bitty fabric barely covering your ass. Hoseok watches you as your eyes flit from one to the other, then calls the receptionist to deliver the complimentary dessert, and then goes to turn on the water.

He comes back out with a robe for you as there’s a knock on the door. He gets the delivery and places it on the tray on the bed. You both marvel over the creative mithai charcuterie board; various ladoos, plain and chocolate-covered strawberries, sweet boondi, and kaju katli. After Hoseok takes a million pictures, he carries the tray of dessert and champagne into the bathroom and puts it on the shelf by the jacuzzi.

Coming back for the glasses, he mentions, “I’ll change in the bathroom. Take your time.” He closes the doors behind him, and you change before pulling the robe over your bikini. When you open the doors, he’s already in the water with the jets on full blast.

You stand at the edge of the jacuzzi, “Would you, maybe, close your eyes?” You chuckle before continuing, “This feels a little awkward.” He turns his head from you and closes his eyes with a massive grin. You drop the robe and quickly get in, sinking until the water is at your clavicle. “Okay. You can be normal again.”

Hoseok sits up, fills the champagne glasses and hands you one. “A toast to our buddymoon!”

You roll your eyes but still laugh, “You’re so corny.” You both clink your glasses and take a sip. “Did you try any of the desserts yet?”

“No. I wanted to wait for you. Do you want me to hold the tray in front of you?”

“Oh, uh, no. It’s okay. Will you hand me one of the diamond thingies?”

“According to the little guide, that is kaju katli: cashews, sugar, cardamom, and ghee.” You reach for it, but he’s already bringing it to your lips. As you open your mouth and let the sweetness hit your tongue, your lips graze his fingers, and your eyes briefly meet before looking away. He grabs one for himself and rests back against the basin.

After some time, you’re on your last glasses, having finished the bottle, and feeling relaxed. You both have been chipping away at the dessert and reveling in all the deliciousness.

Deciding it’s been enough time in the jacuzzi, Hoseok stands, and you notice how his shorts cling to his thigh muscles; he pulls at the fabric, easing the clinging fabric away from his groin. He steps out, drying off haphazardly, and walks to the bedroom, closing the door behind him again. You get out and dry off before donning the robe back on to join him. Standing at the minifridge, he pulls out a bottle of rosé, but all you can see is his waistband resting low across his hips, dangerously low, exposing a faint happy trail under his belly button. The dips and hills are graciously defined on his stomach, and you feel a warmth overtake your body. You raise your hand to your cheek in hopes of hiding the flush.

“Are you drunk already?” Hoseok teases.

“No! It’s just… hot.” You roll your eyes and motion toward the new bottle, “Where’d that come from?”

“It was in the fridge. Strawberry time!” He places the wine by the fireplace sofa and returns to the jacuzzi to get the fruit. You can’t help but smile at his excitement and the little noises he makes with every step to and from the bathroom. He motions for you to sit, pours the drink, and hands you a glass. You both reach for the same strawberry from the tray and then giggle at the chances. He grabs it, reaches toward your mouth, and watches intently as your lips wrap around the heart-shaped fruit forming a perfect pouty circle. You can’t unsee his tongue slowly swiping across his bottom lip as his eyes glaze over, trapping your attention like a mosquito in amber sap. You remember to chew when his eyes break from yours and roam down your slightly open robe. You reach for the neckline to close it, and he turns away, grabbing a strawberry for himself before sliding against the back of the sofa. “You’re right… it’s really warm in here.”

You clear your throat, eyes on the flames. “So…one bed. Looks like we’re going to be pretty close.”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice to have something to keep me warm tonight.”

The night ends with bellies full of wine and dessert and happily planning the next day of adventure. You have absolutely no desire to snowboard, but Hoseok’s sunshine smile and light laughter seep into your heart. You want nothing more than to continue seeing his smile and hearing his laugh.

In the bed, you both lie facing the ceiling like statues when he breaks the silence. “Can we like… cuddle?”

You snicker at first, but the idea of it sounds lovely. “Sure, why not.”

Hoseok falls asleep quickly with his arms and legs wrapped around and over you, while you lay there, calming your racing heart in his grasp.

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Slightly waking, you adjust your body, rolling on your side as something rigid grazes your hip, eliciting a hiss from Hoseok. “Shit! Sorry, Seok!” Startled, you sit up and fling your legs over the bedside, jolting yourself awake.

“You didn’t have to jump away. It just–”

“No, no. I should get up anyway. Snowboarding, right? Let me start getting ready.

Ignoring everything that happened, you both take turns in the bathroom to get ready and head to the lobby area. First, you stop in the gift shop and buy matching ‘I love Kashmir’ long-sleeve t-shirts to go under your hoodies, then proceed to the rental shop. You’re not thrilled while standing in line, dreading the cold and the effort and energy snowboarding takes, but your soul is soaking in the radiant smile coming from Hoseok.

To add more dread, you had hoped to look at least cute while being drained of all excitement, but the shop has the hottest trends from the 1990s in snow bibs, boots, and boards. You settle for the rose brown and black gear and a snowboard with a pale purple bottom. Hoseok, on the other hand, chose to pair the ugliest of every color together and call it ‘fashion.’ You won’t lose him in the crowd.

A few passes on the bunny slope, and you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. As you both glide over the lift, you look for the signage that informs riders which slopes are the easiest to hardest—usually, a color scale. Here, there are only signs stating zones one through four.

“How do we know where to get off?” you ask while staring, puzzled at the signs.

“Beginner slopes are always the first stop, I think.”

“Seok! I need facts, not guesses. Didn’t the brochure say the locals use the first one to get around to other villages?” Hoseok shrugs and continues with the flow of the line. When you reach the front of the line, Hoseok asks the operator where to get off and they confirm ‘one.’

“I guess it’ll be a surprise.” Your nerves are a wreck, and as much as you want to have fun, for Hoseok’s sake, you can’t get into the right mindset.

You both get off at the first stop and glide down the path to make way for others behind you when you quickly realize this slope is not for you. It’s not steep, but the rivets and snow conditions make it least favorable for a novice like yourself.

Hoseok yells that he’ll meet you at the bottom, and you watch as he gracefully swoops across the mountain slope. You watch a woman wearing neon teal pants drift delicately right behind him. How you wish that were you.

You ride on your heels the first bit, destroying your thigh muscles like lava is coursing through the veins. You glide to the side, out of the main path, and fall on your butt to take a break. Watching people pass by, even kids, you curse under your breath and hold back tears of frustration. A pep talk would be nice, but the one best at those just left you to your demise.

A few deep breaths, and one too many children passing you, gives you very little motivation but enough to hop back up and continue down the slope. Your thighs are on fire, but you alleviate the pain by using other muscles, which also gives more speed-- speed you don’t want. You panic and tense up, causing you to dig your toes too far into the snow, making the edge catch, and you brace for impact. You hit the ground face first, so hard your body goes into a forward roll; your goggles rip off as your head clashes with the firm snow, and all air expels from your lungs.

Hoseok yells your name a few times from behind and stops next to you frantically.

“Are you o– is there– are you hurt?!”

You take a few short breaths to test your lungs for proper functionality. Quietly you let out, “No but– that hurt. So fucking bad!” Then tears begin to prickle, and emotions are ready to boil over, “I’m done! I didn’t come here to be freezing my ass off in the snow or to be bundled up like this!” You break down into the ugliest of cries while your shoulders bounce up and down from the force of your sobs. “I wanna go back to the rooooooom,” you whine while sniveling.

You look at Hoseok through hazy eyes, but his face turns away from you. He is likely holding back a giggle in hopes of not upsetting you more. He clears his throat and faces you with a gentle smile and twinkle in his eyes. It soothes you enough that tears stop falling, and you begin to feel warm. Hoseok pats your head and uses his glove to wipe your face, then rests his hand on yours.

“Let’s take the boards off and walk down. I’ll get you some spiked hot chocolate.” You nod your head, and he unclasps your bindings first.

Walking down the mountain silently makes you feel bad for what you said.

At the bottom, you prop the boards in the holding area when the woman in neon pants appears. You watch as a scene from a drama unfolds, and before you know it, Hoseok is walking with her as they flirt back and forth. Your eyes dance between the two, noticing how smiley they are. You feel like an outsider. Your hand is balled tightly by your side, and when you can’t stand the pain of your nails digging into your palm any longer, you shake it off and walk past them into the lodge.

You order your drink and find a table to sit at. Jealousy has reared its ugly head, and you’re fighting with yourself. You shouldn’t feel this way. You can’t feel this way for your best friend. You take a sip and let the alcohol flush the jealousy down into the pit of your stomach.

Hoseok finds you and sits beside you with his body angled toward you. “Here you are. Why’d you leave?”

“If you want to keep riding, go ahead. I don’t want to make you miserable.”

He reaches up and places both hands on the sides of your cheeks. His thumbs swoop under your eyes, wiping the last remnants of tears. “I promise you. I’m having a great time.”

Radiant. His warm touch and kind words weave into your soul alongside the space occupied by his smile and laugh. Serene. Your body relaxes in the window seat and immediately feels every ache and pain from your tumble. You roll your neck around and pause in the areas that need more stretching.

“Do you want to get a massage?” He pulls out his phone, “I’m pretty sure I saw one here.”

“No, no. A good stretch and maybe the jacuzzi will be enough.” You both stare out the window at the snow-covered nature. Taking a gulp of courage, you say, “Sorry, Seok. What I said on the slope was mean, rude, and uncalled for.”

“Would you stop that? I had fun, now let’s do something you want. You wanna get in the jacuzzi then order in for dinner?” Hoseok notices how your eyes light up like a candle at the mention of food.

“Yes! Let’s get different dishes to try new stuff. Chicken and beef, maybe?” Now it’s your turn to pull out your phone and find the room service menu you took pictures of. “Oh, look, lamb! Butter chicken and lamb biryani? Or maybe curry? Oh! Hummus! And garlic naan! What?! There’s so much!”

“I love how excited you get over food.” He chuckles, “I’ll look up pictures, and if it looks good, we get it.”

You replay his words in your mind. Love. How did he mean that? Does he feel something like you? Or was it more of a friendly love? You glance his way, eyes soaking in his profile. You must’ve stared a little too long because he meets your gaze. Your eyes flit to his heart-shaped lips, and you can’t help but wonder if they feel as pillowy as they look.

“You okay?” His voice forces you to finally blink and look down at his phone.

“Yeah. This set looks good.” You point to a picture, and he takes a look.

“Okay. It’s settled. I’ll order while you’re getting blasted by the jets.”

Finished with your drinks, you return all the snow gear to the rental shop and head to the suite. Hoseok runs the water for you and turns on some of the flameless tea lights. He sets his phone in the corner, plays a Lofi Bollywood playlist, shuts off the light fixture, and walks out. You carry your bathing suit into the bathroom and close the door.

Hoseok lies on the couch, closes his eyes, and surrenders to the sound of the jets and soft music. He imagines the bubbles around your collarbones; your eyes closed, body relaxed. A throb sends a jolt through his stomach, but he places a hand on his groin and adjusts to calm himself down. You call for him, and his body freezes, lifting his head to ensure you’re not standing there.

“Come join me. I’m bored, and this music is so relaxing. I think you’ll enjoy it too.”

“I can hear it out here.”

“Please?”

There’s a flutter in his chest, and he’s changing to join you.

You smile at him as he walks through the threshold and close your eyes when he enters the basin. You both don’t say a word but enjoy every second of your closeness. The water feels electrified as you chat away.

Later, with bodies relaxed and bellies full, Hoseok pulls you into a hug on the couch.

“I hope you’re having an okay time. I’m excited to see all the cute dresses you packed for the beach tomorrow.”

“Any time spent with you is a great time, Seokie. Thanks for bringing me. I promise not to throw any more tantrums,” you chuckle at the last word and pinch his ribs in an effort to break away.

“Hey!” He laughs and smacks you with a pillow. “Wanna finish the night watching the sunset from the balcony? Then a nightcap by the fire?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You couldn’t think of any other way you’d love to spend the evening. Well, maybe cuddling again, but for now, sunset and a drink with your best friend, who you adore, and possibly more, sounds like a truly perfect night.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

A few hours later, Hoseok wakes to vibrations in the bed and discovers you shivering. He pulls the quilt up to your neck and wraps his limbs around you before feeling that you are soaked. He sits up, trying to see anything in the pitch black, getting his eyes to focus on you. He swipes his hand across your forehead and gasps at the heat that comes off you. He briskly walks to the bathroom, turns the light on low, then kneels by your bedside to better understand what’s happening. You whine as he tries to wake you.

He calls your name softly while rubbing a hand down your back, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“S–so cold,” you mutter as he watches sweat bead on your forehead.

“I’m gonna go get you medicine. Drink some of this water for now.” He helps sit you up against some pillows and slowly guides the water bottle to your lips. After a few sips, he hurries out of the room and to the lobby mini-mart in hopes of getting you something to aid in breaking your fever.

When he comes back into the room with two rustling bags, you look at his hands bewildered. He unpacks an array onto your side table: ginger tea, bananas, children’s applesauce squeeze bags, chicken noodle soup, a box of jello, orange juice, and Gatorade.

“I thought you were getting medicine?”

“I mean, these are the natural way, right? But I have more.” He grabs the second bag and unpacks a variety of cold medicine in liquid and pill forms.

“Seok! What–” Your head pounds at your words, and you close your eyes as if that will stop it. You take a deep breath, open your eyes and turn toward the side table. You reach for the box of jello and scoff, “How were you going to make this?”

“Hmm…not sure, but I will figure it out if you want it.” He grabs the box from you and starts reading the directions.

“Seok, I probably just have a cold from that kid sneezing on me. A fever at most; I’m not puking.”

“Right! Um…tea? Soup?”

“How about medicine and a cool rag so I can go back to sleep?” You smile at his thoughtfulness, but keeping your eyes open becomes more difficult.

Hoseok opens the medicine, opting for a liquid form, and brings it to your lips to drink. Then he grabs a cool cloth for you, places it over your forehead, and gently rubs his hand over your hair. You scoot down to lie comfortably and begin to relax again. You hear Hoseok rustling around, turning off lights, and getting changed for bed again. He snuggles up close to you, wrapping you in his hold. You can feel yourself drifting into dreamland when his hushed voice brushes the side of your neck.

“I went overboard, huh?”

“I didn’t expect anything less from my Seokie,” you whisper. He warms at your words and buries himself further into you. Even with a fever, you could still feel his radiance healing you deep inside.

Sometime in the twilight hours, Hoseok woke again, but this time you were talking…or more like mumbling. He raised his head and blinked heavily several times to ward off the grogginess.

“I like your lips.” He heard you say softly.

“Hm?” he asked quietly.

“Heart-shaped clouds. Pretty clouds.” He grinned, feeling a kaleidoscope swarm in his belly, then leaned into you and kissed your cheek. He watched as a smile swept across your lips and thought you looked like an angel, fast asleep.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

The next morning you feel like a brand new person. You stretch and realize Hoseok isn’t next to you. You sit up, and just as you’re about to call for him, he walks in with a beaming smile and a mug of ginger tea. He hands it to you as you make room for him to sit.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. How are you feeling?”

“So much better! I’m glad it was just overnight. We have so much more to see!”

Hoseok clears his throat and looks toward the ground, “Do you happen to remember what you dreamt about last night?”

“Dream?” You think for a few seconds, “I don’t think I had any,” you lie, bringing the mug to your mouth. You did remember. However, you weren’t going to tell him you dreamt of his lips, soft and pillowy, pressed against yours. Or how his hands felt like heaven as they rested on your waist while his tongue moved slowly over yours. A heat was creeping up your neck from the recollection.

“None at all?”

“Nope. Why?”

“No reason. I just thought I heard you say something in your sleep.” Hoseok snickers and hops off the bed.

“What? What did I say?”

Hoseok sing-songs from the other room, “Just nonsense.”

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

Today was a smidge warmer than the others, and for that, you were thankful because Hoseok was still dead set on taking a shikara ride on Dal Lake. With your suitcases in the trunk, the taxi made its way to Srinagar. You asked the driver about the weather and how cold it may be on the lake. He reassured you the boatmen would have blankets to help keep you warm.

When you arrived, the scenic view took your breath away. The snow-capped mountains staggered along the horizon against an unblemished blue sky, towering over their reflection on the lake. Your suitcases were taken to a houseboat for courtesy storage, and you both set foot on the shikara—a beautiful wooden yellow boat with a half-bed on one side and a bench on the other. The cushion is covered in red velvet with a black floral print, and the boat’s roof has vibrant blue curtains draping down but drawn back elegantly so you can see the scenery. As you get comfortable among the cushions, the man hands you a rich red and gold-toned blanket.

The man rows and speaks, “Welcome to the second-largest lake in the Kashmir valley. We call it the ‘Jewel in the crown of Kashmir’.”

“May I ask why?” you question.

“Well, not only is it an important source of fishing and water plant harvesting, but it’s also a beautiful, tranquil piece of nature. It sits against the backdrop of the gorgeous Himalayas.”

He continued to explain that people live in the houseboats lined along the bank. How the lake was usually bustling in the warmer months with floating markets and locals selling food and drinks. A few were working, but it wasn’t worth it without many tourists. He rowed to a houseboat with a shop where you bought hot tea and then navigated to a souvenir market where you bought a few trinkets for memories.

The guide continued his journey around the lake while you and Hoseok snapped pictures and awed at the beauty over and over. With the Himalayas in the background, the guide slows the boat to a stop and gestures toward a chest full of garments, traditional Kashmiri attire with authentic accessories.

“Would you like to put some on for a picture?”

“Oh! Um it’s–” you begin, but the guide cuts you off.

“Honeymoon package, yes?” You and Hoseok look at each other and smile.

“Right…yes.” You reach for a magenta ghunghat with a gold embroidered border and drape it over your head, “Like this?”

“Yes, yes. Beautiful.” The guide takes a few shots at different angles and then commands, “Now kiss.”

“I’m sorry?!” You both bark but with smiles.

“Newlywed pose! You must kiss with this background.” The man gestures his hand around, emphasizing the beautiful scenery.

While he’s right about the scenery, you can’t help but wonder if he would be offended if you said there was a mistake. You’re not really newlyweds. You turn toward Hoseok, who is already grinning from ear to ear. Hoseok giggles and you can feel your body flush, even in the cold air.

“It’s just a kiss,” Hoseok says calmly. The way the words and your name flow from his mouth is music to your ears. They float around your head and cause a dizzy spell as his lips creep toward yours. The subtle touch of his lips sends you into a freefall from the top of the mountain. Your heart shivers as he ignites a flame, thawing winter and bringing spring to life.

The guide clears his throat, and Hoseok pulls away first. Just a kiss that has now set a fire within your heart.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

There was mostly small talk from Dal Lake to the airport and even less on the plane to Goa. You didn’t want to talk about your feelings, especially with the one who ignited them and probably didn’t feel the same.

You watched episode after episode but had no idea what the story was because you were playing the kiss repeatedly in your mind. You tried to nap but were restless from the lingering tingle of that moment. Hoseok, on the other hand, was sound asleep. One more reason you knew he didn’t feel anything.

Hoseok faked being asleep, shoving his feelings away and jamming them so far down they couldn’t threaten to escape in a confession right there in row seven. He would peek and steal glimpses of you, and when you had your eyes closed, he would trace his finger over his lips, craving to taste your strawberry lip balm again, yearning to feel– whatever that feeling was deep in his stomach when your mouth molded to his.

The taxi ride to the beachfront hotel is full of excitement. Already the weather was hotter, and you could smell the salt in the air. You hung your hand out of the open window, making the slightest little movements to your fingers to let the wind carry your hand into ‘catching waves.’ Hoseok basked in your happiness and watched the wind breeze across your face and jostle loose strands of hair.

Check-in to the hotel was smooth, and you were given yet another honeymoon suite, much like a villa. Although this time, you couldn’t complain. You felt like a liar but also spoiled and enjoyed every minute. This luxury villa has its own personal plunge pool surrounded by tropical plants and flowers. The lush lawn surrounding the pool and the gorgeous view of the sea from the verandah made the setting a romantic oasis.

Staring out at sea, Hoseok’s hand brushes your lower back, sending chills down your spine. “What do you want to do tonight?” he asks softly.

“You wanna just hang out here and adventure out tomorrow? We could swim and eat dinner. There’s still a few hours before sunset; maybe we could watch it from here?” You feel yourself rambling, but if you stopped, the feelings from earlier would surely emerge again. Your mind begins spiraling, wondering if staying in was a bad idea. Maybe out in public, you wouldn’t be nervous, you would be able to act normal. “Or–”

“I like that idea,” Hoseok quickly cements the plan to be together, alone, in your villa.

Not much later, you’ve ordered a pitcher of a coconut-based cocktail to drink during your swim. Dinner and wine are set to be delivered before sunset. Music plays while Hoseok lays on an inflatable pool float, and you lay on a chaise to soak in some of the sun you’ve been dying to stain your skin. Twenty scorching minutes later, you’re ready to cool off. You reach for Hoseok’s cup and pour both of you another before setting the pitcher closer to the pool’s edge and make your way into the refreshing water.

Hoseok has been watching from behind his sunglasses. The way the sun illuminates your skin and accentuates every curve. The barely there bathing suit covers just enough, letting his imagination go wild, too wild. An ache arises between his legs, and he groans before falling into the water to cool off and calm down.

You walk over to Hoseok’s float, and he swims to meet you there. Handing him both glasses over the float, you dip into the water and then rest your arms on the other side.

“What is on your agenda here, Seokie?”

“Mmmm, well, I thought you would just want to lay on the beach all day, so I didn’t actually plan anything. There’s water sports, some old monuments, and lots of clubs and parties. I think I saw something about a sunset cruise.”

“While all that sounds interesting…I am only interested in sun, sand, and saltwater! But, for you, my Seokie, I will make an exception for parties and maybe a cruise.”

You raise your glass toward Hoseok, and he matches your gesture, clinking his glass against yours. You both chug back the contents, finishing the liquid. Hoseok takes the cups to the side of the pool and fills them again.

“Let’s go sit in the little nook.” Hoseok nods toward the built-in bench. It’s so tranquil; you both are leaning back, eyes closed, with your arms resting on the stone surrounding the pool. Hoseok speaks first, “I kinda like when you call me your Seokie.”

Your heart gallops at the sound of his voice. Slowly, you open your eyes and turn your head, catching sight of his lips. Your bottom lip curls between your teeth, but as your eyes rise, something catches your attention over his shoulder: a not-so-cute gecko inches from his arm.

“It’s a cute nickname, yeah? Can we switch seats? I think the sun is better where you are.” You tell a quick fib hoping to keep him calm. “I’ll go over you; just slide this way.”

Hoseok obliges, and as you’re straddling his lap. His eyes can’t help but fixate on your chest. He lets out a huff of air which hits between your breasts, triggering goosebumps to rush over your skin. You ignore the sensation and cup some water in your hand to splash the reptile away, but Hoseok’s hand touches your leg lightly, drawing your attention. You look down at him with dreamy eyes. His candied hazelnut richness sticks to your soul and pulls your heart with its gooey sap. Your skin tingles as you recall the kiss on the lake while his other hand slowly slides up your other leg.

Then, the universe had other plans, changing time into slow motion.

The gecko betrays you, moving just enough to attract attention. Hoseok jerks under you, squeals, and stands up, sending you back into the pool. As you swim back to the nook, Hoseok prances and yips his way back into the villa.

You giggle and rise to your feet to step out and refill drinks. You call out while pouring the last of the cocktail mix, “Seokie, it’s safe!”

He peeks his head out of the cracked door, “You sure?”

“Yes, scaredy cat, come on.”

Hoseok slowly walks out, watching where he steps, then takes the glass from you. “Dinner should be here soon. We should get cleaned up and go inside.”

“I wanna watch the sunset while we eat.”

“We can see it from the window. There are things out here.”

“I thought we were gonna do what I wanted since I endured the freezing cold and went snowboarding and got sick,” you whine.

Hoseok’s lips stretch in a straight line across his face, and his dimples make a full display. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, moving toward you to grab your hands with his. “For you, I will eat with the creatures.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you scoff and try to pull away, but Hoseok doesn’t let go. You scrunch your eyebrows and search his face for a reason, but he only smiles with a gaze that caresses your soul. Hoseok seems like he wants to say something, so you wait; his mouth opens as the doorbell sounds.

“Food delivery.” Hoseok releases your hands and walks toward the door. You stand there for a second longer, trying to assess what just happened.

The food is brought in by multiple staff and laid out gorgeously on the dinette, and each dish has a tag placed next to it with a description. An oversized center plate has fish thali and a few smaller plates and bowls with rice, crab masala, butter-garlic calamari, vindaloo, and naan. They also placed dessert trays full of sweet bread with perad– or guava cheese– sweet turmeric cakes called patoleo, and a bowl of melted chocolate surrounded by coconut cookies. To make things even better, two bottles of alcohol that are popular in the area, coconut Feni and a rich Syrah wine from a local vineyard, are provided with the food.

The staff leaves and your stomach rumbles in the silence. Apparently loud enough for Hoseok to hear as well.

“Wow! You must really be hungry. I’ll make the plates; you pour the drinks.”

Time passes too quickly while eating on the verandah. The two of you have yet to run out of things to talk about, and this new adventure to India has just given you even more to discuss.

Delicious food, full-bodied wine, and a sunset later, you take a dip in the pool one last time before heading to bed. It’s illuminated with soft purple lights, giving off a milky way appearance. Hoseok sets up the Lofi Bollywood playlist again, and you both float peacefully together.

When the peppery syrah runs out, you’re both tipsy and a little tired from being in the sun for most of the day. You both have kept your distance, mostly just floating on the pool floats and admiring the star-studded sky. When you both decide to clean up and call it a night, you stumble inside after each other, laughing and pulling at one another to get to the shower first.

Hoseok wins by a quick battle of rock, paper, scissors and is off to shower first. You take another gander at the food and do some picking before grabbing your clothes to change into.

When Hoseok walks out with only a towel, your mind goes blank while your eyes fixate on a few drops of water beading along his v-line. He voices it’s your turn, and you quickly grab your clothes, beelining to the bathroom. Hoping the warm water would sober you up before bed was wishful thinking. When you step out to grab your towel, you lose your balance, bang into the wall, and start giggling to yourself.

“You okay in there? Did you fall?”

“Nope! Just a little…bump. I’m fine!”

“Do you need…help?”

“No! I’m not dressed, Seok! Don’t come in!” You can feel your cheeks flush a hot crimson while you dry off. Why is his voice so sexy right now? You wrap the towel around you and look in the mirror, then tap your hands on your face a few times. The sound of music grabs your attention, so you snap out of it and reach for your clothes. Only to find there is just a T-shirt. Somehow you forgot underwear. You shake your head and put your shirt on, realizing it’s not yours.

Well, this will be awkward. You open the door and scan the room for Hoseok, but he must be in the other room. Before he notices, you beeline to your suitcase to find your hairbrush, undergarments, and another shirt that’s not his. You find everything and turn to go back into the bathroom.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks from the threshold. You wince at being caught red-handed.

“I accidentally grabbed it! Sorry! I know you hate when people wear your clothes. I came out to get my shirt, and I will change.” You lift your hand to show your shirt and inch back to the bathroom, but something holds you back. Hoseok’s hand is around your wrist, keeping you in place.

“Let’s go dance.”

“Let me finish getting dressed.”

“Nope!” Hoseok pulls you into the other room, where he’s moved some furniture and made space for dancing. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he pulled you into him, taking the items from your hand and tossing them onto the nearby chair. That’s when you see you grabbed a lacey lavender thong instead of the boy shorts you usually wear when sleeping. Embarrassed, you go to hide them, but he keeps a firm grip.

“Seok, I need to finish getting dressed.”

“You’re dressed enough. Dance with me,” he whines, and you search his eyes for any hint of his mood.

“You’re kinda cute when you whine,” you tease and bop his nose with your finger.

“And you’re kinda cute in my shirt.”

His words take you by surprise, and you look away but his hand catches your chin and pulls your attention back to him. You look into each other’s eyes as he sways you back and forth. He smiles and you feel warmth bore into your skin. He removes the towel from your head and drops it to the ground. Your mind is already foggy from the wine, but now this– whatever this is– adds to the cloud. He raises your hand above your head, making you spin. You clutch at the hem of your shirt as it lifts, exposing the side of your upper thigh and buttcheek. Hoseok pulls you back into him, face to face, and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, maintaining eye contact. You’re dizzy; from the wine or the spin, maybe both. The music you forgot was playing stops abruptly, and you both stutter-step, clashing your feet together.

“I guess we’re tipsy, huh?” he says just above your ear. “Maybe we should get to bed. We have to wake up early for the tour, right?” He hugs you tight, then walks toward the bedroom, leaving you standing there with your thoughts. Your body, hotter than the sun, almost collapses under your weak knees.

Completely forgetting about your hair and undergarments, you follow in his footsteps. All of the lights are off save for the one on your side of the bed. Hoseok is waiting for you, covers lifted for you to get in. You sit on the bed and reach to turn the light out, then assume the position you’ve been sleeping in for days. As you scoot back into Hoseok, his arm rests just under your breasts, his hand sliding between your ribs and the bed. You can feel how the shirt has bunched under his arm, and the hem rests just above the bottom of your butt.

Hoseok thinks about how close he was to kissing you again, feeling your lips rest on his. He can feel how doughy your breasts feel on his arm, and he’s fighting the urge to squeeze them in his hands. He imagines how they would fit perfectly in his palm, his fingers massaging into your flesh. He tilts his pelvis back a little, feeling a sensation between his legs, and he lets out a sigh.

Hoseok’s breath tickles the back of your ear, sending a vibration down your spine, your back arches sending your ass into his half-hardened member. He pulls his lower half back from you and rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“S–sorry, Seok.”

“Please be still,” he whispers.

Hoseok raises his head only for his wet lips to catch the skin on your neck. You gasp and stir again, sending his hips into a frenzy. Unable to ignore the feeling, he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth. Your hips roll again, this time against a rock-hard Hoseok. He lets out a shaky breath, and his arm across your chest pulls you closer.

“I want you,” he mutters along with your name against the crook of your neck before dusting your neck and shoulder with his lips. He pulls his arm from your chest and brushes the underside of your breasts. His hand traces your ribs and follows the curve of your body. He stops on your hip, digs his fingers into your flesh, then does the same to your breasts while slowly thrusting into your backside. He feels good. Too good. He pushes himself up onto his elbow and pulls you under him.

It’s dark, but he still searches for your eyes when he places his hands on either side of your head, then lowers his body onto you. His lips, those beautiful lips, push onto yours and part them just enough for his tongue to swipe across yours. You follow his lead and press your tongue to his, your hand snaking up to his nape and the other dragging your nails down his back. Hoseok shivers and moans, moving one hand to your ass, pulling you into his throbbing manhood. He grinds against your aroused button and swallows the mewl that escapes your mouth.

You feel euphoric, and part of you wants to go all in with Hoseok. The sober part realizes this may just be the alcohol speaking. You wouldn’t regret it, but what if he will? What if his flirty self isn’t thinking straight and is just being a man chasing his sexual desires in the moment? Hoseok lets go of your ass and moves his thumb against your core; he coats his thumb in your slick and uses it to slide against your nub with intense pressure and slow rubbing. Juicy lips wedge together between his tongue, languidly dragging it along yours.

“Wait, Seok. Wait,” you mumble against his lips breathlessly. He stills and meets your eyes. “May–maybe we should wait until we’re both completely sober.”

Hoseok passionately kisses you again, following an imaginary line down your jaw to your neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth gently. “Is that what you want?” His teeth graze your clavicle, then he nibbles and chuckles at your arching body. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His weight is crushing you, much like the words– suffocating your senses– and there is no way out. There isn’t enough air to help you overcome the punch to the gut. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It sounds like something someone would say when they were just scratching that itch.

“I–I think it’s best,” your voice trails off like you have more to say, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Okay. You’re probably right.” He briefly stays on top of you, then slides off to your side. “I’m sorry if I crossed the line.”

“That’s not it… I don’t want us to regret anything we did while intoxicated.”

“Makes sense.” There’s a long pause before he continues, “Can I still use you as my body pillow?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

It doesn’t have to mean anything. Easy for him to say.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

The four days in Goa are going quickly, too quickly. You’ve mostly spent them relaxing on the beach, finding adorable cafes, and avoiding what happened and what was said the first night. Even though you said you only wanted to sunbathe and party, you made sure to experience the local culture.

You walked a beautiful heritage tour through a place blending Portuguese and Indian traditions. The quaint streets were lined with traditional Portuguese-style homes in a palette of bold, bright colors—breathtaking preservation of heritage amongst modern development.

One day also consisted of a bus ride to the jungle and trekking to a waterfall. The private tour guide told you the water had minerals like a natural spa where you could sit and relax to rejuvenate, but they forgot to mention the little fish that would surround you, and Hoseok’s scream was too embarrassing to stay.

Today was your last full day, and you were determined to soak up every last second you could in the sun. The morning was spent walking along the shoreline, and this afternoon was spent by the pool. You promised Hoseok tonight would be spent at the club because it was the last night to do so. He wanted to dance badly.

You made sure to have enough time for a shower and a nap. The nap turned into another cuddle session that was quickly becoming your favorite way to sleep. The way Hoseok’s body molded to yours felt too good ever to let go. You were also growing accustomed to his warmth and how his lips would sometimes skim over your skin. But you kept a wall around your heart again, only thinking of it as a friendly snuggle.

It was time to get ready for the club, so you took your outfit into the bathroom. Hoseok gets dressed into his white button-down shirt and yellow shorts, then begins making pregame drinks, and you can hear him making little sounds while he concentrates. It made you recall a few nights ago; you heard little moans while his body subtly rutted into yours. You didn’t wake him or mention it because it was thrilling and made you want more. You wanted to take his hand and place it where you really needed to feel the friction...

“Do you need help in there?” Hoseok says right outside the door.

You shook your head, looking in the mirror, wondering when you even got dressed. Your outfit was a khaki knit romper. It was backless save for the lace-up string to hold it in place. It looked perfect against your tanned skin with gold hoop earrings and three layered gold necklaces. Keeping your hands behind your back, you realize you need help tying it.

Holding the top, you opened the door with one hand behind your back. “I do, actually,” you swallow hard, noticing his bulged eyes, “can you –uh– tie it, please?”

Hoseok couldn’t blink. His brain was malfunctioning, and his heart was tearing through his chest. He stumbled backward, then nodded his head yes. You turned slowly, and his eyes roamed every millimeter of your figure. The khaki color accentuated your tan, the perfect sun-kissed, silky skin. He tied the strings and noticed how the shorts ended just below your ass cheeks. He spun you around and looked at the front.

“Y–you can’t wear this,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Hm? Why not?” You turn toward the mirror, twisting, looking for something wrong.

“It’s basically see-through!” he scolds.

“I have pasties on…can you see them? Can you see my underwear?”

Hoseok feels like he’s going to have a cardiac episode. “No. Well, I mean–I– I don’t know. I’m not looking that hard.”

“Well, look! I need to make sure before we go out.”

He steps back again, and you feel naked under his gaze as you slowly turn, making sure everything is in place.

“One bend or squat and your ass will be out.”

“Who cares? Not like we’re going to see these people ever again.”

“Right. Okay, looks good. I’m just gonna pee before we go.” He walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

Now you’re wondering if the outfit is too much. You walk into the bedroom, check yourself out, and decide you look hot and ready to party. Something else crosses your mind as you let your thoughts drift to the other night, how Hoseok raked his hands over your body. How you molded into him while your tongues did the tango. When one of his hands caressed your breast and the other sought to pleasure you? The excitement ends when you also recall, ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything’.

You snap out of it when you hear the bathroom door open, “Ready for the drinks?” he calls out. You both down some shots, quickly sip the cocktails, and then start walking to the club.

You both arrive at the club tipsy and giggly. The booming bass takes over your bodies, and you float rhythmically to grab a drink and then hit the dance floor. Dancing together feels good. His sparkling smile penetrates your heart like the sun’s rays penetrate the Earth’s atmosphere. Drunk off the excitement, and you find yourselves getting closer and closer. You’ve slowed from the beat and look up into his eyes, glossed over from bliss. He leans down as if to say something but the song changes.

He can’t stop his body from reacting, and he’s off to a new dance, showing off his skills… Jay has arrived. He finishes his drink, nudging you to do the same, then sets the empty cups on a nearby table. His sultry steps stalk toward you and turn you around, pressing himself against your backside. You gasp at the sudden movement but flow perfectly with him. His hands rest on your hips, fingers applying pressure to your hip bones. He grinds into you slowly, and you feel the slightest bulge. You push your ass into him and hear a slight hiss escape his mouth. His one arm snakes around your shoulders while the other hand firmly rests on your belly, holding you in place. He grinds into you again and brings his lips to your ear, “You look irresistible in this outfit.”

Your breath hitches, and your back arches away from him, causing your ass to press against him again. He moans your name softly, “Be careful, or we may have to call it a night.”

Overwhelmed by impulsive thoughts and the cracks in the wall around your heart, you giggle and turn in his arms, “Maybe we should…get water? I’ll be right back.” You walk off the dance floor and head to the bar.

You ask for ice while the bartender makes cups of iced water. You grab a cube and drag it along your clavicle to cool off; the water glistens on your skin. Once the bartender places your drinks in front of you, you turn to find Hoseok in the crowd before you start walking.

When you finally spot the back of his yellow shorts, you smile and begin to turn toward the drinks when you see hands with hot-pink nail polish grasping Hoseok’s neck. You watch the hands play at his hairline and swear you hear his distinctive chuckle over the booming music.

The sinking feeling in your stomach tells you to run away. You look back at the drinks on the bar and reach for your water. When the cup gets to your lips, you realize you’re trembling. The neon lights become dizzying, so you follow your gut and leave.

Walking along the shoreline, shoes in hand, the sea laps at your feet, each impression erased. You stand still, facing the water, once a vibrant blue full of life, now slumbers in a dreamy black robe. The moon casts its light in a pathway, calling you to walk its passage to serenity.

You step away from the water, find dry sand to sit on, and plop down onto it. The sand retreats into your shorts, but you don’t care. Your eyes stay fixated on the moonlit path until self-made salt water trickles down your cheek.

You fell carelessly in love with someone that you’re not sure was even capable of doing the same. “Who was I kidding?” You speak softly to the moon, dig your feet further into the sand, and wrap your arms around your legs.

Back at the club, Hoseok feels dehydrated from all the dancing and leaves the dance floor to find you. After two laps around the place and asking women outside the bathroom if you’re inside, he starts walking out. He thinks back to when he last saw you, going for water, and then he got distracted dancing. Not just dancing– dancing with another woman. “I’m an idiot!” Hoseok nearly sprints out of the club on a mission to find you.

Clouds slowly roll across the sky, obstructing the moon and the moonlit path vanishing. The shots from earlier have worn off quicker than you’d hoped, and it’s getting chilly sitting by the water with little clothes on. You brush the sand off your butt and legs, grab your shoes in one hand, wrap your arms around yourself, then start walking toward the villa.

From a distance, Hoseok ardently calls your name. You turn toward his voice and watch as he races toward you. His body slams into yours, almost knocking you over, but his arms hold you tightly in place.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“The ocean was calling me. And you... You seemed a little preoccupied.” You step out of his hold. “Plus, seeing you dance like that with someone else– after saying– I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“Am I crazy, Hoseok? I know we both feel there’s more to this... more to us.”

“You’re not crazy. I feel it too. I–”

“You’re confusing, you know? You flirt with me all day but then do the same with other women. You’re all over me in bed and on the dance floor but then dance the same way with someone else. It hurts, and I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’m an idiot, I know. But please, please let me fix this. I–” Hoseok stops talking and stares into your eyes, searching your soul for the words.

“You what? Want to have your cake and eat it too? I don’t want to be your toy.”

“I meant what I said the other night, granted it wasn’t the right timing, but I do want you–”

“Forget it, Hoseok! Let’s just pretend nothing happened and go back–”

“I don’t want that. I want you in more ways than just sex. If anything, this trip has brought us so much closer, and I can’t imagine not waking up next to you, and I don’t want it to end.”

Unsure of what to say or if you should believe him, he was the one who said it didn’t have to mean anything, and now he says this. Your eyes brim with tears as raindrops prickle your skin. Hoseok looks up at the clouds and scoffs at the inconvenience. The rain falls steadily, drenching the two of you and masking your tears.

Hoseok grabs your hand and pulls you along while running back to the villa.

Neither of you say a word on the way back, yet your minds are not silent. When you enter the door, you gently slide off of Hoseok’s back and straighten your romper down. He turns to face you and runs his hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face. He toes off his shoes, keeping his eyes on you, and then dashes for the bathroom coming back with a towel and robe.

“I wasn’t sure which one you may want.”

“Thank you,” you mumble.

Hoseok watches you sluggishly dry your hair as much as you can, then puts his hands on yours and takes the towel. He dabs your face, slowly moving down your body, removing as much water as possible from your satiny skin. When he’s finished at your feet, he looks up at you, eyes warm and inviting like a cup of coffee. You swear you can see hearts dancing in the richness of his irises.

He drops the towel, removes his shirt, and stands before you. You can tell he’s nervous before his hand lands on your cheek, spreading his warmth into your skin.

He holds your hands and rests his forehead on yours, “I made stupid decisions, but I promise you, I am stupid for you. I’m scared I ruined everything when in reality, I wanna be with you. More than friends, more than a hookup. I want to be your partner.”

“Seok–”

“I never should have said, ‘it didn’t have to mean anything’, because it would always mean something to me. I regretted the words the minute they came out but didn’t want to dig myself deeper.”

You pull away slightly to better see his face, attempting to find whatever answer your heart seeks.

“Yes, I swear. I have wanted to confess my feelings to you for years–”

“Years!?” You swat at his chest and step back, but he doesn’t let you get far, pulling at your hips.

“I love our friendship and working with you. I was afraid my feelings would ruin what we had, but then it felt like you maybe had those feelings too. Instead of talking to you about it, I tried to hide it in other ways that ended up hurting you and almost lost you. I will never let that happen again.”

Hoseok leans in and presses his plump lips to yours, the air from his nose tickling your upper lip. You fuse your lips to his, and the kiss radiates your surroundings, the dark, damp room now ambient and forgiving. Your body molds to his as sweet tingles of butterflies escape the crumbling wall around your heart. Hoseok lifts you onto him with his lips still pressed to yours, and your arms wrap around his shoulders. He walks gingerly to the bed and lowers you down onto it. His mouth breaks away from yours and moves to your breasts, barely held in by the top of the romper. His tongue outlines the mounds as his hand feverishly runs along your thigh.

He murmurs your name, “Please be my partner…my lover?” He stills his hand and sprinkles kisses up to your neck.

You giggle at the tickle, “Yeah, I’ll be yours, Seok.” You can feel his smile broaden against your skin before he lifts his head and looks at you.

“One more thing…a favor.”

“Hm?”

“Call me Jay when we’re in this kinda mood.”

“Okay?” Your curious tone prompts him for more.

“It turns me on, and I wanna hear it from your pretty mouth,” he coos before swiping your bottom lip with his tongue.

Hoseok stands, eyes roaming your body, and pulls you up to do the same. His hand reaches behind you, untying the strap and letting the top of your romper loosely fall. The material sits on your hips before you push it down, letting it fall to your feet. Hoseok grins at the sight of your pasties, and you hide your face behind your hands.

He tugs gently at your hands and pulls you into him, swaying into a dance. He kisses your forehead and then twists you, placing your back against his chest. Your body melts into him as his hands explore, and teeth nip at your ear. Hoseok begins to bend you forward, pressing your body into the mattress. You put your hands out to soften the fall onto the bed, and they slide above your head. Hoseok admires the sight before he lowers himself onto you, pressing his semi-hard cock into the crack of your ass and sliding a hand down your arm until his hand intertwines with yours.

You lift your body, making him adjust so you can roll onto your back. Pulling his face into yours, you place soft kisses along his cheeks and jaw. He grinds against the thin cotton between your legs and squeezes your breast. You let out a slight noise that ignites his desire, and soon enough, his mouth is ravishing anywhere it can reach, stirring fire within you.

“Mmm, Jay.”

Hoseok stops abruptly at the words that escaped your lips. His forehead collapses against yours, “Say it again.” He peels the pasties off your nipples and pushes your breasts together, licking the crease between them. He sucks the skin into his mouth hard enough to leave his mark, then moves onto a nipple and nibbles lightly before swirling his tongue around it. He sucks it and releases it with a popping sound. You squirm under him as he does the same to the other breast.

“Fuck, Jay.” His body turns to jello– weakened by your whisper– falling limp on you.

“It sounds better than I could’ve ever imagined.” He slides a finger into your underwear and pulls it off you. Kisses linger on your skin from your breasts to your stomach. His warm breath is on your thigh, and your body shivers under the heat.

His mouth sweeps your folds, and he licks a long, unhurried stroke. Your legs shake, and your hands fly into his hair. His tongue flicks at your swelling nub as mewls escape your lips.

“Jay, please.”

He continues flickering his tongue and makes eye contact with you, raising one eyebrow. “Hmm?” The moan sends vibrations up your spine and a whine from your chest. You grab the sides of his head and steady him as you rock your hips against his face. He chuckles, sending your body into a frenzy. You moan his name repeatedly until you climax, dropping your hands, but he continues. You whine and wiggle out of his grasp when it becomes too much.

Hoseok lets you come down a little before repositioning on top of you. You can feel his thickness against your leg, you push his underwear down until he takes it off. He kneels between your legs, and you watch as he pumps his cock a few times, eyes trained on you. He leans down with his hands on either side of you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Blissed out, you can only mumble a resemblance of a response. Hoseok laughs and an iridescent aura overtakes your body, giving you more energy to continue.

“Can you handle a little more of Jay?” he quirks. You bite your bottom lip and nod your head. He eases into you; his cock drags along your walls, filling you deliciously. “Fuuu…so wet and tight.” He lulls, waiting patiently for you to adjust to him, and peppers soft kisses onto your mouth.

His hips pull back slowly and gently push back into you. His tongue pushes in the same movement against yours. He swallows all of the moans slipping from your throat. Lewd sounds are coming from each movement, and he groans, “Do you hear that? I’m gonna cum so fast.”

Hoseok holds himself up off of you and quickens his pace. Your tits bounce with each thrust, along with little sounds leaving you; he’s close.

You hiss and moan his name again as you hit another high. When he feels your walls throbbing against him, he lets go, not stopping until every drop is out of him. He rests on you, staying buried in your warmth.

Hoseok nibbles along your shoulder, then bestows tenderhearted kisses up your neck, landing on your mouth. You drink him in like a refreshing iced tea on a hot summer day.

He mutters your name against your neck, “That was even more amazing than I’d ever imagined...and trust me that's been a lot.” His smile against your skin radiates happiness into your bones, a feeling overwhelmingly pleasant.

“Mmhmm. I think India is my new favorite place. It's beautiful here, even the cold part, and the memories are enough for a lifetime," you pause for a moment, your fingers combing through his fluffy hair, "and I really like this too."

Hoseok suppresses a laugh, letting out a puff of air, “Me too, but it's only my favorite because I'm with you.” He kisses your shoulder and finds one of your hands to wrap his fingers around yours.

The two of you lay there, one hand interlocked and the other tracing each other’s bodies, gentle kisses on exposed skin, letting this new experience seep into your core memories. Like traveling to a new place for the first time and becoming deeply smitten with a new, beautiful place.

You look at Hoseok’s face, his eyes closed and soft features aglow, even in the dark. His smile is your favorite sight and his laugh is your favorite sound. He is easily your favorite adventure.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

Namaste Collab Masterlist

Glossary:

Ladoos- traditional Indian dessert is made with different types of flour that are mixed with sugar and shortening, then shaped into balls.

Sweet boondi- fried gram flour balls soaked in flavored sugar syrup.

Kaju katli- a cookie-like Indian sweet made from a dough consisting largely of ground cashew nuts; the name translates as "cashew slice."

Shikara- a wooden, flat-bottom boat

Ghunghat- head covering or headscarf

Vindaloo- Indian curry dish, which is originally from Goa, based on the Portuguese dish

Fish thali- complete meal consisting of Rice, fish curry, fried fish, and veggies

Feni- a liquor indigenous to the state of Goa, India. The two most popular types are cashew and coconut.

#namaste bangtan collab #namaste bangtan #moonleeai writes sometimes #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok smut #sexy JAY

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youalexturnermeon · 4 years ago

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Hi! Hope you're well 😊

Can I request a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine? Its Johnny patching up the reader, maybe after a fight with Kreese or something like that? Thank you 😁

Request: see above

A/N: I decided to leave Kreese out of it because even the littlest thought of this man gives me high blood pressure. Also this has gotten very long but I tried to warn that the topic of being patched up by Johnny has been living in my head rentfree for a while. That’s why I got carried away. Enjoy your daily dose of one shot.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, alcohol angst and fluff

Wordcount: 2078 (oopsies)

Johnny was your neighbour, you moved in, right next door, a couple of months ago. So far, nothing more nothing less. Except the fact that you had the biggest crush on him, and he wasn’t that opposed to you either. Especially when he took his time got ready to go after his Karate classes when the Yoga group arrived to which he sublet his dojo and he stayed behind, sitting in his office, door open watching you, bent over, doing the most complicated figures ha had ever seen. Johnny thought Yoga was the biggest bullshit on earth, fuck Namaste and such, but when you were doing it right in front his thirsty eyes, he didn’t even need TV. He thought you were super-hot. The problem was that he was much older than you. And besides your Yoga passion and your joint love for beer that you sometimes had together, sitting on the ground in front of the apartment complex, he knew almost nothing about you. He wished he did, even more when you once caught him eyeing you doing the Downward Dog on the mat and instead of giving him the finger for being a creep you winked at him and grinned. That made him crazy. But he was too afraid to make a move, because, let’s be honest, you were young, you were beautiful, you were extremely hot – what the fuck should you do with an old man like him, to begin with. Johnny thought, you could have anyone you wanted, someone younger, taller, fitter, more buff than him.

Right now, Johnny was sitting on the ground in front of his apartment, a beer in his hand, a couple of spear ones just in case, thinking about the last time you sat here next to him, hoping you would come out your door or back from work joining him, just to talk and to drink. A few weeks ago, around that time, you just finished work, you were tired and angry in desperate need of a drink, you sat down to him and you shared that you were a barista at Starbucks, how much you hated some customers, how years ago you moved here to go to college and how you dropped out of it three years later, simple small talk getting superficially deeper with an increased number of beers. These were little things, but Johnny was longing for more of those, sitting waiting for this occasion to repeat itself. He wanted to know everything about you and unlike with other people he wanted to share his life with you, too.

After some time, Johnny, realizing how desperate and stupid he was, now acting like a teenager again, suddenly saw your silhouette in the dark, coming closer. His excitement grew, his heart started beating faster and as much as he hated it, his palms became all sweaty. He wated to jump up, run towards you, but he pulled himself together and just sat still, focusing on a little bug crawling on the ground, not daring to look up again

“Hi, Johnny” you said, sounding exhausted, when you finally approached him and heavily sat down, opening a beer without asking. Johnny was about to greet you back when he looked up from his stupid little insect friend, as he saw your roughed-up condition. His excitement vanished and glanced at you in utter horror. Your long (Y/H/C) hair was all messy, the collar of what has once been a shirt was ripped and hung loosely down your shoulder and when he inspected your face, he gulped. Right on your perfect cheekbone was a fresh bleeding wound surrounded by a huge flowering purple bruise. Your pretty face now twisted to a grimace from pain.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), what happened to you?” he asked perplexed, examining your whole body for other injuries he might’ve still not noticed yet.

You shook your head and grinned, “Nothing special, ran into my ex who was the reason I moved to the other side of town, he found out where I was working and decided to pick me up, apparently. He insists I still owe him money, which I don’t. And when I told him this we got into a little fight.”

“Did he do this to you?” Johnny pointed at your face and your now rugged shirt, him voice was filled with fury, he was right about to jump up and hunt that motherfucker down.

“Yeah, but you should’ve seen him when I was finished with him.”

Johnny was surprised how easily you took a big fat black eye, not voicing your pain, laughing away the fight with your ex.

“I kicked his ass!”

Johnny looked at your hands, eyes narrowed. And indeed, all signs showed him that you were able to fight back. Carefully he took your hand in his, making sure he would not hurt you anymore and pulled it closer to his face. Your knuckles were just as the right side of your face, bloody and bruised. You shivered under his touch but for the first time in what seemed to you like forever since you bumped into your ex, you felt your body relaxing. The tension in your shoulders vanishing just because Johnny held your hand in yours so softly. His own were rough from all the training but it felt so good.

“I’m no little bitch, I took a few boxing lessons when I was a teenager” you explained, “When he pulled my shirt, I slapped him, when he started hitting me, I started hitting him back hard, I still got it, then I kicked him in the nuts and managed to run away”

“I’m so, so, so happy to hear to nothing worse happened to you. Next time you see that jerk, you call me, okay? Or when you are afraid to go home by yourself, call me and I pick you up, I bring you home. When I ever see your ex somewhere near here or you, I’m gonna make sure, he’s never gonna touch you or come near you ever again. I’ll even kill that motherfucker for you!”

You laughed and looked into his piercing blue eyes who still showed so much worry and you knew, he was being dead serious.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you whispered, your hand still in his and yet you couldn’t help yourself to make a joke because you could not bear being too serious about your situation right now. You were not used to someone care about you too much.

“But do you think you could manage? Would you be able to kick his ass?” “Is me being a sensei at the dojo you do your stupid yoga in a joke to you, (Y/N)” Johnny said protectively but he too, was glad you could joke right now.

“That stupid yoga you always check my ass out thinking you’re so hidden in your office?”

“Well…” Johnny scratched his head and looked into the air thinking of an even pettier response than yours, but he couldn’t think of any “You got me there”

“I’m actually flattered” you admitted. Until now you weren’t so sure it was you, he was watching so closely.

“Great, now you only have to admit that you are checking me out as well when you’re done with Yoga and I’m leading a class.” You shrugged, “I sometimes do, I love myself a good-looking man who is great with shitty children” Johnny taking another sip of his beer almost choked on it. He was not expecting THAT.

“Alright, good to have this one settled” he said trying to play it cool “Now let’s go patch you up a little”

Without any hesitation or even backtalk which Johnny actually was expecting to get, you followed him and into his apartment. He sat you down on the couch with a new beer in your hand and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Are there any other injuries I should know about?” he yelled whilst rummaging in every cupboard.

“Well, besides my depression, I guess the bastard also managed to kick me in the ribs. Some ice would be great”

Johnny wasn’t even sure he had a first-aid kit somewhere, he wasn’t even sure he ever owned one. Ice would also be a problem, but he thought, a bag of frozen peas or a steak would do, too. After a little search he finally stood with a clean towel, a bottle of vodka and some band aids in front of you again. Firstly, he gave you the peas.

“Show me your ribs” he commanded, and you lifted your ripped shirt. Your complete left side was crowned by an even bigger and darker bruise than the one on your face. He was concerned and hoped nothing was broken and yet he almost shivered seeing your bare skin. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the whole world right now, even with your beaten face.

“Looks bad” he said and sighed as he sat down next to you and watched you putting the bag of frozen vegetables on your ribs, you hissed.

“It’s nothing. They’re not broken. Broken ribs hurt like hell and this is really nothing compared to that.” Johnny lifted his eyebrows in question.

“I broke my ribs a couple of times” “So you’re a tough cookie?” “You’re not the only tough guy on the block, sensei. I’m not a pussy.” you laughed and friendly nudged him with your elbow. He loved when you called him sensei. And he was excited about the fact that your language was so similar to his. He started to like you even more than he already did.

“Aright, alright. If this is nothing, let’s take care of your face then.”

He turned to you, in his hand the towel now soaked in vodka. He cleaned the crusted blood from your knuckles first. Then, he took a deep breath, he carefully started dabbing the cut on your face. You clenched your teeth but didn’t make a sound.

“Good girl” he said, “No bitching or moaning, that’s good!”

You just watched his face, being just inches away from your own. You saw his concern; you saw that he cared, and your heart started pounding. Your glance followed his toned arms, eyeing his muscles, tensing under his motions. And when you looked at his eyes you saw that they were the bluest blue you have ever seen; you were about to pass out. He was so concentrated; he didn’t even notice you staring at him like a crazy person falling in love. It was only, when he finished sticking the band aid to your face, he realized you looked him straight in the eyes.

He said nothing, you two were just stuck in this moment, sitting on the couch, so close your legs touched, looking at each other, your face so close to him, he felt your hot breath. And then, something in him snapped. He wanted to kiss you!

“I’m gonna kiss you now, (Y/N)!”, he immediately voiced his thought and stroked your unharmed cheek, not asking for permission, just announcing what he was about to do.

“Yeah?” you managed to breath out almost completely silent. And the answer crushed promptly down on you. You closed your eyes and instantly felt soft lips on yours. Johnny, your neighbour Johnny, the Johnny who was so much older than you, the Johnny who you were crushing on since the moment he helped carry your boxes, was finally kissing you. The bag of peas slipped out of your hands and you let them rest on his thighs. Johnny was pulling you closer to his chest until there wasn’t any space left between you two. He was urging and yet so gentle, doing everything to not hurt you. He caressed your back, his left hand dug into your messy hair giving it a slight tug, but not once did his lips leave yours. After what seemed an eternity and yet just a second, he let go of you and pressed his forehead onto yours, out of breath, smiling because he just couldn’t keep himself from not doing it. You joined him.

“You’re gonna go out with me some time now, right?”, he asked laughing in disbelief of his own courage and what it have brought him. Now this question seemed so easy.

“Yeah, pick me up after my yoga lesson tomorrow” you giggled, “Maybe you’ll get another look at my ass”

“You bet!”

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence fluff #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai one shot #cobra kai #fluff #karate kid #karate kid imagine

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grimoire2020aa · 5 years ago

Text

Witch Date Ideas for different Witches

Kitchen Witch

Go to a homey bakery and let them go on and on about all the ways to enchant blueberry muffins.

(NYC) Go to eataly and get some good ass pastries or prosciutto and other delicious dried cuts, just basically eat around Eataly or go to Dough.

(NYC) Explore supermarkets in places like china town, ktown, (eataly is great too) and get new foods or ingredients for them to try out at home.

(NYC) Load your pockets with dollars and take them to a street fair and try every food/snack stand they want.

(NYC) If they like beer take them to good beer and have one of the guys explain the different brews. If they like mead take them to Honies.

Green Witch

Go to a botanical garden and point to the prettiest flower and say “that’s you”

Start a date by giving them a bouquet with a special message by using the Victorian language of flowers, or your own correspondences

If living together, go to a local nursery and choose flowers to plant together at your home.

(NYC) Take them to Flower power and offer to get them a gift that they please.

(NYC) Also be their buffer to killing their wallet cause that’ll happen at flower power.

(NYC) Take them to any botanical garden. During the winter the Brooklyn one is free.

(NYC) Take them florist shopping.

(NYC) Take them to the Kava bar in the lower east side to feel great after drinking nonalcoholic kava cocktails.

(NYC) Get lost in the north woods in Central Park.

Hedge Witch

(NYC) take them to the beautiful greenwood cemetery.

(NYC) Buy them some skulls or antlers at Catland.

(NYC) Go ghost hunting in some spooky ass places like the abandoned homes of Govenors island or The Dakota building, but if it gets too spooky then have a picnic on the island or by Central Park instead!

Go pumpkin, apple, strawberry, or any fruit picking, then use the fruits/vegetables in cooking/baking.

Cosmic Witch

Take them star gazing and come up with stories about planets falling in love.

Take a car out to a quiet, rural place and stargaze. Watch from a blanket on the ground or the top of the car. If you want, you can take a telescope.

I’d suggest oddities since they sell meteorite and other spacely things though it could be costly there.

(NYC) Museum of natural history has a great space section and planetarium too.

(NYC) Stargazing in NYC might be tricky but if you go up to fort Tyron you might have a beautiful view nonetheless!

Sea Witch

Go to the beach and help them look for sea shells. Help them carry all the ocean water home.

(NYC) Take the Q35 from Flatbush Ave (last 2,5 stop) to fort Tilden. It’s the best beach since it’s the cleanest and hardly no one is there. It’s serene and you’ll find tons of shells.

(NYC) You can stay on the same bus as it will take you to Jacob Riis beach. I find the water there way less clean with tons of algae BUT the seashells there are phenomenal! Like as huge as ashtrays. So if it’s cold and you want to just go seashell hunting I’d vote for Jacob riis.

(NYC) Swimming is better for fort Tilden. If it’s too cold for the beach take them to a boutique called Oddities. They sell beautiful seashells and other incredible magical things in that shop.

(NYC) You can also take them to the museum of natural history and chill in that gorgeous aquatic room with the massive whale that every child feared would drop on their heads and crush them. It’s a beautiful space.

Lunar Witch

Bathe in the full moon together

Graveyard/Death Witch

Go to a local cemetery on a nice day and talk about all the headstones that speak to you.

Getting relationship advice from other spirits. Or traveling to graveyards To do exploring.

take them to the oldest cemetery in the area and do headstone rubbings together

Go people watching at a cemetery. You look out for the living ones and they’ll keep an eye on the dead ones

Take them to your local graveyard and let them tell you about what the ghosts of those who are long gone whisper to them.

Picnic next to a graveyard or a place that has a strong connection to spirits

Crystal Witch

Going to crystal stores and giving them rose quartz, because love.

Let them tell you about their own crystal collection as you browse your local geology museum/crystal shop. Ask them questions about their properties, and maybe even the chemical makeup if they have a scientific streak.

Go to a craft fair and buy a crystal/stone piece for your loved one.

Go to a gem mine to try and find some crystals, rocks, or gems

Energy Witch

(NYC) Get them a session at the Woom center. Take them to the tarot society to pet crystals. The tarot society and Earth Arts center also has soundbaths from time to time.

(NYC) Avoid Times Square at all costs especially if they are super empathetic.

(NYC) Design a candle together at Enchantments.

Storm Witch

If you live in the Midwest and don’t have a very strong sense of self preservation (like most of the locals), take them on a tornado chase with you and make out after you survive.

Just play in the rain with them.

invite them over when it’s raining to sit inside and listen to the pitter patter on the windows while you watch movies. Have rainboots and a coat ready if don’t want to watch a movie or want to do something fun afterwards.

Drag them into the rain and dance!

Desert Witch

Road trip to your nearest friendly neighborhood mesas/weird rock formations. Bonus if you listen to them talk about the area’s folklore

Divination Witch

Swap readings take them some where they can try new decks.

Space Witch

Go to the observatory.

Stare at the constellations

Enjoy a picnic under the stars

Fire Witch

Take them to a huge bonfire (possibly around Beltane) where you can talk and dance and everything, then take some ashes when you're done for different rituals!

(NYC) Sometimes flower power has an herbal smokes class you guys could sign up for. The people that work there would be happy to help you pick out herbs for your own herbal smoking blend! You can also go there to pick out ingredients for loose incense!

(NYC) Namaste on 14th also has an amazing selection of incense. You can buy them a cute and quirky candle at flying tiger or pick materials for candle making together at Michaels. In the summertime go to Roosevelt island and have a bonfire in one of the fire pit/grills.

Necromantic Witch

Take them to a graveyard.

Earth Witch

Start by leaving them a hand written letter to meet you somewhere. Have that somewhere be a beautiful hidden spot in the forest or anywhere that has to do with nature. Pack her favorite foods and bring her favorite book and take her on a forest picnic. Read to her (or have her read to you) as you just sit and enjoy each other’s company and Mother Earth around you.

Music Witch

Take them to a concert or a musical. Watch them get a little more into the rhythms than everyone else.

Go find some music and perform with them

Get a bunch of their favorite music albums (DVD’s) and listen to them together with or with out food

Try to watch a street performance or walk around downtown

Ice/Snow Witch

Ice skating! Or start a snow ball fight with them

Try making synthetic snow and play with it

Play with them on a snowy day, then enjoy some hot coco or hot cider with cookies

Building a snow man or playing in the snow on a snowy day

Try going to a cold place or a snowboard/ski resort to enjoy the snow and exercise

Bath Witch

(NYC) Take them to king spa or sauna castle (Korean bath and sauna houses) and try out every majestic sauna and bath together.

(NYC) Take them to a shop like Lush or the Face Shop to try new things. Have a spa day at home with them.

Make a diy bath bomb or soap

Take bath with a bath bomb

Go to a sauna, onsen, or hot spring

Make a diy sauna with a humidifier in your bathroom or closet while you wear towels.

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ashestoashesjc · 5 years ago

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A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend On A Couple's Retreat

Short Story 1/2/(3)/4/5/6/7/8/9/10

"RrRRrrrr... grrr? <Hey, uh, babe... seen my arm anywhere?>" rang Sett's voice throughout their cigar box of a house as he rummaged through closets, opened cabinets, overturned couch cushions.

Shutting and latching the front door behind him, Ulrick began flipping through the stack of envelopes clutched in his right hand. "Huh? Oh…”

“Okay, so… don’t get mad,” Ulrick began, as meekly and guilt-tinged as one can make a shout. “But... there was this huge, I mean HUGE silverfish…”

“GRrrr! Rrrrr. <Dude! Not cool,>” could be heard as Sett stomped his way to the foyer.

“I know! I’m sorry! I’m weak!” moaned Ulrick.

Sett sighed as he entered the cove and laid his single remaining hand on Ulrick’s left shoulder, the other sleeve draped flaccidly at his side. “Grrrr. <Well, yeah.>” he said. Ulrick snickered.

“You know, having your boyfriend kill a bug for you is exceedingly normal,” Ulrick said, separating the bills from the letters that weren’t bills. There were very few that weren’t bills. “Almost conventional.”

“Rrr. <True,>” Sett replied. “Rggrrrr. <Probably while the arm’s still attached, though.>”

“A mere quibble.”

“Rrrrgrrr? <So, where is it now?>” Sett asked.

“Ugh. Still getting cozy with the silverfish, I’d imagine,” Ulrick admitted, guilt creeping back into his voice. He covered his eyes with his free hand and shuddered. “In… the shower.”

Sett sucked air through his teeth in a compassion-filled cringe.

“Yeah,” Ulrick sighed, resigned to his trauma.

“Grrrr. <Don’t worry,>” said Sett. “Rraarr. <I got it.>”

Ulrick slid his hand down his face with a grateful groan. “God, I love you.” Sett pulled him forward by his collar and pecked his forehead.

Continuing to sort through the mail, Ulrick came to a red envelope and, seeing it addressed to Sett, handed it over. “Looks important.”

Confusion clouded Sett’s eyes for the first few, slow moments spent undoing the envelope’s seal flap, until suddenly, a surge of realization like lightning drove him to violently tear the crimson paper away.

As he scanned the contents of the letter contained within, words failing to do his emotional state justice, Sett began to fist pump wildly, God help anyone in the flight path of his singular elbow. Ulrick looked on in entranced bewilderment.

“Was there itching powder in that envelope?” asked Ulrick.

Sett shoved the creased letter in Ulrick’s face, his manic energy not yet dissipated. Ulrick took it and held it out at arm’s length until his eyes brought the words into focus.

“A couple’s retreat?” he wondered aloud, lowering the paper enough to peer over the top at Sett.

“Grrgrrrr. <An all-expenses paid couple’s retreat.> Rrrrrr. <At a swanky resort.> GrrrrRr. <Complete with water skis.>”

“This is from a contest?” he asked, rotating and inspecting the sheet. “When did we enter a contest?”

“Rrggrrrr? <You know those entry slips we’re getting in the post all the time?>”

“The ones I’m always throwing away? I’m familiar.”

“RrrRrrrrr ggrrrr. <Well, your aim could use some work, because some of them wind up in the mailbox,>” said Sett, with a shrug.

The sound that next filled the room, colored with exasperated mirth, was one Sett was used to Ulrick making, though one that never stopped bringing a flush of heat to the place where his heart used to be.

He grabbed Ulrick by the hips and the two began to sway back and forth. “Rrrrrr. <Just imagine it,>” he purred dreamily. “GrrrRRrrrr rrrrRrrr grrr...arrrr? <Massages, rock-climbing, a luau. And… did I mention waterskiing?>”

Swaying still, Ulrick looked up with his head cocked. "I've... never heard you mention waterskiing before."

"GrrRrrrrrr. <I enjoy a lot of things I don't talk about.> Rgrrrrgrrr. <Like country music, or bad chick lit,>" Sett said before twirling and dipping Ulrick in a blur. "Rraarrrr. <I'm a multi-layered zombie.>"

Breaking clumsily away from the songless dance and squeezing the bridge of his nose, Ulrick set down the remainder of the mail on the side table by the entrance and looked his boyfriend over. “It’s totally free?”

“Grrarrr. <It’s totally free,>” confirmed Sett.

Ulrick raised an eyebrow. “No catch?”

“Rrr… <Well…>”

“And streeetch! That’s right! Streeetch!”

At the front of Meadow Grove Resort’s famed yoga studio balanced - one foot planted on the ground, the other hooked deftly behind her neck - Chrysanthemum Smith, a remarkably limber 60-year-old instructor, urging her out-of-shape contest winning students to achieve the same feats of flexibility.

All around Ulrick and Sett, a pretzel factory’s soon-to-be-discarded collection of heinous, gnarly undesirables had been given life in the form of sweaty middle Americans.

That pretzels went through a less agonizing process being baked at 500 degrees was a fact Ulrick was both confident in and envious of. His legs were angled in a way he was sure he’d feel for weeks to come.

Sett, on the other hand, had apparently been a contortionist in a past life, the way he bent himself into poses, well, a pretzel would gawk at, holding each position stoically before moving gracefully on to the next. It also helped that he couldn’t feel what would leave most tendons shredded rags.

Ulrick gave up the pursuit of dislocating his pelvis and instead went to poke Sett in the cheek. Through his mask, Sett made a chomping motion at the finger, though remained otherwise totally still. "Okay, but this kind of bites, right?" Ulrick signed.

"A little. And not in the fun way," Sett signed back.

On a pair of blue, rubber mats to their left were two women - one in a biker's jacket and tattered, patched jeans, short red hair tied into a haphazard ponytail; the other a dark woman donning a shaved head, flower-patterned maxi dress, and combat boots - the former of whom suddenly grabbed Ulrick's attention with a nod.

"You're telling me," she signed.

And in an instant, they were no longer alone in the hazy, secluded sphere that made their reality.

So taken aback was he that he blurted aloud, "You sign?"

The yoga instructor shushed him from her place at the head of the wide room, leading him to duck down sheepishly. With the forced inclusion of an overly casual air, he said more than asked, "You sign."

"Oh, yeah," the woman chuckled gruffly. "Mom's Deaf."

Taking a sudden interest in the conversation, Sett's head swiveled to the leather jacket-clad woman. "Shit yeah!" he signed with fervor, eliciting a harsh snort from the woman. The instructor's head whipped around to glare her way, but went ignored.

Sett's hands jumbled for a moment before he continued. "I mean, I'm sure that must have been very difficult for your family and--"

She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Nah, don't worry about it. She's capital 'D' Deaf. A congenital thing. Whole family's been signing forever."

Her wife - Jen, they later learned - chimed in with, "Di does it at home, too. She's taught me half the lyrics to Boys for Pele."

"Wow!" Ulrick said with teeth-clenching enthusiasm. "That's so great! Isn't that so great, Sett?"

The mask did nothing to conceal Sett's raised, beaming features. "That's so great!" he signed.

"I'm sorry!" bellowed the lithe yogi, shattering all delusions of serenity. "Am I boring you?"

Several overlapping voices came to the general consensus of "Christ, yes."

One of the husbands, portly and somewhat resembling the famously affable capybara, asked, somewhat less affably, why they were being stretched into taffy when they should be outside taking one-on-one lessons with the beach volleyball instructor. He was joined by a few surly “yeah!”s.

They were met with an unimpressed crossing of the arms. Though it should be noted Smith’s foot was still being held comfortably behind her head.

"I would suggest, in the future, that you more closely scrutinize contest entries," Yogi Smith advised in as calm a manner as it seemed she could now manage, though with an unmistakable edge to her voice. "In order to partake in our facility’s more... physically involved activities, you’ll first need to align and cleanse your mental, emotional, and spiritual energies.”

This provoked a studio-wide groan, with the exclusion of Jen, who seemed just eager enough to cancel out the cloud of grim impatience encircling her.

“Unless, of course,” Smith said, shifting poses to something favoring the letter ‘G’, “you’d prefer to construct your own schedules. In which case, a full price admission to Meadow Grove Resort remains available.”

She sleekly extended her right leg, pointing its foot pin-straight toward the sliding studio doors. “Don’t, as the masters of yore were wont to say, let the door hit ya.”

When no one moved and the room went quiet enough to hear an acupuncture needle drop, Smith resumed a standing position and bowed three times to each division of the studio. “Namaste. Namaste. Namaste.”

Chrysanthemum Smith had in no way undersold how ‘aligned and cleansed’ couple’s therapy and its airings of dirty laundry and subsequent ferocious dissolutions of decades of marriage; couple’s pottery, the same thing but with clay vases; and couple’s finger-painting, a bonding exercise in shared humiliation, would make their minds, emotions, and souls through sheer gut-rending hilarity.

Ulrick almost didn’t want to stop watching people who, hours ago, seemed all confidence and bravado, now being brought to tears by an instructor’s criticism of their macaroni art lacking ‘depth.’

But their confinement was over and they were free to roam the grounds as they saw fit and Sett, without even feigning to look for a map of the resort, made a beeline for the largest body of water (and the largest gathering of humans) he could sniff. Ulrick was still surprised at times by how agile Sett could be on his feet when on the hunt for blood - or recreational watersports - and struggled to keep up.

Their long-awaited waterskiing adventure began almost as soon as they arrived at the lakeside, the instructor needing a volunteer at that instant to man the skis while he lectured another guest on the controls of the boat. At nearly a head taller than anyone else present, Sett didn’t need much more than a raised hand to stand out.

Things were going great; Sett mounted on skis as long as he was tall, the boat revving greedily for take off. At Sett’s thumbs up, the runabout hammered off in a thunderous roar. And then, all at once, things were going wrong.

The envisioned majesty of skimming the motionless calm of the crystal river was halted abruptly with a leaden Sett stumbling mid-lake in his skis, trying and failing to correct himself, going feet-over-head, and sinking like an anchor to the agitated silt of the riverbed below.

Ulrick, though he jumped with concern at the first hint of a misstep, expected a brief swim back, perhaps slowed a bit - but not much - by Sett's stoney limbs. He’d been the star diver of his local swimming hole as a teen and still maintained some of the underwater dexterity, though nowadays tended to lurk the floors of bodies of water like a carnivorous bottom-feeder; eating habits included.

But then a few minutes passed, and nothing. A lifeguard and two of the more experienced swimmers among the guests plunged into the river and searched for fifteen minutes, cracking the surface now and again for a gulp of air, all to no avail. The water was too cloudy with sediment to see past a certain depth, and the orange-purples of dusk were beginning to settle in. They'd need to return in the morning with a diving team.

It'd now been forty-five minutes, and three of the resort’s other guests were consoling Ulrick, one herself on the verge of waterworks. They'd just witnessed a man - someone's significant other - torn tragically from life's teat, and in front of the man he loved, no less.

Ulrick, for his part, was positively miffed.

"When I get my hands on him..." Ulrick started, before one of the grievers tossed him a teary-eyed questioning look. "Er, that is... would that I could only put my hands on him... again..." he corrected.

Just as Ulrick had begun mentally reviewing the basics of the Arts of Throttling, a movement, barely noticeable, shook the surface of the lake. Then bubbles, then the full break of the water as a head rose into view. Then the screams of onlookers as, in the fading light, a ghastly lake monster began its murderous approach. Then screams of a different kind as people began to make the connection proper. Then there was weeping, fainting, more than one declaration of faith renewed. It was a miracle!

Later, after insistences for medical attention were politely but firmly refused and the religious stragglers begging for just a smell of Sett’s waterlogged clothes were shooed away, Ulrick asked why he waited so long to resurface, to which Sett said, "GrrrrRRrr. <Well, at first I was just sort of embarrassed.> RrrrrrrGrrrRrrr? <Then I thought, "How often do these people see miracles?>"

"Oh, sure," groaned Ulrick. "A man comes out of a lake after half an hour and it's a miracle. A man comes out of a grave after a few months and it's "Grab the torches and pitchforks, everyone!""

"Rrrr. <Babe.>"

Ulrick gave a pouty grumble. "I'm just saying. One's a little more miraculous, is all."

Sett pulled Ulrick's head into his chest and stroked his hair. "GrrrRrrrRrrr. <Shh, I know, dude, I know.>" His heavy, soaked clothes and lack of body heat didn't chill Ulrick as much as they should have, and though a fine coating of sand covering him from head to toe gritted against Ulrick's cheek, it only made Ulrick rub his face in rebelliously.

"Okay," Ulrick said, resting his fists on Sett's chest and gazing up into his eyes. "What's the next activity? I think we’re... due-au for a luau?" The moment the words left his lips, his face collapsed into disgusted regret.

“Rgrrr... <Actually…>” Sett said, wrenching off his mask and shaking the excess water from his hair, teasing a blush out of Ulrick. “GgrrrRrrrr? <Doesn’t watching the stars by the lake sound pretty relaxing?>”

Ulrick grinned and took a seat on the shoreline, running his hands through the tufts of ryegrass stretching out in waves around him. He tapped a spot to his right and Sett, half-cocked smile in tow, came lumbering over to take it.

Hours flurried past, changing nothing about the image of the intimately silent pair but the number of stark white pinpricks in the sky they beheld.

They threatened to sit silently basking in each other forever.

And then Sett said, “GRrrrrgrrr, rrgrrr, graargrr. <So, Diane and Jen gave me their number, and they want to plan an outing.>”

Unease shot through Ulrick’s veins, but he held his tongue in search of the correct words. “O-oh?”

“Grrr? Rrgrrrrr. <Isn’t that cool? People want to spend time with us,>” said Sett, ensorcelled with the twinkle of every new star. “Rrrrr. <With me.>”

“That might be…” began Ulrick, before noticing the glimmer in Sett’s eyes and faint lift at the corners of his mouth as he stared up towards a great unknown. He sighed. “It’s going to be great.”

Sett rested his hand on Ulrick’s, their fingers interlocking. He smiled, and the two gazed into an ever-darkening firmament, speckled with a thousand stars and a thousand futures.

#A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend #short stories #supernatural #mlm #wlw #queer #series #A Necromance #original #fiction

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tealandrosegold · 4 years ago

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September 18th 2021, Saturday

Hello all! I have like two followers on this account lol. I guess I don’t have much to offer except that this is just a personal journal. My main account (grandmatyrell) is where I usually post but I don’t really update that too often. It’s weird to me that there are people who actually read my journal. But, it’s an open space if you ever feel like commenting or just if you wanna lurk that’s ok too.

About me: I turn 29 in November and currently a senior at college. I was diaganosed with Bipolar Disorder about 4 years ago. I like poetry, reading anything informative, and I’m a huge advocate for mental health, particularly young adult and youth mental health. I know it’s basic but I’m trying to live, laugh, love throughout this journey about my diagnoses and just managing day to day living. I’m sober these days except for the occasional cigarette. That has been most life changing aspect of my journey so far just because for a whole 2.5 years you probably would find me with a joint or a bowl. I only quit because it bought on my psychosis and lead to a psychotic break, which is another story. If you have been reading my entries, a few years ago after moving home I got in touch with the local coven in town and they really tried to help me find a new normal even with my diagnoses so I write about what I’ve learned by my own research and what I remember. It’s been a few years since I’ve connected with them but I’m planning on going back. Honestly they felt more like home than any church I’ve been too. I meditate pretty regularly and talk about that too as well. Currently, I live in Lincoln, Nebraska with my parents. Mostly due to finances and mostly due to the recovery journey. I hope to bring light to this world and inspire others about their own lives and journeys. If you are here as a kindred, hello! Don’t be afraid to ask me about things, even if it’s random.

Now on to my day so far

I realized that I just have no one to talk to about my feelings besides my therapist. Maybe it’s my one track mind but I go in there for recovery and not for personal things. I feel like I really lost my connection with Deb since starting EMDR. I think I only cried once in there. But the progress I’ve made really has me thinking, that it’s ok to feel emotions about the trauma that I’ve endured in the past. I have a tendency to push down all my emotions and have it gear it’s head in ugly self harm tactics. One thing I noticed about how I’m self harming is by binge eating and over spending. I’m trying my hardest to cope better but this is just something I’ve been doing since I was young. I think it had to do with the fact that my mom has always been a driving force of negativity and food was really my friend. These days I know I can go to family but opening up to them is pretty hard. I was raised with the ideals that I can’t emote and being overly emotional meant I was just being a brat. That’s what I noticed this morning.

Other than that, I tried spending some time with Mary Magdlene while I was drinking morning coffee and that really opened up my feelings in regards to why I hide my emotions in any case. I guess she asked me if I was ok this morning with the change in the way my views were instead of hanging out with a morning bowl like I used to. I told her it was ok that I wasn’t high but it turned into “Nyameer, I think we need to talk about Chicago”. I didn’t run away from it but I just didn’t know what to say because honestly, I still feel numb from it all even though it’s been five years. The soundtrack of music was fine but she always calls me out and tells me I’m just scratching the surface of my emotions and that I’m not really living my life as someone who had it ruined. To me that translated into not really being emotional about anything and having the expecatations that I can only rely on the base mood of numbness if that makes sense. I have this idea in my head that the moon is guiding me since I did some spirtiual work with goddess Serena but I’m realizing that the moon keeps secrets and relies on gravity to heal. I don’t have gravity right now. I have no tides and the water is very still which anyone can bring up any opinion about me. That’s why I think I need to go back to the coven to reset my desires, opinions, and work towards spiritualness and most of all my meditation journey. There’s probably a lot of agnst but there’s no true healing. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Namaste

Nyameer

#intro #9/18/21

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lazyyogi · 5 years ago

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“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” ~ Leo Tolstoy

Not Life On Pause, not Distract Ourselves Until It’s Over. Here, right now, is humanity’s opportunity for introspection, personal development, and growth. And it starts with you.

As the pandemic spreads, we are living in a time of compulsory confinement. Millions upon millions remain within their homes. Yet how many of you have recognized this juncture as the valuable moment that it is?

Just as we can help slow the pandemic by sheltering at home, we can help the future of humanity by using this time to evolve ourselves.

The demands of work, the demands of studies, the demands of typical daily life have been changed and halted. Instead of being shaped by the happenstance of societal activity, we can retreat into our personal kingdom and be the hand that shapes the clay of our consciousness.

Therefore I entreat you: Enter this period deliberately.

You were not born to study, work, and then die. You were not born to service society through increments of productivity. Nor have you been made with a singular ambition or purpose in your soul. Your form has arisen via the spontaneous activity of the universe itself. Meaningful beyond meaning, purposeful beyond purpose, your very essence is the lion’s roar of the cosmos.

And it is about time you discover that for yourself.

Shake the dust from your heart. Untangle the cords of energy knotted by conditioned mundanity. Open up to your indwelling intuition-as-inspiration and receive direction.

Begin your evolutionary retreat.

Namaste

#spirituality #covid19 #coronavirus #yoga #mindfulness

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

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September 28: Orphan Black 2x06

Fell over the ground today on my way home from work and scraped my knee up pretty badly but other than that, not a terrible day.

Somehow already on episode 6 of S2 of Orphan Black.

This was an excellent episode. I enjoyed all of the story lines without exception and the only thing missing was Cal, tbqh. I especially enjoyed all of the unusual pairings and relationships.

What I most remembered of this ep was the sestras road trip, and in particular the shot of them curled up on opposite sides of each other like twins in the womb. But as I was watching, I also remembered the bonding over singing in the car. I was actually surprised by how little Helena and Sarah there was, because I thought that was most of the episode, but it’s really mostly just the beginning scenes. Still cute, though.

Again, I’m trying not to let Helena grow on me but her transition from serial killer to sestra/protagonist is just too compelling. They never changed her characterization, is the thing, they just put her in a better environment. What a redemption arc should be. She’s still violent; she’s still feral; but she’s no longer being used and abused for others’ ends. When she’s left to herself, she wants a sister, she wants a boyfriend, she wants babies, she wants to go on vacation--normal wants, in a wild mind. It’s endearing and touching and funny and sweet.

Her romance was Jesse was adorable, also. I know they knew each other for 0.05 seconds but it’s true love and I believe in them. She can call him boyfriend. He watched her end a guy and try to take his eyeballs out with her thumbs and he was STILL like “She has done nothing wrong in her entire life you Honor,” I am not even exaggerating.

The sestra road trip ended a lot faster than I remembered but I guess Helena does have to get back to her “babies.” I can already see her and Gracie bonding. I think Helena respects her for the murder attempt and sympathizes with her because of their similar histories of abuse. But there’s another twist coming I assume, because Gracie ends up pregnant with Helena’s babies at some point, I seem to recall.

Sarah’s adventure in the archives was prime spooky season material. What you see will stay with you.... macabre images and weird noises in the basement...

I’m not sure I entirely get the whole Duncan & Mrs. S history tbqh. I suspect it doesn’t matter as it will be retconned a few more times. As of now I think it’s something like: the clones were a military experiment that got shut down (or did it?),then the Duncans moved to Dyad; they weren't the masterminds, just one of the teams working on it; they lost their original daughter bc Amelia ran away and then got Rachel instead; then they started feeling weird I guess and were going to tattle, so Leekie killed them and burned their stuff and took Rachel, but then Ethan got away, and he joined up with Mrs. S's group, who already had one of the clones themselves and were looking for more info I guess?

My mom and I were also talking about what exactly Mrs. S and her friends do and we decided they’re ad hoc vigilantes whose work is entirely about improving conditions for individuals on the ground, not, like... protests or demonstrations or whatever. Like, they hear about something fucked up and they’re like ‘how can we disrupt this?’ There are experiments on children going on? Let’s get those children! They’re very organized in their use of people and resources and hiding spots, but not in their overall ideology. I like this chaotic energy for them but I ALSO suspect it comes from their organization being more Vibe than Story. Like, could the show have fleshed them out more? Yeah, it would have had the time if it hadn’t gone down like 20 different alternating layers of conspiracy.

I do enjoy Leekie returning as a Villainous Figure. I just... I really like Leekie. like him as a potential ally. I like him as the ultimate mastermind. I like him as the ideologue who turned the benevolent (lol) Dyad Corporation into his own little philosophical playground. I just like him.

A few other quick notes:

Scott was a little annoying in S1 but now I’m remembering why I liked him so much overall. He’s so smart! And rather cute. “I figured out it’s clones... now can I see one?” Lol.

How did Leekie get Kira’s baby teeth stem cells anyway?

I don’t know exactly what Art and Felix were doing today but they ARE the BroTP I didn’t know I needed. Art just making himself at home, like everyone else. “Oh he’s moved in.” “Then why is your hand on my ass?” Etc.

Similarly, Alison and Vic are a BroTP I kinda did know I needed. I hate liking Vic because he absolutely was terrible when he was introduced and now he’s like... comic relief? But he’s entertaining. I feel like this whole working with DiAngelo thing is going to contribute a lot to Alison’s paranoid feelings.

Also I continue to love Alison The Most. Today’s highlights included her threats to Donnie’s balls, every time she told Vic not to say Namaste, and the little way she hit Donnie when he tried bowing to Vic.

“Science is what scientists do” is a great line.

I’m also a fan of “anger is a tool and we use it on problems, not people.” Good advice.

Next is an Alison-centric episode with some Siobhan and Leekie action (not like that), which sounds fun!

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: orphan black

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sob-dylan · 5 years ago

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ranking of bcs season 5 episodes based on how sexy i found them

10. Namaste dir. & writ. Gordon Smith

good ep, not sexy. jimmy commits his first hate crime against the dandy howard hamlin. hostile work environment at los pollos. the return of the uncomfortably stereotypical thugs that beat up mike. very let down because gordon smith has written some of bcs’s sexiest episodes in past seasons, including gloves off, chicanery, & something beautiful. the car chase intercut with lyle cleaning the fryer was pretty sexy tho. 2/10

9. Dedicado a Max dir. Jim McKay, writ. Heather Marion

this ep ranks so low because of what it could have been. was expecting it to be the sexiest episode, but was given very little of what was promised. the fountain was sexy, scheming kim was sexy, any invocation of revenge is sexy. that’s about it. 2.5/10

8. Wexler v. Goodman dir. Michael Morris, writ. Thomas Schnauz

first we’ve seen of nacho in a long time, but as usual it’s not nearly enough. he is reunited with mike, giving him the opportunity to play a bargaining chip for the first time in two seasons, which is sexy of him, but also reminded me of the how little he’s done since he became fring’s dog. nacho being underutilized is not sexy. (i could go on a whole rant about the poker chip we’ve seen nacho fiddling with a few times during different collection scenes, but i don’t think i quite understand it enough). kim suffers the worst day of her professional career because jimmy decided he knew what she wanted instead of listening to her. not sexy. lalo getting arrested was, of course, very sexy. 4/10

7. Magic Man directed by Bronwen Hughes, written by Peter Gould

sexy episode, but it all rests on the shoulders of lalo, nacho, & gus (+ a very timid domingo-- i’m into that). the mcwexler stuff just made me sad. lalo’s lounging in el michoacáno with his blue loafers kicked up? much appreciated. lalo and nacho constantly calling each other “man”? nice! the sit down between lalo and gus was very sexy, but the sexiest part of this episode for me was the trap house, especially the beginning sequence. loved the scene starting from inside the car with some great tunes, the camera following the meth down the drainpipe, lalo’s erratic driving and his refusal to acknowledge arlo, the power that nacho has demonstrated by arlo shutting up when he gets out of the car, the slightly shaky camera work in this moment, nacho leaping up those stairs and then pounding on the door before gently telling mouse it’s okay. all incredibly sexy! 6/10

6. JMM dir. Melissa Bernstein, writ. Alison Tatlock

pretty fucking sexy for production legend melissa bernstein’s directorial debut. not only is it the first bit of substantial lalo content in a while, it’s the debut of jorge de guzman! the shot of him from the shoulders down with the focus on his tattoo? sneaking a phone in so he can tell nacho to burn down los pollos? the arson itself? very, very sexy. vague allusions to what went down in santiago? frustrating, but sexy. kim and jimmy consummating the most ill-advised marriage ever authorized by the state of new mexico? sexy, (especially kim’s hair). lydia rodarte-quayle! “shanked and shivved and whatnot.” that was a very sexy suggestion, lydia, keep ‘em coming! 7/10

5. Bagman dir. Vince Gilligan, writ. Gordon Smith

vince gilligan’s triumphant and very sexy return. the shoot out! the time lapse of the clouds while jimmy and mike walk along at a normal speed! “my wife” & “mrs. goodman!” and of course, the sexiest thing of all, the meeting between kim and lalo. gordon smith redeemed himself with this one. despite the piss-drinking, a very sexy episode indeed. 7.8/10

4. The Guy For This dir. Michael Morris, writ. Ann Cherkis

a very, very sexy ep! a swarm of ants set to yodeling isn’t in itself sexy, but i respect the symbolism and the bold creative choice. but then! the garage scene! imo this was the sexiest scene of the season. everything from the blocking to the lighting, not to mention the Acting. i’ve rewatched that scene many, many times. other sexy things about this episode: kim yelling at acker, kim opening up, nacho’s lounging-at-home-watching-soccer outfit, amber & jo, the one genuine smile nacho has all season (at the beginning of a devastating conversation with his father), lalo making jimmy and nacho watch him drive his car, “you’ll make time!”, nacho’s signature car-leaning, & “once you’re in, you’re in.” 8/10

3. 50% Off dir. Norberto Barba, writ. Alison Tatlock

look: i can admit that this hole ranking system is heavily dependent on how much nacho & lalo there was in an episode. this episode started with a home invasion at casa de varga so that gus could intimidate nacho in his underwear and ended with nacho rolling up on jimmy and then making him drop his mint chip in the street. and in between? the poker game. the birth of ocho loco/krazy-8. THE PARKOUR. “ignacio varga, eres un chingon.” the small expression of pride on nacho’s face when lalo says “it’s your call.” nacho finally accepting food from lalo, only to find it’s a trap! lalo using his own brand of the lie detector to make nacho offer to kill his oldest friend. dear god! this ep marked the explosion of the eduardo “lalo” salamanca/ignacio “nacho” varga tag on ao3. it’s an inspiring kind of sexiness. mike’s story was compelling, but a boner-killer. 8.9/10

2. Bad Choice Road dir. & writ. Thomas Schnauz

ah! the something stupid callback! jimmy falling to his knees when he finally gets a signal! kim crying! jimmy’s trauma! the godfather reference with the oranges! (and no, i didn’t pull that out of my ass. peter gould mentioned it on the podcast) the care-taking, despite kim having every right to be furious with jimmy! the tender and heartbroken look on lalo’s face when he leaves the nursing home! lalo impatiently ordering his new chauffeur nacho around! the way lalo stands when nacho drops him off at the well! how happy nacho is to finally be rid of lalo for just 3 seconds before lalo gets back in the car! the lalo leap! the final scene! rhea claiming her emmy! but ultimately what’s so sexy about this ep is how well it encapsulated the ethos of the show. i’m still salty about the dinner party (???) with lalo, nacho, and nacho’s girlfriends getting cut, tho. 9/10

1. Something Unforgivable dir. Peter Gould, writ. Peter Gould & Ariel Levine

i don’t consider it the best episode of the season (that would be bagman), nor is it my favorite (that would be 50% off), but imo it is the sexiest episode of bcs yet. slippin’ kimmy! the finger guns! the kansas city royals shirt! kim laughing in howard’s face! the post-coital mcwexler scheming! and of course every single scene in mexico! nacho’s forced smiles! lalo’s unmitigated excitement at returning home! “nachito!” lalo’s despicable but still somehow sexy attitude toward that poor kid ciro! the scene where he’s fixing the car! lalo’s praise of nacho! lalo being the life of the party! everyone adoring him expect for juan bolsa! lalo’s party shirt! nacho’s tough but respectful chain-over-a-fully-buttoned-shirt-cause-it’s-time-to-meet-the-don look! nacho spelling out exactly what he wants! lalo closely watching nacho and don eladio! the intimate, late-night fireside conversation! the beautiful emotional asymmetry of that scene! a man who is finally ready to allow himself to trust someone choosing the wrong person! (in other words: lalo lowkey trying to get laid while nacho’s actively trying to facilitate his assassination!) nacho being the resourceful little bitch we all love! lalo immediately blaming poor ciro! (seriously, what is the story there??) the frying pan! the fucking tunnel! lalo kneeling over that dying hitman, peeling off the mask that’s melted to his face, and gently telling him “esta bien” ! lalo limping out of his estate with murder in his eyes, ready to hunt down the only man not carrying the Salamanca name he’s ever trusted! if this ep had included nacho regaining a shred of agency over his situation, it could have a perfect score. 9.9/10

#long post #long inscrutable and outrageous #i swear to god i'll shut up eventually #but if you haven't unfollowed me yet it's your own fault #bcs #better call saul #lalo salamanca #nacho varga #kim wexler #jimmy mcgill

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phati-sari · 5 years ago

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Arshi FF: Charade - Chapter 34

Chapter 33 // Read on FFnet // Read on Wattpad

Chapter 34: Catalyst

Khushi

“Did you think I wasn’t doing anything about Shyam?”

A sense of foreboding. “Well … you never said …”

“That man ruined our lives,” Arnav-ji’s voice rose. “He betrayed Di and he misbehaved with you. I have to do something.”

“I … I know … but—”

“—But what, Khushi?”

“He’s t-the father of Di’s ch-child.”

Arnav-ji’s mouth twisted in distaste, “That child will be better off without him.”

She watched as he gathered up his files, processing his words in their silence.

“How can you say that?” she asked when he stood next to her again. “If Babu-ji hadn’t taken me in, who knows what … and you … you …”

Look at how much your father’s actions have hurt you.

But she trailed away, remembering all too late that he didn’t know what Di had revealed about their parents.

“What about me?” he prompted.

“And you …” Khushi released a shaky breath, “… you know how much this will hurt Di.”

Arnav-ji closed his eyes briefly, pausing as he reached for his phone. “I’ll take care of Di. She’ll be fine. We need to rid our lives of his poison.”

“This will hurt everybody,” Khushi sat on the edge of their bed. “Jiji and Jija-ji. Nani-ji, Mami-ji, Mama-ji.”

He came to kneel at her side and took her hands in his.

“I was going to tell Di that night itself. But then … her pregnancy … for a while I didn’t know what to do. But I promised Di a long time ago that I’ll always take care of her. I need to do this.”

She bit her lip, a thousand worries spilling over in her heart, but one truth was undeniable.

“I trust you,” she squeezed his hands. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Arnav-ji used gentle fingers to brushed away her tears and kissed her temple as he stood. She held his bag on the way downstairs, her eyes finding her family still gathered around the dining table.

Everyone’s so happy.

Her husband pulled her into his arms as soon as the front door closed behind them. He inhaled deeply.

“It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of everything.”

Khushi cuddled into him, “I know.”

#####

Arnav-ji wasn’t in his cabin when Khushi arrived there in the lunch hour. Gesturing to the peon to set down the plates and glasses he carried, she made their meal ready as she waited. With her dabbas distributed and orders for the next day taken, she had the afternoon free. The intervening hours had brought with them a sense of calm — her mind understood that her hope of Shyam-ji mending his ways and becoming a true member of their family was all but lost, but her heart still shied away from the thought of causing Di any hurt.

Arriving a few minutes later, Arnav-ji took in the spread without comment as he wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her close from behind.

“Someone will see,” she fretted, looking around.

He ignored her protest, “Will you smile for me now?”

“Wh-what?”

Tipping her chin with two fingers, he forced her to meet his eyes, “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

Khushi turned in his arms, smoothing her hands over his chest and behind his neck.

“I don’t … I don’t want to hurt Di,” she said softly.

“I don’t want to hurt her either, but this is for the best. The hurt is better than spending the rest of her life with that man.”

He guided her into a chair and took a seat beside her. Uncovering the dishes as she watched, he spooned some of everything into a plate before offering it. The hollow in her tummy returned; as if the private world of happiness they’d painstakingly made for themselves over the last few weeks was coming to an end.

“Khushi, look at me.”

She found him staring intently at her, his eyes burning with emotion.

“I have to get him out of the house. Away from you. Away from Di.”

Pushing all her worry and doubt aside, she mustered up a smile. “And I’ll help you.”

Arnav-ji ate a few morsels of his food before setting his plate on the table.

“I should tell you a few things before Aman gets here.”

Khushi paused with food halfway to her mouth, “Like what?”

“First, that I’ve had Shyam followed for the last few weeks.”

“Of course!” she squealed as hope blossomed in her chest. “You’ll be able to see what he gets up to if you secretly follow him!”

But Arnav-ji was already shaking his head, “Not secretly. I made sure he knew about it.”

The clatter of her plate as she put it on the desk was lost in her wail.

“Hai Devi Maiyya, what have you done? That’s not how you spy on people! Haven’t you watched any movies? You have to follow him secretly, it doesn’t work if he knows about it!”

“I don’t care what he knows, only that he understands I’m in control of this situation. I organised it the day you told me that he’d touched you. Has he been near you since? No. Because he knows I’m watching him, and all he’s done is go to his offices, the courts, and come back home. You’re safe.”

And just like that she felt warm, protected, wanted, and utterly in love with him.

“But Arnav-ji, this way you’ll never catch him doing something wrong!”

He forced her plate back into her hands with a warning look. She ate a morsel as he spoke.

“I don’t need to catch him doing something wrong. I need him away from you and Di until everything is in place.”

“B-but …”

“It also gives us time to work out how to approach this with our families.”

He reached across and tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. The gesture calmed her enough to make a case.

“We can gather everyone together and tell them. Shyam-ji will be forced to confess when Jiji and I tell everyone what he did. You can tell everyone what you saw that night.”

But this, he explained, was not the way to go. It wasn’t enough to tell everyone. Shyam-ji was sure to defend himself. They needed to understand everything he’d done and was doing so they weren’t surprised.

“Is this what the meeting with Aman-ji is about?”

“Aman has been helping me. He investigated everything about Shyam again — I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed something when he was marrying Di.”

“And?”

“There was nothing in his past. If there’s any evidence, it will be in his present. We looked into his stay in Laxmi Nagar but found nothing you hadn’t already told me. We need to decide where to focus next.”

Deep in thought, Khushi tidied the table. Shortly afterwards, Aman-ji arrived at doors of the cabin with the peon, who took everything away. Arnav-ji settled on the other side of the table, leaving the chair next to Khushi free for his manager.

“Namaste, Khushi-bhabhi,” the man said as he took a seat. He carried several folders with him.

“Namaste, Aman-ji. Arnav-ji tells me your sister got engaged. Congratulations”

Aman-ji’s eyes warmed with obvious love for his sister, “Yes, she’s getting married early next year.”

“That’s wonderful! Is she your only sister?”

“No, I have two. The elder one has married already. Her daughter’s first word was Mamu. Not Mummy.”

Khushi stifled her giggle as her husband cleared his throat pointedly.

Aman-ji shifted in his seat, “Sorry, Sir. I have an update.”

“Yes, I’ve brought Khushi up to speed.”

“Jha has good relationships with the people at his offices despite not spending much time there. According to them, he’s kind-hearted and helpful to a fault. He takes care of the clients others tend to overlook.”

Khushi’s tummy churned on hearing such praise about a man she hated with everything she had. Arnav-ji gave her a placating look when she caught his eye.

“I don’t understand,” she spoke as Aman-ji handed her husband a file. “If he’s so good at his job, why didn’t he ever help us?”

“What do you mean?” asked Arnav-ji.

A bubble of embarrassment, but Khushi pushed it to the side. “He never did any of the work Bua-ji asked him to. He was supposed to look into her pension — it’s been stuck for months.”

“That’s not the kind of legal work he does,” Aman-ji objected.

Khushi hesitated, blinking at Arnav-ji in confusion. His explanation was soft.

“Not all lawyers are the same. Shyam doesn’t lobby the government. His focus is financial litigation — he helps people file cases against big companies.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise.”

“But it may indicate something else,” Aman-ji rummaged through a folder as he spoke. “I found someone willing to give a statement that Shyam doesn’t accept payment for his kind deeds. Instead, he allows people to pay him in ways they can afford. Sometimes it’s a small fee. Sometimes it’s favours.”

“Favours?”

At her question, Aman-ji turned kind eyes towards Khushi. “And not always legal favours,” he said.

“But this means … does this mean he doesn’t make money?” she frowned.

“He’s been increasingly reliant on Di’s money,” Arnav-ji’s tone was roughened by anger. “I didn’t think much of it at first, but he uses her credit card, takes money out of her account. Where does his money go?”

“That’s the next line of inquiry,” Aman-ji nodded. “I want to understand it as well. I don’t think he takes care of people who are overlooked. I think he preys on the desperate.”

“Do you think …” Khushi bit her lip, gathering courage, and then spoke into the silence as the men looked at her. “Do you think he’s done this before? Tricked and m-married other women?”

Her husband’s manager shook his head, “No. We would’ve found evidence of it when we checked into him three years ago. And again a few weeks ago. Whatever he’s doing, it’s nothing like that.”

Plainly, Aman-ji thought this would reassure her. But Khushi felt an old dread sit heavily in her tummy. “Th-then wh-why? Why me? Why would he …”

Arnav-ji stood abruptly, rounding the table with long strides to stand next to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, “Khushi, none of this is your fault.”

Blinking away sudden tears, she looked up at her husband. He traced his knuckles over her cheek as she took a shuddering breath. The simple touch gave her strength. Cementing the contact by covering the hand on her shoulder, she turned to find Aman-ji watching them keenly. If she knew him better, Khushi would’ve guessed that he wanted to say something, but he simply placed the rest of the files on the desk before speaking.

“Everything I was able to find is in these. I’ll look into his financials, hopefully there’s something there. Mr Roy also sent the documents you asked him to prepare, they’re in this blue folder. ”

“Were you able to find anything about the police investigation?” Arnav-ji asked from beside her.

“Ahh, they haven’t made much progress, Sir.”

“What investigation?” Khushi looked between the two men.

It was Arnav-ji who answered. “The police don’t think Di’s crash was an accident. They think it was done deliberately to target me.”

“What!?” Khushi shot to her feet. “What do you mean?”

Her husband gave a short sigh.

“Relax,” his hands on her shoulders, “I have it under control. I have someone inspecting all the cars daily.”

She shook her head, taking his face between her hands. His stubble was rough on her palms. “Someone tried to kill you and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I can’t believe this! You said—“

“—Khushi, can we do this later?”

She suddenly remembered that Aman-ji was still in the room, and whirled to find him staring determinedly at the floor. She subsided, sinking into her chair with Arnav-ji’s hand trapped firmly between her own.

Aman-ji cleared his throat, “The police seem lost. They’re going to investigate any threats made towards you but I doubt they’ll find anything. Mr Roy is taking them through some emails.”

“Leave it. Focus on Shyam’s financials.”

This declaration from her husband seemed to signal an end to the meeting but Aman-ji didn’t move.

“There’s … There’s one more thing I’d like to pursue.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, just a hint of an idea. I’ll need access to the entry and exit logs at Shantivan.”

When she’d first started visiting Shantivan, Khushi had been asked to sign her name at the gate while the guards called the house. Now she realised that they’d stopped once she’d become a member of staff herself — to train Lavanya-ji — and later become family.

Disapproval coloured Arnav-ji’s voice. “Why?”

“To see if there’s a pattern.”

There was a long pause. Khushi opened her mouth to ask a question, but Arnav-ji spoke first.

“The privacy of my family means a lot to me, Aman.”

“I understand, Sir. I’ll be discreet. I won’t take the records off the grounds.”

“Will you need the video footage?”

Khushi started, “Video footage?”

“There are cameras at the entrance to the property,” Arnav-ji answered. “Just in case.”

Aman-ji twirled a pen, “I might take a quick look once I’ve seen the logs.”

“I’m trusting you,” there was a hard warning in Arnav-ji’s tone. “No harm will come to my family.”

“No, Sir.”

Arnav-ji nodded, expression grim. He was subdued for the rest of the conversation and didn’t speak once Aman-ji had left.

“You never said there are cameras,” Khushi said softly.

“Only at the front gate and around the perimeter.”

“Not … not at the doors?”

Arnav-ji seemed to hear the question she didn’t ask. “No one sees us. I promise.”

Her body warmed at the memory of all the kisses they’d shared at the doors. She bit her lip, saw him focus on the action.

“And you trust Aman-ji with our video footage?” her voice shook a little.

He released a breath, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s a story for later,” Arnav-ji flicked through one of the folders his manager had left. “Right now, I want to know your thoughts about what Aman said.”

“I still think we can still make Shyam-ji confess to everything. It’s the only way.”

“And still I disagree.”

“Everyone will believe us when we — with Jiji and maybe even Amma and Bua-ji — tell them what happened.”

“Would you believe someone if they came into this office and accused me of these things?” Arnav-ji put the folder down. “If someone told you I’d been living with another family, tried to marry another woman?”

“No! Of course not! How could you even—”

Understanding crashed into her. Arnav-ji spoke after a long moment.

“He’s been a part of our family for years. Di all but worships him. I can tell everyone what I saw. You and Payal can tell everyone what happened. But you know devious he is. It will be hard for everyone to understand.”

“He’s vile,” she shivered. “Dangerous.”

“Yes.”

Khushi made ready to leave, gathering her bag and phone while Arnav-ji typed quickly at his laptop. He stood as she finished, “I’ll walk you downstairs.”

“N-no, I can go.”

She intended to kiss his cheek in farewell, but he captured her lips in a kiss that spoke of heat and passion and all the other things they’d shared last night. A moan clawed its way from her throat at the memory of his touch, his words, and he made a sound of approval as his hands roamed across her body. She tried to get under his waistcoat, then splayed her fingers on his back when that didn’t work. They were both breathing hard when he released her.

“Take care of yourself,” he stroked his thumb across her bottom lip. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The promise in his tone, the scorch of his gaze, it all left her breathless. Incapable of speech, she barely managed a nod, and it was only when she was on the stairs that she remembered that everyone could see into his cabin.

But no one paid her any mind when she reached the main floor, and Khushi relied on memory to find Aman-ji’s office. He invited her inside as soon as she knocked.

“Khushi-bhabhi? Does ASR-Sir need something?”

“No, Aman-ji. I wanted to talk to you.”

What did you see in that office? Between us?

“Ahh,” he indicated to a pair of settees in his office and sat across from her. The small coffee table between them held a number of folders and a newspaper.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, “I … I saw what was happening at the temple and allowed it to happen. You must despise me.”

“No, of course not!”

“This is not the man I want to be,” he waved away her protest. “I have no real explanation. Only that, when I saw you today, the way you are with one another … I felt less guilty about the part I played.”

Aman-ji leaned forward, his features earnest, “You must understand. I saw you. I saw the way he was with you when you worked here. He changed. You … you enlivened him. And when I heard you were working at his home, when I heard Aakash-Sir was marrying your sister, I hoped. I was confident, when he called me that night, that it was a mutual decision. It seemed only natural. But when I saw the papers … when I saw you …”

Khushi’s heart twisted at the man’s words.

“It was my idea to get married,” she spoke softly.

“But he wanted to elope,” Aman-ji gazed into the middle distance. “I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need,” she blinked back tears. “What’s done is done. Now there’s nothing to be gained by looking backwards.”

“Was … was this what you came to speak to me about?”

Khushi shook her head, her hands twisting in her lap.

“No, but you’ve answered my question already. I’m … I’m glad Arnav-ji has someone like you in his life.”

“Bhabhi, if there’s anything I can ever—”

“—Keep him safe. Make sure he can trust you.”

“Yes. Always.”

Chapter 35

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arshi #ipkknd ff #arshi ff #iwrotethis #mine #ff: charade

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moonlightchess · 5 years ago

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The Winter Wolves (1)

Eirik and Eija Sturmborn are twins, born to a long local tradition in northernmost Minnesota, of winter wolves and pack wars and family bonds as deep as they are destructive. Things are changing as of late, and worse, not changing at all - they’re adults now, and they have yet to shift into the wolf-skin their wild-bred parents should have passed on to them long ago. Wholly human they remain, albeit strong and hardy and ready to die fighting back the howling rival packs threaded throughout their family’s Gray woods as rumors spread that the Sturmborn twins are never going to make the final change and now is the time to strike, to wipe out the Sturmborn pack entirely so that their dwindling bloodline will finally cease to be a threat in the inevitable statewide pack war that has been simmering for years.

There’s also the death of their lost brother Sven, years ago, killed in an alpha fight during a wolf run with their parents when the twins were children - as the story goes, anyway. Details are emerging, cults are stirring, and the twins can’t stop dreaming of ravens and death. The Danish Larsen witches to the south who claim Eija’s dearest friend and heart’s desire Sara have no idea that she’s been using her magic to aid the twins in uncovering what really happened to Sven and holding off the Karlsen and Jorgunsson packs for as long as possible. Meanwhile Eirik’s continued clumsy attempts to woo the elegant violinist, the newcomer to Angle Inlet Julian Hassan, are not going well at all. The brutal tragedy and burgeoning madness stirring in their land and their blood are nothing compared to the battlefield of human longing, a truth more evident every day.

“All religion is only ever a desperate search for the freedom and relief of not being held accountable for your own life, your own future, your own actions,” Eirik told his sister once, huffing the words into a cloud of sawdust as he’d hunched over his current project - a kitchen table for upstairs. “The trick is finding the right god to apply to your personal aesthetic, the right doctrine to inspire your vanity and ego. You have to find the god that’s willing to tell you what you want to hear, who looks the way you think god should look. Once you do, of course you’ll die for them. The mass appeal of Christianity lies in how malleable and forgiving it is, and churches and cults alike all feed on growth. That’s why the Buddhists are so welcoming to any ignorant white college student with a “namaste” bath rug, they’ve figured it out. It’s the same reason romance novels with empty, undefined characters always sell the best. People like to see themselves in things, I revere the old gods as much as anyone, but I’m not stupid. We are nothing if not our own egos. It’s the invite-only religions that you ought to keep an eye on.”

Eija had laughed, the inhalation of a lungful of sawdust of no concern to her. They were woodworkers and potters by trade, the Sturmborns. Her own palm was slowly working out a thick pine splinter from a week ago. “So now my brother is a philosopher,” she’d observed, stealing his iron beer stein for a healthy gulp. At eighteen apiece - twins, they - technically the state laws of Minnesota frowned upon such indulgences. But the town of Angle Inlet was also acutely aware of the elective and social power of its enormously Scandinavian population, who poured beer and honey wine out at winter gatherings for everyone present, including their young. Such was their culture, and they’d been raised into responsible sorts. The ale of tonight was a heady, oaky blend with a thick head of caramel foam, heavily scented of smoked apples.

“Hardly, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about.” Eirik lapsed into a comfortable silence without further elaboration, another habit to which they were prone. She eventually retrieved some homework from under their longest work bench, history tonight, and settled cross-legged on the basement’s gritty stone floor while her brother worked. He was sanding the chair smooth by the time she looked up again, rising to his considerable height - both of them quite tall and sturdy like their parents - to tap her on the top of her head. Her nearly-buzzed snow-blonde hair scraped his fingertips like velcro, and she lifted her head without comment. His own was much longer, down just past his shoulders in thick wheat-blond waves. “It’s getting late.” He handed her the last of the beer stein to finish, which she did, bringing it upstairs to wash later.

The house was quiet, still. They hadn’t seen their parents in weeks, which was not unusual. The wolves had come calling in September, as they were wont to do, and Kaspar and Emma Sturmborn had bolted from the house one night at last, howling and wild and tearing at their clothes. They’d returned once or twice before the autumn chill had cracked the damp haze of summer, naked and soaked in blood, flesh scored raw with gore and gashes that healed in a day or two. On the last night of September though, their mother had been snappish and restless at dinner. Their father’s profoundly sexual longing for her had oozed through his attempts at polite conversation, the occasional baring of teeth suggesting that marital relations weren’t the only carnal craving he was experiencing just then. The blood moon had come.

The howling, the clicking of claws on their porch, the soft whuffing and whimpering of the pack had kept the twins up that night, and in the morning their parents had been gone, lost to the woods with the front door swinging open in the slight breeze. Every year the pack came, and every year they stayed away a little longer. But Eija and Eirik knew hunting, knew canning, fermenting, cooking and cleaning. They knew how to make and repair furniture, ceramics, clothes. They knew how to maintain embers in the wood stove to keep the house warm, and they knew how to play chess to keep each other entertained. Every year they were fine whenever their parents returned, and this bred a sense of confident abandonment in Kaspar and Emma. No questions were ever asked, no details ever offered.

The matter of Sven though, was troubling.

Sven had been their brother, once. He’d been tall and thick like them, pale and blond with a strong jaw and ice-colored eyes so light and glittering they were nearly colorless mirrors. He’d turned with their parents early, tumbling around the woods as a pup and laughing at the way his body had shifted so fluidly from yipping gray wolf to boy and back again. Sven had never stopped laughing, in fact - he’d been funny, loud and bright. He hid Eija’s shoes and teased Eirik into putting his hand into a box full of shaving cream to find out the “secret.” His hugs had always been warm and tight, and one day he’d bounded out the door with his parents and the pack to chase the blood moon and he’d never come back.

There had been a hunt, their parents had explained. A fight, an accident, Sven’s blood splashed dark across the trees and snow. He’d never come back from the woods, and they’d never spoken of him again. Eija though, she kept his sweaters at the back of her closet and would occasionally put one on, for bad nights. She still had Eirik at least, who was steady and intelligent without any of Sven’s lively humor but all of his sturdy support and dependability. Their parents would not speak his name, as if to acknowledge that he had once been would invoke some darkness, violate some pact. Still, on the night of the Friggablot every May, after honoring their mother with dinner and gifts, the twins would slip into the wolf-woods to light a sacred fire for their lost Sven. He never found it, no matter where they camped.

Eirik’s nighttime routine was a quiet one, as was Eija’s. They shared a dinner of beef stew and bread, and Eirik brewed them warm root tea as the sun sank. Wordlessly, they washed the dishes side by side with Eija scrubbing and her brother drying, and he pressed his lips to her temple before they separated for the night. “Drom sott,” were his only words, and she smiled faintly, squeezed his hand. Hausblot had already passed and the nights were going brisk and chilly, but their northern blood was ready and she didn’t bother leaving the woodstove lit. Instead, she waited for Eirik to finish his bath before taking command of the upstairs bathroom herself, the scent of his wood-and-mint soap lingering soothingly.

She’d cleaned and laid out the old furs for her bed the month before, in preparation for northern Minnesota’s half-year deep freeze, but even snuggling down under at least ten pounds of fur and fabric couldn’t lull her to sleep. Normally this was not an issue for her, but a buzz filled her brain that wouldn’t be silenced even as the night wore on. It was around midnight that she finally abandoned all pretense and let her mind find Eirik, who was not in his bed. He was in fact, directly over her head.

The roof of their log home was flat to the east side and angled to the south, with a lip of log rising up around the perimeter that acted as a sufficient barrier to prevent one from rolling off in their sleep. This had led to some years of the twins sleeping on the roof when there was no rain predicted, and she found him up there several minutes later via the ladder hooked to her bedroom window that only asked for a little swinging and dexterity to get there. The air was sharp and cool, the sky swirling dark, the milk-dense moon casting the world in a pearl glow. An icy, pine-sharp breeze bit through her soft pajamas, and she shivered, tiptoeing across weathered roofing to him.

He’d laid out all of his own thick bedding, his pillow, and in his flannel pajama pants and long-sleeved black henley he looked as comfortable as anything indoors. Eija tossed her own pillow, managing to land it just beside his head so that he didn’t stir, but when she crawled into their now-shared nest of furs and blankets he silently slid an arm around her shoulders to draw her close. His heartbeat steadied under her cheek when she rested her head on his chest, the cool air sweeping out toward the woods unable to cut into the warmth of them, and finally she slept.

A cold, gray-soft dawn had broken when she next opened her eyes, the loss of Eirik’s soothing heat abruptly jarring. He was sitting upright beside her, leaning forward a little and peering out toward the woods. She opened her mouth, but before a breath escaped her he silenced her with a raised hand and pointed. “Look.” His voice was a whisper, strange considering that they were at least ten miles from their closest neighbor. The word floated away from his lips on a cloud of steam as it met the frigid air, his breath dissipating even as she obeyed.

The tree line of the woods surrounding their house began after roughly half an acre of wild growth that served as something of a kitchen garden - their parents had taught them how to grow potatoes, carrots, turnips and herbs to sustain them when trips into town became a snow-packed luxury in the winter months. Eirik’s pale eyes were fixed upon the space now, and after a moment of bleary adjustment, Eija came to understand why. A small collection of people were emerging into the burgeoning light, spilling out from the woods like a tiny swarm of rolling bugs out from under a lifted rock. They were all in dark hooded robes obscuring their faces, but their heights suggested men, women, maybe even children.

“What were they doing in our woods?” Eirik’s hand tightened around her forearm, where it had fallen moments before, and he shook his head to silence her. No one had noticed them yet, they were likely too far away. There were at least ten of them, and the way they moved together felt familiar. A rival pack then, maybe the ones who had challenged their father for his alpha position and killed Sven - laughing Sven -years ago. Eija’s teeth bared themselves and she tensed all over, but Eirik was only alert, watching. The group slowly broke apart, crossing their land on silent feet in the earliest possible morning, several heading west toward the Lost River, others east into town. It wasn’t until the last of them was no longer visible that Eirik seemed to exhale, lifting his hand from Eija’s arm.

Something about what they’d seen felt profoundly wrong, despite the robed figures having done nothing particularly threatening. “It wasn’t a blot,” Eirik said quietly. “Hausblot’s done, they’re quite late if they’re observing out there at this point.”

“Erik the Red’s day?”

“Couple of days too early. Maybe. I don’t know.”

They rolled their bedding in silence and carried the piles back into the house through her bedroom window, where Eirik laid them neatly back across their beds. He slept below Eija’s attic room, down the hall from their parents’ empty bedroom. She realized as she was inhaling deeply of the cold forest scents still clinging to her furs that part of her had hoped their parents would be among the strange hooded figures, on their way home from a few months with the pack. But none had crossed the kitchen garden to enter their house, and some natural instinct had held her back from calling out to the group to ask for them.

#vikings #nordic #fiction #modern fantasy #lgbt #gay #original writing #writing #writeblr #guys i'm actually close to finishing a novel here #please be kind i was so anxious to post this first part #are y'all feeling this? should i keep posting more?#let me know

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justgeorgeharrisonfic · 5 years ago

Text

HELP

25th February 1965

The Bahamas

The sky was an unclouded blue, but it was nowhere near as hot as it looked as if it should be, and nowhere near as hot as they all thought it would be. The Bahamas, yeah! But in reality, no. The Beatles were disappointed. But still, they weren’t there for a holiday anyway, they were there to work, and so there they were, in the middle of a dusty road each holding on to a bicycle. It’s a good thing, what they say about riding a bike. It had been a long time for all of them, but they all remembered.

Not that they had to ride them yet. As always, they had to stand around and stand around and stand around, waiting for they knew not what and cared even less.

“Come onnn…” John sighed.

“Better than hanging around at Marylebone though,” Ringo suggested encouragingly. It was true, the Bahamas were better than Marylebone Station, but the breeze was cool and the waiting seemed far worse this time around. Maybe the novelty had gone, disappeared over the space of a year, along with a lot of other things. Like time off.

“Right, we’re all set,” Said director Richard Lester, at last. “Get ready to ride the bikes forward, when I say.”

“Not backwards?” enquired John, and Lester shot him the briefest of glances.

“Get ready,” he said, checking over his shoulder that the cameras were lined up to take the shot. Each Beatle climbed onto the saddle and steadied the bike with one leg, the other ready on the pedal. “And… Action!”

The four Beatles shot forward. It would perhaps have been impossible for four young men, in the prime of life and permanently oozing testosterone, not to look on it as a race, and off they went, hunched over the handlebars and peddling as though their lives depended on it. Had they known, had they bothered to read the script, they would have found out that in the film their lives actually did depend on it. But it could not be said that that was the reason for their Olympic efforts to reach the lead. Lester regarded his stars in some dismay as, ignoring his yell of “Cut!!” they shot past him at high speed and disappeared into the middle distance, clouds of dust flying up and around them and gleeful Liverpudlian shouts and obscenities reaching his ears as the four eventually wobbled and collided and crashed to a halt, almost out of sight of the astonished film crew.

Richard Lester took a deep breath.

This was only day one.

They’d calm down. Eventually.

He walked along the road to find them, enjoying, despite the irritations of the day, the bright blue clear sunshine, and reached them in a surprisingly equable mood. He looked down at them where they sprawled grinning on the wide deserted road. They were covered in dust and Paul’s face was unaccountably grubby. Continuity, he reflected wearily. They never seemed to grasp that essential.

“I won,” George beamed, his face guilelessly happy and his eyes sparkling below the thick dark fringe.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lester replied, and the sarcasm was not lost on the four. “But we need to get you back and tidy you up. For the shot. Okay?” He didn’t think he sounded too pleading.

The four scrambled to their feet; Ringo started to wheel his bike back but the others simply rode back and he followed suit. By the time Lester reached them they were being brushed, dusted down, combed and scrubbed and were soon returned to their pre-race neatness. Lester found himself reminded of a lioness licking her cubs into shape, and shook his head to erase the odd image. “Right,” he said, hopefully. “Let’s get ready to go again. Lights?” He turned back to the crew.

“Who’s that?” asked one of the cameramen, pointing back along the road and Lester followed his gaze.

“Who the ‘ell’s that?” echoed John. Everyone turned to look at the odd figure approaching. It was a man, of indeterminate age, dressed in traditional Indian garb of tunic and broad loose trousers, and he was carrying a large bag. He was also very obviously making for the little film unit on the road.

“Oh no,” the beleaguered director sighed under his breath. He, along with everyone else, waited until the man had plodded right up to them and paused with them, a smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” Lester began. “We do have to get on…”

“I am Swami Vishnu Devananda,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Paul put in. “How d’ya do.” The man appeared to ignore him, and instead reached into the bag which was hanging on his shoulder.

“I wish to give you a gift.”

The Beatles were unimpressed. They had gifts thrust upon them wherever they went, whenever they paused for breath, and the only thing that made this different was the strange appearance of this one out of nowhere. They stood, motionless, holding the bikes and waiting. The man brought out four books. “I wish you to have them,” he went on, and handed each Beatle a book. George frowned as he looked at it.

“Yoga?” he said to the man.

“Sivananda yoga. A way of life.”

George frowned again. “How come? I thought it was just exercises.”

Swami Vishnu Devananda looked carefully at him. “Not just exercises. You will find out.”

George suddenly grinned and looked around at the others.” Hey! It’s my birthday. He’s given me a pressie!”

Dick Lester decided that enough precious time had been spent on this man and his books. He nodded at the swami, and said, “Well, I am sorry, but we do have to carry on now. Shall I take the books for now?” he added to the four, and he reached out his hands to take them. George flipped through the pages briefly and then handed the book over. He turned back to the swami.

“Thank you for my pressie,” he said with a smile, and the man smiled back and bowed a ‘namaste’, before turning back the way he’d come and plodding off through the sunshine.

“That was weird,” said John into the new silence.

“Ok,” called Lester, yet again. “Let’s get on. Boys, ready with the bikes. Set off when I say. And, don’t have a race!!”

They grinned in reply. And Lester sighed, again.

Much later that day saw George curled up on his bed, and he was managing telephone, drink and cigarette with practised ease. The phone was resting on his shoulder and he was leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed, listening closely.

“Are they doing anything for your birthday?” Pattie was asking. She sounded as sad as he felt.

“They did a cake,” he said. “And the crew gave me a bottle of rum. One of those big ones, you know?”

“Have you finished it yet?”

“Ha ha,” was his reply. He took another sip of the rum and coke from the glass by the bed, and another drag of his cigarette. “It’s ok.”

“Was the filming ok?”

“Yeah, you know.” And then he smiled to himself and went on, “And there was this weird man, this Indian man. He turned up in the middle of nowhere and gave me a book. Well, all of us. About yoga.”

“Yoga?”

“Yeah. I thought it was funny. Strange you know. This man giving me a book on my birthday when he didn’t know who I was.”

Pattie laughed. “Are you sure he didn’t know who you were?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Well, most people do.”

“Oh, I get you. Well, I don’t know. But anyway. That happened today. That’s it really. I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

“Hmmm?”

“What were you going to say?”

He hesitated again, feeling uncomfortable.

“George? What?”

He exhaled sharply, and took another swig of his drink. “Oh… we were sitting around, with the guitars, you know?” And he paused again, and Pattie nodded, and he knew that she had even though he couldn’t see her. “And you know I’ve been working on a new song?” Another pause for her unspoken assent. ” It was… oh you know. Nothing really. But…I was trying to talk about the idea I had for it, what I was trying for, and they weren’t paying any attention at all, you know.”

“Which song?”

“Think for Yourself.”

“I like that one.”

“They don’t.”

“Oh, they probably do. They were just…”

“Ignoring it.”

“George, I’m sorry…”

He wished he was with her, not just talking to her from thousands of miles away. He wished he was curled up with her, not just with a drink and a ciggie. He missed her desperately and all the grass in the world couldn’t obliterate his sense of desolation right now. “I wish I was home.”

“So do I.”

“I know. But, hey, guess what?”

“What?” Her voice sounded brighter at the sound of his sudden cheer.

“They said you can come to Austria when we do the next lot! All of you, Mo and Cyn and… Paul’s not sure if Jane can come, she might be working, but you can come! So that’ll be soon.”

“Oh George!!” she squealed. “That’s great!! Oh…”

“Oh god what?”

“No no, it’s ok, I’m coming. I just need to get skiing clothes.”

“Course you do.” But he was smiling and she heard it in his voice.

“Well I do! I can’t turn up in…”

“I know! You can get that sorted while we’re still here?”

“I will. I’ll see if Mo wants to go with me.”

“Ok.”

The conversation lapsed, and both stayed with their thoughts for a while. George drained his drink. “Do you need to go to sleep? It’s late there.”

“Not really. Not yet. Can you stay on a while?”

George smiled again, and shifted the phone receiver nearer his ear. “Yeah, I can.” He paused again, his eyes closed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m in bed.”

His smile turned decidedly mischievous. “What are you doing?”

“Well, nothing.”

The mischievous smile broadened. “P’raps you should be doing something.”

There fell another pause, as Pattie caught on to the drift of the conversation. Then “What do you suggest?” she asked him, her voice almost a whisper.

19th March 1965

Obertauern, Austria

Richard Lester lit a cigarette and stood for a while in almost despairing solitude. The barrage of criticism and demands in the phone call from Walter Shenson, the film’s producer, still rang in his ears and, the unfair part, there was nothing within that barrage that he didn’t already know, that he wasn’t already heavily aware of. Lord knows, he was dealing with the problem, well, the four problems, every day at close quarters and he’d been doing his best. He really had. But, his best was not apparently good enough, and he was being paid to deal with it.

He stubbed out the cigarette and, with a heavy heart, he turned and plodded through the Edelweiss Hotel towards the suite which the Beatles had staked out as their quarters for the duration of the filming. He arrived at the door, sent up a brief prayer, and knocked and went in.

The music, faintly heard from outside the door, became louder. It was in truth not playing so loudly that it would prohibit conversation, but still he pointed at the record player and gestured to ask for the volume to come down. The Beatle nearest, Paul as it happened, complied, and four sets of eyes regarded their director. Richard Lester looked back at them.

What he found somewhat off-putting was that none of them seemed inclined to ask him what he wanted, why he had visited their abode. The four simply regarded him from wherever they were seated or sprawled. Their body language was relaxed. Their eyes were somewhere else altogether. They were, inevitably, stoned. Very stoned.

“I’ve just had a phone call from Walter Shenson.” Lester decided that someone had to kick off the conversation and they certainly weren’t going to.

“Oh yeah?” That was John. With anyone else it might have been encouraging that there had been a response, but not with John. That could be leading anywhere.

Lester decided to sit down. He found a spare chair, and carried on. “He wanted to know why the filming is behind schedule.”

A response. You had to know the group to detect it, but Richard Lester, veteran of one and a half films with them, did know them reasonably well, well enough to feel the almost imperceptible change in the room. The four men knew that they were being criticised; that was for sure. Were they concerned? Not at all. However, what Lester did become aware of, though he didn’t know how he was aware because there were no moves, changes of expression and certainly no words, was a tightening of the bond of unity between the four. It was as though an invisible net, one that was in fact always there but not so evident as right now, had been tightened, strengthened, and the people in the room now comprised four people who functioned as one entity, and Richard Lester, who was so far outside it that he may as well have been in a different hotel.

He had no idea how that happened, but happened it had and it did not bode well for his proposed motivational speech about speeding up the filming. He leaned forward in his chair, to show he meant business. If you had to identify any response to that from the Beatles, they perhaps seemed vaguely amused.

“Look,” he began, predictably. “I know…” What did he know? He knew that they were off their combined heads for most of every day. And he knew that they were simply not as interested in this film as they had been in the last one. However, they were now committed to the film and it had to be finished. “I know you don’t feel a lot like working at the moment, well, these days…” He paused, and looked directly into their placid and indifferent faces. There was only one way forward. He could of course insist; he knew how far he’d get with that ploy. So… “All I can do is just ask you to get on with it. For me? For whatever reason. But please, boys, please – smoke whatever you want if you want but please could we get through the days’ work so that Shenson stays off my back and we can get this done.” He paused again. “Please?”

He subsided.

A silence fell. Eerily, Lester became aware that there was unspoken communication going on between the four of them, on a level that no-one else could reach or understand. He saw George cut glances with Ringo, who was the Beatle next to him. He saw a slight smile appear on the face of Paul, and it was not an unkind smile. And then he saw John look around at the others, and knew that that was the signal that a conclusion had been reached. But, what was the conclusion?

John smiled. An ordinary smile. “We’ll ‘ave to see what we can do then. Won’t we,” he announced, and the unspoken concurrence from the other three rippled around the group. Some blessed instinct had led Lester to simply appeal to their good natures, and it had worked.

For now, sounded the voice of caution in his head.

Later that evening

George opened the door to the main suite and moved slowly through the fug of the cigarette and joint smoke to the sofa he’d recently been sharing with Pattie. Pattie herself was tucked up in bed; in fact George had just tucked her up himself, having carried her there amidst giggles and squeaks of alarm lest he drop her. She had been forced, unwillingly, to plead an early night, being laid low by the pain of a seriously twisted ankle after she’d slipped on the snow a couple of days before, and by the combination of alcohol, grass and the heavy duty pain killers she’d been given. George had deposited her in their bed, leaving her with a cup of hot chocolate by the bedside and with the promise that he wouldn’t be late coming to bed himself. Now, he curled himself up on the corner of the sofa and reached for the album cover on which were scattered papers, tobacco and grass. He began to assemble the next joint.

“Is she ok?” Ringo enquired kindly, and George smiled at him and nodded.

“She’s fine. Just tired.”

“I think Mo’ll be next.” Ringo gestured with his head towards his wife, who was sitting next to him and in fact looked as if she’d already dozed off.

“No I won’t!” came the sleepy rejoinder from the lady herself, but she did in truth think that it sounded like a good idea. She’d been waiting to feel the spring-like energy that she’d been told would come in the early stages of pregnancy but, in truth, between bouts of nausea and novel reactions to food she never seemed to feel much like anything these days.

“Go on. Go to bed. I won’t be long,” said Ringo, and it seemed to be all the urging she needed. She stiffly uncurled her legs from under her and pushed herself to her feet.

“Night all,” she said, and left the room to a chorus of ’night night’s and ‘sleep well’s.

“Oh well, if they’re all gone…” said Cynthia, as she too clambered to her feet and drained the last of her drink. “I’ll leave the gentlemen to pass the port and tell dirty stories.”

“Eh?” asked George, as he finished assembling the joint and looked for his lighter.

“Never mind.” She yawned. “See you all bright and early.”

“Don’t remind us,” muttered Paul from the corner of the room. “You’re lucky, you don’t have to get up.”

Cynthia ignored the complaint, since she and the other girls had heard it several times every day since filming had begun, and she too left the room, leaving the four Beatles together, to pass not the port but the hefty joint that George had just rolled. An onlooker in the room, of which there were none, would have sensed a change in the atmosphere. Not one of relief, or release, but simply a return to that entity that was just-the-Beatles. The impenetrable club of four, observed by recording managers, road managers and anyone else having anything to do with them. Paul poured himself another drink. John stretched out full length on his sofa. The four sat for a while, silent and s

“How much longer have we got of it?” The question had come from John, prone with eyes on the ceiling. They all knew what he was referring to.

“Dunno,” answered Paul, after a lengthy pause. The pause had been lengthy because no-one could be bothered to think about the answer.

“A month?” ventured Ringo. John groaned.

“Well,” offered Paul, in a lazy and slurred version of his customary earnestness, “some of it is up to us, isn’t it. From what Dick said this morning. We need to just get on with it.”

“It’s a fucking drag,” commented John from the depths of his sofa.

“It’s alright,” said Ringo, in a tone which suggested that he thought it was more than alright. “I think it’s good.”

“You’ve got the best part,” said Paul. Was there a hint of resentment in his voice? George looked at him as carefully as the joint would allow, and concluded that there was.

“It’s shit. It all is.”

George peered at John from across the room. “Do you mean the film?” he asked. “Or do you mean everything?”

John turned his head to look at George appraisingly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

John continued to stare at George, who handed him the joint and then sat back with his drink. Paul and Ringo looked on with interest, everyone being gradually aware that a significant conversation was being had.

“I don’t know. I…” That was as far as John got, and the others waited. “The film’s stupid, for a kick-off.”

“I like it,” said Ringo, predictably.

“You like acting. And you’re good at it.”

“I like filming,” he concluded, simply.

“We do have to do it,” Paul put in.

“Why?”

“Contract.”

“But they could have picked something better.”

“Or written us better.” George spoke up for the first time.

“That’s not so bad,” said Paul.

George turned to look at him. “Well yeah, you’d like it, wouldn’t you. They’ve got you down as the cute one who gets the girl.” George was smiling as he delivered this comment; deliberately. But Paul took it seriously.

“No, not cos of that,” he protested, but the other three laughed and he felt he had to defend his position. “I mean, that could have been any of us.”

“Obviously Paul, but it wasn’t.”

“Would you want that then?”

“God no,” said George, and meant it. “You can keep the romantic lead, it’s okay.” In his stoned mind he turned over the thought of playing that role and actually shuddered. He reached out for the stuff and started to build another joint, and as his fingers were kept busy he found himself thinking around another thought, which took a while to formulate. When he had, he broke the silence and spoke up again.

“We’re all playing roles though, aren’t we. All the time.”

John peered at him again through the smoke. “What d’ya mean?”

George struggled to express his befuddled half thought out idea, head on one side and his eyes shut. “I mean – none of it’s real. None of it. Not just the film. The whole thing.” He paused again, and said it. “The Beatles.”

“The Beatles is real,” said Paul.

“Yeah, I know, but we aren’t. We…” He got stuck for words again; not surprisingly, as he didn’t remember thinking such things before. “You know. We’re trotted out on stages and film sets and sing tunes and play songs…”

“That’s what we do!” Paul interrupted, but George jumped back in.

“Yeah, it’s what we do, but it’s not who we are! Is it?”

“It’s who I am,” said Paul.

George paused in his joint-making activity and stared across at Paul and reflected on his last comment. He thought about Paul on stage. He thought about Paul out in public anywhere, on the film set, in interviews. He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said eventually. He looked back down at the papers and grass and then back up at Paul again. “Yeah. It is who you are.”

From across the room John gave a harsh laugh. “Well it sure as fuck isn’t who I am.”

George looked at him. “Nor me,” he said. He lit the joint and inhaled deeply.

Paul sat up and reached forward for the joint, which George handed over. “Oh come on! We’re doing what we’ve always done. We’re still doing what we were doing in Liverpool, and Hamburg. We haven’t changed.”

“Yes we ‘ave,” said John. “I have.”

“Okay,” demanded Paul to George. “If you’ve changed, who’ve you changed into? Who are you now?”

George leaned back into the softness of the sofa and closed his eyes. He thought for a while. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, eyes still closed. “I don’t know. But I’m not…” Another pause. This was truly too complicated for him after that much grass, but he did feel it was important to work it out. For himself, if not for the others. He shook his head. “No,” he said eventually. “We’re not the same. None of us are. So it’s not have we changed. It’s who have we changed into. Or,” and he opened his eyes and looked around at the others and it finally dawned on him what his point was, “who are we changing into. Where are we going? Where are we going to?”

“Fucking ‘ell George,” Paul laughed. “You’ll be asking next what’s the meaning of life!”

“Yeah, but what is it?”

“I don’t know!” And Paul was still laughing.

“I like what we’re doing. I like the shows and I like the filming.” Ringo was pouring himself another drink, and George waved his glass at him to ask for a refill. “I’m fine with it, as long as it lasts.”

“So am I. And so are you George, whatever you say. You’re just stoned. That’s all this is.

George wondered whether it was worth trying to argue or to refine his point, but decided it wasn’t. Paul could think what he wanted, and he would anyway. He looked across at John again, and met an answering and understanding gaze. George knew John was dissatisfied, he made no secret of it. But that angry dissatisfaction wasn’t the root of George’s self-questioning, not really. Thinking about the characters in the film had nudged at something in his brain, something that wasn’t going away. He knew he was more than the money obsessed boy in the film, though presumably lots of people would think that that was who he was. But he also knew that he was more than the guitarist on the stage, with one song per show and two songs on each album. He knew he could do more. He knew he was more. He just didn’t know what yet.

But he would.

“What’s the time?” It was John who wanted to know. Ringo squinted at his watch.

“2.20.”

George groaned. “I told Pattie I wouldn’t be late,” he said, starting to push himself to his feet.

“So did I.” George peered at Ringo as he tottered to his feet.

“Why did you tell Pattie you wouldn’t be late?”

“No! I mean…!”

“I know.” George was smiling as he made his way across the room towards his bedroom door. “See you all tomorrow. Bright and early, six o’clock.”

“Fuck off,” snarled John. And George grinned across at him before opening his door, stepping inside the darkened bedroom and closing the door quietly behind him.

7th May 1965

Kinfauns, Esher.

George Harrison was sitting cross legged on his bedroom floor and in front of him was an open suitcase with clothes spilling out of it onto the carpet. He was looking at the clothes with little enthusiasm. He reached over to one side and picked up the glass of wine and took another procrastinating gulp.

“It’s easy. It’s all dirty washing. All you need to do is put it in the wash.”

“If it’s that easy why didn’t you do it for me?”

“Why on earth should I?” Sometimes Pattie sounded like Lady Muck, he reflected, silently. Which was probably unfair; she couldn’t help having a posh voice. “It’s your luggage. I’m not your servant.” She softened the strictness of her words with a warm smile, and then passed him the joint she’d been smoking. “If you’d done it when you got back…”

“I didn’t have time,” he bleated, unconvincingly. He took a drag at the joint, and then tugged out a folded black pullover. “I never wore this.”

“You might as well chuck it in. It won’t smell very nice after being with your old socks for weeks.”

“Oh ok,” he muttered and, getting up on to his knees, he reached into the case and pulled out a big armful of clothes and dumped them on the carpet. As they landed he heard a quiet thump and reached under the clothes. He pulled out a book. “Oh yeah” he exclaimed with a big grin, turning to Pattie. “I’d forgotten this. It’s my birthday present!”

“Your what?”

“You remember I said? This weird Indian guy turned up out of nowhere on my birthday and gave us all a book. It’s about yoga.”

Pattie leaned forward curiously. “Let’s see.” He slid it across the carpet and she reached down and retrieved it. “It’s not just exercises.”

“That’s what I said.”

“It looks quite serious. All about the religious side.” Pattie was flipping through the book as she spoke. “Who was he?”

George shook his head. “Dunno. He just turned up.” He held out his hand and Pattie gave him the book back, and he sat back down cross legged again and had a look through some of the pages. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

He looked up at her and passed back the joint and then settled back down. “The other day I found that instrument I really liked. That sitar. I loved the sound it made. I was thinking I might try and get one. And then I get given a book about Indian stuff.” He smiled up at her through his long fringe. “It’s like I’m supposed to be thinking about Indian things.” He looked down at the book again and then back up at her. “Like a sign, yer know.” Pattie smiled at him as she took a puff of the joint, and then she got to her feet and moved towards the door.

“What’ya doing?”

“Music’s stopped,” she called back over her shoulder and she went to change the record. George meanwhile, his expression a combination of distaste and annoyance, grabbed all the clothes he could carry and took them across to the washing basket. “What don’t you just take the case over there?” prompted Pattie as she returned.

“I said you should have done it.”

“And I said…”

“I know.” He finished bundling the washing into the basket and put the lid on, and then back turned to her. “Do you think I could use the sitar on a song?”

“One of yours?”

He nodded, as they left the bedroom together and walked along the hall towards the large sitting room. “I could.”

“Yes you could.”

“I like the sound, I could build a song round that.”

“What would they think?”

George shrugged, as he dropped down onto one of the large floor cushions and started to roll another joint. Pattie came to sit next to him. “Same as they always think? Not much.”

“Oh George. I’m sure…” But she trailed off, not at all sure if she was sure; it was an old well-worn discussion. She lapsed into a silence which she hoped sounded sympathetic, but he turned his head and looked at her with a smile. It was a smile that said that he knew she was on his side in whatever issues he had with the others. Well, with two of the others. She shifted closer to him and snuggled against his side and he left the business of making the joint and put both of his arms around her. They sat, quiet and close, and he kissed the top of her head. And then the silence morphed into another sort of silence, and George moved his head back slightly so that he could look at her properly.

“What?”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Pattie took a breath.

“I just wondered… I just wanted to know…” She looked up at him and looked directly into his eyes. “Has she been in touch with you again?”

George made no effort to avoid her gaze, and simply shook his head. “I told you. It’s finished.”

“But she keeps calling you…”

“And I keep ignoring her.” Silence fell again. “What?” he asked again. “What’s in your mind now?”

Pattie looked up at him, her expression almost defiant. “She’s just your type,” she declared. George raised his eyebrows.

“So are you.” Pattie opened her mouth to speak again but George jumped in first. “I’ve said, it’s finished. She might have had a chance if I didn’t have you, but I have and you’re the one I want. Not Joey. You.” He smiled at her and then kissed her again. “She can leave me her number and I can call her when you and me are finished. Which is never.”

She stared at him. “You won’t…”

“I won’t.”

“But you did.”

George chewed at the inside of his mouth but didn’t try to break her gaze. “I know.”

“So why…?”

George interrupted again. “Because I’m a shit. And because I didn’t realise how much I love you. I didn’t know how it was going to grow. I should have stopped her hassling ages ago, I shouldn’t even have started it. But I didn’t know what you and me were going to be.” He paused, and drew some strands of her hair back from her face where they were trailing. “You know all this. I’ve said it and you know it.” Pattie looked down at her lap. “Now you have to just believe me.” He smiled at her again. “I could write a song for you about it. Couldn’t I. I could say I love you too much and so she’ll just have to fuck off and leave me alone”

Pattie managed a small smile. “They wouldn’t let you say that in a song.”

“Well, maybe I’ll change the words a bit. I could try and use the sitar on it as well.” He paused and thought. ”Or maybe not. No, I’ll use the new Rick. Yeah?”

And that, reflected Pattie as she finished making the joint and looked for the lighter, was the best she was going to get. He was her boyfriend, and they’d both decided he was going to be her husband. He was also a musician, and the creating and the making his music was embedded into his every thought and action. And, overarching all that, with all its joy and its frustration and all the laughing and all the tears, was the Beatles, that closed entity which neither she nor anyone else could never fully understand but which was always going to claim the lion’s share of his heart and mind.

As she nestled back against him again and squeezed her arms around his slender waist and kissed his neck, she reckoned that that was a deal she was more than prepared to accept.

It was a pretty good deal.

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percywinchester27 · 6 years ago

Text

About a boy (Part-3)

Word count: 3.3K

Warning: Suspense, feels, mention of physical abuse and bullying

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: Many thanks to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this story. I love you guys <3

Part 1 Part 2

Cas prayed. Every day. He woke up each morning, sat on the bed with his feet folded Indian style and hands joined in a Namaste. Dean would just look up from his bunk and there he would be meditating on the top in his boxers and a loose tank, eyes closed, back ramrod straight. It was funny, Dean actually cracked a smile.

For the next few days he stuck to Cas. Going around with him to the school which was about a mile and a half away, and then back. Cas didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy Dean's company. Dean would be lying if he said he had been used to something like that before.

On the outside, it looked like Cas was taking him around the place, showing him the ropes and such, but in the few minutes they managed to snatch away from the prying eye, they were always plotting.

Dean realized one thing. It was hard. Finding Sam was going to be hard as hell. Even harder than what he thought it was going to be.

Sam had been 6 months old when he was thrown into an orphanage, and as Cas pointed out, it might have been completely another orphanage. He might have been transferred here and it could be as recent as a couple of months ago or as old as a few years.

Dean was also curious about his fellow roommates. Cas said they were nice boys, but Dean had his reservations. Gabriel, or Gabe, as Cas called him, was loud and obnoxious, he had the cheesy behavior, but his whiskey colored eyes were always full of mischief, like he knew something about you that you didn't know yourself. His brown hair was on the longer side, and his smile dripped cunningness. Gabriel's bed was always littered with chocolate wrappers. Even though it was against the rules to get stuff like that from outside, no one seemed to rat Gabriel out. It was as Cas had said, he had one up on everyone. Gabriel didn't show any particular interest in wanting to get to know Dean, and Dean was thankful for that. Gabriel smelled trouble, and he didn't want any of it.

The other roommate was silent and kept to himself, but that made Dean even more wary of him. Benny wasn't in the face like Gabe, but he was just there, observing everything quietly. It was unsettling, like everything he did was being watched, was being noted. To add to that, he never seemed to sleep… like some sort of a vampire. It was disconcerting enough that he was now confiding everything in Cas when he had promised himself that this was going to be his own battle to fight. Now he had gone ahead and included Cas in it.

But, boy, it relieving.

Cas was just as excited to find Sam. He went over the whole management system with Dean. The place was owned by a Styne family. The head, Eldon, barely ever showed, about twice or thrice in a year. Andy was the one who managed everything. He knew that Michael and his little parade of goons were up to something, but as long as everyone remained scared of Michael, it maintained the place in order, so he turned a blind eye towards that, until something brought it to glaring attention, like Gabriel's little stunt the other day would have.

In the coming week, Dean learnt the hierarchy. Michael's two main supports were Gary and Raphael. Cas had warned him to not cross paths with them, because after what had happened, they wouldn't waste a second before ratting him out.

It was Cas' brilliant plan to sneak into the record room in the evening when everyone was out in the grounds playing and having fun. It would have worked well, but just as they were about to sneak into the record room, Andy called out to them.

"Winchester!"

Dean stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn't get caught.

"What're you doing here?" Then Andy realised that Dean wasn't alone. "You're hanging out with Castiel?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Cas asked, voice feebly brave.

Andy smirked. "Not really. Didn't expect you to hang out is all. What're you doing inside at this time?"

"Thought I'd take Dean around the library," Cas managed, effortlessly.

The older man eyed them, especially Cas, then shrugged. "Fine, if you're gonna nerd out together. Just lock the door when you're done. I'm not waiting back till you two are done. I have a hot date."

That was too much information, but the moment Andy turned, Dean exchanged an excited look with his friend. They were alone now.

Ascertaining that Andy was truly gone, the two of them rushed to the record room and shut the door behind them, facing the rows and rows of filing.

"This is going to take ages, isn't it?" Dean mumbled.

A corner of Cas' mouth pulled down. "Guess so."

They set to work anyway, trying to figure out the system of filing. After half an hour of going through the pile, Dean finally said out loud what was on his mind. "Why did Andy sound like he wasn't expecting me to hang out with you?"

Cas wasn't visible to Dean, as he was working on the rack after his, but his hushed voice was still audible. "Let's just say I'm not the most sought out kid here."

"What does that mean?"

A sigh.

"This place is like the jungle. Survival of the fittest and all that… You look like you could fit right in with the predators."

What Cas meant was pretty clear. Dean gave off that vibe, what with the sullen looks and his dad's overlarge leather jacket, he would be expected to hang out with idiots like Michael and his gang. He would be expected to give in to their stupid initiation test, lick Michael's ass and raise to the ranks of the bullies instead of being bullied.

"I'm the nerd of sorts. I let people be," Cas added.

Something still didn't add up. From what Dean had seen, Cas wasn't a bully, but he wasn't bullied either.

"That first night," Dean said slowly, weighing his words, "Michael could have easily hurt you, or his guy Gary, instead they just restrained you and shoved you around. Why?"

Another sigh. Apparently Dean was asking all the questions that Cas didn't want to answer… but he did anyway.

"Michael and I… Well, we go back a long way. We come from the same orphanage. I've known him as long as I remember… He's the closest thing that I have to a…"

"Brother," Dean completed. The word hung awkwardly between them.

"He's not a bad person," Cas said, "Just angry and bitter. Life hasn't been fair to him."

Who had life been fair to? Dean thought. If that had been the case, none of the 712 boys would be rotting here at the home. He didn't say that out loud though.

"I figured it out!" Cas exclaimed, all of a sudden. "I figured out the filing system!"

He bent around the rack to see Dean, blue eyes wide with excitement. "These are stacked according to the year. That means the one who came first, the box would be at the very end."

"Great!" Dean groaned. "Now we have to find out when Sam got put into this one, too."

*******************************

It took more than a couple of weeks.

Mostly because Andy didn't have a date everyday to abandon his post, but also because Dean had his share of duties, too. The cleaning, the washing, the babysitting duties for the little kids.

Sometimes, Gary and Raphael would cross him in the corridors, a few more of the older kids would give him looks, but for the most part everyone just ignored him. Who was he but another sheep added to an overly large flock? No one cared.

He quickly realised one thing though, if it hadn't been for Cas, it would have been a lonely existence. Gabriel, he learned, had been from the same orphanage as Cas, too. They had been transferred here about 8 years back. Benny was new, but Benny also didn't care. The place could go down in a tornado and he still wouldn't care.

Through the chores, the school and the scheming, Dean couldn't help but look around the kids bunking on the 4th floor, searching for eyes that looked like his, a gait like his or a crooked smile here and there. There were at least 100 of them aged 11 to 14. How was he ever going to find Sam.

"Tell me what you remember about him most clearly?" Cas asked one evening as he dumped the contents of pale brown box on the floor of the record room.

Dean thought for a second before replying. "I think it's the smile."

"Smile?" Cas asked pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. I'd tell him that we could practice ball when he grew up and he'd recognize my voice and smile."

That wasn't a helpful detail. Cas knew all the kids, but that didn't help if Dean couldn't remember how to pinpoint it. There had to be something distinctive about him that Dean could remember. Something that would help.

"Tell you what? If you keep going at it, you'll remember something helpful I'm sure."

The comment was encouraging but Dean wasn't sure if he had it in him.

"So, what's your story?" Dean asked, more to distract Cas from the conversation.

"My story?"

"Yeah."

Cas scratched his black hair. "There is nothing to it. My memory begins in an orphanage. Seems like my folks weren't interested in me from the get go."

Must be hard, Dean thought, to know that you were never loved enough. Sure he had to deal with the searing pain of losing his mom and dad like that, but at least he knew it in his bones that they had loved him. Did that make losing them worse? Probably. But was the possibility of love better than never having been loved at all?

"So who gave you your name?"

Cas surprised Dean by grinning sheepishly. "Someone at the old orphanage was a bible freak. They named all the kids after angels. Michael, Rapahel, Gabriel, Castiel… see where this is going? Basically, if you find a biblical name around here, you know where the kid came from, yeah? Kind of makes the distinction easy. Right, Dean… Dean?"

Dean had gone shock still.

"Dean, you okay?"

"How old were you when you came here?" Dean asked, urgently, dread growing in his chest.

"4 months," Cas answered, "We found my file the other day, didn't we?"

"Yes! But we went through all the files from that year and we didn't find Gabriel's. He was put in the same year, too. That means-"

"There are missing records?" Cas completed, voice hollow.

Dean stumbled back into the cabinet, the file he was holding slipping out of his hand. If Sam's records were misplaced, they could go through these files their whole life and never find Sam.

"Don't give up, Dean," Cas whispered, but the words fell on deaf ears. He should have known that this was too good to be true, too easy. As if just by looking at all these folders he was supposed to find his brother.

As if after everything, things were just going to go back to normal.

Dean skipped dinner that night. Cas called him, but he just pretended to be asleep, till Cas had gone away. The darkness of the room wasn't enough to shroud the hopelessness that he felt within. What was he doing in this alien place. Dean didn't belong here. He missed the dry heat of the place that he thought of as home, now. Missed the stains of dark grease, the damn smell of a garage on rainy thundering nights.

It was thundering that night, too.

The sky cracked and lightening thundered in the dark sky. Dean held on to the crib tighter.

"Shhhh… Sammy," he said running his fingers over his brothers forehead. "It's gonna be alright."

"C'mon, let's say goodnight to your brother," his mom reminded him lovingly from behind as she turned the lights off.

Dean leaned over and kissed Sam on his forehead. "Night, Sam."

"Good night, love," his mom said, lightly brushing Sam's brown hair back, and following Dean's suit and kissing him, too. Dean pushed back into her. He loved the way his mom smelled. Tangy like apples.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean turned to see his dad standing in the doorway, a light smile playing on his lips. Dean immediately rushed over and threw himself at him. "Daddy!"

His dad scooped Dean up. "Hey buddy!" Then he raised his hand, which Dean high-fived.

"So what do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"

Dean turned back to look and his little brother, then shook his head, laughing. "No, Daddy."

Dad laughed. "I don't think so, either."

Just then mom passed them both, ruffling his hair. "You got him?" She asked dad.

"I got him," dad winked at Dean, then looked over at Sammy. "Sweet dreams, Sam."

He's asleep soon. Then awake. Too suddenly.

His mom screamed.

"No! Mary!" His dad yelled "No!"

Dean jumped out of bed and ran towards the noise. His mom and dad sounded scared. It was too warm… hot.

There was a fire in Sam's room, Dad was there… no mom.

"Dean!" His dad called.

"Daddy!"

His dad was scared, sweating and hurt. In his hand was a little bundle. Sammy.

He thrust Sam into Dean's hands, his back to the blazing fire. Dean's eyes were burning. He couldn't see mom.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

Dad pushed him hard, towards the stairs. He held Sam tightly and made a run for it, till he was outside the door and into the lawn.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered. "I gotcha."

Then the window blasted and the whole house exploded in fire.

Dean sat up bolt in his bed, sweating, heart trying to beat out of his chest. He blinked his eyes not just to be rid of the moisture there but also to figure out where the hell he was. It took a couple of seconds, but then it all came to him. He was at a boys' home. Cas was snoring lightly above him. Gabriel not so lightly next to him.

The tiny digital clock on the rickety table read 00:17.

Dean tried to breathe normally, but gave up after a couple of minutes. He wasn't going to get any peace with the rate at which his heart was going, or how clammy he suddenly felt. The very dread he had been trying to run away from all evening, had finally caught up with him and how.

Denial was a crappy coping mechanism. He knew that, he had always known that. But what else did he have?

Getting up, he made his way to the bathrooms at the very end of the corridor, and splashed water on his face. Dean immediately felt a little better. The cold water seemed to help with frayed nerves. So, he splashed his face once more, running the water over his hands too. Not knowing what else to do, he strolled along the long passageway and came to rest in front of the staircase grill that locked everyone on to the floor. The light breeze coming in from the window opposite to the grill was calming. Dean slid down along the length of the grill to the floor, staring up at the dark sky, barely illuminated by the crescent shaped moon.

"Can't fall asleep?" The quiet voice made him jump out of his skin.

"What the fuck!" Dean swore, his barely in control heartbeat accelerating again, as he tried to look for the person in the dark.

"Sorry," the voice apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean to scare you or anything."

Dean squinted in the darkness, finally spotting the person. On the other side of the grill, on the opposite end from him was another shadow, mirroring his exact pose, huddled with his back against the grill.

"I can't sleep, either," the kid said, not deterred by Dean's lack of response. "Still, sorry for creeping up on you."

"That's okay," Dean said, not wanting to give away that he actually had been frightened.

"You new?"

Dean shrugged, then remembered it was actually too dark to see anything. "Yeah."

"It can be hard," the boy said. "Lot of new admits find it tough to adjust."

Was the kid patronising him?

"Not much of a talker, I see," said the kid. "I'm gonna shut up now."

It made Dean smirk despite himself. "What're you doing up?"

The voice perked up at some response. "I got a math Olympiad, tomorrow. I suck at it."

"You're up because you're nervous about a silly test?"

It brought Dean up short. It shocked him that there were kids here with normal fears, like tests and exams. Not everyone was on a mission to find long lost brothers. How stupid of him to just overlook that? It made him feel out of place.

"Like you've never been worried about an exam before? And it’s not a silly test, It could be my one way ticket into a University." He'd offended the kid. Must be what? Around 11 or 12 years of age. Couldn't be less than that since he bunked on the 4th floor.

"You're just like the other big guys," the kid muttered.

"It's not like that," Dean said. "I'm just distracted." Why was he explaining this to the kid anyway?

"That's fine," came the reply, chirpy again, apparently satisfied with Dean's half-hearted explanation. "I know the sort of crap that goes on up on your floor."

"Know something about that, huh?"

"Everyone does."

Fair enough. "I'm not a favourite," Dean warned. "It'd be better for you to not be found chumming up with me."

"I don't care." The answer was firm. steely. "I hate bullies."

The word 'hate' somehow sounded harsh coming from a soft voice like that. Dean had to raise an eyebrow.

They sat in silence for a while. Dean let his mind wander through all that had happened today. Sam's smile kept invading his mind. His light eyes, his brown hair.

"Brown hair!" Dean yelped.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean said, more to himself than the kid. "He had brown hair." Like their dad's… lighter, but still definitely brown.

Dean couldn't give up now. Not when he was already in here. He couldn't stop looking for Sam. If he didn't give it his best shot, he'd regret it all his life. He would go through every damn file, tear the place apart if it means that he could find his brother again.

"Are you alright?" The voice on the other side sounded vaguely concerned, as if not anxious about Dean per se, but doubting his mental health.

Dean didn't care. At last, he could actually breathe. Freely.

"Hey, kid, thanks!"

"For what?" Perplexed.

"Nothing," Dean almost grinned. "Good luck with your test… uh Olympiad tomorrow," he said, getting up and dusting his clothes.

"Thanks, I guess?" The voice trailed behind him as Dean walked back to his room. He fell on the bed fully clothed.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and he would try again… and again and again till he succeeded.

******************************

A/N 2: I really really hope y’all like this story!! Please let me know what you think… the feedback is what keeps me going :)

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