#Although it DID cross my mind of if I should add a hint of Dark Ages or not

[radiance1]

Shade of Despair and personification of War.

Pariah Dark only knew war.

Throughout both life and death, was he hardened by it. The thrill of battle, the whirlwind of blood and steel, the sound of metal clashing against metal and sheer satisfaction at the end of it all.

He was among the first, the very few that came with the expanse of the infinite itself. He belongs to it, and it laid an inexplicable claim upon him and the others that were born with him.

He did not know much, then. But he knew he had a purpose, one that called for something, something that laid out of reach for himself then, and not something he could've gotten from the infinite at that moment.

They were not connected to each other, despite coming into existence at roughly the same time. They had their purposes, and they fulfilled them, for at that moment they knew they only existed that singular purpose alone.

Except, he didn't.

So he left.

He was 'alive' in a rough sense of the word. He was not birthed, thrust into life as so many that came before and shaped the infinite from their beliefs. Yet he walked among them all the same.

He searched for his purpose, not understanding humanity's many values and woes, how they could live their lives without having a predetermined purpose of their own, yet he found himself feeling just the tiniest of similarity to the mortals, for they did not know their purpose.

So did he.

Then, he chanced upon it.

War.

It called to him, sang its sweet and bloody call of despair and hope to his ears, throughout his body, circling around his core and suddenly he saw it, knew it.

His purpose.

He sang the song of war, furthering its melodies and corralling others to be entranced and caught in its endless web.

He sang its song throughout all walks of life, as a peasant, a humble farmer, a hardened soldier, a noble, a king, a warlord, the child of a god to some, and a living god to others.

It did not matter what he was at that very moment, he heard its call and sang its melodies until it came to its end, then moving onto the next.

He was a blade crafted for war, hardened through its many battles and carelessly soaked in the blood of many and being one of many molded to its sweet song until he could be called a masterpiece.

Then it came to an end.

He was a fool, who believed that war would never end so long as he remained, so long as humans craved conflict.

But it did, and it left him confused, and surprised.

Humans found peace with each other. Something he never thought possible, something he didn't believe could be possible, but they reached for it, longed for it, and managed to obtain it.

He was not pleased.

There were only so many small skirmishes he could partake in before his hunger turned insatiable. He could sing its song, but with no others to join it could only last for a moment before ending as it began.

This. This was not something he expected, not something he could wrap his mind around.

Humanity lived it, breathed it, bestowed the secrets and his purpose upon him.

So how could they suddenly just stop as if it were no longer important? As if it were not just a part of themselves, something to satisfy and tame their ever-growing hunger and bloodlust?

Just as he left for the finite in the long before, he found himself roaming back to the infinite.

He came face to face with one of the first, Time itself. They were not enemies, nor were they friends, but they had an illusion of a link, of being among the first, what humans would call an 'old friend.'

Just as quickly and suddenly as time made itself known, so to, did it slip from his grasp.

What he saw from the infinite was not pleasing, nor did it leave him with a sense of dissatisfaction of any kind.

It just was.

They were much more than the first few, souls coming and out from the mortal plain, ghosts that formed from the infinite itself. Many upon many.

There was no order, perhaps an illusion of it, but an illusion it was nonetheless.

Just as the humans gave him war, did he bestow upon his home its sweet song.

He was conflict, he was bloodshed, he was the blade forged for, and perfected through war.

He was war's manifestation, and Fear became his tool, friend, and ally all in one.

Humanity bestowed upon him war, and he shall return their gift by reigniting its flame that went out inside each and every one of them by crushing that ideal of peace and make them descend back into the savagery and bloodshed of war.

He was war, and not all shared his ideals.

The fools, who dared to challenge and prevent him from fulfilling his purpose. He was created for it, hardened by it, perfect through blood and despair.

Despite it all, he failed.

His punishment being sent to sleep eternal until he could cease what he was created for.

He never did, and such he was never free.

Until a not quite ghost set him free, seeking to claim his power for his own. Yet his purpose, his ideal, never changed. He called upon Fear, who always accompanied him throughout, and he called upon the endless army in service.

And waged war.

He was conflict, he was bloodshed, he was a blade forged for and perfected through war. Crafted by the infinite and shaped by the finite.

He was war, and faced to face with a not quite ghost who pushed for the ideal of peace, the thing that robbed him of his purpose, the enemy of his ideal.

They clashed, and he found himself losing.

Yet he could not find it displeasing, just as the battle with the Ancients, it gave him pleasure to clash against someone who sought to challenge his ideal.

The fight did not give him as much satisfaction as that of the Ancients, where he pushed himself past his limits, drawn strength deeper and deeper from his core, straining his reflexes to combat that of six against one that sent thrills throughout him.

But it satisfied him, nonetheless.

He was conflict, the spiller of blood and the personification of War and one of the many shades of Despair.

He was War, a part of Despair, challenged by a boy who called for the song of hope and peace.

His loss paved the way for it, and the familiarity of eternal slumber embraced him once more.

[ignisregina]

@mythosisms from here

Raza remembered that night, many many moons ago, when he came back home to the dead bodies of his wife and children. The lion within him tensed further as the thoughts crossed his mind and he immediately shoved that darkness away. Raza did not want Daighre to feel uncomfortable should his lion start to show in his eyes. It was a vicious creature in its own right.  “It was,” Raza confirmed quietly. His entire world had been turned upside down that night. He offered a gentle smile at her apology, though it didn’t reach his eyes. The scars along his back were just a reminder that he’d survived. Raza personally did not mind, despite the protests and tense nature of his lion at the action.  “Good. This makes me more at ease,” he replied, truly glad that she did not have experiences that left her with marred skin. “Truthfully, it is extremely difficult to scar my skin. This was done by another god, a long time ago. One of the few beings that can actually harm me.” He paused at her question, green eyes glancing over at the crackling flames.  “Only on the nights of the new moon. That is when it happened,” Raza answered truthfully. Fingers reached over and casually tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Did I worry you?” He asked, his voice low, quiet, gaze piercing - almost as hot as the flames themselves. 

What little explanation he offered spoke more than his few words did. And although her curiosity was piqued, she dared not ask further, sensing the pain in the quiet and calm of his voice - seeing too much of her own grief mirrored in his. His father dead by the hands of the fomori before she could reach him, her sisters lives sacrificed to seal a foe away. And she - part-human, part-god - always safe but always hurt at the same time although she had no scars to show for it.

She recognized the forced smile, the hollow assurance that everything was alright when nothing was. "Sometimes it hurts more to survive, only to die everyday," she muttered absently, unsure if she was putting to words the pain she read in his eyes or the one that she had been carrying these past years.

She wanted to blame the cool night breeze the way her skin prickled when his finger came to contact with her ear, but Daighre knew she was blessed with the gift of keeping herself warm. Add to that the way the fire danced in Raza's eyes, the shadows making the contours of his face sharper, darker.

"Why did you think I came with you? You worried me from the very start," she retorted with a feigned scoff, holding his gaze. "Fear not. Now that I know you are nigh indestructible, I shall not mind at all if you walk into the path of giant otters or a three-headed beast, the latter of which frequent these lands," she declared, a hint of a smile in her voice was present for a split second. "I only wish I did not ask and brought back some things you were better off not thinking about," this she said without even the slight gaiety as in her previous statement, taking the hand that fixed her hair into hers and giving it a firm squeeze.

[wishuhadstayed]

It Takes a Village

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: about 3000

Summary: when the Hotchner fam is in need, it’s a good thing to have many helping hands. Part 9 to Begin Again.

Warnings: mentions of blood and pregnancy complications

Author’s Note: I really am sorry for that cliffhanger y’all. 😬 I’m just glad you still love me after being gone for like, a literal year. Shoutout to @agent-laufeyson you’re the best 💜 (PS, please ignore Haley in the below gif, also please picture Hotch in the hospital in casual clothes.) 😌

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

For a moment, Aaron’s whole world stopped turning. A cold, familiar sense of dread settled into his chest at the words, “You all may want to sit down for this.”

“Not again,” he thought. “I can’t do this again, we can’t do this again.”

“God please,” he begged internally, slumping into a chair, “if you’re listening, please don’t take her. We need her.”

Suddenly, the voice of a surgeon cut through the silent room like a knife.

“Sir, your wife lost a significant amount of blood. We had no choice but to perform an emergency c-section. Although your daughter is slightly pre-term, she seems to be in good health. However, we would like to keep her a while for monitoring.”

“And my wife?” He inquires, voice trembling with fear.

“It was touch and go there for a while, but we were able to locate the source of bleeding and get it under control. Your wife is out of surgery. She’s stable, but she is very weak and currently asleep. She will also be hospitalized for recovery. At least a week most likely, maybe longer.”

“Mama’s gonna be okay?” Jack pipes up.

“Yes, she is buddy,” Aaron replies, ruffling his hair. “Thanks to that doctor.”

“Thanks for making my mama feel better.”

“You’re most welcome,” the surgeon replied. “You and your dad can go visit her now. The rest of you will have to wait. She needs her rest. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you doctor,” Aaron says, shaking his hand with a sigh of relief.

“You go Aaron,” Rossi encourages, clapping him on the shoulders before he even had a chance to turn around. “Go see your wife and baby. We’ll wait.”

——————————————————————————

Entering your hospital room, Aaron thought your sleeping face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Sitting on the side of your hospital bed, he grabbed hand as you stirred awake.

“Hello Angel,” he murmurs as you take everything in. “You gave us quite a scare,” he mentions, softly caressing your face.

“The baby,” you whisper, touching his hand.

“Ssssshhhh,” he soothes. “The baby is fine. She’s in the nursery. You just rest okay?”

Instant relief washes over your face. “Jack?”

“I’m right here mama!” he exclaims, scrambling into Aaron’s lap.

“I want to see the baby,” you tell Aaron.

“I know darling, but you really need your rest.”

“I NEED to see her, Aaron.” You plead.

Taking the hint, he begins to rise. “Jack why don’t you stay with mama, while I go talk to the nurse, okay?”

“Okay Daddy,” he agrees, climbing in the bed next to you.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better mama,” Jack says, looking up at you with the sweetest face.

“Me too, baby,” you reply. “Are you ready to meet your sister?”

“Yeah!” he exclaims with a look of excitement. “Can I hold her?”

“Of course you can buddy, as long as you’re careful,” Aaron replies as he re-enters the room. “The nurses are bringing her down.”

A few minutes later a nurse arrives holding a tiny pink blanket. “Who wants to hold her first?” She inquires.

“You should hold her first, Aaron,” you suggest.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he insists. “You’ve been the strongest, bravest mom I know already. You should hold her first.”

As the nurse places the tiny, squirming bundle with her father’s dark hair in your arms, all the stress and chaos of the day seems to just melt away.

As you free a tiny hand from the swaddle so she can grasp your finger, her eyes flutter open.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” you wonder aloud.

“Absolutely lovely,” Aaron muses, draping his arm around your shoulders. “Just like her mother.”

——————————————————————————

Meanwhile, cooped up in the waiting area, the BAU team began to grow restless.

“Maybe we should get out of the hospital and go shopping while we wait,” Garcia suggests. “I think Y/N deserves all the gifts and pretty things today.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” JJ questions.

“TARGET RUN!” all three women exclaim in unison.

They all wandered the aisles like kids in a candy store.

“I’m getting her balloons,” Penelope says. “Like so many pink balloons. Nobody can feel bad with that many balloons.”

“Flowers,” Rossi chimes in. “We should get her plenty of flowers to make the room cheerful.”

“We’ll have to get those from hospital gift shop,” JJ comments.

“I’d want chocolate,” Emily suggests. “Chocolate helps everything.”

“Look,” Morgan says, showing a pink stuffed bunny to Garcia. “It’s cute right? For the baby?”

“It’s perfect, Derek,” she assures, grabbing his hand. “Very cute.”

“Oh, a memory book,” Reid mentions. “So they can write down details every day.”

“Leave it to the genius to pick out a book,” Morgan jokes with a playful shove.

“Settle down, boys.” JJ cuts in. “As much as I’m sure she’ll appreciate the pretty gifts, she did just have a baby,” she reminds the group. “She needs some practical things too, trust me.” As she picks out a blanket and a pacifier, Henry begins to grow restless. As she picked up a snack for him, another idea crossed her mind.

“We should get something for Jack, too,” she thought aloud. “LEGOs. He loves LEGOs. And some gummy bears.”

A sudden ringing startles everyone.

“Ssssshhhhhhh,” Garcia commands as she puts the phone on speaker. “It’s Y/N! Quiet!”

“Hello my angel dear,” she lilts, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m very tired, but otherwise happy and healthy,” you report. “Is everyone with you?”

“We’re all here,” JJ chimes in.

“Hi everyone!” You reply. “In that case, I have news. The nurses have said that we’re allowed to have visitors first thing in the morning, if you’d like to see our newest addition.”

“Oh, wild horses could not keep us away, ma’am.” Penelope assures. “We’ll see you all bright and early.”

“Not too early, Penny,” you remind her. “You gotta give me a chance to wake up first.”

“Right, sooooo 10am then?”

“It’s a date.”

——————————————————————————

That evening, you soaked up as much family time as possible before the wave of visitors began. Aaron was a natural, as you’d known he would be from seeing him with Jack.

Watching him with the baby was quickly becoming your favorite pastime. The look of sheer enchantment on his face as he held her close and rocked her made you fall a little more in love with him every moment.

“Daddy loves you so much,” he coos to the tiny bundle in his arms.

“What?” he questions as he catches you watching.

“Oh nothing,” you reply, ruffling Jack’s hair as he slept by your side. “Just wondering how I got so lucky.”

“I think it’s me who got lucky. I thought I’d never love again. I was so closed off. I was prepared to spend the rest of my life as a single dad, doing everything on my own. Now,” he chokes out, “now I’d fall apart without you.”

“Good thing you’ve got two of us now to keep you boys in line then,” you return with a wicked grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger already.”

——————————————————————————

When you awoke the next morning, you were greeted by the most beautiful sight. Aaron still asleep in the recliner next your bed, his arm cradling the sleeping baby on his chest. While you hated to disturb the peaceful scene, you knew the team would be arriving as soon as the clock struck 10.

“Aaron,” you whisper. “Aaron, wake up,” slightly louder this time. He stirs awake, moving slowly so as not to wake the sleeping child.

“What is it babe?”

“The team will be here soon,” you inform him.

“Ah. I should go get ready,” he replies.

“Mama, can I hold her while dad gets ready?” Jack asks, startling the both of you.

“Oh buddy, I didn’t realize you were awake,” you say to him. “Of course you can hold her if you want.”

Jack scrambled into your lap as Aaron rounded the bed.

“Just be really careful with her bud,” Aaron reminds him as he settles the baby on his lap.

“I will dad,” he replies.

As Aaron walked away, the baby’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a small cry.

“Here, why don’t you give her a pacifier?” you suggest.

“Sssshhhh, don’t cry,” he says, giving her the pacifier, and then softly stroking her head.

“What do you think about your baby sister, Jack?”

“She’s pretty, Mama, just like you.”

“Thank you baby,” you reply. “That’s very sweet. I love you.”

“I love you too, mama.”

“And I love you all,” Aaron adds.

——————————————————————————

A short while later, a knock at the door alerts you that your visitors have arrived.

“You ready for this?” Aaron asks as he walks to the door.

“I’ve never been more ready. I just know they’re gonna be so in love with her.”

Aaron opens the door and the team flows in with their myriad of gifts.

Penelope hands off her bouquet of balloons to Derek and rushes over to hug you.

“Oh Y/N,” she gushes, cupping your face. “You look beautiful. It’s so good to see you, we were all worried sick.”

“Thank you Penny,” you reply, eyeing the room. “I’m assuming the shopping spree was your idea.”

“Oh shush woman,” she scolds. “You deserve it. We wanted your room to cozy and pretty because we heard you’re going to be here for a while. Sue us.”

“Thank you all for the gifts, you really didn’t have to do any of that,” you reply, tearing up as you address the whole room. “Just being there for us when we needed you the most was all we could ask for and you’ve gone above and beyond.”

“This is the least we could do, really,” JJ assures, softly rubbing your hand.

“Oh fine, be modest if you insist,” you reply with an eye roll. “I’d open all the gifts now, but I imagine you’re all much more interested in our slightly earlier than anticipated arrival.”

Seemingly for the first time since they came in, everyone notices Aaron’s presence and the little pink bundle in his arms.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you continue, “the announcement you’ve all been waiting for. Introducing Miss Savannah Rose.”

“What a lovely name,” Emily chimes in.

“Thank you,” Aaron cuts in. “We would have told you all sooner but we actually just decided on it while we were here,” he says beaming down at his perfectly content infant daughter. “You can all hold her if you like.”

“I’m sure we’d all love to,” JJ replies, “but i think we should leave that you for now. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to spoil her rotten just as soon as she gets home.”

“Right! We just wanted to check on everyone and make sure you have everything you need,” Garcia adds.

“Well thanks to you guys, I think our hospital room is pretty well stocked. I just wish I could say the same for the nursery,” you say with a shrug.

“What’s wrong with the nursery?” Rossi inquires.

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Aaron admits. “Between me traveling so much for work and Y/N being pregnant and taking care of Jack, it got pushed to the wayside. I thought we had a bit more time.”

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not your fault?” you soothe, reaching for his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“I know, I just wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

“It already is dear,” you assure him with a smile. “Why don’t you go get some coffee, you look exhausted.”

“Good idea babe,” he says, settling the baby into your arms.

“I could use a cup myself,” Morgan adds.

——————————————————————————

“Derek, I need your help,” Aaron pleads, once out of earshot of the room.

“Of course man, anything you need.”

“We’re going to be in the hospital for about a week while Y/N recovers and I’m desperate to have a nice nursery for her when we get home, but I obviously can’t leave her alone. I know it’s a lot to ask, but is there anything you could do to help?”

“Sure thing man, don’t worry about it. That’s the best gift I could hope to give you.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron replies, slapping him on the shoulder. “Just don’t let Y/N find out, okay? I want it to be a surprise.”

“My lips are sealed,” Derek promises.

——————————————————————————

That afternoon Derek had the whole team assembled in the nursery to get started.

“Alright everyone,” he begins, “We’ve got one week to make this the best surprise gift possible. Let’s make it happen.”

“What color should we paint it?” Penelope inquires.

“Got that covered already,” Derek replies while opening a paint can. “Purple. Hotch said it’s Y/N’s favorite color.”

“Oh Derek, it’s perfect!” she squealed, squeezing him tight. “She’s gonna adore it.”

“While the two of us are painting,” Penny addresses the group, “why don’t the rest of you do some some shopping?”

“Great idea, baby girl.” Morgan chimes in. “I think they’ve got the basics from the baby shower and I saw a crib and changing table in the garage, but I’m sure you guys can find things they’re missing.”

“Oh I think we’ve got this,” JJ states confidently. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she commands, herding Emily, Rossi, and Reid out the door.

When the group arrived back at the Hotchner house several hours later, the nursery walls were covered in a soft shade of lavender; as were Morgan and Garcia.

“I don’t know how you two managed to get any paint on the walls,” JJ said with a grin.

“Smile for the camera, you two,” Emily cuts in, snapping a picture on her phone as the couple hug and smile in their paint splattered clothes.

——————————————————————————

The next day conversation flowed as team was busily assembling furniture. Rossi, Reid, and Morgan worked on the crib while Penny, Emily, and JJ tackled the changing table.

“Let me know if you ladies need any help,” Morgan mentions casually.

“Oh right,” Emily grumbles, “because OBVIOUSLY the women need a big, strong man’s help, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” Derek counters. “I was just offering.”

“Oh not only will we get ours done without your help, we’ll get it done faster,” Emily challenges.

“Oh yeah?”

“YEAH!” all three women reply in unison.

“You’re on,” Morgan accepts.

“Oh you’re so going down,” Penny taunts, throwing pieces of plastic wrapping at Derek.

“Losers buy sushi for lunch?” Rossi suggests.

“Oh that could be pretty expensive for you Dave,” JJ comments. “You sure you’re up for that?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Rossi says, rolling his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Two hours later, as JJ and Emily were finishing up the crib, the men came dragging in, arms full of takeout bags.

“Say cheese!” Penelope squeals as she takes their picture. “For the bragging rights.”

——————————————————————————

The next days were spent putting the finishing touches on the room.

A purple gradient butterfly mobile above the crib from JJ.

A bookshelf with a fully stocked library, specially selected by Reid. Emily places her floral covered photo album on top.

Lavender curtains with a shimmery overlay, Penelope’s contribution.

Derek’s stuffed bunny, carefully laid in a white gliding chair with purple cushions, which was generously paid for by Dave.

Derek lays a soft shag rug over the hardwood floor and drapes a plush floral blanket over the edge of the crib.

“I think that about does it, guys,” he says with a look of pride.

“You know, I bought them that photo album,” Emily comments, “it would be a shame if we didn’t put a few in there as a gift.”

“Yeah, but how do we get a picture of the whole group?” JJ wonders out loud.

“We could set a timer,” Penelope suggests.

“Yeah, but who sets the timer?” Reid asks, as he turns to see the whole group looking at him.

“Seriously guys?”

Between the camera falling over, closed eyes, and Spence not making it back before the timer, it took a few tries before there was a good group shot.

“And now a funny one,” Penny insists.

Once the photos, including the bloopers, have been printed and arranged in the album, JJ makes sure to write descriptions for each in the margins before setting it back on the shelf.

“Good job team,” Derek announces. “Our work here is done.”

——————————————————————————

After all the chaos surrounding the birth and a full week in the hospital, nothing felt better than standing at the door of your house with the love of your life and your two beautiful children.

“You ready to finally get some rest, baby?” Aaron asks as he ushers you inside the house, one solid arm arm around the small of your back and Savannah in her carrier on the other.

“Yeah,” you sigh, dropping your purse on the coffee table and slipping off your shoes. “I just wish we didn’t still have to worry about the nursery,” you groan, plopping down onto the sofa.

“About that,” Aaron says with a mischievous grin, offering you his free hand.

“What are you up to, Aaron Hotchner?” You muse as he leads you down the hallway.

“Just trust me,” he assures, coming to a halt in front of the nursery door. “Close your eyes,” he requests.

“What is going on here?” you inquire again.

“Just close your eyes please, darling,” he asks. “For me.”

“Alright, alright,” you comply, “this better be good.”

“Don’t open them until I say so, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

With eyes closed and Jack close by your side, you hear the door open and the rustling of paper inside the room.

“Alright,” he whispers, sliding his arm around your shoulders. “Open your eyes.”

—————————————————————————

Taglist: @ange-must-die @agent-laufeyson @poetsacademia @hotchners-slut @arganfics @ladyreapermc @rousethemouse @less-intelligent-spencerreid @tgibstan @themanip @word-scribbless @quillvine @glizzieborden @miss-united-ace @samayoshito @hotchnerundercover @pedropascalian @thenewnormalforensicator @crowdedimagines @sagittarianwolf @kleff03

[akaashisupremacy]

Knee Deep in Longing

Summary: Having broken off your engagement for an arranged marriage with Gojo, your relationship is in shreds. As you and Gojo try to pick up the pieces, what does love look like? 

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: ANGST, PINING, fluff?? exes to friends to lovers (wc: 1.3k)  

“You don’t want to be seen around me.” you abruptly pull away, visibly hurt, “Look, I know we’re not seeing each other seriously or exclusively, but you don’t have to act like I’m nothing to you.”

After seeing an elder in the jujutsu community in the crowded streets of Tokyo, Gojo Satoru dropped his hand from your waist. He put some distance between your sides while his shoulders tried not to tense.

Being with Gojo is complicated. He’s your ex-fiancee from a marriage arranged by your families. It’s difficult not to resent him after your clan exiled you after you both broke off the arrangement, while Gojo kept his position.

Ten years after all that trouble, you’re both slowly experimenting with romance. Not that it’s going well or anything. It’s a lot of denials, hesitations and resistance to affection.

“It’s not that!” he exclaims defensively.

“So what is it?” your voice rises. Your fists start to clench.

Gojo’s never been good at commitment. He’s handsome and powerful and boy does he know it.

You knew this would happen. If someone you both knew saw the two of you together, Gojo would deny his involvement with you. It’s not a surprise of course, but it still hurts.

He tries to put his arm around you again. You brush him off.

Your temper is extra volatile today.

You’re ready to walk off when he makes a last attempt to explain himself.

“I want to be extremely private about you. No more repeats of our engagement.” he blurts out, “Everybody knew everything about us. They talked when they saw us with anyone outside of each other. They speculated about your dignity when we broke up. They continue to talk about you like an outcast.”

“I felt like I didn’t know you outside of what people thought of you anymore.” he murmurs. “I can't undo my mistakes and I’m trying to keep myself from repeating them. But I’m new to do this and I don’t mean the mistakes I’m making…”

He can see the gears in your mind turning, considering each word that falls from his lips.

“Don’t leave me, please?” he swallows in quiet desperation.

You’re taken aback by his tone. It’s muted, humble and pleading, everything that Gojo is not.

He reaches out both hands to you, with the slightest of tremors.

When you take his hand, he almost sighs loudly in relief.

“I’ll make this up to you. We can make out in the Shibuya crossing—“ he says half seriously.

“It’s ok,” you wave dismissively, “You’re forgiven.”

You squeeze his hand to reassure him. He smiles a bit more.

Exploring your relationship on our own terms outside of your with familial expectations is tough. You both have scars from your past lingering between you. Gojo is right. Mistakes will be made.

You both slow down the pace to enjoy the city, his hand tightly clutches to yours. You stop by Ueno park to view endless paths of cherry blossoms at full bloom. The air is a little crisp yet not too cold for early spring.

Every gust of wind that blows by comes with a gust of cherry blossom petals.

“Our first cherry blossoms,” you murmur.

“I wouldn’t say ‘first’ necessarily,” he chimes in, “We’ve had quite a few strolls under cherry blossom trees when we were younger. Maybe the first without all the resentment.”

He quirks his brow and turns to you.

“What’s that for? I thought you said you’d forgiven me for that?!” you put your hands around your hips. He doesn’t say anything, but he grins widely.

—————————————————————————————

“Do you think dating would be more romantic if we were younger?” you  muse, referring to your earlier outburst, “Dating as adults so boring, it’s a lot of trauma processing and all that jazz.”

After spending the afternoon at the park, Gojo offers to drive you home. The walk along the park was surprisingly romantic and you're still a little high from your time together.

Gojo had his arm around you and you even shared a kiss before the drive back. It fills you with giddiness every time you think back to it.

“No.” he flat out answers.

“Why not?” you turn to him, curious at the swiftness of his reply.

“Because…” he sighs with his eyes trained on the road, “my earlier relationships felt like they were victims of my hormones or circumstances. Like the reason why I was attracted to them was because they were the only people I saw around.”

“I want to see you because I choose to see you…not because there’s no one else.” he adds, “It feels nice to know that you probably have other prospects, but you chose to spend today with me. Just because.”

The hint of vulnerability does not escape you. You uncross your arms.

“All I’m saying is that there’s a loss of innocence and a sense of wonder when we age, y’know?” you shrug, with a small smile.

Gojo finally turns to you.

“Today was kind of dreamy though,” he murmurs, “We’re not 15 anymore, but there’s still a certain magic to life don’t you think?”

You both pause to reflect. The car enters into prime Tokyo traffic, the remnants of your walks now behind you. You glance at the city lights. The day is ending too quickly.

“Now is good,” he adds.

Gojo turns on the music the rest of the drive. You make small talk and flirt here and there. You make a joke, he shoots back, the usual. When you finally reach your apartment, you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“See you around,” you nod.

“I’ll call you.” he replies. You snort. Sure.

“What's with that?!” he exaggerates his aghast expression.

“I will call you.” he insists, “I’ll even call you when I get home.”

You look at him skeptically. Although you and Gojo never formally dated, you knew that he wasn’t great at keeping promises and much less so with calling back.

Today’s adventure was great, but you don’t expect much follow up after that, at least not consistently. He’s more of a sporadic caller if anything.

“Bye,” you sigh, reaching for the door.

He stops you from getting out of the car by grabbing onto your forearm. He leans in for another kiss. This time longer and more passionate than the one you shared. His hands don’t wander, instead he places his hand on yours and interlaces your fingers. His lips are warm and his touch tender.

There was something emotional about his gesture, like a longing that has been shoved aside now fulfilled at last.

When you’re both done, he looks flushed, completely smitten.

“I want you right now.” he whispers in your ear, leaning in again.

Your face momentarily gives away your consideration of his proposition.

You quickly hold up your hand, “Then that should give you more incentive to call.”

You get out of the car hearing his faint snort. He watches you disappear into the darkness.

In less than an hour, your phone rings. You pick it up without looking, unsure whether it was work or Gojo.

“Whats up?” you instinctively answer.

“You told me to call and so I called.” Gojo says.

You stand completely still in your room. He’s silent on the other line, as if waiting for you to pass judgement on him. He actually did it. He actually called you back.

“Are you ok?!” you blurt out, baffled by his follow through.

He lets out a chuckle, “Of course, I’m the best I’ve been in a really long while.”

Gojo listens to your amused reaction. He can see your eyes crinkle and your lips pressed together into a smile--it’s his favorite part about seeing you. Watching you sincerely be happy around was something he thought he would never crave, yet here he was knee deep in longing.

“I’m mostly good,” he thinks to himself, “Just a little too in love with you.”

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I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel @samkysnks @herownescape@cherrianne192 @shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl @luvang3l @cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan @gucci-froggy @soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri 

 If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

[spencersawkward]

omg i’m so glad u have a tumblr!! ur literally my fav mgg fic author ❤️ i’m a hoe for that man can u do sleeping together for the first time with like an age gap or something spicy lmao

hi omg thank you 😊 that literally means the world to me! also thank you for requesting one of my fave things to write haha i love first-time-having-sex-together tropes. happy reading! 

summary: reader is an artist who needs some inspiration, preferably from her new boyfriend.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, age gap, creampie, a little breeding kink, oral (male receiving), kind of Dom!Matthew vibes, dirty talk, praise kink with a hint of degradation as well (not super prominent). 

word count: 4.4k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

masterlist

I straighten up and bend backward a bit to relieve the pressure on my spine. my hair is falling out of the knot on my head and I push a stray piece behind my ear, placing the wooden paintbrush between my teeth. aside from the warm, mellifluous tones pouring from the speakers, the apartment is silent.

I've hit a creative wall, it seems. every time I've tried to paint this week, I find myself standing above a stretched canvas with nothing but a frown and crossed arms. even little details feel wrong to add; the empty space is taunting me. it doesn't help that my thoughts have been flooded with memories and fantasies of Matthew. we've been on a couple dates now, sweet outings that leave me fluttery inside. I remember the words he says, the shape of his smile and the curve of his jaw, like they've been been in my mind forever. he's elusive, however, and hasn't initiated anything sexual with me. I think he's afraid of coming on too strong. there's a considerable age gap between us, but I don't care. I want him all the time-- whenever I'm at work, or trying to paint, all I can think of is how good it would feel to have those strong, veined hands on me.

christ.

before I can lose my courage, I text him. if anything can inspire me, it's his presence. likely, he's at work and won't be able to respond or come over, but it's worth a shot.

I'm just sliding my phone into my back pocket when the response comes in. a smile spreads over my face; he'll be over in half an hour. in the meantime, I'll sweep the background with shades that remind me of him: rich, emerald greens, honeyed tones that reminisce of his eyes. he'll pop against any backdrop.

I'm bent furiously over my work when he tells me he's arrived, and my heart thuds in my chest. even after hanging out several times, the butterflies are as alive as ever. they flood my stomach while I buzz him into the building.

"hi." he greets me when I open the door, curls messy. he must have just come from work.

"hi, Matthew." I smile up at him. his gaze travels over my face, my body, taking in my appearance for a moment.

"you look lovely." he says it genuinely, despite the fact that I'm literally wearing a paint t-shirt under a pair of rummaged overalls. I forgot to fix my hair, too.

"thanks." I blush, about to turn away when he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. it's the first time he's said hello that way, and part of me flushes with the knowledge that he's attracted to me right now.

"now," he looks around my apartment as I step back to let him in. "what can I help you with?"

"I have a small favor to ask." I spin the paintbrush between my index and third fingers, reaching out to take his wrist and pull him towards the couch.

"anything," he replies, then sees my setup. "is this your studio?"

"slash living room." I chuckle. Matthew sits on the soft cushions before staring up at me. I don't miss his pupils dilating as they travel over the shape of my body. instead of allowing myself get distracted, I gesture to the wet paint on my canvas. "I need you to model for me."

"like, be your muse?" he beams at the notion, incredibly pleased with himself. I like this about Matthew; although he can be self-deprecating and doesn't take himself too seriously, he appreciates my admiration.

"oh, hush." I giggle. he laughs, reclining on the couch now that he knows why I invited him over.

"how do you want me to pose, Picasso?"

"well, let me re-orient myself." I hold up a hand, grab the abandoned easel, and try to get everything set up. he never takes his eyes off me.

"why were you painting on the floor?" he asks, slightly amused. I jerk my head toward him, narrow my eyes.

"it's my process."

"no judgement." he holds up his hands in surrender. I place the canvas carefully on the easel so that he can't see my work, then gather up my paints, palette, and brushes. there's a moment of pure silence when I frown as I glance between his face and the chasm of space awaiting its representation.

"you look tired." I observe. he lets out a sound that resembles a laugh.

"I am."

"how long did you sleep last night?" I ask as I start painting, focusing on the shape and planes of his face. if I don't get the composition exactly correct, I'll have to throw the whole thing out.

"three hours." he says this like it's normal. my eyebrows shoot up.

"three hours? why?"

"I had to work on lines." he shrugs.

"don't move." I order. he suppresses a grin.

"my sincerest apologies."

"uh huh," I dip my brush into a pale skin shade that I've mixed to match his pigment. "you need to get more sleep."

we continue on like this for a while, making light conversation while I get down the basics of my portrait. I can't handle anything that requires more than a fraction of my attention while doing this, and he seems to appreciate my concentration.

that said, it's beyond difficult to focus when he stares at me like every movement is magical, something he wants to memorize. I feel pliable under his watch, a little bit like a doll. he could bend me every which way, ask me to do anything, and I would give in. and who could blame me?

my thoughts slip into darkened territories, and the hue of my cheeks must do the same, because he gets this mischievous smile on his face that I can't ignore.

"what are you thinking about?" he asks softly.

"hm?" I turn to him. "oh, nothing."

"really?" his brows lift in that intimidating, delightfully entertained way that sets my skin on fire.

"I..." I trail off, wondering if I should give into the chaos in my mind. the thoughts that slash through my psyche whenever I see the width of his shoulders, the fit of his shirt. "I should have asked you to pose nude."

Matthew blushes-- actually blushes-- when I say this, his head dropping momentarily as a grin takes over his features. when he lifts his gaze to mine again, there's a different look in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"mhmm." no taking it back now. "I think that would be too distracting, though."

"how so?" the corner of his mouth tugs up.

"you know why." I avert my attention, only once flitting back to him. his tongue darts out over his lips and he holds contact.

"say it." he dares me. the tone of it, slightly dominant, makes my stomach flip. quietly, I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I have trouble keeping my hands to myself."

we stare at each other, words finding and dying on tongues in the silence.

at this point, my painting has been somewhat abandoned. brushstrokes sit unaccompanied by actual structure, except for the general godly shape of his face, and I'm clenching the utensil between my fingers as if to channel the sexual tension elsewhere.

"is that right?" he notes my absolute stillness and stands up, walking toward me in a relaxed, confident gait. all I can do is look up at him when he stands before me. the top button of his shirt is undone, and I can see the smooth skin beneath, each of the other buttons awaiting my fingertips.

"yes." the word is messy. he runs his index finger over the shell of my ear, bends down, whispers so low that the phrase almost gets lost in the air.

"me too."

he plants a gentle kiss on my jaw, hand reaching tentatively to rest on my waist. I can feel the caution in his actions, the worry he has about pressuring me. I'm cognizant of every breath he takes, especially the hitch when I give into myself and kiss him.

his mouth is warm and soft. the tension twists and knots between our bodies, roiling in the empty space as we resist the energy still. but I don't want to resist. I know that I want this, and he seems to want it just as much.

"Matthew." I pull away, his teeth tugging gently on my bottom lip.

"what is it?" his eyes, dark, search mine. my pulse quickens beneath my skin.

"I want to be with you."

"you are with me." he chuckles lightly, glancing at my features. the full circles of my eyes, the bloom of pink spreading over my cheekbones.

"no," I shake my head. "I mean... I want to be with you."

"you want to have sex?" he asks, clarifying. I nod eagerly, though he frowns a bit. "are you sure?"

"do you not want to?" I try to keep the disappointment out of my face. maybe I misread the situation. the most we've done is make out on his couch and once in an Uber on the way back from our first date. but there's a sweet, burning sensation whenever I see him, something I want to dive into. I want him; I've wanted him since the moment we met.

"of course I want to," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. relief loosens my chest. "I just don't want you to regret anything."

"I couldn't ever regret this." my eyes travel over his frame, over the little scar beneath his chin. he angles my face up to examine my features. there's a smirk on his face.

"then what are we waiting for?" his hands move to encircle my waist, tugging me to him like I'm something long-awaited, like he needs my weight against his. our lips meet again, my head tilting as we kiss deeply, my fingers twining in his soft hair. I'm standing on my tiptoes as I do it, and one of his hands reaches down to squeeze my ass. he grunts as my pelvis moves against the quickly-forming hard-on in his pants. I can feel it against my stomach as he ruts against me just slightly. I smirk.

"sit on the couch again." I whisper when I pull away. he's holding my face with one hand, staring into my eyes with the kind of dominance that tells me he knows exactly what to do. but I appreciate that he follows my request, pulling my hips toward him as he backs up and sinks onto the cushions. he sits, awaiting my next move. when I sink onto my knees and settle between his legs, he bites hard on his lip. I don't move at first, willing to draw out this beautiful moment when he's watching with undivided attention.

"what are you doing down there, sweetheart?" he feigns innocence when I give him my doe eyes. I run slender fingers over the erection in his pants, his quickened breath an indicator of just how needy he secretly is. I revel in it.

my free hand wraps around his upper thigh, digging my nails in slightly. he's so gorgeous, and the tension of his muscles beneath me is enough to break my resistance. I start to palm him through the fabric, torturing slowly while he runs fingers through my hair and tries not to buck up against my touch. I finally get around to undoing the button on his pants. he waits impatiently. I tug them down his legs, lingering on the waistband of his boxers. when they come down as well, another kind of knot forms in my tummy. he's perfect.

"oh my god." he throws his head back when his dick hits his stomach, the pleasure of releasing it its own sensation.

"hm?" I wonder aloud, wrapping my hand around the base and starting to slowly pump him. he raises his head to look at me.

"you're just... doing so well." he breathes. I grin at how easily I've got him; I was worried about being too shy or him being more experienced, but he's greedy for me. I love the power I have right now.

I surprise him by flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it up over the throbbing vein and pausing at the top. I let him stare at me with my mouth hovering over him, the head resting on the tip of my tongue. he moans when I begin to kitten lick the precum that leaks out, grip tightening in my hair as it comes out of the ponytail I made earlier. the veins in his arm clench as I sink slowly onto him. my cheeks hollow. his jaw drops open, dewy skin catching the light, as I start to suck on him.

"fuck..." he trails off. I begin to bob up and down, doing tricks with my tongue and swirling around the head, savoring every single second. his desperate touch, the way he bucks his hips up involuntarily when I try to take him to the hilt, all of it causes me to moan. vibrations draw out sinful noises from him as well, those heavenly sounds that he litters with my name. my hands rest on his thighs at first, then move up to rest on the warm, taut skin of his abdomen. I crave every centimeter of his skin, his contact, especially when I can feel the rushed rise and fall of his panting. I give him full use of my throat, sliding over him and moaning with every tug of my hair. he mutters profanities, praises me, struggles to keep his eyes open just to see me peek up at him from beneath my lashes. his expression tells me he's got plans for me.

"if you don't stop, I'm gonna cum, baby." he groans, smoothly tugging me off of him. there's a slight popping sound and I settle onto my knees, staring up at him. the smile on my face is unmistakable. I love that I can do this to him. I grip his legs and pull myself up into his lap, drawing myself across him just before his erection, glancing down at it. his hands rub over the tops of my thighs, tracing over the curve of my hips and resting on my ass. I start to roll my body down, my lips finding his throat as I suck and bite. my tongue licks over his Adam's apple and he shudders, drawing me closer so that my stomach brushes his cock.

"stop teasing." he starts to undo the straps of my overalls, chuckling a bit to himself as they fall easily. I blush.

"pretty sexy." I joke. Matthew suddenly grabs my chin, holds me in place so that I look him dead in the eyes.

"you're perfect." he smiles admiringly, then toys with the hem of my t-shirt. I reach down, pull it off and toss it somewhere in the room. I'm not wearing a bra, and Matthew slides his hands up my waist, ribcage, pausing just below my tits. when I grab his fingers and place them over me, his dick twitches.

"excited?" I smirk. his fingertips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to toy with my nipples, the pad of his thumbs teasing me. I sigh, chest pushing out towards him desperately. he holds my body like he's worried I'll crumble, but also in a way that connotes a deep longing. something spilling over.

"can I take you to the bedroom?" he asks me breathlessly, one of his hands leaving my chest to stroke his own cock. the sight makes me groan helplessly while I grip his shoulders and grind against his lap. he picks up the pace for himself. "I can't wait any longer."

I nod eagerly, gasping when he stops touching himself to pull up his pants, hoist me up into his arms, and stand, carrying me with surprising ease down the hallway of my apartment. I point him to the correct room and he laughs when we get inside.

"you're messy." he laughs, although I'm not sure if he means the scattered papers around my bedroom or the whine that issues from my throat as I reach for his clothed dick while I'm pressed to him. it's sitting against my navel and I want to see his undone expressions.

I ignore the playful comment; he lays me down gingerly on the bed, straightening up to gaze at my figure before I push the rest of the overalls down my legs and cast them off. he lets out a giggle as I pout at the work I have to put into getting naked.

"stop laughing..." I blush, smiling. but I'm giggling too. he grazes the inside of my thigh, unable to keep from touching me while I discard my panties.

"I'm sorry." he laughs in a way that shows he isn't sorry at all, but the soft kiss he plants on my lips tells me it's all endearing to him. I wrinkle my nose slightly. for the first time being naked around him, I feel surprisingly comfortable. he watches me with a quiet adoration, like I've spun sugar and gold between my fingers. unable to contain myself anymore, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and undo the rest of the buttons. every second that his skin isn't against mine is a new kind of torture. it comes off easily and then the pants come off, too, until we're just staring at each other.

"do you still wanna do this?" he speaks carefully with me. I don't know where to look-- at his perfect chest, stomach, the purplish bruises already forming across his throat, or his enraptured face. it's almost overwhelming, and the waves of desire crash over me, hindering my words.

"yes," I nod. "yes, yes, yes." the word keeps falling from my lips even as he crawls on top of me, burying his nose into my collarbone and kissing feverishly. one hand supports his arm beside my head while the other reaches down to part my legs. I sigh at the cool air that's interrupted by his dick rubbing over my folds. he starts to grind down, drawing out every second of foreplay while I try to catch my breath. my eyes tilt to the ceiling, fluttering shut. I bask in every sensation. his warmth, his weight, all of it presses down.

"do we need a condom?" he asks softly, his cock throbbing against my center.

"birth control." I shake my head. he nods against my skin, allows me to tangle my fingers in his curls. "I'm clean."

"me too." I reply. he grabs my hip and yanks it towards him, pulling his chest away to straighten while he lines himself up at my entrance. he's concentrating on the place where our bodies meet, eyes full of lust when they peek up at mine.

"tell me if you need me to stop." he says softly.

"okay." I can't think of anything else. every cell of my existence is consumed with thoughts of impatience, and when he slides into me, my thighs tense and my mouth drops open.

"Matthew... oh my god." my voice is more like a mewl, in shock as my walls squeeze around him like they're trying to reject the sudden pressure between my legs. his jaw clenches, sinking into me until he reaches about halfway.

he lets out a surprising groan, leans down to kiss my shoulder as he finds a sweet spot. our chests are pressed together and, judging by the way he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my torso to his, he likes the feeling.

we stay there a moment, him trying not to hurt me. but then I lift my pelvis up, trying to take more, and he inhales sharply.

"do something," I beg him quietly. "please."

I feel his lips curl into a smile and he pulls his face up to see my expressions. his hips push forward, my body sliding up the bed with the force. he watches my eyes roll back, my ribcage expand, my face overcome by pleasure. his gaze is unrelenting with lips slightly parted as he begins to thrust in and out of me.

I'm already a panting, moaning mess beneath him. he touches his nose to mine, swallowing each other's breaths while he moves.

"is this how you want it, baby?" he smirks, getting lost in his own lust. I nod and he gently turns my face to his. "tell me what you want."

"more." I sigh, hips again raising to meet the thrusts that are growing more forceful each time. my nails drag up his back, the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and tugging at the ends. he sinks his teeth into my neck lightly and moans. I wrap my legs around his torso.

"such a pretty girl..." he growls in my ear. his grip on the sheets tightens when I clench myself around him, drawing him impossibly closer to my core. I can't help the helpless moans spilling out of me. I'm insatiable right now, scratching at his shoulders until I'm sure I'll leave red marks. he groans lasciviously at the clawing, ramming into me with an unrelenting voracity.

"oh my god," I yelp, back arching as he hits my g-spot. "right there, Matthew." my pleas fall on receptive ears: he holds me tighter to his chest and pounds into me.

"you like getting fucked by older men?" he whispers dirty things in my ear and I nod quickly, hardly able to speak through the ungodly sounds escaping my mouth. I cling to him and he lets me, treating every limb like it belongs to him.

"yes-- fuck, yes." I moan, almost sliding out of his grip from how hard he goes.

"you can take it," he breathes out, fingertips digging into my ribs while he holds me up. he's leaving marks that won't go away for a while, remnants of the full power of his desire. I want more, writhing and using my limited mobility to grind against him. he chuckles darkly over my skin. "look at you."

"Matthew, I'm gonna--" I gasp when he slams into me particularly hard. "I'm gonna cum."

"good." he shudders slightly, that attitude showing again. he reaches his hand up a moment to run through my hair. "cum on me, princess."

my lips part and I try to gulp down air, but it's impossible with the way he's holding my attention. the thing about Matthew is that he's so sweet and gentle that whenever he looks at me like I'm a plaything, it shocks my insides. they turn to jelly, eager to please and quick to satisfy. he switches so easily with me, and he doesn't even need to request my submission. I give it more than willingly.

"fuck me..." I pant out, feeling my pussy start to clench over and over around him. my orgasm fuzzies the edges of my vision, creeping up my spine until it's arched. "oh fuck-- Matthew!" I practically scream while my frame gives out. I'm shuddering, crying out at the absolute euphoria wracking my body.

"scream my name, baby." he groans, his own orgasms approaching quickly. the fluttering of my cunt around him is causing the vein in his forehead to throb. he rocks into me, the headboard knocking into the wall while he nears the edge. "such a good girl for me."

I nod and meet his thrusts with my hips while I ride out my orgasm, inadvertently finding myself wound up again. the pleasure of his fingers when they reach between our bodies to rub my clit causes me to buck into him, whining mercifully while he gets me off again.

"oh--" he sucks in a breath when I squeeze, keeping him here with me. "you feel so good."

he starts to lose control, hips juddering to get as deep as he can get.

"can I fill you up, baby?"

"yes." I reply immediately. he smiles a little, lifting me up more so that he can hold me under my ass while he pounds into me so deeply, I can feel his dick brushing my cervix.

"oh my god," he moans, the sound desperate as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me. he keeps pushing as though to keep his cum within me, panting over my skin. "such a tight little cunt."  

the circles on my clit, combined with the sinful things he continues to say, cause me to whimper and climax all over again. I moan his name, absorbed in the warmth of his seed in my stomach.

"you want more?" he slows his thrusts but pleasures me through my orgasm while I nod helplessly.

"I'll cum in you again tonight." he promises, taking my shaking, weak form as a sign to withdraw. both of us wince at the sensitivity until he lays me back down on the bed so gently, it makes me question if what we just did was real.

neither of us speaks for a moment, trying to regain our composure as he rolls down onto the mattress beside me. I stare up at the ceiling, feeling him drip between my thighs.

"that was..." he turns his head to gauge my reaction. I don't even bother to hide the satisfied grin on my face.

"amazing."

"yeah?" he rolls over onto his side and places one large hand on my stomach. his touch makes me bloom.

"mhmm." I hum. his face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, a beautiful sight that makes me want to kiss him all over again. I didn't know it was possible to feel this way for someone so quickly.

"can I get you anything?" he smiles. I don't say anything at first, only reach out to cup his face in my hands and pull him to me for a chaste peck.

"no, thank you." I rub my nose with his. "I'm gonna take a shower and make something to eat if you want to join me."

"definitely." he examines my features once more as if to assess damage. but there's only pure joy painted across my face. "are you sure I didn't go too hard on you?"

"you can go harder tonight." I tease.

"what about your painting?" he suddenly recalls the project lying in the living room.

"rain check." I shrug. he laughs, wraps an arm around my waist.

"alright, then."

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 4

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10. Tutoring

When Marinette entered the bakery to help Adrien complete the handfuls upon handfuls of special orders, he could tell she was on a mission. He really liked the strong set of her posture and determined glint in her eye whenever she got that way, which meant he’d have trouble ignoring that distraction and keeping on top of the schedule.

“So,” she began, turning her fiery look towards him. “I think I’ve made a decision.”

Adrien raised a brow. “What?”

“About the fashion world.”

“You have my attention.” After all, she’d been researching non-stop for over a month, now. He’d seen how much it was wearing on her. At the moment, she looked revitalized.

“I need you to be my own private tutor for a moment.”

Adrien couldn’t help but grin like a cat that got the cream. He sauntered up to her, striking his best pose. “Oh? Just what am I gonna be teaching you, milady? And is this really the place for it?”

Marinette’s expression fell flatter than a crepe. “Adrien.”

“Hint taken,” he said, straightening himself up. “What am I teaching you?”

“I want every story you have to tell,” she said. “You may not have been a designer, but you first hand witnessed your father’s fashion empire and were involved in several different sides of it. I want to know your own personal experience with everything. Good, bad, ugly, right, wrong; I want to know.”

His mouth set in a hard line. “I… I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But fair warning: I’m biased.”

“That’s what I want to know, too,” she said. “The fashion industry is extremely competitive. And from the data I’ve seen, there’s plenty of people who go in with high hopes, only to get chewed up and spit out. What are your dark secrets? What am I actually looking forward to if I go in?”

Adrien frowned. He had plenty of stories to tell, that wasn’t the issue. What was the problem was the likelihood they’d discourage her from pursuing fashion any further. And if she did end up wanting to go into fashion, he didn’t want to crush any hope she currently held.

But looking at her now, he realized he wouldn’t be able to tell her no. She had a determination in her eyes that was both sexy and frightening. That look warned that she was on the verge of a decision, and whatever she chose would be ultimate and final.

Part of him loved that fire in her, and part of him wished he had half the gumption she did.

“Okay,” he relented. “But before I do, can you promise me that you’re not basing everything off what I say? That it will only add to all the other research you’ve done.”

She nodded resolutely. “Promise.”

He sighed. “Well,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “Guess the question now is where do I even begin?”

 11. Truth or Dare

Marinette had come to her decision, and no one would sway her from it.

The tales Adrien had told her were mostly along the lines of what she expected, while there were others that more strongly leaned towards “that’s pretty good,” and still others that crossed into “that’s really bad” territory.

So, after that evening, the question she had faced herself with was not “could I handle this?” but rather “do I want to do this?” and “do all the potential benefits out way all the negative?”

But really, that brought her back to “what do I even want out of life?” because her answer changed everything…

Which make her realize that maybe she wasn’t so resolute in her decision after all.

She was almost nineteen. By now, most of her classmates had plans for the future they were all pursuing. She had thought she’d had plans, but when they all crumbled beneath her feet, she found herself lost, wondering around the Land of What-Do-I-Do-Now?

“Marinette!”

With a squeak, she practically leapt five feet into the air at the sudden voice right beside her. When she realized it was Adrien, she leaned against the bakery table with a heavy sigh. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Someone was lost in thought.”

“Yeah! And the last thing you do when someone is lost in thought is purposefully surprise them by suddenly appearing right beside them. Jerk!” With a hint of a smile, she took some of the flour on the table and flicked it at him, knowing that if she did, he’d wipe that apologetic look of his face and loosen up a bit.

“Hey!” He turned away, but not quick enough. Flour dusted his perfect jawbone and perfect collar bone and perfectly fitted t-shirt. But it was the perfect smile that he wore that made the rest of the heaviness she felt on her shoulders disappear, even if only for a moment.

“Don’t do that again,” she warned, her voice not really holding any bite in it.

“No promises,” he said with a chuckle, dusting the flour off him. “That was a pretty cute squeak, princess.”

She just sighed. There was no getting him off the name by now so she’d just learned to roll with it. “I am not cute! I am fierce.”

“Yeah, like a little fluffy Papillion.”

She gasped, flicking even more flour at him. He laughed again.

“Is the bread in the oven yet, Marinette?” her father called out, bringing her back to reality.

“Almost!” she cried, quickly hurrying to score the tops of the loaves on the last pan before hurriedly sticking all the pans she’d made in the oven. “Done!”

“Thank you.” That was when her papa reappeared. “The fridge is clean now, so I’m off.”

“And I’m on,” Adrien said with a grin. “There’s only a couple special orders to handle tonight, right?”

“Yup. You’ll finish those in a flash.”

Adrien beamed. “Perfect. Got to love when my days are easy.”

Her papa chuckled. “Can’t disagree with you there. Being a baker is more fun when you don’t have too large an order burden.”

“Exactly,” Adrien agreed, already tying on his apron.

After Marinette saw her papa off, leaving just her and Adrien in the kitchen, he sidled up to her. “Let’s play a game.”

She quirked a brow at him. He looked way too mischievous at the moment. “You just got on shift, and you want to play a game?”

He was positively beaming. “Yup.”

Although she shook her head, she didn’t mind it. She enjoyed running shifts with Adrien or just hanging out with him in general. But she knew that if they started up, she was the one who’d have to keep them on track for the night. “Start in on something first. Unless you wanna be here all night.”

“Point taken.” Immediately, Adrien set to work weighing ingredients and then mixing up a dough.

“So,” he said as he worked. “Truth or dare.”

Marinette dropped the bench scraper in her hand, less out of shock and more out of annoyance, as she shot him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“You want to play truth or dare? Now?”

“Yup. Just for a couple rounds.”

Little red flags went up in Marinette’s mind as she studied the overly happy blond. “Why?”

“Because I want to. Now! Truth or dare?”

She should shut this down before they got into trouble, but she had the feeling he’d tease her for it if she did. And she was not going to give him the chance. “Which one do you want me to pick?”

Adrien turned to study her a moment. “Dare.”

“Truth, then,” she countered with a grin.

“Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air. “I was banking on that.”

This time, she almost did drop the bench scraper out of shock. “What?”

“I know you,” he twittered, grinning like the idiot he was. “I know you. You weren’t going to give me the satisfaction of picking what I wanted; you never do. So, I just played you like the cheap fiddle you are.”

Marinette tried to look offended. She really did. But it was hard when her cute, idiot coworker was doing a happy dance. That, and she rather enjoyed this banter they always had. “Excuse you, who are you calling a cheap fiddle?”

“You, princess.”

“Oh really? The kazoo is calling me a cheap fiddle.”

“Kazoo?”

“Kazoo.”

He pantomimed being stabbed through the heart, and while he tried to keep the smile off his face, she could tell he was struggling. “Ahh, the ice princess is so cold. The light is fading. Limbs. Growing. Cold.”

She failed suppressing a laugh, turning and hiding her growing grin behind her hand. He was such a dork.

Adrien seemed to pull himself together, laughing along with her as he went back to measuring more ingredients. “Okay, okay. Back to the topic at hand.”

Marinette calmed herself, but her smile refused to budge. “Okay, you were asking me truth.”

Adrien came to stand right across from her. He reached across the table, grabbing her hands and pulling them closer. Her smile was gone now, and so was Adrien’s, as their combined hands rested in the middle of the table. “Scale of one to ten, how much do you trust me?”

Her cheeks and neck and chest flushed red as she stared into his green eyes. “W… what brought that on?”

His grasp on her hands tightened. “I just want to know.”

That was a lie. Or, at least only a half truth. He had a different reason for asking that specific question. She knew it. She could tell. Eight months of working together, and she’d come to be able to read this man like a book.

When had they gotten so close?

She took a breath to clear her mind. She’d probe him later, or maybe their little game would give her the answer she was looking for in that regard. But for now, she quietly responded, “A solid 8.5.”

Adrien paused, taking in those words before slowly nodding. “8.5,” he murmured. “I’ll take it.”

With that, he pulled his hands away. Marinette felt the loss immediately, but there wasn’t anything she was willing to do to make them come back. Not yet, anyway.

And would her heart calm down already? The way it was racing made it hard to think.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Truth,” he answered.

“How many secrets would you say you’re hiding from me right now?”

A loaded question, Marinette knew. But she just had a feeling, an inkling, that she knew the exact number. One for what he was hiding now, and one… if he had feelings for her.

It wasn’t the first time that thought had popped into her mind. She’d had her suspicions for a while now that his flirty banter wasn’t just out of good, playful fun. And maybe she was reading into it too much, but she felt like he’d been more… touchy with her lately. A fist pound here, a pat on the shoulder here, a playfully light punch to the arm in the heat of their teasing; things like that. And if not touching, then he seemed to like being close. And and and…

And was she wrong, or did when he ask her ‘truth’, he purposefully make it that intimate?

Do you like me, Adrien? Or am I jumping to a conclusion?

And to I like you in return? Or am I mistaking our friendship for something more?

Because I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to get hurt by you.

But…

It might be too late for that.

“Like…” Adrien began after a moment’s pause. “Define secret.”

“Something that you do not, in the near future, intend to tell me or would be comfortable in telling me.”

Adrien pursed his lips. “How will you know I’m being honest about the number?”

“I trust you 8.5 out of ten, right?” she softly reminded. “A number that can go up or down at any time.”

That got Adrien to wince. “Yeah,” he murmured.

There was a long pause, one Marinette wasn’t sure he was going to break.

“How far is ‘near future’?” he finally asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does.”

She paused. “Then answer how many secrets are on the line here.”

“Only one.”

“Only one?”

“Something I am not comfortable telling you or don’t intend to tell you in the near future, per your words, yes. Only one.”

Her brows knit together. Only one? Which meant… either the thing he was hiding now or the feelings. It was one or the other, but not both. “So…” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Are you saying that you intend to tell me this sometime in the future? But don’t know when in the future that will be?”

His brow knit together nervously, before he played it off with a warbly smile. “I’m pretty sure I answered my truth, already, princess.”

She frowned. Technically, he did, in an odd, roundabout way that somehow left her with more questions than answers. “Fine. How about we just drop this already?”

Part of her didn’t want to drop it. Part of her wanted to be able to pull another truth out of him. She wanted… needed to know which secret he was hiding. But she wasn’t sure her heart could handle it if it wasn’t the secret she wanted it to be.

“One more round,” he quickly begged.

Marinette quirked a brow but surrendered without fuss. “Fine. Dare. What are you gonna make me do now?”

He grinned. “I was hoping for that.”

“Why?”

He stopped the mixer, then came over to her and once again leaned in close. “I dare you… to come to New York with me.”

Marinette was frozen. She blinked her eyes several times, and her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

Eventually, she found the words to say. “I’m sorry, repeat that?”

 12. Seatmates

It had been a month since Adrien had gotten the pleasure of surprising Marinette with a trip to New York.

After Marinette had asked him for his stories of the fashion world, Adrien had been so worried that she’d walked away with the determination to surrender her former dreams, and that made him feel too guilty to handle. So, breaking the unspoken vote of confidence she’d placed in him, he’d talked to her parents.

He hadn’t divulged everything, just the bare essentials necessary to get them to understand. Mr. Dupain had seemed surprised, but the information didn’t seem to have caught Mrs. Cheng off guard. It made more sense when she admitted she’d been suspecting something was up for a while, and this had confirmed it.

So Adrien had told them what he wanted to do: give Marinette’s dreams one last encouraging push by taking her to fashion week. His original plan had been for it to be Paris’ fashion week, but he’d been keeping tabs on Chloe and her whereabouts as well as taking into account that Marinette had been barred from several Parisian schools. If she wanted school to be a reality, she wouldn’t be in Paris, meaning it might be beneficial to take her outside the country. It would give her the chance her to explore and stretch her wings in a way staying inside France would not allow.

With her parents’ blessings on the idea, Adrien had started planning. And then had come the fun part of surprising her with it.

The roller-coaster of emotions she’d gone on after his dare had been a joy to watch. Disbelief to doubt to shock to excitement. She’d been so expressive that Adrien had found himself falling even harder. And when she’d agreed to let him take her to New York—which took no small amount of convincing—he’d been over the moon.

However, there was one thing about that day he couldn’t forget. Mostly because it hung of his head. Marinette had only remembered by the end of her shift that she still had one last round of truth or dare.

“Dare,” he’d answered. It was only fair.

She’d seemed relieved almost at that. And with her words, he understood why. “I dare you to let me save my dare for another time.”

After recalling the way she’d tortured him by cashing in her last favor by making him clean out the deep, dark crannies of the freezer and storage room, he had been hesitant about this one. Even if she had repaid him for that torture with the best dinner he’d eaten in months, he still couldn’t forget the devious sparkles in her eyes as she cashed in that favor. It made him worried for just what kind of dare she would make him do.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad. After all, he was taking her to New York. She wouldn’t be cruel, would she?

Quietly, he scoffed. No, this was Marinette. She could be downright devious if she wanted to and make him think he was okay with it.

A weight on his shoulder called him out of his reverie. They’d been watching a new anime he’d downloaded on his computer for the plane ride. When they started, Marinette had seemed intent on watching it, but at the moment, it seemed his seatmate was too tired to keep it up.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder.

She took an earbud out but didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Do you want to just watch this later and sleep now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay.” He paused the anime, then shut his computer screen.

Marinette shifted just enough to take out her earbuds, but then she was back to leaning against his shoulder. “This okay?” she asked, her groggy voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine,” he assured even though his heart protested. It was a little too okay with him. “Get some sleep.”

With one last hum, Marinette fully settled against his side, and within a little while, she was out.

Adrien sighed, leaning his head against Marinette’s.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Truth,” he answered, going back to the mixer to turn it off.

“How many secrets would you say you’re hiding from me right now?”

He let his eyes drift closed at the memory. If only he had the courage to go for it. But this was the girl he considered to be his closest friend, and he wasn’t ready to take that plunge quite yet.

I really like you.

If she didn’t feel the same, he was sure they could go back to almost normal in time, but there would always be that rift.

A small, bitter smile suddenly crossed his lips. Here he was, trying to encourage her to follow her dreams or at least press forward to take a chance, and he was too much a coward to take his own advice.

What a hypocrite.

[recklessmark]

chapter four: you’re my first kiss

—from DISCRETION series

Summary: you incidentally met a notorious CEO and your gut told you that you must claim this man. and even the fact that he’s engaged to someone else didn’t stop you from achieving what you want.

Pairings: CEO! Mark x Designer! Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1520

—previous: chapter three-i love him forever, is it better than you yet?

“I come to see Y/N.”, it’s a familiar voice.

Alicia turns around, she hesitantly speaks to the man. “Sorry, Y/N is really busy. You can tell me if there’s a problem.”

She knows Mark Lee is not someone she can get involved with but you’re now looking like a corpse, nothing different from Ursula from The Little Mermaid. If she lets anyone see you like this, you will definitely murder her and cut her body into pieces. Moreover, you’re drained, Mark is the powder with a fuse like you, just add some friction, this whole studio will utterly explode.

Mark is getting too impatient now, taking advantage of Alicia thinking about the situation, he passes her to directly open your office door.

“Wait! No-“, Alicia sighs, silently collecting her stuff, in case that you’ll fire her.

Closing the door, Mark’s eyebrows tighten as he sees plenty pieces of wedding dress fabric on the turfed carpet. There’re some mannequins wearing lavish wedding gowns.

You ignore the sudden noise in your room, continue tucking your face in your paper sketch. You’re in a rush, this is the last dress, you have to complete it in time.

“Ali, grab me a black coffee cup, I definitely can stay up all night.”

Mark quietly leans on the doorframe, listens to your demand. You feel something weird, Alicia always do things immediately, why she hasn’t left yet, neither speaking up.

You angrily yell, “God just fucking go out!”

“You’re getting mad at me?”

You froze at your seat, your dark-circle eyes widen, not even dare to look up. With this appearance, you will be traumatized with embarrassment if you raise your head. You instantly open a drawer of your working desk, finding sunglasses and a mask, putting them on before standing up.

“Wow, Mr Lee has time to visit me huh?”

Mark weirdly looks at you, and steps forward. You anxiously make two steps backward, “Mark, if you need to say something just say it. No need to be this close.”

Normally, you’re like magnet whenever you see him, worry that someone will be faster than you even for a second. But now you’re trying to make a distance from him. Also wearing sunglasses and face mask indoor, he wonder do all designers act like this?

“Take them off.”

You chuckle nervously, “To preserve the prettiest image of me in your mind, we should better talk like this.”

But who is Mark Lee? He will follow what you said?

Seeing Mark doesn’t back off, you’re getting more and more frantic, and your body surely can not bear his. He quickly spreads his arm out, firstly the glasses, pitifully laying on the carpet.

“Y/N, you...”

You sigh, taking your mask off, revealing the exhausted face. “What do you want? I don’t have time.”

Mark feels something hurt in his chest. He finally can see an arrogant person like you being like this but he can’t find a hint of happiness. “I can’t call you. Where’s the dress? You’re gonna ruin the wedding by letting the bride be naked huh?”

Your face lights up like you’ve just found another universe. You didn’t think about that but now you will consider whether you should do it.

Your eyes wander around the room, your index finger points at a silver suitcase in the corner. “Over there, come have a look yourself.”

He glances at you and then walks towards the suitcase, unlocks it.

You actually put a lot of efforts into that dress, even the material is super pricey. Although it takes a lot of money and time but you are satisfied with the result, you didn’t make it for Kim Yeri, you made it because Mark asked.

“You like it? My competency is way better than you anticipated right?”, you cockily say.

“Right, very good.”, he nods.

You’re surprised, Mark never praised you like that. Staring into oblivion, a shadow lands onto your figure, you snap back to reality. Looking up, your face is now an inch from Mark’s. His fingers tilt your chin up, “I didn’t see you a few days, you missed me to even turn out like this huh?”, he sighs.

You giggle, decide to get along with his joke. “Right, and you have to take responsibility for me.”

You think it was just a simple joke, there’s no way Mark would accept that stupid accusation.

“Okay!”, he nods, seriousness glinting in his eyes.

Your mind has just been blown away by his simple ‘okay’, “No more joking, I have lots of work to do, if there’s nothing else you can go”. You move away from the hand on your chin, walking towards the sewing machine to finish your work.

“When will you be done?”, he checks his watch.

You stop a bit, look at the watch on your wrist to estimate the time. “If you stop irritating me, probably before this afternoon.”

“Alright, I’ll wait.”

A warm feeling fills up your chest, except of Alicia, no one has said they would wait for you, and the potential reason for that is none of them can actually wait.

Marks takes his phone out, decides to call Yeri.

“Mark!”

Yeri picks up the call without hesitation when the contact’s name appears on her phone. She’s been worrying when Mark told her he was coming to your place to see the wedding dress.

“Yeri, I’m busy today. I’ll bring the dress to you tomorrow, bye.”

Yeri has a lot of things to say but the things she heard were two sentences and the sound of the ring-off call. Her face displays an unbelievable look, she frantically messages you.

Alicia sees your phone brightens up, a message appears. She frowns, it’s from a stranger, after thinking a little bit she decided to bring the phone for you. She wants to know what’s happening inside too, the curiosity is kicking in her.

Knock! Knock!

“No one can come in! Go!”

Alicia deadly heard Mark’s voice, she stomps on her feet, confusingly speaks up.

“Y/N! Someone texted you she wanted to send you her paintings. Can I answer for you?”

With a speed of light, you run to the door, snatch your phone from Alicia’s hand and mumble a quick “thank you” before slamming the door shut. Alicia is so confused now, she didn’t even a see a single thing and you already closed the door. She’s getting more curious now, wondering what are you doing inside that she can’t see.

You smirk, the messages are continuously blowing up your phone. Until the phone stops vibrating, you speak to Mark. “Your fiancé really wants to control you that much huh? She even demanded to see me, why do I feel like we are cheating on her?”

He glances at you, lets you continue talking.

“Shut your phone down.”

“For what.”

“She’s calling you.”

He doubtfully comes to take your phone,

[10:26am] you: “I’m not being with Y/N, don’t bother her.”

His feeling for you is going up day by day. You did that to make Yeri think both Mark and you are playing with her, didn’t you? As you expected, his phone rings few seconds later. You quickly pick it up, also on the speaker mode.

“Mark! Why did you lie to me? You’re with Y/N, aren’t you? What are you doing with her? You want to cancel our wedding right? Fine, I’ll do it myself!”, her voice sounds angry.

You smile in satisfaction, she’s threatening Mark? Who she thinks she is? He slightly shakes his head, hang up the call and sit back again. He keeps Yeri besides him that long cause he thinks she knows how to behave. Many people want Mark but they’re all not as fortunate as her. All of a sudden, you just appear out of nowhere, smarter, prettier, more talented, more prominent than her. She certainly doesn’t want to lose everything. Everything she did few minutes ago has just blown all good impressions of her in Mark. He now only wants to push that girl far away from him as much as he can, he doesn’t know if he can control himself not to get furious at her.

You look at Mark’s no-emotion face, tracing his jawline with your hand.

“Baby? Don’t get mad okay? The wedding is carefully planned, I even made a beautiful dress like that. You can not cancel it.”

Mark suddenly pulls you down by your arm, a second later you feel something wet on your lips. He kisses you, his tongue licks your lips delicately. You can only squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the tender kiss on your lips.

He only pulls away when you’re dying for air, you collapse in his embrace. “You kiss so bad, don’t tell me you’ve never kissed someone.”

You stand up again, “You’re the first one I ever kissed.”, you honestly say.

Although you do have a lot of ex boyfriends but you never went beyond holding hands or hugging. Mark Lee is the first person you allow to cross the barrier. But little do you know, when he heard he’s your first kiss, he wants to actually cross the barrier even more.

Mark grabs your waist, pushing you down to sit on his lap.

“What’s now Mark? I haven’t finished my work.”

“You can work later. Now answer me, no one has fucked you right?”, he stares into your wide-opened eyes.

—next: chapter five-distraction

©️  DREAMYKRAM. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

taglist: @nuoyii @jjikyuu @generantionct @keemburley @skrtbeepbeep @sunshinedhyuck @jenotation

[syubits]

fake dating au bc fake dating aus will never ever go wrong  ∞ roommate yoongi

“No.” 

“Yoongiiiiiiiiiii –”

“No.” His back is turned to you as he scours for some instant coffee in the pantry, but you can hear the flat-out rejection of your suggestion loud and clear, making you scowl.

Min Yoongi can predict a major sulk fest coming on like a storm, and sure enough the glance he sneaks to where you are sitting on the couch showed the telltale signs; a dark cloud settling down and casting a heavy glum look on your face. He controls the twitch of his lips and conceals it under a mask of what would be called apathy – knowing all too well any hint of a smile or amusement would bring the simmering anger to a full blown volcanic explosion on your side.

“Pleeeease. I only have you.”

If his heart stuttered at your words, Yoongi was sure not to let it show in his explicit movements as nimble, pianist fingers curling around the mug that he brings to his lips for a sip of the strong drink. Yoongi lets the warm caramel coloured rivulets course down his throat, eyes closed in deep rumination. Out of all the wacky ideas you had, this way by far the one that clinched the golden trophy. Although Yoongi wasn’t sure if he really disliked the notion of being your boyfriend, even if it was a pretend one for a period of two weeks.

“What do I get?”

You huff. “I don’t know. Whatever you want.” As soon as the words carelessly tumble from your lips you grimace, knowing you’ve practically sold your soul to the devil by letting Yoongi decide on the price.

“Whatever I want?” Yoongi repeats the tempting offer, interest piqued.

A groan sounds from the couch. “Yeeees.”

“You must be really desperate,” Yoongi lightly comments, setting the mug on the counter.

“I am,” you retort. “My ex-BF and my ex-crush will be there and I accidentally revealed I didn’t have plans for the week so…”

This makes Min Yoongi perk a brow. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Your face pops up from the back of the couch, arms waving the misunderstanding away.

“No no, ex-best friend. Who is currently going out with my cr– err.. ex-crush.”

“Yikes,” is all Yoongi has to offer.

“I know,” you respond, slumping back into the cushions. You’re already racking your brain for ideas on how to bail, but with your mind a tangled mess like your hair, searching for a shred of an idea was equivalent to looking for a needle in a haystack. You groan out loud, flopping back into the cushions, almost missing Yoongi’s quiet sigh of fine.

Almost.

You jackknife up into a sitting position, grabbing the edge of the couch so hard your knuckles turn white. You were pretty sure you heard it, but you needed to hear it one more time just in case.

“What did you just say?”

Yoongi downs the rest of his coffee, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to place the mug in the sink. “I’m not saying it again.”

He hears some trampling going on and before he can wonder what the fuck is going on, you’ve launched yourself towards his back in a hug, almost making the small man stumble at the sheer force of it. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you, I could kiss you right now,” you squeaked into the back of your roommate’s shirt, and Yoongi thanks the heavens because you can’t see how he shifts his gaze like he does when he’s shy.

“We don’t have to, though.” You quickly interject, almost placatingly. The most we have to do is hold hands in front of them, I think that should be enough,” you add.  “So don’t worry about doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Yoongi just hums boredly in acknowledgment at the same time your phone rings. He doesn’t miss the roll of your eyes when you read the caller ID before you swipe right to pick up the call.

You hang up after a brief string of ‘yeahs’, turning to Yoongi who just  gives you a curious look.

“So. When is it?” He drawls out as lazily as he starts to lay on his side on the couch.  The sheepish look that crosses your features never indicated a good thing, and Yoongi pauses in the middle of retrieving his phone from the small coffee table to narrow his eyes suspiciously.

“Tomorrow.”

//

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Yoongi grumbles as he shoves the remaining stash of clothes into his duffel bag. The zipper looks almost ready to pop with the way he forces it over the other end of the bag, and you wince pitifully for the innocent thing.

“It’s the same thing, we’re gonna stay together and all, except this time it’s going to be in a nice little resort in the hills. Just consider it like a getaway,” you say, stringing the sentence as sweetly as possible. The dark haired boy just glares at you from his spot on the floor, and you immediately purse your lips.

“Fucking finally,” he rolls his eyes when the bag zips all the way. “What are you standing there for, kid? Don’t we have a train to catch?”

You frown at the nickname he’s plastered on you for the past year, shaking your head in response to his question. “They’re picking us up. And stop calling me that, we’re supposed to be a couple.” You remind him with a flick to his forehead.

“What’s wrong with someone calling their significant other kid?”

//

Yoongi never liked people. He didn’t like small spaces either. He definitely didn’t like small spaces full of people.

Which was why there was no rational explanation to how he ended up in a 4-seater car crammed with 6 people. Yoongi was never one for technicalities, didn’t give a shit about them, but at the moment he has a headache because right about everything didn’t make sense, but he’s hanging in there with at least Namjoon isn’t here to preach about how nothing in the world makes sense. That with a side of 5 chaotic boys to add on to the dull throbbing in his head, amidst the background of music booming in the car – these people should be banned from getting aux cords – but. At least you were here to agree.  Even if you had fallen asleep on his shoulder a for little more than half a hour, and he regretfully had no one to talk to now. It was a little disappointing, even for Yoongi who didn’t particularly enjoy talking.

Yoongi tilts his head in some sort of reaction to his inner monologue, a sudden pang of damn, he really doesn’t like a lot of things hitting him like a flick to the forehead. He would’ve pondered on about any rational, logical possible explanation to why he was in this shithole of an idea, but a niggling, all too-knowing echo of an answer in the back of his mind was all it took and Yoongi quickly decided he didn’t like to think. Especially if it was going to involve you.

He feels you shift slightly in your seat, huddling closer to his arm that you had claimed for yourself. If Yoongi leaned back far enough, he can see your lashes fanning over and lightly dusting the apples of your cheeks with how tightly shut your lids are, down the slope of your nose to your parted lips where your breath escapes in small, even, warm puffs.

For some reason, a sigh swells up in his chest, and it escapes the seam of his lips quietly just as he tears his gaze away to focus on the moving scenery out the window.

At least he was given the window seat. This was going to be a long ride.

//

“Wake up, sleepyheads.”

You’re being shaken awake, not all too gently by Yuna, who then moves to nudge Yoongi in a significantly softer manner. It takes a while for you to get your bearings, because all you can see is greenery around, and after a few minutes you stop caring and let your head fall on Yoongi again, who appeared to be fast asleep. The boy had waken up the first time he was told to, eyes instantly searching for your sleepy figure that was still latched onto his arm. He swears internally when he sees your sleepy eyes and right cheek lined with creases from the sleeve of the jacket you had slept on, because that has got to be the cutest fucking thing he had ever seen and he thinks he’s probably still dreaming, and decides to continue sleeping a little bit more.

“Yoongiii.” His brow twitches. “We’re here. Wake up.”

He feels a soft, terribly aimed poke near the corner of his bottom lip, and with much difficulty opens his dreadfully heavy eyelids to see you regarding him with droopy eyes, laced with almost lazy catlike curiosity.

Before Yoongi can gulp down the sudden lump that had formed in his throat for whatever reason, you blink out of it and grab his hand to tug him out of the car. There’s a chill in the air, not so sharp it pierces through bones but just enough to tickle your cheeks pink and make your breath fog – something that you’re entertaining yourself with, as Yoongi notes. He takes it upon himself to unload your baggage and his combined, frowning extra hard to hide the smile tugging at his lips when you come running like an excited puppy upon his summon to retreat towards the luxurious lodge up front.

//

Dinner was all too dreaded. It also came all too soon. That was how you and Yoongi found yourselves sat at a table opposite two other couples, Yura with Hyunsik, and your two ex classmates Mina and Jin (whose parents owned the lodge).  You had done introductions a while back, and Yoongi remained pretty neutral until he was introduced to Hyunsik. He had the gall to give you a disapproving look, even showing a three out of ten under the table and then shrugging when you give him a death glare.

“So, how did you two meet?” With a cock of her head, Yuna twirls a perfectly curled lock of hair around a perfectly manicured finger. Yoongi pays her no mind, continuing  to stuff some chicken into his mouth with no intentions of answering. You resist giving him the stinkeye for leaving it all up to you, but then again you considered yourself lucky he was even sitting next to you at this table.

“Well, we met at school,” you start off promisingly, slowly munching on a piece of meat in a way of stalling some time while your mind quickly worked on pieceing together a story.  “I didn’t like him at first.” A snort was all that was elicited from the boy next to you, which you trampled down on by stomping on his foot. “But we had to spend some time together on a project… and everything just kind of hit off from there…?”

From the corner of your eye you see as Yoongi shoots you a look of wow, so very convincing before shoving an entire lettucewrap in his mouth, and you grind your heel into his toes harder.

“Romantic,” the word drips from her lips, sickly sweet, with a maraschino cherry on top. The colour painted on her lips was of the same shade as well, pulled into a smile to show a set of perfectly lined teeth. “I would tell about how me and Hyunsik met, but everyone knows it’s all thanks to you.”

Despite being over Hyunsik for a few months, Yura’s words sent a bitter twinge of discomfort in your chest that had you tightening the grip on your spoon.

“Can you pass the fish?”

All heads, yours included, turned to Yoongi, whose tone, while not overbearing, cuts through the conversation like ice. Jin is polite, and so hands over the plate of grilled fish with all mannerisms of the perfect gentlemen. Yoongi stabs at the content on the plate with his chopsticks and puts a tantamount too much for someone his size, but no one says anything. He picks the meat apart from the bones, handing you the better portion of the fish, before picking up an eggroll and plopping it into your bowl of rice.

As always, his expression is unreadable when you turn to regard him, a quizzical look on your face. He finally looks up when he thinks you’ve stared long enough to burn a hole into the side of his face.

“What? Eat.”

You quickly gobble up the rest of your food.

//

“Thanks for that.” You murmur, suddenly wanting to swallows your words and hoping your voice was small enough to drown under the sound of running water and dishes clanking.

“For what?”

“Back there,” you hesitate, looking down at your hands after passing the plates to Yoongi for him wipe dry. You and Yoongi were stuck in the kitchen with the dishes, only because you both that agreed that you would choke from the noose of thick, awkward air if you hung around in the living room any longer, and then Yoongi whacked you in the head with an empty bottle for making a stupid pun.

Yoongi doesn’t respond to your mention of thanks, only looks down when he feels you tug at the bottom of his shirt. You signal for him to come close enough so he can hear you whisper, and he bends down in an uncharacteristically compliant manner.

“Hyunsik’s watching us right now.”

At the mention of his name, Yoongi feels a something akin to irritation crawl up his neck like an annoying gnat.  

“And…?” Yoongi is close enough that his breath tickles the shell of your ear and makes the hair on your skin rise in goosebumps.

“And… I don’t think he’s buying our little act.”

“…And…?” You whine at his blatant disinterest in the conversation and where it was going.

“And…!! I don’t know,” you sigh, feeling all sorts of unmotivated and hopeless as you draw away from Yoongi. He can practically see the life whoosh out of your frame with  how deeply you sighed. Hyunsik wasn’t wrong to be curious – the two of you had barely done anything that bordered on romantic – just sat next to each other the whole day, although Yoongi had ardently insisted that was actually, quite romantic as hell.

But Yoongi also sees the way your brows are wrinkled with worry, and guesses you’re probably thinking about how stupid you are and being regretful and guilty for dragging him into this. That first part he would agree with, but something uneasy stirs inside him knowing you’re probably thinking up a storm about feeling like a burden to him because you never have been and never will be. Something cool touches your forehead, and you can barely restrain the soft gasp that slips from your mouth as you look up. Yoongi is pressing his forehead to yours in the most innocent but affectionate gesture, arms surrounding you, depthless eyes dark as ink fully focused on yours.

“Don’t worry so much.”

“I know.” You hear him tsk at your stubborn reply. “I just…”

“You’re overthinking again. Stop it.” He expects a retort, but is presented with a pleasant surprise when you lean into his warmth submissively, burying your nose in the front of his jacket that held a faint lingering scent of his familiar, musky cologne.

Yoongi doesn’t get to decide in time what to do with your sudden display of need for affection before your names are called from the hall. You pull away as Yoongi internally groans how he just missed his chance to run his fingers through your very soft-looking hair, appearing from the kitchen with a deep scowl on his face.  

“Truth or dare? What are we, 16?” This was Yoongi’s 142nd complaint in just a span of four hours, and the 143rd time you had shushed him. You pull him down to sit next to you on the floor, making a circle with the others around the beer bottle in the middle.

Yura spins the bottle, and of fucking course it lands on Yoongi first, whose lips cannot get any more pursed.

“Truth.”

“Boooring,” you jeer and Yoongi wants to gag you, and then kind of swallows because actually, actually. That is kind of hot. And the images that begin to play in his artistic, creative and predominantly detail-oriented mind is enough to make his mouth go dry.

“How far have you gotten...with _______?” Yuna asks,  a little glint in her eye.

He answers with the calm before a storm.

“We went on a trip to Daegu together once?”

It’s so silent you can hear Jin blink from the spot opposite from where you are sitting, before your laughter ripples through the room. It echoes off the walls of this too-large house, and you can’t really tell whether Yoongi is answering seriously or just smartly avoiding the prying question, and because it’s Yoongi it could mean either and that just makes you laugh until you’re panting for help and clutching your belly.

“What I mean is, how far have you gone…intimately…” Yura huffs, obviously not finding it as funny as you do. Wet blanket.

“That’s another question that you could ask me at the next turn,” Yoongi winks, and you noisily shoot him some finger guns for that snarky comeback. He says nothing, just spins the bottle, which slows down to halt arrowing straight at Hyunsik.

He smirks, jaw set in challenge. “Dare.”

Everyone looks expectantly at Yoongi, who is sitting and looking like he gives zero fucks about this game.  

“What? I don’t know, someone else dare him.”

Mina giggles, and she sounds like a spirited forest dryad in comparison to your previous werewolf howling on a full moon kind of a laugh. “Okay, I dare Hyunsik to kiss whoever the bottle points to next. But not on the cheek,” she adds quickly with an impish grin.

Hyunsik just perks a brow, moving to spin the bottle.

Sometimes, you had premonitions about imminent inconveniences. Like the sinking feeling in your gut you get in class when the professor’s eyes land upon you when no one else wants to answer his question. This was one of those times.

For once, you hated being right when the bottle comes to a halt pointing right at you. Your first instinct was to turn towards Yoongi, who just gives a little nod. You don’t know what you wanted him to do, but somehow that was all the assurance you needed. There’s a rush of thrill, nervousness and a little bit of everything shooting up your spine as you slide over to Hyunsik.

“Where do you want me to kiss you?” You balk at the question that leaves his mouth so  casually, as if he’s asking where you want him to place some books he’d helped you carry.

“Uh…” you toy with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, mind full of nothing but white, static buzz. He chuckles, rich and velvety smooth drizzling like fondue from his lips and – lips. Was he going to kiss you on the lips? There wasn’t time to think, because Hyunsik dips down, eyes fluttering shut as he plants his lips on the curve of your shoulder.

His eyes flick up to yours, deep brown piercing yours and you feel something settle in the pit of your stomach.

Yura is the first to speak up, clipped tone breaking the silence. “Well then.”

//

“Yoooongi.” Everything was spinning, and your legs felt like jello.

“You’re so noisy when you’re drunk,” Yoongi groans, there to catch you anyway when you sprawl your limbs all over him. While standing up.

“You’re shooo noisy even when your sho-shoober,” you hiccup into his shoulder, head lolling back far enough to look at his unamused expression. A stream of giggles bursts through your lips, the sound muffled into fabric when you smoosh your face into the front of his jacket. Somehow, Yoongi makes it to your shared room with you still hanging on to his side and you roll off him, landing with a loud oompfh on the bed.

Yoongi pauses to catch a breath before he perches on the edge of the bed next to your flimsy mess of limbs, listening to your incoherent mumbles stringed from jumbled thoughts and driven from vodka. He only left to grab some punch. Who knew you could’ve been dared to down four shots in that time, but there you were, giggling and halfway hanging off the end of the couch dangerously when he came back with two mugs in hand.

“Yoongiii. Yoongi Yoongiyooooooongmffgf—” something soft suddenly covers your face, effectively muffling any noise from you but you were quick to swipe the offending item away, right back into the face of the boy you were calling out for.

The pillow slides off his face, but the narrowed eyes beneath pinched eyebrows and his frown remains intact. “I heard you the first time, didn’t have to be so noisy about it.”

“You’re always so grumpy,” you complain, sitting up to and poking both corners of his lips upwards in a smile before the room spins and you crash down into his chest. “Wanna play truth or dare?”

“No, I do not,” his answer is sure and immediate as two strong hands wrap around your forearms, prying you off of him. Most of your hair falls into your face, but you stick your lower lip out far enough for Yoongi to see the pout. “Go play with Hyunsik or something.” Yoongi didn’t mean for it to sound snippy, or like he was annoyed or like anything, but he figures it’s fine because you’re drunk and you won’t pick up on it anyway.

Apparently, he was wrong. Having been roommates for over a year, you were bound to tell apart every tone, pick apart every line or crease in his features and piece them together back again. And right now, he seemed ticked about something. You frown and say the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. But you were ridiculously drunk at the moment so –  “Are you jealous?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, and you smile dizzily.

“I choose truth.”

“I told you I don’t want to play.”

“It’s just a game, Yoongi.” Somehow, it felt like you were talking about what happened. He watches as you try sitting up on your own and end up flopping backwards with a groan. Your head’s pounding and fuck – you have no filter on your mouth whatsover so you blurt it out: “I wish it was you.”

He pauses mid shrugging the jacket off his shoulder.

“What?”

“Your turn now.”

“__________.”

“Hm?”

“What did you say?”

You roll over to regard him through bleary eyes. “I don’t remember.”

A sigh draws from his throat, long and tired.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Liar,” you say. The alcohol is starting to fade, but it still humming in your veins like white noise, faint but still present. “You’re always mad at me. Why?”

This time Yoongi really does frown. “What are you talking about?”

Your mouth really doesn’t have its filter on now, and you’re still drunk, but you speak with unwavering certainty as you stare hard into the creamy whitewash of the ceiling. “I know you care about me… sometimes…but… I don’t know…” You trail off, and for a second Yoongi thinks you’ve fallen asleep, with your eyes open.

And then you blink. “I don’t know why I like you so much.”

Yoongi suddenly felt all the air leave his lungs all at once. “I thought you liked Hyunsik?”

“I liked him a year ago, you dim ass lightbulb.” Yoongi bristles at that, but you speak again before he can complain. “And then Yura dug her claws in and whatever and then we lived together and I had to see your sleepy soft eyes and hair every morning even though you’re so grumpy and always forget your coffee but I still like you so much and-“

“You look like you liked it when he kissed you,” Yoongi mutters, but it’s drowned out by your howling and rambling.

“Iiiiiii just want to take care of you.. and kiss you and bang and all that..but not necessarily in that order…”

“Bang?” Yoongi quirks a brow, not quite knowing what to make of that expression or in this situation, what expression to make.

“You’re so pretty when you smile.”

Yoongi bites down on the inside of his cheek, tamping down the smile and the blush spreading up his neck and fanning out to his cheeks. “You’re so drunk.”

“Maybe,” you laugh drily, the empty sound ringing hollow. 

“Will you remember in the morning?”

“Remember what?” Your head lolls to the side to face him, another sob-groan coming from you when your balance goes off kilter and your head drops heavily onto the sheets, blunt sharpness shooting through your head. “God my head hurts…”

“Truth.”

“Truth?” you echo. What was going on again?

Yoongi’s voice sounded so faded, the image of him blurring into splotches of colours under your lids as you try keeping your eyes open. You see Yoongi’s mouth move and form words that you don’t hear as everything dulls out.

//

Morning rolls around too fast and bright, and you wake up the opposite of how you fell asleep with sunlight bursting across your lids and the hangover screaming in your head.

Yoongi was the first name your voice found, eyes looking for him. You find his arm draped around your waist, face pressed into the back of your shoulder. Yoongi looked ethereal sleeping, moondust still swept on his lashes and mouth parted slightly where his breaths buzzed out softly.

Attempting to sit up right away was probably not a good idea, but you were known for making questionable decisions, so. You tipped over, landing on Yoongi’s stomach and effectively punching the air out of his gut.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, coughing out the word as you mumble out a flurry of apologies, still crossed over his body like a limp noodle.

Yoongi groans, struggling under the combined weight of hefting the pair of you up.

“You’re heavy,” he complains. His voice is gravelly and rough with unuse, but you have no time to think about it as something twists in your stomach, acid rising in your throat before you make a run for it to the washroom.

You feel your stomach contract and flip and slingshot all of its content out into the toilet, tears pricking at your eyes at the bad taste and mostly disgusting sight that you quickly flush down.

Everything was shitty, and the only source of comfort you wished for was Yoongi, but you also wished he took the liberty to leave the room and save you and himself of the embarrassment you are. Tears and throat burning, you feel the warmth of a hand on the small of your back, then another gathering back your hair by the base of your neck to keep it away from your face.

“Yoongi? I feel gross. Don’t-” you lurch into the into the toilet again. Yoongi’s reply comes in the shape of a toilet roll that you can wipe your mouth with.

“I’m- don’t feel good.”

Again, he says nothing, just rubs the hand on your back up and down as you try not to throw up solely from the foul taste in your mouth. “I want to go home.”

“Okay.”

//

The next time you opened your eyes, you find yourself wrapped in familiar floral sheets in your dimly lit room, while your head is wrapped in a band of metal feeling like it is constantly drummed with a percussion mallet.

“Yoongi?” You call, not actually expecting a response in the form of a groan coming from the floor. “Yoongi? Why are you down there?”

“Because you kicked me off the bed,” he mutters, eyeing you from under a messily swept fringe. You barely take in the familiarity of the grey rug and the parquet floor, to your own workdesk and Yoong’s pair of headphones sitting there that you borrowed (Yoongi considers it stolen) before you realise you were back home.

“When did we get back?” ask, squinting through the sleep to get a good look at the small clock sitting on your dresser, and then scraping the idea because it’s been months since you remembered to change the battery.

Yoongi doesn’t even try before he’s already lazily replying with an I don’t remember.

“…Thanks.”

“For what?”

You slump back into the warmth of your bedsheets, slowly exhaling. He’s good at pretending to not know what you’re on about and like he literally does not give two shits, but you know better.

“I decided what I want.” Just like that, the topic is dropped and forgotten and you’re blinking at Yoongi.

“Huh?”

“You owe me a favour.”

That effectively makes you roll over and away from the boy, a groan deflating out of you.

“I need you to be my date. Uh.. for my sister’s wedding.”

Yoongi feels his stomach churn when your reply is a heartbeat later than he expects. For an alarming nanosecond, he thinks you’ve figured it, figured him all out. A peripheral glance showed that you were squinting at your phone between the curtain of hair frazzling in your eyes, scrolling down and seemingly distracted and he averts his gaze just in time before you switch your attention to the raven-haired boy sitting on the floor.  

“Sorry? Sure, I’ll go with you,” you nod, and he hears the papery click of you locking your phone. The following groan was muffled from your burying your face into the sheets and when Min Yoongi sees a chance, he takes it.

Yoongi flees the room. The excuse of going to shower isn’t even utilised because you are too busy curled up in your blankets and wallowing in misery, rambling to yourself about being a fool for drinking when you know you have low tolerance.

::::::::

“Yoongi?! You don’t have a sister??!?!”

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Duplicity. 

Word Count: 2.6k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Paring: Yandere!Hanako/Reader & Yandere!Tsukasa/Reader.

Synopsis: The afterlife is very, very lonely. It effects come spirits more than others, but Hanako’s gotten close to so many humans, and he’s been left so many times... You can hardly blame him for wanting to be selfish. You can’t fault Tsukasa for wanting to keep his favorite toy close, either. 

TW: Death, Graphic Violence, Blood, Imprisonment (via Ghost Mechanics), and Emotional Manipulation.

No one should have to watch themselves die.

You guess you didn’t, really. Or, you did, but you didn’t watch as closely as you could have. You’d like to say that you faced your end bravely, that you were cunning and quick and did your damnedest to make sure your assailant left your encounter only slightly better off than you did, but you’d never been one for self-flattery. As soon as you realized you couldn’t escape, as soon as you’d caught the glimpse of something glinting in the dim, flickering school lights and managed to put a name to it, you’d clenched your eyes shut, threw your arms over your face, and begged for mercy. You could remember the pain, if you wanted to, the intensity of it, but you don’t try to. You could recall the feeling of your own blood flowing over your fingertips, but you’d really rather not. You know that, one moment, there was something, and the next, there was nothing. Black, frigid nothing. For a few seconds, you couldn’t think of anything worse than that nothingness.

And then, there was something, and you realized there were things much, much worse than nothing.

You think you would’ve found a way to stay dead, if you knew he’d been the one to kill you.

He’s still bent over your unmoving body when you reform, on your knees and beside yourself, your skin translucent and your chest so much more hollow than it used to be. You let yourself linger on the sensation for a moment or two, attempting to inhale and exhale before realizing how odd it feels to breathe when you don’t have to. You’re still caught up in the change when your attention drifts, first to the dark stains littered across the tile floor, obscured by the darkness, and then to… yourself. What used to be you. You, but not you.

Dead you, with a familiar knife still rooted in its diaphragm, and a familiar boy straddling its waist.

It’s disorienting. He isn’t panting, but his chest is heaving in silent, uneven sobs and his eyes closed as tightly as yours had been. With one hand clamped around the hilt of his knife and the other pressed to the ground, supporting his nonexistent weight, he draws his weapon out, then with only a slight hesitation, he plunges it back in. Out, then in, again and again and again until something breaks underneath him, your ribs caving in with a sickening crack. His eyes fly open, his shoulders tensing as he scrambles backward, but it’s a short-lived panic. All it takes is a quick scan over the corpse underneath him, and with an exhausted sigh, he drops his knife, relieved that you’re as dead as he is.

You’re not sure whether the cold feeling that runs through you is betrayal or disgust, but you don’t have much time to decide. A scream hitches in your throat, emerging in a stifled croak, and Hanako turns towards you, all wide-eyes and parted lips, as if he’d gotten caught rummaging through Yashiro’s back or playing with Kou’s staff, rather than killing his friend. He has time to lift a hand, to open his mouth, but if he says anything, you can’t make it out. Not over the blood suddenly rushing past your ears.

“I don’t…” You mumble, taking a step forward, then one back. You drive your nails into your palms, hoping to ground yourself, but it hurts less than you thought it would. You’re not sure whether that’s a reason to be relieved, or just a new source of distress. “Hanako, I don’t… Why are you--”

“It’s not what it looks like.” The words are hasty, spouted in such a rush, you can hardly differentiate one from the other. He wasn’t expecting this part. “I mean, it is, but you don’t understand. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You don’t respond. You don’t want to respond.

You turn on your heel, and you run. As fast as you can and as far as you can, and thankfully, Hanako doesn’t try to follow.

~

Surprisingly, it’s Tsukasa that comes to find you first.

Holing yourself up in a storage closet wasn’t your smartest decision, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. You were scared, you are scared, but it was the only thing you could think to do, after realizing you wouldn’t be able to leave Kamome. You’re still hugging your knees, fruitlessly attempting to warm yourself up when he walks through the closed door. You’re not sure where you ran to in your desperation, but it’s not like he has a reason to move secretively, nor does Hanako have a reason to stop him from doing so. You’d promised to visit sometime after your graduation, sometime during a break, as stupid as that turned out to be. The staff wouldn’t return for weeks, let alone the students.

Disturbingly, the thought crosses your mind that your body might sit there, undiscovered and decaying, until the first day of the next school year. In an effort to distract yourself, you decide you would rather face Tsukasa than linger on it.

When you bother to look up, he’s hovering in front of you, his eyes as wide as his brother’s and twice as unsuspecting. You attempt to melt into the wall, and then, for fear that you actually might, you stop. “What do you want?”

“To see you,” He answers, no trace of malice or discontent audible in his voice. He’s uncomfortably close, the distance between the two of you minimal, but you're glad for the space. You’ve seen him be far less courteous to spirits he’s known for a shorter time, spirits he’s far more fond of. “I don’t think Amane was as gentle as he could’ve been. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He thinks, for a moment, before he adds a brief explanation. “It’d be boring if you were already broken.”

“Like you’d care,” You mumble, letting your gaze fall to a dusty corner someplace behind him. “I’m dead, aren’t I? That probably goes with at least one of your schemes.”

At that, he grins. “My brother and I worked together,” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he floats upward absent-mindedly, his head bowing and his cheeks turning pink with the barest hints of a flush. “He was really stubborn about it, though. He didn’t come to me until the very last minute, and even then, he was so specific about the rumor he let me spread for you…” Tsukasa laughs, the noise high-pitched and half-suppressed, more of a giggle than anything. “You should’ve heard some of the stories we were going to try! Sakura made it look so easy, but--”

“A rumor?” The question slips out before you can stop it, the subject instilling as curiosity as revulsion. “What do you mean you ‘spread a rumor’ for me?”

“Oh, that was my part!” There’s a clap, a roll that left him lying on his back, and despite yourself, you begin to uncurl. Just enough to make him more excited than he had to be. “I was supposed to set things up, give you a rumor to slide into, my big brother just had to get you here! I did all the boring, business stuff, and Amane got to do the dirty work.” Tsukasa lets out a disappointed huff, pursing his lips. “He was so mean about it, too. He said he didn’t trust me to be responsible, whenever that means.”

It’s a numb sense of shock, a dull wave of luke-warm information you only barely don’t know. Hanako’s betrayal makes sense. You don’t like it, nor does your awareness do anything to soften the blow, but it does. He’s a spirit, someone who did something awful enough to warrant an afterlife full of duty and obligation. You feel stupid for not realizing he would be willing to do something awful to you, too.

When you speak, you nearly forget he’s meant to respond. You want to hear yourself talk more than you want to hear his grim clarifications about a story you have a feeling you don’t want to know. “How’d you get him to do it?” You ask, already fearing his response. “Hanako didn’t seem… I can’t believe he would--”

“I didn’t have to,” He chirps, cutting in without hesitation. He really doesn’t have to.

The way his smile widens is enough to silence you on its own.

“It was all Amane’s idea.”

~

When Hanako finally comes to you, it’s only because you come to him, first.

Or, you leave your closet, at least. It seems pointless to avoid him, even if your legs start to shake before you can make it to the girl’s bathroom, the ghost of a heartbeat racing in your chest and your vision going dark at the edges without warning. It’s a terrible feeling. Everything is duller, when nothing’s life or death. Sensations are fainter, the world around you seems dimmer, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to get warm. Although, you aren’t sure if that’s because you're dead, or because you’re trapped in a dark, dank school building you’ve never seen past sunset. In the end, you give up about a hundred steps away from Hanako’s domain, you back against a wall and your legs crossed underneath you.

It’s a pathetic position, but you’re pathetic.

No one with any dignity would crawl back to their murderer so quickly.

He’s kind enough not to say anything. There’s no friendly greeting, no callback to a better time in your companionship, just a deep breath and a solid thud as he falls against the cheap, plaster wall, then another when he hits the ground. You try to resist the temptation to look at him, to see if he’s just as miserable as you are, but it’s a futile thing to fight.

That doesn’t mean you don’t regret it, though. He’s… different, for lack of a better way to put it, less lively than he usually is. All troubled eyes and wilting posture and thoughtful glances in your direction that get taken back so quickly, you have to wonder if he’d ever offered them in the first place. He’s sad, obviously, he’s guilty, but there’s something missing. Something absent from his display.

It dawns on you abruptly. As unwelcome as it is unpleasant.

He’s guilty, but he isn’t sorry.

He doesn’t regret what he did to you, he’s just disappointed he got caught.

Still, he’s the first to speak, his voice listless and downtrodden. Like a child who’s just been put in time-out and forced to apologize. “I’m sorry. I calculated wrong, I… I thought it would take more time. I didn’t think you’d have to see anything.” He pauses, something troubled flitting over his expression. You might’ve missed it, if you hadn’t known him so well. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I didn’t want to--”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Your tone’s far from authoritative, the declaration more sober than strict, but Hanako falls silent all the same, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. Not that there was much to think over. “I don’t think I really care about that. I’m angry, I’m absolutely angry, but… There’s nothing you can say to fix this.” You feel him bristle next to you, folding into himself as his eyes narrow at nothing in particular, but if he’s going to interrupt you, he doesn’t make a move to do so. His acceptance is a small relief, but it’s a relief all the same. “I just want to know why. We’re friends, Hanako. If I did something to make you think I deserved this, all you had to do was tell me. I would’ve transferred to another school, or stopped bothering you. I could’ve left. You didn’t have to--”

“I did.”

You snap towards him, moving to speak, but Hanako reaches out before you can, his fist claiming around your sleeve. It’s a sickeningly childish gesture, a sickeningly desperate one, meant to stop you from leaving before the thought could even cross your mind. “I want you to stay. It’s not--” His voice cracks, his whole body tensing. “I couldn’t just sit back and watch you leave. I couldn’t watch you move on, not after Yashiro took the first chance she had to run. I didn’t want to. I’m selfish, and I didn’t want to.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. You’re confused, you’re disoriented, that crushing, oppressive dizziness only getting worse every time you try to associate the scared kid sitting at your side with the same boy who ended your life. “I would’ve come back,” You stammer, grasping for something to say, a sentiment that would comfort you as much as it soothed him. “I graduated, but I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Yashiro visits every time she gets the chance, I would’ve done the same thing. You know that, Hanako, you knew that when you… When you decided to do this.”

“Nene’s growing up,” He spits. “She’ll stop. She’ll get busy with her university classes and meet a boy and forget about me, about us. I’ll be a bad dream, and you’ll be her annoying underclassmen. In a few years, Kou’s going to care more about exorcising spirits than befriending them, if he cares at all. He might forget, too.” He drops your sleeve, pulling into himself, but it’s hardly an improvement. Like this, he just looks withdrawn, spiteful. Someone who knows what kind of trap they’ve been caught in, but still refuses to completely submit to it. “They always forget. You would’ve, if I let you.”

You want to deny it. You can think of a thousand reasons you wouldn’t, a thousand moments you’ve done more than enough to prove you’d never willingly abandon him, and yet, all your arguments and disputes and defenses disappear the moment you turn towards Hanako, finally looking at him in earnest. You think he’s going to be angry, furious, violent, and yet, your expectations couldn’t be farther from the truth. Rather than balling his fists and steeling himself, he’s shaking, trembling, rubbing furiously at his eyes with sleeves that are just a hair’s width too long, every tear he misses falling to his chest, unnoticed and neglected.  You can’t hear him crying, but you almost wish you could. The sobs that rack over him are silent, his jaw locked in place and his teeth grit to the point of pain, but the few noises that slip through are pitchy, pitiful, evidence that something much louder is coming, something Hanako won’t be able to control. Something no one should have to go through, not alone.

Something you don’t want to see your friend go through alone.

You don’t think. You rest a hand on his shoulder, tugging him towards you gently, and just like that, Hanako’s face is buried in your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your midriff and yours resting limply on his shoulders, giving him permission to be as close as he wants to be. It’s not amnesty, but it’s sympathy, and that’s enough for Hanako to melt into you, to cling to you like a lifeline.

To make you think you might be able to forgive him, one day. Even if the idea seems incomprehensible, now.

So wrapped up in optimistic thoughts, you don’t notice how tight his grip is, as he clutches at your shirt. You don’t pull back when he goes quiet too quickly, or mention how easily he’s convinced to go still. You don’t feel the tiny, contented smile soon pressing into your skin, small but just as self-satisfied as any grin or smirk could ever hope to be. Involuntary, but genuine.

More genuine than any tear Hanako could ever force out, at least.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 34 - Nostalgia

Author’s Note: Happy Nayeon Day everyone ;)

---

And so you do your best to hold on as her small, tight little body writhes and quivers on the bed, burying yourself completely inside her so you could both feel every ounce of pleasure that her orgasm had to give. Her fingers dig almost painfully into your forearm; but the pain from her nails only heightened the feel of her pussy pulsating around your cock.

When she finally comes down from her high her body is a quivering, mewling mess on the bed - but the fire in her eyes is undiminished, and the conviction and determination that were always at the core of her personality takes over.

“Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

“Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

“I want you to be the first.”

“The first to what, Nayeon?”

There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

“I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

---

A chorus of hushed whispers washed over the room as Nayeon’s video finished playing. Jeongyeon was the first to speak up.

 “Who are those girls? What was Irene doing with them?”

 “Kidnapping them, probably,” Seolhyun quips, a stern look on her face as she crosses her arms. “More recruits for all her bullshit.”

 “They didn’t seem like they were going with her against their will - it’s almost like Irene was helping them escape from that YG building,” Tzuyu notes.

 “Those four girls were part of YG’s Blackpink division,” Nayeon explains. “They were essentially YG’s corporate espionage division, similar to what Red Velvet does for SM. Intel has dried up on them since this video - they’ve basically disappeared.”

 “Probably because they’re dead in a ditch somewhere after Irene got what she needed from them,” Seolhyun replies, still on edge about Irene. You decide to ignore her anger for now, hoping the young woman could at least channel it into something useful.

 “Regardless of Blackpink’s current whereabouts, our next course of action is clear. We have the evidence we need to put Irene away. The only matter now is finding her and arresting her - is that correct, detectives?” you ask.

 “Yes,” Jihyo answers from her seat at the front of the conference table, “but finding her is the hard part. After our mission at SM HQ she must know we’re on to her, so she’s likely gone to ground. We each need to reach out to any sources we may have that can help us track Irene down.”

 “What about Momo?” Jeongyeon asks, turning to you, “Maybe she has leads on Irene? It seemed like they were working on something big when they rescued us. I think they were closing in on her.”

 “Yup. And those two members of Red Velvet that we just saw get captured are now on Momo’s team as well. Maybe they know something that can help us - and I’d like to know how they managed to escape YG,” you add.

 “Okay, get in touch with her and find out what they know,” Jihyo says with a nod. “The rest of us can work any other leads we have. Maybe we can comb through the data we retrieved one more time to find any possible Red Velvet safehouse locations or schedule data. We can meet again on Monday morning and form an action plan.”

 Your assembled team rises from their seats and leaves the conference room, each of you spending the rest of the day doing everything you could to track down Red Velvet’s leader.

 ---

 Summer in Seoul was being a bit like being in an inescapable oven.

 Air conditioning was almost a necessity, what with temperatures averaging around 35 degrees and flirting with nearly 40. Despite this, you decided to leave the artificially cooled interior of JYP’s Seoul office to hopefully enjoy some quiet time to yourself on the roof.

 The office was almost empty now, most of the staff running off to enjoy their Friday night. You were happy to find the rooftop completely empty, and you grabbed a seat in one of the folding chairs in the small, shaded picnic area by the hot tub - remembering, briefly, the intimate encounter you’d had with Seolhyun there not so long ago. The memory brings a smile to your face, and you quickly found yourself reminiscing about the way she’d gone down on you, and the steamy shower sex you’d had soon thereafter.

 Your eyes involuntarily close as you lean back in the folding chair, raising your feet to rest on the chair opposite. You’d brought a file of Irene-related documents with you to the roof to study, but you were happy to take a short break - and maybe a nap - in the late afternoon sunlight.

 “You never were any good at studying,” comes a female voice, one that you knew all too well.

 You open your eyes to find Nayeon standing over you. Had you fallen asleep? You shake your head and rub your eyes in an attempt to gather your wits and focus on the young woman’s pretty features as she takes a seat in one of the other folding chairs. She is wearing a simple white sundress, one that is just slightly translucent, if the hint of a dark bra beneath its clean white fabric is any indication.

 “Oh, hey,” you answer, still shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, and unable to really say anything more. You sit up in the folding chair and lower your feet to the floor.

 “Sorry, I must’ve dozed off there for a second.”

 “No problem. But really, it’s me that should be apologizing.”

 Nayeon’s face is blank, and her features don’t give any indication as to her thoughts or intentions.

 “For what?”

 “You know for what,” she answers quickly, “For leaving you yesterday, during the mission.”

 The image of Nayeon standing in that alleyway, as she debated with herself whether she should leave you there to fall into the clutches of SM, flashes before your mind. The image of her finally making up her mind and running away came to mind soon after, although that image was significantly less pleasant to remember.

 “You don’t have to apologize. I ordered you to run. It was important that we get the data, otherwise the whole thing would’ve been in vain. Momo ended up rescuing Jeongyeon and I anyway - all’s well that ends well.”

 “But you didn’t know that at the time,” Nayeon answers, “and for all you and I knew I was leaving you there to be captured - and probably tortured, or worse.”

 You look away from her for a moment, unable to meet her gaze. It was true that her running away left you and Jeongyeon to an uncertain fate - one you were lucky to escape.

 “What good would it have done? If you’d stayed you would’ve been captured right along with us. There were almost a dozen of them and only three of us. They would’ve overpowered us eventually.”

 There is quiet for a few moments as Nayeon weighs your words in her mind. She fiddles with her fingers in her lap, trying to find voice and words to the emotions inside her.

 “I would at least have known I didn’t run away when you needed me. I would have known that I stayed when you needed me - like she did.”

 The image of Jeongyeon standing next to you, a fierce look in her eyes and a length of wood in her hands, ready to go down swinging, comes back to you. She also had the chance to run, right along with Nayeon; but instead she’d picked up a weapon and made a stand next to you.

 “That’s irrelevant,” you tell Nayeon, “what happened happened. We have the data and Jeongyeon and I are okay. That’s all that matters.”

 “No,” Nayeon snaps, “no, that’s not all that matters. I ran away. And I spent the rest of the day thinking I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It wasn’t until Jihyo got that call from you last night that I found out you were okay. I thought you could have been dead.”

 The girl looks away, the strong front she had put up slowly beginning to show cracks. Her lip quivers slightly. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, pondering the weight of Nayeon’s words.

 “When Jihyo recruited me for this and I found out you were involved, I jumped at the opportunity,” she begins, her voice a little weaker now. “I still had feelings for you, but I wasn’t sure if they were for real. I thought if I saw you again I’d know for sure.”

 Nayeon takes a breath, as if to compose herself. She looks back out at the empty rooftop, unable or unwilling to meet your gaze.

 “And when I found out you were sleeping with all these other girls and acting like an asshole, fucking them in front of me - I thought all those feelings for you disappeared. When that girl showed up wearing that blue hoodie I bought you - I wanted to strangle you.”

 She quickly swipes at the corner of her eyes - ostensibly to remove some bit of dust, but in reality to wipe away the beginnings of a tear.

 “But last night convinced me otherwise. Thinking I’d left you there, and that I might never see you again - it convinced me I still love you.”

 “Nayeon, I-”

 “I don’t care that you’re fucking all these other girls. I don’t care about the way we broke up, or why. I just care about you. We shouldn’t have broken up. We should still be together.”

 She looks at you now, and despite the tear that has finally broken free of her eyes and has slowly begun to fall down her left cheek, she still looks defiant, proud, just the way she always was.

 “We can be together again,” she says softly.

 Silence reigns for a moment as you gather your thoughts; you would have been lying if you’d said that Nayeon’s reappearance in your life hadn’t rekindled feelings for her. You’d always thought that the reason for your breakup and the way that you did it had left things so unresolved… and you’d spent many long nights since wondering what could have been.

 “Nayeon…” you begin, unable to really find the words to say anything more.

 “You don’t have to say anything,” she states. “At least until after we get Irene.”

 “I understand,” you answer.

 Apparently satisfied with the conversation, Nayeon gives you a soft nod before quickly wiping away the remnants of the tear from her cheek. She smiles softly - a smile that seems forced, as though it took all of her strength not to simply break down in front of you. Standing up, she begins to walk away.

 “Nayeon,” you say, her name a gasp upon your lips. She turns around with an almost imperceptible sigh, as though she were hoping you would stop her.

 “Do you… like, want to get super drunk or something?”

 Nayeon laughs, and although she tries to suppress it the way someone does when they don’t quite want to laugh, she nonetheless lets the soft, musical sound of her giggle escape her mouth.

 “Yes,” she answers, “yes I do.”

 ---

 “I got 34% on that econ midterm, and I have no one but you to blame.”

 “Oh please. Cramming doesn’t work. Scanning five chapters of a textbook the night before your exam isn’t going to magically turn you into an A student. You should have studied each chapter the week it was assigned, and not five chapters the night before the midterm. The night before the midterm is for a final review of all the major concepts.”

 “If I recall correctly you had a lot to do with keeping me up the night before the midterm.”

 “Psh. As great as the sex was, saying I kept you up ‘all night’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

 “You wanted it three times. Then a fourth time as we were heading to campus.”

 “My point still stands. You had plenty of time for studying in between sessions.”

 “Awfully hard to study when your girlfriend ties you up to a chair and fucks your brains out. You slapped me a couple of times, too.”

 “Pain brings the brain to full alertness. I wanted to make sure you were alert and ready to study.”

 “I’m not complaining. The first time was fun. So was watching you walk around naked in the room afterwards.”

 “I wasn’t just walking around the room. Sometimes I was sitting. Or lying down.”

 “On top of my textbook. Which was hot as fuck, but not conducive to effective studying.”

 “I’m pretty sure I was nicer to look at than your textbook.”

 “I don’t doubt that. I’m just saying that the time between sessions would have been helpful for some last minute review, had you not distracted me the way you did.”

 “It’s not my fault you’re easily distracted.”

 “The second time, you literally bent over the kitchen counter and shook your ass at me.”

 “I didn’t say anything - it was you that decided to get up from your studying and come fuck me. I was just minding my own business, happily making us dinner and ensuring you had the energy for your studies. It was you that interrupted me.”

 “You looked over your shoulder at me with your ‘fuck me’ look and licked your lips. If that’s not asking for it, I don’t know what was.”

 “I wasn’t asking for anything. I was just tasting the food I made, to ensure it was delicious and nutritious enough for my boyfriend.”

 “And the ass shaking?”

 “I was dancing. We were playing music at the time, if you’ll recall. Music can aid the brain with memory retention.”

 “You had a hand between your legs. You did all your cooking with your left hand. Dancing gets you that hot and bothered?”

 “I wanted to improve my dexterity with my off hand.”

 “You were wet as hell when I got to you.”

 “Is it so wrong to say that my boyfriend made me wet?”

 “I think it was the thought of me fucking you over the kitchen counter that made you that wet, and you couldn’t help but touch yourself. Still think you weren’t asking for it?”

 “You’re crazy. I don’t ask for sex. I get it.”

 “Oh, you definitely got it. And the third time - giving me that blowjob under the desk while I was studying, what do you call that?”

 “I was cleaning under the table to ensure your feet weren’t injured by sharp or pointy objects while you studied. Safety first.”

 “And so not only do you cook naked - you clean naked too?”

 “It ensures clothing doesn’t get in the way or distract me from my chores.”

 “And the blowjob in the car on the way to campus?”

 “It was to ensure you were in the right mindset for the midterm. Orgasm releases endorphins to the brain which can improve examination outcomes.”

 “So four orgasms provide the recommended daily dose of endorphins, is that correct?”

 “That’s correct. For males, at least. It’s seven for women in the same time frame - you only gave me six, unfortunately. I had to get the seventh on my own.”

 “The picture you sent me of your wet fingertips just minutes before the midterm is enough proof.”

 “I was trying to provide visual support.”

 “You were insatiable, Nayeon.”

 “Were?”

 “Am?”

 “Am. I have to admit, I liked the way we tied each other up when we fucked. That was hot as fuck. But that night before your midterm - I was left wanting a little bit more, to be honest.”

 “Four times in twelve hours wasn’t enough?”

 “No, the number of times was enough.”

 “So? What more could you have wanted?”

 “Remind me again - where did you cum?”

 “On your back once, after you tied me up. Inside you, in the kitchen. And in your mouth twice.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Hmm?”

 “If only there was another place you could cum.”

 Nayeon finishes her beer in one long gulp. She slams the glass on the table and licks her lips with the same ‘fuck me’ look she wore in that room years ago. She gathers her purse and jacket and leaves the table. You quickly drop some bills down to pay for your meal and rush after her.

 ---

Sleeping with Nayeon was dangerous, to say the least, given your history together and your current circumstances. Sex with exes always made things so complicated. 

 But when she dragged you into her hotel room and your lips and bodies crashed together, you made no effort to resist. She was so familiar, her body so well known to your lips and fingers, that all thought of stopping fled quickly out the window. You’d spent so many long nights since your breakup wondering what could have been - and more than a few nights reminiscing about her body.

 The years were kind to Nayeon - when you were in school she was a little too thin, a little less curvy - but nature and long hours in the gym had sculpted her body further, and now she was a fully grown woman, curves and delicious skin and toned muscle all coming together to create a goddess in the prime of her life.

 You raise your head from between her spread legs, your tongue and chin dripping with her juices. You lick the delicious honey from your lips, savoring her taste as you kiss a path back up her slim, firm body, delighting in her tight stomach and cute, round breasts. You reach her neck and give her a quick peck there before you give her a deep kiss, Nayeon’s tongue sliding into your mouth to taste herself.

 “You always ate me so well,” she says, her cheeks flushed from recent orgasm.

 “You always tasted so fucking good,” you answer.

 “Fuck me now,” she hisses, and you are quick to oblige, positioning yourself between her spread thighs, reaching down and aiming the tip of your stiff cock at her dripping folds. You swirl it around the slick flesh, delighting in the soft moans that leave the girl’s lips as your tip slides around her clit.

 “Stop teasing. I need it. Fuck me, please.”

 You grin devilishly as you press your tip against her opening - but your grin turns into a gentle sigh as the feeling of slipping into Nayeon’s slick, hot pussy overwhelms your senses. 

 She felt exactly the way she did back then - tight, wet, hot - and it was all a little too much to handle. When you fill her completely you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you open eyes you didn’t know you’d closed. Your vision is filled with Nayeon’s beautiful face, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes and lips and nose overwritten with pleasure at being filled for the first time.

 “Oh god,” she gasps, “oh god, I missed you so much.”

 She grasps the back of your neck with her hand and brings you close for a kiss - one that is desperate, and full of need.

 “I’ve missed you too, Nayeon.”

 “Fuck me now,” she hisses, “fuck me like you used to.”

 You eagerly follow her demands, and you slowly begin to pump in and out of Nayeon’s slick, tight pussy, her body tightening around your cock with every thrust in and out, lathering your length with juices that glisten in the low light. The sound of her sighs and gasps quickly rise in volume, a beautiful backdrop to the sounds of your wet shaft penetrating her slick pussy again and again.

 You quickly find your rhythm, and you almost lose yourself in the feeling of her; you knew it was partially nostalgia - you felt like a university student again, enjoying himself and his girlfriend, not yet having to worry about corporate espionage or physical danger - no, there was only pleasure here, and indulging in it. For long minutes you fuck Im Nayeon, losing yourself in the feel of her body beneath yours, her limbs wrapped around you and your ears filled with her gasps and moans.

 The sounds were amazing, but it is the sight of her beneath you - the girl you’d long that was the one that got away - fed your desire more than any drug could have. You increase your rhythm, and the words that spill from Nayeon’s lips tell you she welcomed it.

 “Oh god… yes… fuck me, baby. I’m yours.”

 You decide to surprise her, slipping out of her needy pussy for a moment to turn her on to her left side. Straddling her left leg and raising her right leg so that it is on your right shoulder, you slip into her again, sliding easily inside her body and filling her completely, the position allowing you to get even deeper inside her.

 “Oh god!” she gasps, her mouth frozen open in a soundless “o”, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. You take a moment to let her adjust to the newfound depth of your cock - but her pussy is too wet and hot and slick to fight the temptation much longer, and soon you find yourself sliding in and out of her, fucking her with a hard, strong rhythm.

 Nayeon’s body bounces deliciously with every entrance and exit of your cock sending impacts that rock her form from head to toe. Her breasts, now stacked on top of each other due to being on her side, bounce hypnotically - you grab her right mound, squeezing softly and delighting in the feel of her stiff nipple in your palm.

 “Oh god… I missed this… I missed… mm, your cock inside me! Oh… oh god, I’m cumming!”

 When Nayeon orgasms it takes every effort on your part not to simply join her in bliss - her pussy tightening deliciously around you made it all to easy to pump inside her and fill her with cum that she would have been happy to be filled with; but you knew you had to hold on, had to give her what she asked for earlier that night.

 And so you do your best to hold on as her small, tight little body writhes and quivers on the bed, burying yourself completely inside her so you could both feel every ounce of pleasure that her orgasm had to give. Her fingers dig almost painfully into your forearm; but the pain from her nails only heightened the feel of her pussy pulsating around your cock.

 When she finally comes down from her high her body is a quivering, mewling mess on the bed - but the fire in her eyes is undiminished, and the conviction and determination that were always at the core of her personality takes over.

 “Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

 “Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

 “I want you to be the first.”

 “The first to what, Nayeon?”

 There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

 “I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

 When you raise your head you find a newfound determination in her eyes - that ‘fuck me’ look, magnified a thousandfold. Before it was sexy - now it was downright lustful.

 Nayeon turns her body so that she is lying face down on her stomach, spreading her legs to allow you between them. When she looks back at you there is nothing but need and lust in her eyes.

 Your cock is already slick and wet with her juices, but you take a moment regardless to spit into your palm and stroke your rock hard shaft, ensuring it is lubricated enough for what was to come. You feel your heart beating fast and hard - the anticipation made your skin tingle.

 When Nayeon reaches behind her and spreads apart the cheeks of her ass, revealing her small, tight asshole - you had to remind yourself to breathe. It takes some effort, but you soon place the very tip of your glistening cock at her entrance, and you take a moment to spit one more time, the saliva landing right where your bodies met. Using your right hand to guide your shaft, you tease her ass with your tip, lubricating it as much as you could.

 “Enough,” Nayeon hisses, her face half pressed into the mattress, “fuck me now. Fuck my ass, baby. I want you to take every part of me. I want you to fuck my ass.”

 You push forward, and while it takes some effort, you finally enter Im Nayeon’s ass.

 Her body tries to fight you every step of the way, but soon the tight ring of her ass gives way to the unyielding flesh of your cock, and eventually your tip is fully inside her. Nayeon lets out a pained gasp into the mattress, and you watch as she grits her teeth as more of you enters her.

 “Are you okay, Nayeon? We can-”

 “No, don’t stop. Keep going. I can handle it.”

 You continue to push forward, your hands caressing her back and shoulders in an attempt to ease her into it. Her tightness is almost overwhelming, her ass a tight ring of muscle that squeezes every inch of your shaft as it enters her. It might have taken a minute, it might have taken an hour - but eventually you are fully inside her, buried to the hilt inside Nayeon’s ass.

 “Oh god,” she gasps at the feel of being filled, “oh god, I feel so full.”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yes… yes, I want this. I want you in my ass. Now fuck me.”

 You withdraw your cock for the first time - and when you look down and watch every inch of your shaft appear from between the round cheeks of her ass - it is almost overwhelming. But just as wonderful is the feeling of entering her again, and finding your soft, steady rhythm as you begin to fuck Nayeon’s ass.

 “Oh, oh god,” Nayeon says, repeating that mantra, “oh god, keep going like that.”

 Satisfied that you’d found a rhythm that didn’t cause her unnecessary pain, you continue to pump in and out of her, relishing every entry and exit into and out of her young, firm body, her ass clenched tightly around every inch of you as it penetrates her again and again.

 Nayeon is the first to raise the stakes.

 “Get on your knees,” she says. You bury yourself fully inside her, drawing out a gasp of pleasure from her lips before raise yourself to your knees. Taking care to keep you fully inside her, she gets on her own knees before you, until you are both kneeling on the bed with you behind her. The newfound intimacy of this position was welcome, and you wrap both your hands around her slim torso, cupping her small, perfect breasts in each of your hands.

 “Fuck me like this,” she says softly, “fuck my ass like this.”

 You resume pumping in and out of her, the position allowing you easier access to her butt - but you are surprised to find that she is rocking back and forth on her own, driving herself back to meet each of your thrusts. For long minutes you continue to fuck, your shaft drilling in and out of Nayeon’s tight, hot ass, her body pounding back against you with each thrust. Your hands roam her tight, sweaty little body, sometimes squeezing a breast, sometimes clenched around her waist or shoulders - anything to grasp her in your arms, tighten your grip on her as though you never wanted to let her go and lose the delicious pleasure that her body was giving you.

 Nayeon breaks free from your grasp, eventually, leaning forward with her arms. She continues to push herself back onto your cock as you thrust forward - every thrust, every feel of her tight ass clenched around your shaft driving you closer and closer to orgasm. You look down, watching your wet cock slide in and out of her hole - and you think you might pass out.

 “Oh, fuck, Nayeon - that’s so fucking hot.”

 “You like it?” she says, the words a breathy hiss, “you like fucking me like this? Fucking my ass like this?”

 “Fuck yes, Nayeon… Oh! Fuck… fuck, you feel so good. I’m not gonna last very long.”

 “Mmmmm oh god… Just cum when you want to… just cum for me… cum inside me… cum inside my ass. I want you… to be the first… to fill my ass with cum.”

 You are almost ashamed to admit it, ashamed that her first anal sex experience might be too short - but her body was too overwhelming, too wonderful to fight. It was all too much - the residual feelings from your past relationship, her reappearance into your life, her beauty and sexiness and utter physical perfection, the fact that she wanted you to be the first to claim her ass - all too fucking much to resist.

 “Fuck, Nayeon, I’m cumming!” you hiss, and Nayeon’s only reply is a breathy moan that turns into a plea.

 “Yes… cum inside… my ass!”

 You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her, your hands clenching tightly around her waist and hips as you finally lose control and tumble willingly over the edge into pure bliss, your shaft pulsating as it sends stream after stream of thick, hot semen inside Nayeon’s clenching ass, the white cum painting her rectum with white.

 It might have taken you hours to recover from the stars that dazzle your vision and the feeling of lightheadedness as your orgasm overtakes each of your senses. You are only vaguely aware of slipping out Nayeon’s body, and the needy, high pitched whine that escapes her lips when you finally leave her. A trail of thick white cum soon emerges from her hole, a trickle that becomes a stream that flows down her thighs and onto the bedsheets.

 There are no more words that could possibly be said between you, and so you fall into a tangle of exhausted limbs and sweaty bodies, your arms entangled with one another. You find her cheek, bring her face to yours, and the kiss that you share makes you feel like you’d found something you’d long thought was lost.

 ---

 Nayeon was right - she was still insatiable.

 The shower you shared when you both awoke only turned into one after you’d fucked again - when she dropped to her knees and took you into her mouth you didn’t think you’d ever get around to actually cleaning yourselves. But after you’d picked her up from the shower floor and fucked her against the cool tile, you both finally managed to achieve some semblance of cleanliness - even if the sight of her wet body as she rubbed a bar of soap all over herself, your own cum still dripping from her pussy, made it difficult to concentrate on actually cleaning yourself.

 You’re the first out of the shower, and you collapse onto the bed while Nayeon finishes drying her hair in the washroom. You grab your phone off the nightstand and scroll through your messages.

 The first few texts were from Jeongyeon - memes, mostly, and one or two messages telling you she was bored, and had nothing to do; it was far too late to respond to them now, however, and you felt some momentary guilt at having missed what was obviously an invitation from her to meet up.

 Sana came next - in the form of a few suggestive photos of herself in various skimpy outfits, all seemingly from a clothing store’s dressing room; in each one she was leaning forward, giving you a good look at the tight cleavage she was so fond of showing you. “Maybe these would look better on your hotel room floor,” she said in a follow up message that was far from subtle.

 A single text from Mina surprised you and brought a smile to your lips - “I’m getting promoted to head of legal affairs at JYP,” she’d said, “so I get my choice of post. Save me a spot on your team.”

 The last message came from Momo - a simple address of a meeting place she’d chosen. You’d asked her the night before if she and her team were willing to meet to discuss the next stage in the operations against Irene. Her response was just an address and a time to be there - a far cry from the long, cutesy texts she used to send you all the time.

 You allow yourself a moment of sadness at that last thought, but it is one that quickly flees your mind when Nayeon re-emerges from the bathroom. She is naked, of course, her skin still flushed and glistening from her shower, her hair still damp and falling around her head in thin, wavy strands. 

 In her hands is a shiny object, something you were quite familiar with long ago, something you never thought you’d see again - a red leather collar, to which was attached a length of silver chain.

 She doesn’t speak a word - not when she gets on the bed, not when she straddles you, not when she places soft kisses on your body that start on your stomach and begin to trace a path up your body, until she places a soft kiss upon your lips.

 She straightens, sitting atop your lap in all of her naked glory, water dripping deliciously down her perfect round breasts and her flat stomach. She undoes the clasp of the collar with long, dainty fingers, and places it around her neck. When it is sufficiently tightened, she gathers the chain in her hands, finding the end of it with her left hand. She bends once more to kiss you, her left hand tracing a path along your right arm. When she reaches your hand, she pushes the phone in it away with her own hand.

 The phone falls over the side of the bed - and Nayeon replaces it with the end of the silver chain. She bends her head, kissing your cheek, before bringing her lips to your ear.

 “How would you like to take me, master?”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (60) || atz

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wooyoung-ah.”

At the sound of your voice, the head gunner turns away, completely silent, dark anger boiling beneath his skin. He’s clearly not in the mood to have a talking to now. But you have no fear, not anymore, anyway, and seat yourself next to him on the bed. Your bed, you realise.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pressed in a tight line, edges of his lips curling white in something crossed between a frown and a sneer. There’s a big bruise on his cheek, presumably put there by Jongho again, and he’s looking away very determinedly, set on not meeting your eye.

Unfortunately for him, your stubbornness more than rivals his own, and you’re not about to let him off the hook so easily. He punched his captain, for god’s sake. That’s not typical Wooyoung behavior. “We can sit here all day, you know? I have all the time in the world.”

You really don’t (haha brain, very funny joke), but fingers scratch irritably over the cover of your pillow, Wooyoung chancing a quick glance at you before his eyes have flitted elsewhere. The tension is so thick it’s practically suffocating the two of you alive, but you’re not about to give in anytime soon.

You wait.

Waiting doesn’t take long. Wooyoung’s personality loves comfortable silences or noise. Awkward silence? Not so much. He opens his mouth once, hesitates, closes it, and opens it again with a swallow.

“How... how’s your hand?” He’s still not looking at you.

“This?” You raise the empty stump, the phantom itch still throbs strangely. You’re strangely calm for someone who’s just lost their hand, but knowing death is right on its tail really puts things into perspective. “I’m fine. I was injured by Gunho during the battle and, well, you know the rest.” you shrug, turn away yourself. He really doesn’t, but it’s easier not to go into the specifics.

Wooyoung flinches a little, but you see it. Then an angry growl leaves his chest, fingers digging so hard into your pillow they turn white. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.” You tell him gently, glance out of the porthole and watch the sky outside slowly turn from inky black to midnight blue. Silence lingers between the two of you for a moment before Wooyoung finally puffs out a breath, licks his dry lips.

“How’s Captain?”

Your captain snorts a little as you dab water at his nose. “If Wooyoung had been serious about beating me up, I’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”

“Well,” you shrug, bringing your knees up to your chest, “you nearly broke his nose, gave him five different bruises, very big ones, I may add, and almost gave Master a heart attack.” Wooyoung makes a satisfied noise, patting his raw knuckles fondly.

“He deserved that much, at the very least.” He mumbles, drags a hand across his face, but he looks relieved. “Five bruises was letting him off too easy.” You glance at him for a second, turn back to the world outside, the sky and sea separating as the first hints of day draw a line of light across the horizon. Beyond the heavy wooden door of the sickbay, orders are called, the thud of boots resounding across the deck as the crew rush to carry out said orders.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You find yourself saying, though he hasn’t asked. His eyes find yours and more words start to spill out of your mouth unchecked. “I might have lost a hand, but at least I’m not dead, am I?”

The second you say that, you feel like you’ve somehow slapped both Wooyoung and yourself in the face, metaphorically, of course. At least I’m not dead, your heart gives a little self deprecating chuckle, and you resist the urge to cut off that loose tongue of yours for its stupidity.

Great job, you.

“Get ready to storm the island! I want every one of us to find that Captain Kang and drag him to the Treasure by the knees! Do you understand me?” You hear Mingi shout from behind the door of the sickbay and you make to rise to your feet, “we should go check out what they’re up to-”

But you’re stopped by a familiar hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, you turn back, arch an eyebrow. “Why?” You ask, a little confused. Wooyoung glances up at you with deep green eyes, soft and serious with emotion, and one by one, his fingers lace around yours, squeezing gently. Your heart skips, tumbles a beat, but you keep your eyes on his face. “Wooyoung?”

“Just listen to me for a moment.” He says, voice pleading and for some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re not ready for whatever emotionally weighted words he’s about to unload on you. “I just need to say something.”

The two of you probably really should get going, but something about the way he’s talking makes you pause, nod for him to go on. “When I was on that island... and we realised that it was a trap for the Treasure...” a shudder runs down his spine, the pad of his thumbs tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist, “I can’t begin to say just how damn terrified I was. And while I was running back to the ship, all I could think about was just how stupid I realised I had been.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be a trap, Wooyoung.” You remind him firmly, intent on stopping him from blaming himself just like his captain did, gods were all of them going to be like this? “No one knew, not even Captain, and we all came out fine, so there’s no harm done-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wooyoung interrupts. The chains rattle as his hand falls to his side, as heavy as his words. “What I meant was... pushing you away, thinking that by distancing myself, I was keeping you safe, but in reality I was just a coward who didn’t have the balls to face my feelings.”

What?

“When I was running back to the Treasure, one thought kept replaying in my mind.” He bites on his lower lip, an agonized look crossing his eyes as he stares at you so longingly, so painfully. “What if the last thing you remembered of me was leaving you alone on that mast and removing myself from your life without knowing how I really felt? What if...” he chokes, head bowed, “what if the last thing you had thought of me was that I hated you, and you died without knowing just how untrue that was?”

You don’t even know what you’re hearing right now. The words, you hear them, but you don’t really hear them. Wooyoung doesn’t hate you, that... that’s amazing to know, but why do you feel like that isn’t the end of it quite yet?

“Chin Hae.” He looks into your eyes, so piercingly you couldn’t look away even if you tried. “I’m scared of women. I’m terrified of them. I have scars all over my body, and I can’t forget the way they touched me, how I was forced to serve them until Captain rescued me. After I left that life behind, I played women like toys because I wanted to convince myself that I was no longer the victim, no longer the powerless.” He takes a deep breath, searches you with a defeated smile. “But it seems like I was wrong, and I find myself powerless in front of a woman once again.”

Your thoughts swirl like the raging waves, a jumble of noises and words and so much emotions. “Wooyoung, what-”

“I love you, Chin Hae.”

“Wait, give me a moment-” You try to collect yourself, but Wooyoung smiles gently, squeezing your hand lightly again and that affectionate, familiar gesture grounds you like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

Gentle eyes meet yours.

“You don’t need to love me back.” He tells you, smiling a little wistfully. There’s peace in that lopsided grin, as if a massive weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, as if he hasn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of his 42 pound cannon right into your arms. “I just wanted you to know. You... you’re really precious to me, Chin Hae.”

You try to find words, and only one comes to mind. “Buh...” You’re immediately disgusted by your own apparent inability to form complete sentences. What is your brain made of, clay?

...probably.

At your flustered state, Wooyoung breaks into peals of laughter that resemble an entire pod of happy dolphins, slapping his thigh in amusement. Fumbling about, you throw your headrest at him, only making him laugh harder when it bounces off the wall next to head. “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, not sounding sorry at all. You glare at him, not amused, but squeeze his hand back, like you always have.

“I don’t know how I feel yet.” You tell him honestly, linking your fingers together. Wooyoung nods earnestly, purple hair falling into his eyes. “You... you might only be saying this because you almost lost me, so I want you to think about what you feel again, after all of this has calmed down... before you tell me this again.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know what I feel, but if it makes you feel more assured, alright then. I’m fine with waiting.”

A breath of relief escapes you, and you nod seriously, but before you can say anymore, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal-

“Captain.” Wooyoung rises to greet his captain a little awkwardly, scratching his head. The corner of Hongjoong’s lips lift in a slight, weary smile at the sight of the two of you seated on the bed, pausing slightly at the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” You wave your captain over and Hongjoong takes a step, but his toe dances lightly at the door right before it crosses into the room, and stops to squint a little at his head gunner.

“You’re not going to throw another punch at me the second I step into this room, right?”

Wooyoung lets out a humored chuckle. “God, no, even if I wanted to.” The ice broken, he bumps shoulders with his captain and Hongjoong finally cracks a smile, although it seems a little... off, somehow. “Though I still think it would have been an improvement to your looks if I’d broken a few things on your face.”

Your captain gives a good-natured snort for someone who’d just been beaten up less than half a day ago. “Well, it’s good to have you on the same side again. I was wondering if I could borrow your gun and your eye in,” he glances out of the door onto the deck with a grim smile, “maybe about a few minutes or so.”

Something about the way he says that has something sinking in your chest.

“Just my gun and eye?” Wooyoung tries to lighten the tension by joking with a raised eyebrow, similarly on edge at the tone of his captain’s voice, his fingers shifting towards the long flintlock at his hip as he gestures at himself. “You know you have to get me too, right? We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I might throw in a bonus if you come along.” Hongjoong shrugs, still gazing out of the door. The angle the two of you are at, you can’t quite see what’s happening on deck, but the shouting from outside is loud enough to reach your ears and you’re immediately tensed.

“Appreciative enough to spare me bilge bailing duty for a week for rearranging your face?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. Actually, no.” Hongjoong replies, turning to look at the two of you with a smile that’s a little too strained for your liking. “Well, someone has just approached the ship from the island, and-”

“Captain Kang says he wants to talk.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Only Live Forever in the Lights You Make

Hey, remember that time Killian met Meg in some tunnels in the Underworld and introduced himself as “Captain Killian Jones” before he called himself “Captain Hook”? Because I do and, surprise, I’ve got some feelings about it! As always, I am still on my season five ‘ish, so here is about 4.2K of name-based feelings, some out of place flirting and some, surprise, Captain Cobra Swan that I didn’t plan on until I typed it. I hope you guys got all the carbs you wanted yesterday. 

All credit always and forever to @shireness-says​ for constantly telling me to keep shoving words at the internet. Even before she reads said words. (I only listened to Arctic Monkeys and My Chemical Romance while writing this. Take from that what you will.)

----

The words are heavy on his tongue. 

Still, as if they don’t belong there, or never really did and the feeling makes him ache. Although most of him aches at this point. Killian is sure his gashes have scrapes and those scrapes have bruises and gaping wounds that are likely far more metaphorical than he’s willing to admit. Staring out at the expanse of Main Street doesn’t particularly help. Hazy air hangs low over cracked asphalt, thin branches and dead leaves that only swirl slightly against the barely-there breeze coming from the Gods know where. 

There’s no water here. No hint of salt-tinged air. 

Occasionally there are some strikes of lightning, leaving the sky bright enough that Killian swears he can see for miles. He wishes he couldn’t. None of it looks right, feels even more wrong, and he supposes that’s to be expected in a place like this, but it also seems like another metaphor of sorts and maybe the torture hasn’t ceased yet. 

Maybe it won’t. 

He deserves that, he’s sure. 

Darkness doesn’t scare him much anymore, at least the more literal variety — or so he will swear, but this is somehow even worse. Every flash of light that cracks across the sky dredges up memories of the kind of storms that threatened to capsize any of the ships he once called home, and he imagines it’s something about extremes. 

Complete darkness can blind a man, but so can light. Stunning him, until he has to blink away the dots that hang in front of his eyes and the dots never entirely disappear. 

He shouldn’t have told that lass his name. 

Foolish, that’s what it was. 

“I can hear you thinking from upstairs,” Emma murmurs, slumped against the side of the railing that should lead up to her room in her parent’s loft. Something similar exists in this place, of course. He can’t imagine the blankets on that bed are as soft as the ones he only barely remembers falling into, what now feels like several lifetimes ago and—

“Might be getting worse now, actually,” she adds, “surprised there isn’t steam coming out of your ears too. Y’know, just for good measure.”

Letting out a breath, he’s all too aware of how slumped his shoulders are when he turns. Emma lifts her eyebrows. 

“The streets are already steaming,” Killian says, “anything else seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” “Stupid word.” “Aye, that it is. In poor taste.”

“What are you thinking about?” He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall towards his eyes, but Killian doesn’t make any effort to brush them away. “Did he fall asleep?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, eyes flitting back towards her room and the space she’d marched Henry into nearly fifteen minutes earlier. “About time, too. I think he was half a second away from falling asleep standing, could barely keep his eyes open anymore.” “Stubbornness is an inherited trait.” She clicks her tongue. “You think?” “Rather pointed.” “Nah, definitely round,” Emma objects, “in a circle-type way that could bring us back to my question and what you’re thinking about and—” “—Henry shouldn’t be here.” “No.” Jerking his head up the way he does only guarantees that several muscles in the back of his neck almost audibly object to the movement, Emma giving him a tight-lipped smile that isn’t exactly his, but is at least getting there, and that’s something almost vaguely positive. 

Her hair is longer than Killian remembers it being. 

He tried to remember that. 

Before. 

Wandering — stumbling, more like — around those caves, blood dripping down the side of his face, caking the same strands of hair that now threaten to actually poke him in the eye, and all he could think about was the exact shade of gold Emma’s hair turned in the moonlight. Preferably when she was also sitting in the harbor, feet hanging above the waves as they passed his flask between them. Or on the deck of his ship. 

He didn’t allow himself that particular fantasy very often, though. Getting both felt distinctly like the kind of selfishness he’s now hoping to avoid. 

“Stubborn,” Emma shrugs. 

“Something about circles, love.” “And going in them, yeah. But I’m also legitimately worried about that pinch between your eyebrows, so seems like as good a time as any to fess.” “Fess?” “Confess,” she amends, “more slang.” Killian’s smile isn’t really that. Is more a grimace and twist of his lips, and yet the weight he’s only marginally worried has taken the place of his heart lightens ever so slightly. Nothing beats yet. He’s still dead. “I like that one, actually.” “When we get home I’ll make you a list.” “Of slang?” “Whatever you want.” Neither one of them move. 

He’d like to move. Would love to, really. To cross this space and pull Emma flush against him until she grumbles about the inevitably uncomfortable nature of her perched on either one of his thighs and how his chin digs into her shoulder when he tries to breathe her in, but something about the overall tension in her jaw and the weight of those yet-to-be acknowledged words keeps Killian rooted to the spot. 

Every one of those words came out quicker than the last, as if they were an admission Emma wasn’t entirely ready to make and he’s fairly certain the pinch between his eyebrows won’t ever disappear completely. He hopes she doesn’t cut her hair. 

He hopes to get his fingers in that hair eventually. 

“I mean—” Emma stammers, color rushing in her cheek. “Within—y’know, within...no, fuck that. Whatever you want. Lists of...I don’t know, movies and books and you’re a giant dweeb right? So you’ve got to like books.” “I do, in fact.” “Yeah, yeah, I figured. I just—do they have holidays in the Enchanted Forest? No Thanksgiving or Christmas, right?” Killian shakes his head. Gets the hair away from his eyes. And makes it easier to see the exact moment Emma starts wringing her fingers together. The railing is very likely digging into her shoulder now. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she continues, “but uh...shit, what about birthdays? That’s a thing, right?” “Do you think I get two now?” 

One side of his mouth tugs up. Despite any efforts otherwise and his own, rather intimate, knowledge of that edge Emma is quite obviously teetering on. 

Killian’s been balancing there for the better part of the last few days. Ever since she appeared in front of him again, magic wrapping around him and making goosebumps prickle on his skin, a low heat that felt as if he’d been put on simmer without any threat of boiling because he’s not all that capable of boiling anymore, just festering and stewing and—

“I told that lass my name,” Killian says, voice hardly loud enough to qualify as any sort of sound. One of Emma’s knuckles crack. “The one in the caves, another one of Hades’ prisoners. I can’t—Gods, I can’t remember her name.” “Megara,” Emma whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow, a sudden retreat back to flirting that’s not entirely honest. It’s very likely he’s something of a cad. And it’s easier that way. To slink back into the role, and the person he was and that person deserves everything he’s gotten and may still get. 

Of course, he can’t keep it up for very long. 

Not with Emma staring at him like that — far too appraising and understanding, and the whole thing fails rather quickly. 

Completely. Immediately. A few other words that end in ‘ly,’ just to drive the point home. “Wow, you totally suck at that.” Laughter rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat before he can even begin to rationalize the sound, rubbing his fingers into the raw skin just above his brace. “Fraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling.” “Low blow.” “Endearments, or…” “It’s not going to work,” Emma objects, rolling her eyes when Killian’s mouth shifts in the very specific kind of smirk he knows has always worked. “You don’t just get to start playing pirate and think I’ll swoon enough to get distracted.”

“Suggests I’m still able to distract you.” “Like that would change.”

Heat ripples up his spine. Surprisingly, so. The flicker of normalcy catches Killian off guard, facade slipping for half a moment, and that’s far more time than Emma needs. His hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it. “Are you something of a soothsayer then, Your Highness? Good at reading minds now?” “More circles, babe. Open books, and all that.” He hums. Can’t do much else, actually. Emotion claws at the center of him, threatens to take root in that stagnant heart of his, and maybe that will help, but it also feels like it could drown him if it had a mind to. The give and take of all this may very well drive him insane quicker than anything Hades could hope for. “How do you know that?” “Which part?” “About the girl,” Killian says, “did you find her?” Emma scrunches her nose. “Regina and I did. In the forest. There was blood and—” She shivers. Tries to hide it, but open book works both ways and he’s always been able to tell when she’s thinking too. Or being inherently stubborn. “I was...well, I wasn’t cool about it.” “Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” “Ass.” Staying upright is becoming increasingly difficult. “I believe that’s been well-documented, m’dear. I’m sorry about that.” “My inability to insult you better?” “That you thought it was my blood.” 

“Presumptuous,” Emma grumbles, although that sort of misses the insult mark as well and he’s genuinely not sure who moves first. Creaking joints give way to a groaning floor, a tangle of limbs and hands that almost immediately search for skin. If only to remind the other that they’re here and real and at least partially alive. 

If Killian feels his pulse pick up, he’s sure he imagines it. 

That’s not possible. 

“And,’ he adds, Emma’s back against the nearest wall now. He has no idea how his head found her thigh. He’s not going to complain. She doesn’t when she inevitably notices how goddamn greasy his hair is. Fair is only fair, after all. 

“And?” Eyes fluttering shut, Killian briefly worries for the state of his muscles. Which appear to be unspooling the longer Emma’s fingers move, tracing over his temple and the furrows of his forehead and it takes all the self control he’s only marginally in possession of not to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her stomach and sob. 

“And,” he repeats, “that you were ever uncool about any of this.” Her body shakes when she laughs — soft and disbelieving, which is another marker in the stubborn column, really. Killian doesn’t mention that. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Counts his inhales and takes his time on his exhales, only a little disappointed that the honeysuckle scent has disappeared from Emma’s hair. 

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Half the reason I think we should make a slang list,” Emma says, “is so you can say more of it. Might be one of my favorite things.” “A slang puppet, huh? Here to entertain you.” “Why are you freaking out about telling Megara who—by the way, was not nearly as snarky as her Disney counterpart would have me believe.” “I’m sure being chased around by the three-headed beast of the Underworld will do that to a person.”

Emma’s thumb taps his jaw. Three times. Exactly. “Ah now I feel like an ass.” “Impossible,” Killian mumbles. Turning his head isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of his body when he’s splayed out across the floor like this and the muscles in Emma’s stomach noticeably contract when he noses at the hem of her shirt. 

She squirms. Above him and below him, and there it is again. More metaphors. More dichotomy, or some other philosophical bullshit he’s not willing to think about now. When Emma’s breath noticeably hitches. As soon as Killian’s teeth graze her skin. 

“Distracting—” Gasping, Emma’s nails drag across his scalp. Which isn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be. “Ah shit, I can’t think of—” “Scoundrel? Miscreant? Blackguard?” “What century is that last one from?” “Not nice at all, love,” Killian chides, but Emma just widens her eyes and perhaps they’re both dancing. Without any music. “Probably around the time the first King George ascended the throne.” “There was more than one King George?” “Several, if memory serves. You know those royals. Can’t concern themselves with naming creativity, have to honor the past and whatnot.” “Whatnot,” Emma echoes with a smile. “You want to tell me now? About Megara and how she knew your name.” “I told her, we’ve been over this already.” “Yeah, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears on Emma’s shrug, her lower lip twisted between her teeth. Nerves radiate off her, falling in waves Killian can almost see and nearly remind him of the real thing. 

Time doesn’t mean much here. Days pass on loop, and exhaustion is a guarantee more than an occasional state of being. And yet, somehow — as the last few flickers of warmth continue to lap at the base of Killian’s spine, and Emma’s fingers return to their pattern through his hair, something almost like moonlight casts a welcome shadow across the floor. Stretching over Emma’s outstretched legs and bent ankles, it curls up her arm, lingering at her elbow before it drifts towards her hunched shoulders and the edge of Killian’s wrist and then—

It’s gone. 

Disappearing as quickly as it arrived, Killian wonders if he imagined it. He didn’t. He knows, he didn’t. Just as easily as he knows it didn’t happen simply because of him. 

He licks his lips once. 

“I found her,” he starts, “or she found me, I suppose. Not easy to keep your direction underground.” Glancing up, Killian finds Emma’s eyes on him. Wide, they don’t quite demand an explanation, but they want one and he supposes wanting is half the battle. At least metaphorically. “No stars underground, you see.” “Real confident in your navigational abilities huh, Captain?” “Only if you’ll keep saying that.”

She can’t be comfortable when she bends. Twists towards him, and kisses the top of his absolutely disgusting hair. 

There’s a shower upstairs. In the right version of it. He’s not sure what’s here. He can’t bring himself to go up there. 

An absolute coward. 

“Anyway,” Killian continues, “there was a three-headed monster, this lass, and I—we weren’t both going to get out.” “You let her go, though. Told her to go.” He nods. Talking is something of a challenge once more. “As if you’d ever do anything else,” Emma mumbles, a note of pride in her voice that makes every one of Killian’s internal organs clench. That’s all they can do, really. None of them are working all that great, after all. 

“That’s not true.” Tensing, Emma’s fingers still. “That wasn’t really you.” “Ah, that’s not totally true, either. It was at least partially me, all those deep-rooted desires given free reign. But I wanted...she was so scared, Swan.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the rest. Being more specific seems pointless, especially when Emma’s fingers stay exactly where they are. And she knows, anyway. He was terrified. Of what he’d lost and what he’d done and what he’d still be willing to do, if it meant she got out of here. 

Safe. 

He wants them all safe. 

“I told her to find you,” he rasps. “That—I knew you were here, could...feel it, almost. No matter where I was or—” This may be their least organized conversation. Full of tiptoeing and heavy words, unspoken meaning that neither one of them is entirely ready to give credence to yet. “Gave her my name, my—my real name.”

Hair brushes the top of his head, softer than it has any right to be and several things in Killian’s chest threaten to combust. “I was doing a lot of yelling of your name in that bloody forest.” “Joke, or…” “Fresh out of jokes, I think.” He noses at her jeans, not sure if he’s desperate to touch her or the opposite. Desperate to brand himself there, so she’ll remember. No matter what else happens. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admits, “just—I told her to find you, said I was Captain Killian Jones, like that was something I could say, and that you needed to know I was here.” Emma’s silent for a moment. 

Another. Two moments. That become three and four and then Killian’s counting his inhales again and doing his best not to stare too intently at her. She kisses his hair again. Luke she can’t help herself. 

“Had to use the title, didn’t you?” Killian exhales. “Haven’t in quite some time.” “Did you think I wouldn’t have known it was you?” Emma teases, so the joke-thing was something of a lie. A nice one as far as misplaced lies go. Making another noise, he finally burrows closer to her until it’s closer to snuggling and clinging and another round of goosebumps explode on his skin when her hand flattens against his back. “Or,” she says, “was it something else?” “Several somethings, maybe.” “Wanna ballpark for me?” “Not sure I understand that one, actually.” “I don’t need all the somethings, but a few would be good right now. We can get to the rest of them later.”

Those words don’t necessarily fall on top of him. They’re as heavy as the rest, all that meaning and the possibility for a future that seems as distant and impossible as the past or the overall softness of the bedding upstairs. So, while gravity does its best to pull the words down on top of Killian, there’s an ease to them that makes it feel as if they’re simply resting across his back, a reminder that helps keep him pressed to this plane and this place and Emma’s left thigh. 

Which is one of his favorite places to be, quite frankly. 

Usually without the jeans in the way, but dead beggars can’t be choosers. 

“I don’t know why I did that. The name, I—” “Liar, liar.” “Would you like to talk about pants, Swan? Because I have my fair share of thoughts regarding the ones you were wearing in Storybrooke.” “I didn’t pick that outfit.” “Rather good happenstance, then.” “Is deflection a required pirate characteristic?” she asks. “Distract your enemy with half-hearted compliments and—” “—Oh no, those are full-hearted, I guarantee.” “If nothing else, I did look stupid good in those pants.” “Hair left something to be desired, but the pants fit like a glove.” Her smile almost reaches her eyes. Obvious when light filters through the gauzy curtains, once more. “Flirt.” “Only with you.” Emma’s eyes widen. Not in surprise. Closer to frustration. A hint of impatience. The stubborn sort of determination that requires an answer. “And, I—I wanted it.” “Wanted what?” “To be that. Again, I suppose. After everything. All that I’d done, and how much I’d hurt you, I—”

“—You didn’t…” “Swan, let’s be honest that’s the worst lie either one of us has told.” “Ever?” “If not longer.” Huffing out a laugh, she slides further down the wall, a move that can’t feel good on her spine, but does ensure that she’s closer to Killian and he’s still enough of a pirate to want exactly that. “But I—a very long time ago, Captain Killian Jones believed in something. Wanted something, and thought he could get it. Even if some of it was distinctly lawless.” “Probably a requirement for your line of work.” “Ah, well that king deserved all the insults you could come up with. Stealing from him, destroying everything he’d built. That felt like justice, somehow.” “Should I mention the circular nature of time again or is that redundant?” “Unnecessary,” Killian agrees, his mouth inching further up Emma’s ribcage. The noise she lets out is closer to a giggle than he’s capable of dealing with. In a place that’s always tinged vaguely red. “I suppose part of me wanted to return to that. To the ideals, maybe not the laws or the uniforms, but certainly not the…” He swallows. “Villain. Evil. Wrong.” “I never thought you were wrong,” Emma says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. Over the ringing in Killian’s ears. And whatever rushes off her. Magic, of course. Responding to emotion and its innate desire to meet him halfway. 

Gods, but he loves her more than he ever believed he could. 

“I know that,” Killian promises, “even when I didn’t want to. Especially then.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time.” Tightening his arms isn’t easy when there’s this blasted wall in the way. Killian tries all the same. Emma doesn’t tell him to stop. “You were Captain Hook,” she adds, “when we found you. Buried under all those bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Eventually that’s really all that was left.” “I can make some more snide comments on pants, if you want. What’s the flammability of leather?” “I have no idea, honestly.” She smiles. He doesn’t check. Knows, can feel it in the very center of soul. “Ah, well, they can probably catch fire. Regina’s going to teach me how to do those ball things, anyway.” “Absolutely menacing, Your Highness.” “Don’t you forget it.”

The room is getting brighter. 

Or Killian’s finally fallen off that edge. Either one seems entirely reasonable and maybe even a little enjoyable and he’s not sure when, exactly, he decides to start talking again. Only that the words arrive without much thought and even more feeling and Emma’s eyes don’t leave him.  

“It was a mask. A reason for everything else, an excuse that I’d rationalized so I could fall asleep. Captain Hook was a product of his own misfortune, all those unfair hands he’d been dealt. The loss, the anger, the fury that grew every single time metal found skin. Being that, being him, allowed me to drift further and further into that darkness.” “But?” “But,” Killian repeats. “You found me under a pile of bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Oh, that’s kind of nice.” “It kind of was. After you got rid of the blade at my neck.” She flicks his chest. The knot of their limbs is another kind of miracle. “And then everything else that happened. Beanstalks, and Cora, and magic beans and—” “—You came back,” Emma cuts in. “Seems you’ve returned the favor several times over, love.” “That’s how it’s supposed to work, I think.” Maybe he’ll marry her.

The thought strikes him as suddenly as the lightning that flashes outside, a spark that’s eerily similar to the flames Emma was just talking about and there are far too many metaphors bouncing around his skull. He might just have a headache. 

And yet the thought doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. No, it settles. Threatens to grow at the forefront of his brain, where the institution of marriage has never been given much consideration. Until now. With his left shoulder close to popping out of his socket, and Emma’s fingers in his hair and her back contorted while half a dozen bruises on his legs refuse to heal. 

“I love you,” Killian says, unable to do anything else. Except propose, apparently. He should be alive for that. 

And sitting up. 

He can’t bring himself to sit up. 

Only pull himself closer to Emma, until it’s obvious how much he wants and possibly needs and something about a circle. Coming back. Over and over. 

“I know. Which is—” “—Good?” “Better,” Emma says. “I love you, too. Just you, you know that right?” Nodding leads to jeans scratching at his cheeks, but these pants fit fairly well too and both of them flinch at the noticeable creak coming down the stairs. Tufts of Henry’s hair stick up in every direction. 

“You ok?” Emma asks her son, only to get a teenage-type shrug and genetically inherited head tilt. 

Killian narrows his eyes. “What’s the matter, my boy?” The head tilt reaches an angle unaccomplished by anyone over the age of twenty-five. Killian isn’t even sure he could attempt such an angle. But it doesn’t seem to bother Henry and neither he nor Emma point out the use of those particular words in that particular order. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, already stumbling forward. Falling is likely far too generous a descriptor for whatever Henry does next, another mess of limbs that adds to Killian and Emma’s knot, and there are a few more grunts than there should be. 

From all of them. 

Until they find something resembling comfort, Killian’s head still on Emma’s thigh and her legs stretched out so Henry can take advantage of her right one and— “Probably should have found a pillow,” Killian mutters, hoping it sounds like the apology he wants it to be. It’s not enough. Nothing ever could be, really. And he’s not all that surprised by Emma’s head shake, the way it makes her hair sway and brighten under the bit of light they’ve probably created just now and she winces when Henry’s chin digs into her knee. He starts snoring five seconds later. “I’m fine,” Emma says, and it’s impossible to argue with her. Even in this impossible place. “You’re comfortable like this.”

His heart thumps. 

With wishful thinking or more misplaced hope, but it’s there all the same and he kisses exactly where his lips land. 

[randomfandomimagine]

Love’s Worth Running To. Chapter 2: Catch Up

Pairing: Barry Allen x Stephanie Williams (OC)

Fandom: Justice League / DCEU

.

⬅ PREVIOUS CHAPTER • CHAPTER INDEX • NEXT CHAPTER ➡

AO3

A/N: A few disclaimers about the series. One: this is a first draft and some little things may change, and also forgive any typos as I will be editing the series more during the second draft. Secondly, I’m not a hardcore DC fan so I might get some things about the characters wrong, bear with me with that.

Anyway, here’s chapter two, I hope you like it! Things are starting to really set into motion and after this chapter they get a little crazy, even more so than at the end of this one. 

Remember to give this some love, please reblog and leave feedback! It would make my week! 🙏💜

His feet rhythmically drag along the ground, shuffling as he sways and snaps his fingers. The music loudly plays in his earphones, drowning out the sound of the elevator as it comes to a halt. He can’t hear the soft murmur of voices as the Justice League chats in the Batcave, reunited there one more day. The dark room feels brighter as he walks further into it and the team comes into his field of vision.

“Clap along if you feel…” Barry nods his head along to the song and points to Victor. “Like happiness is the truth”

Victor stares at him, frowning in confusion. He makes to lift his hands and clap, but ultimately doesn’t. He only glances at Diana, who chuckles at Barry’s good mood.

Bruce calmly makes a gesture, asking for Barry to remove his earphones. When he does, letting them fall and hang off his shirt’s neckline, he grins.

“Good morning!” He cheerfully says, but the group doesn’t reply. “What?”

After a brief pause and a few glances, it is Bruce who speaks up.

“Who’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“You’re singing...” Arthur eyes the boy. “And dancing”

“So? Can’t I just be happy in this beautiful day?”

“There’s definitely a girl” His friend insists. “Spit it out”

Barry pouts and looks at each of them. The way they fondly stare at him fluster him a little, but he doesn’t really mind talking about her. In fact, it feels like a good thing to share his excitement with his friends.

“Her name’s Steph” Barry sighs with a dreamy sigh, but hurriedly corrects himself when he sees their even fonder expressions. “I-It’s nothing like that, though”

“What is it like then?” Diana asks, grinning in amusement.

“We’re old friends, but we haven’t seen each other in… like… more than ten years” Barry takes deep breath, overwhelmed by that rush again as he remembers the moment he spotted Stephanie Williams. “It was so cool to see her again”

“Why did you grow apart?” Clark wonders, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did your lives go different ways?”

“Not exactly…” Barry suddenly grows bleak, overcome with frantic memories.

That dreadful day in which all happened and he never saw her again. He didn’t even get to say goodbye, and all the things left unsaid still burn intensely inside him. Knowing that is all part of the past now and he will se her soon, he forces to forget about it.

Knowing the other noticed his brief change of demeanor, he claps his hands and changes the subject.

“But anyway! What are we doing today? Anything new?”

“Maybe” Bruce responds, even if he sends a quick look at the rest with the corner of his eye. “There have been some strange things happening around”

“Like what?”

“Glitches and minor crimes” Victor projects an image on the air, of a map of the surveilled cities with some red spots on them that mark the occurrences. “They’re all over the cities”

“Something bad?” Barry frowns, his eyes scanning the map.

“Nothing big, but we want to keep an eye out” Clark nods. “Just in case”

“Should we check it out?” The boy asks him, earning another nod from him.

“It won’t hurt” Bruce adds to, tapping the table in anticipation.

“Let’s suit up then” Barry speeds off, always bearing Stephanie in mind despite it all.

And so the Justice League prepares to exit the Batcave on a small routine mission.

_

When she looks at the clock, it’s already past 3pm. Stephanie clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and rushes to gather her things. She doesn’t want to be late.

“Bye, Ben!” Stephanie is almost at the door when he replies.

“Where are you going?” Ben does a double take, not believing his eyes when he looks at the clock. “You’re not staying late?”

“Do I…?” She mutters hesitantly. “Do I have to?”

“No, no” He fondly chuckles. “It’s just odd, do you have anything else to do?”

“Actually…” Stephanie can’t help but to grin, even if eager butterflies release in her stomach once more. To hide her thrill, she looks down and plays with her hands. “I’m meeting an old friend and… I’m honestly really excited to see him again”

“Oh, that explains it” Ben warmly grins. “Well, have fun!”

“Thanks!” Stephanie grins, bearing that wide genuine smile she showed the other day.

As he watches his coworker run off like a child on an adventure, Ben’s smile slowly fades as her previous presence now leaves room for a cold empty absence. A tiny pang of jealousy prickles the back of his neck.

_

Lazy clouds cover the sun, attempting to shadow its light. They threaten to flood the sky in darkness more and more with each passing second. Still, the day feels brighter than most. At least to Stephanie.

She rhythmically hits her nails against the glass surface of the table. Her eyes are directed to the door one more. Where is he? A heavy weight has settled in her chest. She chews on her fingernails. What if he doesn’t show up?

Soon enough, Barry comes barging in, out of breath and looking disheveled. He’s late, but he’s there. The girl stands up and takes a deep breath of relief.

“Hi” She greets him, earning an apologetic smile from him.

“I’m so sorry, Steph” He hurries to the table, nervously combing his hair with his fingers. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had”

“It’s okay” Despite his lateness, he notices, she’s smiling. Barry awkwardly chuckles as they both stand there.

Stephanie bites her lip, wondering how to act around him. Time has cooled their once close and nonchalant relationship, but she is determined to warm up to it again. Although they have known each other since they were little, they feel like strangers at the same time. They don’t know the other anymore, but they’re adamant on changing that. Besides, she still feels as comfortable with him as before, like not a day as gone by.

“Well, hi” Barry opens his arms, going on for a hug, just at the same time that Stephanie is leaning close to him in order to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Noticing this, they awkwardly pull away between embarrassed chuckles. In the end, and after a few more seconds of stuttering and fidgeting, Barry finally holds his hand out. Stephanie smiles and shakes it.

Happily plopping down on the chair, he sighs and stares at her. When she sits down in front of him, her fingers absently trace across the edge of the table that separates them. The tension looms above their heads until he breaks it with his cheerful energy.

“Stephanie Williams” Barry says in awe, fondly tilting his head and peering at her.

“Barry Allen” She reciprocates, smiling as the name of her beloved friend fills her lips.

“So talk to me, Steph, um…” He puckers his lips in a thoughtful gesture. “How’s your day going?”

“Good, it’s good so far…” She nods, not knowing what else to say. “And yours?”

“Great! A bit frantic, but… good” He bites his lips, awkwardly lingering as well. “Good...”

“Tell me!” Barry starts. “What have you been doing? I haven’t since you since...”

“Since we moved to Metropolis...”

“Well, yeah... I never really found out why that happened”

“My parents insisted on leaving Central City” Stephanie gravely nods, averting her eyes. “They said what happened with your mom was affecting me too much”

Barry quiets, watching her with a frown. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t find the right words to express the extent and variety of his current feelings.

“I’m so sorry…” He drags his hand across the table, reaching out to pat hers as it now rests on the surface of the table. However, and after a second of hesitation, Barry decides not to touch her. “I had no idea…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Barry. You were having a hard time already”

“Yeah, but…”

“It’s okay, I just… I hated seeing you suffer like that”

The two lock gazes, and an unnamed emotion shines in both their eyes. Like a wave has washed out all the deeply buried memories, a weight settles on their shoulders. One that they had been carrying since childhood and they had nearly forgotten about. Now it has returned, just like that. In only a second.

Trying to brush it off, Stephanie smiles. Like the gesture makes him happy, he grins too.

“So how is your dad?” She asks in a friendly tone. Barry’s smile slowly fades, only to be replaced with a melancholic frown. Stephanie is hit with realization. “Oh, so he’s still… I’m so sorry, Barry… I thought…”

It had been years since that terrible thing happened, and knowing of his innocence Stephanie hoped the situation would have changed by now. She’s unfortunately wrong. The girl groans in frustration, mentally scolding herself for not having thought about that possibility before speaking. Barry shakes his head and mindlessly waves his hand in the air. He smiles again, although this time it’s obviously a facade.

“It’s okay” Barry says, but he can’t hide the sad hint to his expression. “I go see him almost every day”

“Is he doing okay?” She cautiously asks, knowing how hard the situation must be for the two of them.

“For the most part, yeah…” His crestfallen look breaks her heart, and so Stephanie wrecks her head to find a more light-headed subject to talk about.

“O-Order” She rushes to say, holding her hand up in the air to catch the waitress attention. “We should order something to drink”

Barry chuckles at her attempt, nodding his head in silent agreement. When the waiter arrives, it’s the girl that speaks for the both of them.

“Um, yeah, hi” She looks up at the blond waiter. “I’ll have a coffee and he’ll have a chocolate milkshake”

“I’m not a child anymore, Steph” He playfully rolls his eyes. “I can order my own chocolate milkshake”

Stephanie laughs out loud, surprised by his retort. Barry fondly grins at her reaction.

_

Their shared chocolate milkshake has nearly run out. The cream at the top has melted as the liquid reaches the bottom of the container. Their identical pink frosted sprinkled donuts are half eaten, left forgotten in their small plates for the time being.

“Oh, hey!” Barry utters, changing the subject from his criminal justice major. “Did you get your own lab yet?”

Barry lets go of his red and white straw once he’s done sipping while Stephanie absently plays with hers.

“No…” She pouts a little, soon recovering part of her usual spark. “But I’m an intern at STAR Labs”

“That’s great!” He gulps, nearly chocking on the milkshake. “That brings you a step closer!”

“Yeah, I guess… I’m just so impatient to get there”

“You’ll get there” He carelessly waves his hand in the air. “I’ve got no doubts about it”

Stephanie smiles, feeling that once familiar warmth spread through her. There’s that unconditional support he showed her years ago. They haven’t talked in so long, but his unwavering faith on her hasn’t shifted.

A silence establishes after, although the frequency and intensity of them has lessened over the course of the afternoon. She picks up tiny pieces of the donut with her fingers and puts them in her mouth. Barry, meanwhile, absently nibbles on his donut, letting his eyes wander around the quaint establishment, before he boldly pipes up again.

“Are you seeing someone?” Stephanie chokes on the crumbs on her mouth at Barry’s question.

“What?” She coughs, sipping the last of the milkshake to shove the crumbs down.

“Sorry, I…” He chuckles, trying to conceal his amusement. “I was just wondering…”

Stephanie chuckles too, more surprised by the question than offended that he’s so obviously trying not to laugh at her.

“Well?” He says, bearing a playful tone that she had dearly missed. “Answer the question, Steph!”

“Actually… no” She shrugs a little, embarrassed to admit it. “It’s been a bit hard to connect with people”

“How so?” Barry turns serious once more, frowning as he intently listens.

“I don’t know… I’m just trying to pick up where I left off and…”

Stephanie leaves the sentence hanging in the air, but she doesn’t need to complete it. Barry nods. He understands what she means, even in a way that she can’t imagine.

“Well, you’re in luck, miss Williams” He says in a silly voice. “Because I am here to save the day”

“My hero” Stephanie replies, placing a hand on her chest in feigned bewilderment.

They both smile at each other, lingering on their reciprocated gazes. The spark between them has been rekindled, and they can feel it softly beating in their hearts.

_

It is with great sadness that they must say goodbye. They can’t stay there forever, as much as they’d like to. Still, it’s a bit easier to say farewell knowing they have each other’s numbers now and will meet again soon. They get up from the chairs slowly, putting the moment off as much as they possibly can.

Barry takes the jacket for her, holding it in the air to make it easier for Stephanie to put it on. She smiles, endeared by the chivalrous gesture, and shoves her arms on the sleeves.

“Thank you” Stephanie says as he also holds the door open for her.

The air outside is slightly chilly, and the clouds have darkened in the sky, perhaps announcing a storm. Reeling in the rush that still lingers from the lovely soiree with Barry, Stephanie looks up, unfazed by the gray clouds gathering before the sun. When she peers down again, she catches Barry’s eye.

“Barry” She laughs. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You did change” He replies with a frown, although it’s not exactly a sad one.

“How have I changed?”

“I don’t know… there’s something about you”

“Wisdom and maturity?”

“Maybe…” Barry smiles, hiding his actual thoughts. Ever since they were reunited, he has noticed a certain tint of sadness hanging over Stephanie. He doesn’t dwell too much on it, though, because it’s been slowly fading away as the afternoon advances.

“What about you? You’re not so shy anymore”

“Oh, I’m still shy” The shadow that had darkened his expression disappears, replaced with his usual affable expression. “I just hide it better”

“Are you sure you’re not just shy but you’re too embarrassed to admit it?”

“I’m pretty sure” Barry is replying, grinning as he sees her smiling. “I’m...”

He then trails off, never finishing his sentence. Something’s wrong, he can feel it. His eyes are directed to the traffic light not far from them. The lights aren’t changing, stuck on green. On every traffic light. His instinct kicks in before his brain can comprehend what his body is doing.

“Barry, what’s…” Stephanie his cut off by his urgent movement. Before she can wrap her head around what is happening, the entire street has developed in havoc.

Car horns loudly honking hurt her ears, and soon she sees why. Losing a sense of order because of the unexplained glitching of the traffic lights, all vehicles are crashing into each other. Fortunately, an imposing figure is halting their movement before the damage can be too big. A car has impacted close to them, however, and while doing so knocking a street light that heavily falls their direction.

While this developed, Barry has urgently taken hold of her. When she becomes aware of his closeness, Stephanie is pressed against his chest as he protectively moves her out of the way. Her heart is wildly racing as her senses overload.

The both of them are falling to the ground, with Barry losing balance in his desperate need to protect Stephanie. He still manages to turn and break her fall, tightly squeezing her with his arms to be shielded against his chest. His back takes the hit as he heavily falls to the ground with Stephanie safely landing on top of himself. Unaccustomed to the chaos, she is screaming and protecting her head with her arms in a panic, pressing herself against Barry and hiding her face on his shoulder as he still holds on to her.

“Steph!” He immediately calls, keeping one arm locked around her and using his free hand to press it against her cheek, urging her to look at him. “Steph, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She peers up in a daze, somehow finding comfort in his eyes despite it all. Despite the concern in them. Despite the chaos that engulfs their surroundings. In spite of it all, Barry’s still there with her. The thought calms her and she manages to take a deep breath. It helps settle the panicked pants that shook her being.

Stephanie wants to speak up, but she has momentarily lost the ability to speak. All she can do at that moment is catch her breath while she lays there on top of him, arms pressed against his chest as it quickly moves up and down with the same urgency as hers does. Barry’s hands are protectively pressed against the small of her back. Their faces are so close that their noses nearly touch. This closeness brings a flushed blush to their cheeks that can luckily be excused by the frantic situation.

“I-I’m okay” She finally replies, even with a shaky voice. “And you?”

“I’m fine” He absently says, immense relieved even if distracted.

Barry then lies on his side and carefully pushes her off him. The two of them still hold on to each other as they scramble to their feet. As they glance around, they see the disaster that the street has turned into.

A flying figure covers the sun for a split second while the clouds slowly float away in the sky. Stephanie gasps when she looks up and sees him, recognizing the cape and the strong silhouette of the hero that saved the day.

“Superman…” She utters, pointing up and gathering Barry’s attention there too.

“Oh, no” He mumbles under his breath, starting to understand what has happened.

Stephanie is too becoming aware of what happened, although in a different manner. She glances around, seeing the fallen street light that could have crushed them, the numerous cars that have crashed into each other and the traffic lights still stuck on green. How could Barry react so quickly if she barely had the time to notice any of it?

“Barry, what…” Stephanie swallows, trying to put some order into her messy thoughts. “How… Why…”

He isn’t listening to her incoherent babbling. Barry is still looking up, although his gaze is fixed on the roof of a building. A dark figure looms there, and his heart skips a beat in realization. Barry checks his phone, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he reads the screen. He has three missed called and ten texts.

“I gotta go” Barry stumbles over his words, suddenly even more frantic that during their near death experience. “I-I hate to leave like this, but I’m really late, I’m supposed to be somewhere else”

“Y-Yeah” Stephanie tries to recover from the shock and confusion. “Okay…”

“Can you walk home, are you okay?”

“I think so”

“Are you sure”

“Yeah”

“Steph?”

She stares at him, finding her lost concentration when she locks eyes with him. His worry seems to lessen when she manages to finally focus her gaze. Showing him that gesture that warms his heart, Steph nods and reassuringly smiles at him. He heaves a sigh in relief.

“Take care, okay?” He mumbles, in a sudden urgent hug. “I’ll call you soon”

“Okay” Stephanie clings on to him, lingering in the embrace and treasuring it for just a moment longer. As she does, she takes the breath she has needed so badly during those long minutes in which she couldn’t breathe.

When he pulls away, she has to hold back a groan of complaint. Her warmly smiles and waves goodbye at her. She does too. Then, Barry briskly walks away, urgently holding on to his phone.

Stephanie watches him in fascination, her eyes fixed on his back as he distances himself from her. There had been a new look on his face, an expression of mature determination and somber commitment. She had never seen anything like that. Barry has changed, and she doesn’t know in which way exactly. Stephanie is left with thousand of questions buzzing in her brain as she walks home in a daze.

Tag list: @scared-to-be-lonely345 // Ask to be added to be notified when I post for this series!! ​

[pars-ley]

Unforgiving

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Summary: An intoxicated play fight with your roommate, leads you to realise, your sweet friend has a very domineering side to his personality. A side he’s been waiting to unleash on you.

Genre: One-shot / Friends to lovers / Romance / Smut 

Rating: 18+ (nsfw)

Warnings: Foreplay / Swearing / Dom Hoseok 

Word Count: 2142

Prompts: Steal the blanket again, I dare you. + It’s late, why don’t you try sleeping? + Well f*** me already.

Notes: Thank you to @unoriginal-username15432​ for beta reading and your helpful advice, you’re a sweetheart! 

A casual party at yours had resulted in numerous friends passed out drunk.

Two of your friends had taken over your bed and were out for the count, with their boyfriends sleeping on the floor beside them. 

As you stood in your living room, watching the sleeping bodies in various uncomfortable positions; one even on your kitchen table, you sighed. It had been a while since you had a party at your place and this scene staring back at you had just reminded you why that was. 

"I vote we tidy up in the morning." Hoseok, your roommate, said from beside you, his words a little slurred. He leans his head on yours, his arm around your waist. 

“Agreed.” You return his one armed hug.

“Thank you so much for this, y/n. You’re amazing.” He squeezes you tight against his side and it makes you smile.

“Hey, it’s not everyday one of your best friends gets the job of the century.” You nudge him playfully. 

“Choreographer Hoseok.” He sighs. “Who would have thought, huh?”

You point to yourself. “Er, me. I’ve always said you could do it.”

He laughs. “That you did.” Pulling back and staring at you, his eyes sparkling and pupils large. “I’m glad you’re in my life.” He adds quietly. 

Your mouth stretches into a grin. “I’m glad you’re in my life too, Hobi.” You reply, pinching his cheeks. 

“So, when you go on tour with these big k-pop groups are you allowed to bring guests?” 

He stands up straighter, frowning slightly. “You’d want to come on tour with me?” 

“Of course, that would be the opportunity of a lifetime!” 

He beams with that smile that can light up a room. “I mean, you’d probably be bored, it would just be watching me work.” He says, seeming so excited at the prospect of you accompanying him, it warms your heart. 

The idea of watching him dance everyday, watching the way he lost himself in the music, the way his body moved in unforgiving ways, had your heart and mind racing with excitement. 

“Yea, that and I can perve over all the hot k-pop idols.” You add, with a nudge to his side. 

His face falls a little as he sits on the arm of the couch. “Yea, of course.” Looking off into the distance for a moment before rubbing his face with his hands.

An awkward silence falls between you. You put it down to alcohol and tiredness. 

“It’s late, why don’t you try sleeping?” You say patting him on the shoulder.

He nods, getting up and closing the short distance between you. Then gives you a tender kiss on the forehead, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in. You linger there a moment too long; enjoying it more than you should. 

“Goodnight y/n,” He smiles but you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you again.”

You watch after him as he walks off towards his room, combing a hand through his dark hair. 

God, what I wouldn’t give to have him look at me the way I desire, the way I look at him. 

He pauses at his door for a moment, then turns to look at you. “I just realised, your bed is taken, isn’t it?” 

You roll your eyes at the reminder. “Shit, yea it is.”

“Come on then. You take my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.” He waves his arm for you to follow him.

“No, no, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, absolutely not.” You interject, as you wander over, entering his room behind him.

He fumbles about in his chaotic draws. “Well, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” He chucks one of his t-shirts at you and a pair of his shorts. You’re quick enough to catch the shorts but the t-shirt pelts you in the face, provoking a huff to pass through your lips.

You blow a strand of hair off your face. “Well, we’re both adults, why don’t we both take the bed?” You ask and as soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back. 

He turns to you, eyes wider than usual and his mouth in a slight ‘o’ shape. 

“Sure.” He replies quickly, a little high pitched. Clearing his throat, he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot.

“I’m...just going to use the bathroom while you....change.” He announces as he swiftly leaves the room. 

You almost find it amusing, if you weren't so confused. It doesn't have to be awkward, does it? 

We're just two adults sharing a bed, that's it, right? Yes, because he's not attracted to me. The reminder snaps you out of your worrying thoughts.

You quickly undress, changing into his clothes, inhaling the scent of him from them and enjoying the comfort it brings.

You decide to make yourself comfy and sit on the bed, cross legged. Running a hand along the soft blanket under you, feeling almost like velvet to your touch and letting your thoughts run away with you. 

Imagine how this would feel, on my bare skin with Hoseok naked and entwined with me. 

You shake your head, hoping the tempting thoughts will rattle away.

A knock on the door sounds into the silence and Hoseok’s handsome face peers hesitantly through the gap. He coughs as he enters, clearly awkward.

You give him an encouraging smile. Stepping in, he removes his shirt as he walks carefully over to join you on the bed and sits, the mattress dipping slightly, causing you to tilt towards him. Your palm lands on his bare, muscular back as you steady yourself, the action causing both of you to freeze. 

“Sorry.” You say, snapping your hand back. 

“You can get in.” He says over his shoulder, lifting the blanket and giving you an opening. 

You slide your legs in slowly, continuing until you’re entirely horizontal. Your eyes trained on his broad, toned back as you watch how his muscles ripple as he moves. 

Hoseok gradually joins you, moving slower than you thought possible. 

You lie side by side, arms almost touching. Enough for you to delve your thoughts into your fantasy again. What his skin would feel like against mine. What his body would feel like weighed down on top of me. 

You began to feel a fire start within you. Pressure building in your core, a light throbbing. 

The heat radiating from him, making him seem more inviting, almost calling to you. 

Swallowing hard you try and push your thoughts away. 

“Goodnight, Hobi.” You whisper, your voice sounding hoarse and thick with want. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” He replied softly. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn your back to him, no longer able to feel his warmth and thankful for it. 

Although, the urge to reach behind you and touch him, grab his hand, stroke his side, was almost overwhelming. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut in hopes that sleep will take you. 

You feel a gentle tug on the blanket and frown. A sharper tug this time and the blanket unravels across you. Whilst you were still mostly concealed, your left leg and arm were poking out. You pull back, managing to get a little more on your side. Hoseok does the same as you tug of war at the cover.

A loud sigh. “Steal the blanket again, I dare you.” His voice rings out, a hint of teasing in his tone but something about the dominance he resonates has your core throbbing.

You glance over your shoulder at him, eyebrow raised. That sounds like a challenge. 

Smirking, you give the blanket a swift, harsh yank, ending up with most of it cocooned around you snugly. 

Hoseok spins around in a flash and pulls it back, fighting your grasp. 

Both of you start laughing and yet, refusing to give in. He was so strong but you were determined. I must win. 

He grabs your fistful of blanket and attempts to pry your hand open. You squeeze it shut but to no avail, he’s too strong for you.

His wild laughter creating giggles in you to bubble up from inside. 

Spinning around to face him, hell bent on not losing, you claw at the cover. He manages to grab your hands, pushing you back down onto your back and pins them on either side of your head. 

Suddenly the laughter dies, as he hovers over you, face just inches away from yours. His ragged breaths fan your face. You look down at his soft, inviting lips. Tongue darting out to wet yours, at the sheer desire to reach up and pull him down to you to feel them against yours.

Before you can move, he’s there; right where you want him to be. Lips crashing against yours, hungrily. For a moment, you’re so shocked that it’s actually happening, you can’t move. Am I just imagining this? 

All at once, he’s gone. Your lips feel cold, your body feels bare and your wrists feel like spaghetti without his firm grip around them. 

“I—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was th—thinking.” He stammers, from the other side of the bed, eye wide and hands shaking. “Please, I’m so sorry y/n, forgive me.” He pleads.

Your breathing harsh, body hot and core throbbing harder than ever, you turn towards him. This was it, the moment you had waited for. The chance you’ve wanted to take for years.

Pushing him down against the bed and straddling him before he has time to protest. He stiffens under you and you watch as confusion spreads across his features. 

Smiling at him, you dive onto his mouth. Your starved lips dance wildly with his, as your hands find their way through his hair. 

You feel him relax slightly and an arm snakes it way around your waist before he flips you onto your back again. You groan with excitement, loving the way he throws you around so effortlessly.

Grabbing the back of his neck, you pull him closer to you, until your bodies are moulded together. Enjoying the taste of him, savouring it as it’s something you’ve desired to know for years. 

He pulls back suddenly, leaving you needy and wanting. “How much have you had to drink y/n?”

Whilst you had been drinking, it was nowhere near the amount anyone here had consumed. You’d drunk enough to have the confidence to do this, but sober enough to know you want this. You always want this.

“I’m not drunk Hobi, I’m thinking clearly.” 

He raises an eyebrow, staring at you with suspicious eyes. “I’m finding that hard to believe right now.”

Feeling his erection pushing into your thigh, you could hardly breathe with yearning, let alone think straight in this moment. “Hobi, please. I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You thrust your pelvis up, groin rubbing against his hard dick to try and entice him, while giving yourself some needed relief.

He moans, eyes rolling back in his head as he pushes himself against your swollen clit. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted those words to come out of that pretty little mouth of yours?” He whispers, voice thick with lust. 

His dark eyes burn into yours with such an authoritative hunger you feel yourself quiver with excitement beneath him. 

“Well, fuck me already.” You say blankly, challenging him.

He growls, a sound so sinful you feel your core clench in response. 

Your heart pounds in your ears as his hands gently grab your wrists and pin them above your head. The slight pressure he applies is enough to make your throbbing core magnify. 

“I’m going to make you beg first. I want to hear your whiny little voice begging to take this dick. Then, just maybe...if you’re a good girl...you’ll get it.” He says in your ear, voice low and dangerous.

He watches you as he slowly trails one hand down your arms, over your breasts and skimming your waist. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts he tugs them down. 

You lift your hips to assist. Each time you inhale, you breath wobbles with anticipation.

He pushes your legs apart with his knees, making you whimper, looking down at you, your arousal visible and slick along your folds. He groans.

“Are you sure you won’t be the one begging, Hobi?” You raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

His ravenous stare snaps up to your face as his hand travels up your thigh at an agonising pace. He places his fingers at your slippery entrance and rubs tiny circles, barely making any friction. 

You writhe under his touch, wanting more, needing more. The heat inside you almost at boiling point already. 

“You’re going to regret that, baby girl.” He smirks.

Notes: Thank you for reading! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[theshy1sout]

Inseparable - Chapter 12

Tags: Broppy, Not rated, Trolls Mythology Au, Slow Burn Fluff

Ao3 here

Notes: This chapter... is twice longer than usual. I just didn’t see a reason to cut it in half. That would be cruel tbh

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Everything is fine. Isn't it?

Every day and night is the same, as they used to be... Poppy walks on the hill, this very specific hill they used to climb on to pass the Staff along. Then she meets Branch. He asks for one more night or day to finish the thing he works on. And she agrees. He walks away, with the Staff or without it, and Poppy always watches him for so long.

Why.

Why does this feel so bad? Why does it hurt so much? Everything is fine. Poppy didn't lose anything - she still has her wonderful job, amazing friends, and basically everything the Immortal could dream of. Her teamwork with the god of the Night is just... Temporary pendant. Nothing to worry about. Branch is just making some surprise...

The goddess doesn't know how long she has to wait. Two weeks passed, but what is just two weeks for Immortals? Poppy knows it should be nothing... But it feels like forever.

Why. Why she can't just patiently wait? Why the feeling in her heart, so warm and pleasant earlier, now is so heavy and painful. She can't enjoy anything as much as she used to. Her sweet job becomes a boring routine. She realizes she smiles way rarer.

Why?

Poppy feels like a little child with those feelings. So pitiful. She sits every Night under this oak where Branch showed her a shadow. She plays with an oak leaf in her hand, watching lightning bugs flying around the meadow. Or watching the stars above her. They always make her even sadder. No matter how long she sits there, she never sees Branch. She can see him only for a minute on the hill.

And why? Why is this so sad for her? She used to live without him for so long. She doesn't need him to live or be happy, she used to be happy without him too. Didn't she? It's not the end of the world. It's not even forever. It's temporary, isn't it?

And why, why is Branch so into something? What is this? What did the rainbow inspire him to? What is he making? Maybe something with colors... Poppy remembers a spark in his eyes when he stared at the rainbow. He was so amazed by its colors. Yeah, he is making something colorful for sure. Maybe he dreams about colors visible in the Dark. Cause it is known that during the Night colors fade and almost everything is black or grey. Poppy feels her heart getting filled with new hope. Maybe if she makes something with colors that are visible in the Night, she will get a little bit more of Branch's attention? Maybe he would leave his project and come back to her? She imagines his gentle smile on his pretty blue face. His azure eyes meeting hers. She reminds herself of his touch on her cheek. Cold but so tender and affectionate... She misses him so much...

The goddess of the Day stops the thing she is doing and walks toward the Palace. A hope pushes her in this direction. She wants to believe that not in vain.

* * *

- I don't know - Smidge frowns at a flower. - I'm still not sure about the spikes.

- It needs them to protect itself from critters! - Meadow explains.

- Yes, hurting the critters - Milton adds, putting his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. - I'm also not sure about them.

- But the spikes create a good arrangement with its carmine petals - Satin points out, touching the flower carefully.

- Disagree, sister - Chenille crosses her arms on her chest. - It's too edgy for me.

- It's poetic beauty, not so obvious. I'm bored of doing boring things, let me experiment a bit, sis!

- Well, I really like how it looks now - Meadow, the goddess of plants, gets down to the flower. - If we can make spikes less sharp, can we keep them? I want it to be safe, not like other of my mites.

- Let me think a bit about it - Milton grabs his head with both of his hands. He sighs heavily. - But please, later, not now, I'm so tired of thinking about this flower.

- Oh, you - Smidge pats him in his elbow. She is too short to reach any higher. - We do take a break. Let's just change the topic a bit.

- Thank you...

- Hi, guy!

Immortals turn to the pink, bright lady waving to them on the horizon.

- Poppy! - Satin beams at the goddess walking to them. - What perfect timing!

- Why is it so perfect?

- We need to talk about anything else than that flower - Chenille points at the little plant on the ground.

- What is this?

- We want to create a flower with Rose's name - Meadow explains. - Just for sentimental reasons.

Poppy gazes at slender leaves on dark green stem with little spikes. The carmine petals draw around themselves, creating a beautiful red mosaic.

- It's wonderful - She says, but in her voice and her mild smile is hidden a note of gloom.

- Is everything okay? - Smidge asks, looking at her with worry.

The goddess of the Day forces herself to rise the corners of her lips a bit higher.

- I'm fine, everything is fine. Nothing wrong happened, I'm just... a bit tired.

Immortals look at each other. Poppy is known as a very, very, VERY energetic, vivid, and loud person. At least as a person who never gets tired, especially of her job. But no one says anything.

- So, what do you need from us? - Milton asks carefully.

- Well, I need something light and colorful - The pink face brightens a bit. - Something really visible in the darkness. Something like, I don't know, colorful safe flames? - She turns to the twins. - Can you design something like that?

- Let me guess - Chenille clicks her tongue and lifts her eyebrow. - Another 'surprise' for Branch?

- Well...

- Last time we painted with you the whole sky in blue! - Smidge chuckles. - I mean, it is so gorgeous now, white clouds look amazing on it, but damn it, that was a huge thing!

- Yeah, not mentioning the rainbow - Satin adds. - Poppy, isn't that too much?

- What are you talking about, those things are breathtaking! - Meadow protests.

- She means, giving gifts - The tiny, yellow goddess of Honesty crosses her arms, looking at Poppy. - Do you really need those things?

The pink lady stares at them blankly during their talk. She looks up joylessly at the Gold Sphere. “Do they need those ‘surprises’?’’ she asks herself in her mind.

- I don't know - She says, shyly gets her sight down. - But I like it...

- I mean, gifts aren't a bad thing - Smidge corrects herself. - But if the friendship is only giving gifts, so there's gifts, no friendship, am I right?

Poppy doesn't say anything for a long while.

- Hey - The tiny yellow goddess gets close to her. - I just see, you are sad. And I'm asking what's happening? Maybe I'm wrong...

- Actually, you're right - Poppy interrupts her firmly. Then she closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. - I'm sorry, that was too firm... But you're right - She hides her face in her hand. - You are so right...

The awkward Silence falls among them and passes a minute or two.

- So... - Milton tries to ask again. - What happened?

- Nothing - The pink goddess sighs. The wave of helplessness hits her right into her heart. - Absolutely nothing. And I don't understand... Why is it hurt so much...

- What specifically? - Meadow asks shyly.

- This... This nothing... - She gets her head up and looks at her friends with eyes full of tears. - This Silence... Between me and Branch.

- I know it's a really bad question - Chenille frowns. - But why is Branch so important?

- I have no idea! - Poppy speaks a bit too loud. Her lips vibrate, her sight is already blurry. All she knows now is a hint of sadness.

- Okay, okay, calm down - Smidge says softly. - Just tell us what you know, okay? What do you feel?

Poppy sniffs. She wipes her tears from her eyes. Her knees become weak, so she sits down, not caring what the rest thinks about it.

- What I know - She repeats blankly and takes another deep breath. - I know that nothing wrong happened. We created the waterfall to make some kind of infinity rainbow... And then Branch just walked away... He said he works on some big project... Every time I meet him, he begs for a bit more time to finish it... - She clenches her hands on the Staff so tight. - And now... I don't talk with him too much... I mean... At all...

Poppy sniffs once again and wipes another tear from her cheek. Her words are quieter and quieter the more she speaks.

- It's been two... Maybe three weeks. I know it's nothing, so short... And I know it's not forever. He'll have done what he's doing and everything will be as before...

She sighs heavily.

- But that hurts for some reason... I don't know why... I miss walking with him and... And talking and... And just him. I miss him... - She hides her face into her hand once again. - Not sure if he feels the same although...

- Well, that's a weird kind of friendship - Chenille says after a long while of Silence. - I've never heard about friendship that can hurt.

- So the lack of Branch's presence is painful? - Smidge wants to be sure.

- Yeah... - Poppy sniffs, still avoiding eye contact.

- So let me guess, you wanted to make another gift to catch his attention? - Satin asks.

- I guess so...

- So If he comes back to you, you will be happy again?

The pink goddess gets her head up at Milton's questions to look at him humbly. She takes a long, snatchy breath.

- Yes.

- Well then, what happened that he came to you in the first place? - Smidge continues analyzing. - I mean, what did make you talk or something?

Poppy glances at the Staff, reminding the last months.

- I told him what I felt - She says after a while, with a much stronger voice. - About the situation... You know, this whole "greeting" awkward situation I told you a lot.

- You have to tell him what you feel right now about THIS awkward situation! - The goddess of Honesty jumps up with a sudden hit of energy. She throws her little fists in the air. - You have to tell him! You have to fight! - She grabs Poppy's blue dress and yells right into her face. - I don't know what is between you and Branch, but I saw you happy that you were never before and I saw him smiling and laughing and taking part in Sharing like he NEVER was expected to do, and whatever it is YOU HAVE TO FIGHT FOR IT, GIRL!

- Okay! Okay! Calm down - Milton grabs Smidge with both his hands and takes her away from Poppy.

- Well, maybe that was too loud - Satin takes a look at the tiny yellow goddess.

- But It was all true - Chenille ends her sister's sentence.

- Yeah - Meadow adds. - I think... Well, I'm not the god of Friendship, but I'm sure it's not like Branch just gives up on your relationship. As Smidge said, it makes him happy too.

Poppy looks at her with hope. Her heart starts to beat warmer at those words.

- Sometimes a friend gets lost in something and needs a friend to get him out - Smidge puts her hand on Poppy's shoulder. She's much calmer now, she gives her friend a really wide smile, making the pink goddess chuckles.

Poppy takes a deep breath and her face brightens with a little, but real and genuine smile.

- Thank you. Thank you all - She looks around at her friends. - I'll do that.

- And we'll design this colorful-light-thing - Chenille announces with a smile.

- Just because we like challenges - Satin chuckles.

- I feel like we should call R and B to that project...

- But first, we have to finish a rose! - Meadow protests.

Milton chuckles at his friends and then glances at Poppy.

- It's almost twilight - He tells her. - Go talk to him

- You know where to find us! - Smidge adds, with a little hit in the pink arm.

The goddess of the Day chuckles slightly and stands up with the Staff of the Light in her hand. She looks at the horizon, fearing the first step. Her heart beats with hope and doubts, but she doesn't let her mind think of "what-if"s. She wants to try what her friends advised her. She wants to try, she wants to fight... She wants Branch back...

* * *

Poppy is standing. Oh yeah. She is standing like she never did before! Standing so hard, standing so firm, standing so desperate. The pure bold beams from her statement. She is standing with a goal, she is standing on the hill, on that specific hill, ready to fight, ready to everything. The bloody sky fades behind her back. Oh, the goddess looks like a warrior, no, like a winner already! And all her strength is almost touchable...

...until it washes over her and soaks into the ground with a very first sight of the black hair of the Night.

Weak. Weak is the word her whole shaking body is screaming at her. You are so weak, Poppy.

Branch arrives at the hill without a word. So naturally for the god of the Silence. He views her face blankly. His blue eyes are painted with tiredness. He... He looks so exhausted. So pure. There's not a slightest shadow of a bad intention in his husky voice:

- Poppy... - He clears his throat, and continues calmly. - I know it's a lot to ask... But can you give me one more night and day?

The goddess feels her heart melt. How could she be firm to him looking like that, asking like that?

But then, she knows, it looks like that every twilight, every dawn, and it will still be like that as long as she agrees. So when the blue hand reaches for the Staff, she sets it back, giving him a firm look.

- No - She announces.

- Poppy, I have to start the Night...

- I don't care - She throws and feels her lips shake already.

Branch looks at her with a real puzzlement.

- You don't care? - He frowns. His voice gets a bit husky again. - What does it even mean?

- I am not giving you the Staff - She emphasizes every word.

- But why?!

- Because - Her lips vibrate. - I don't let you hurt me like this anymore.

Her voice cracks a bit. She swallows slowly, not being able to look at his face anymore. But she started it, and she wants to finish, no matter how this conversation will end.

- Listen, Branch - She keeps her breath and voice calm, but her sight is already blurry. - It's... Almost three weeks until our last talk. I feel avoided, ignored. Forlorn. I know it's nothing for us, Immortals, but... After the whole time we spent together... After... Many things we shared... - And now her voice cracks. - I miss you so much...

She gets her head down, not knowing what she is looking at anymore. She just closes her eyes tight and feels a few tears streaming through her cheek. She hasn't known she is that weak.

- Do you even still feel... the same heart thing... Do you? - She whispers.

- No! I mean, Yes! I mean... Oh my goodness...

A gentle touch on her chin gets her head up. His cold hand gets her hair from her face behind her ear. It cups her face and starts drying her tears with a thumb. With a still blurry vision, Poppy feels her hand lift without her purpose and suddenly it touches something. A fabric. And she feels a light warm. And a heartbeat. Rushing, loud, strong heartbeat, so similar to her. Something cold is pressing her hand to that. She blinks a few times and sees... It lies on Branch's chest. Covered by his big, strong, and gentle hand.

- I do - The god speaks, kinda rushing. - I do. I feel. I still feel the same. Please, don't cry.

His hand constantly rubs her cheek. His thumb carefully wipes her eye from tears. His tired eyes are filled with genuine misery.

- Please, don't cry. Please... I am so stupid. I am such an idiot. I was so into... - He sighs heavily, closing his eyes. - ...this dumb project, I... I miss you so much too...

His despairing blue eyes dive into her. He cups her pink cheeks with both of his hands. They are cold and shaking slightly. Oh, they are so cold. Poppy can stop enjoying them, his big blue hands covering almost her whole face. She sniffs and smiles at him. Her heart is beating fast and warm, and she feels Branch's under her hand too. She gets much more than she was wishing for, and she can't help, can't help but smile widely and warm at his beautiful blue eyes.

- You were an idiot - She announces like the happiest news of the year.

- I know - He starts shaking his head with disappointment for himself. - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you...

- It's ok - She sighs deeply, still smiling. - I mean, It wasn't ok, but now, now it's ok... Just... - She closes her eyes. - Can we stay like that for a minute? I really need this now... - She says, snuggling her face into one of his hands.

Branch doesn't answer, but she doesn't mind it. As long as she feels his beating heart in his chest and his hands embracing her face. The beatific smile doesn't leave her lips. All the worries wash over her. A great pleasant sigh of relief is everything she can say right now.

- Grab the Staff or I never let you go off my face - Poppy threatens, which doesn't sound grimly with her serene voice. She hears a slight chuckle of Branch, and the sweet cover, almost warm now, leaves her face. He takes the Staff from her hand and she lets go of his shirt.

The goddess gazes at him to meet his eyes, to give him a warm smile. But he doesn't glance at her. His head is down, his face is still full of tiredness and misery.

- Branch?

He closes his eyes tight and twists his face. He hesitates a bit after he heaves a sigh.

- I can't hold the fact that I hurt you... - He rubs his eyebrow slowly and leaves his hand like that, covering his eyes. - That was so dumb... So absurdly idiotic... I was too much into this thing, you know, I felt so... Inspired. And...

Poppy steps close to him. Her little pink hand turns his head to face her. He drops his hand and shows her his weary eyes full of tears.

- I just wanted to deserve such a person like you - Words sneak quietly from his lips. He is gazing at her so miserably, deeply disappointed.

But the goddess smiles at him even wider, her eyes are sparkling with sheer enjoyment.

- I don't need gifts - She puts her other hand on his cheek to cup his whole face. - I already have all I need. Right in my hands.

The god blinks. He laughs aloud and genuinely. A single tear drops from his eyes and streams down his blue cheek until little pink fingers wipe it away. He sniffs.

- I miss you so much - He whispers warmly and gruff, smiling, smiling endlessly, smiling so hard and so dumb at happy, sunny Poppy's face, beaming with honest happiness.

She let go of his face, but not of his eyes. The bags under them make him look a little bit different. She wants to let him rest as quickly as possible after she'll fully enjoy his company.

- Can you show me that thing you were working on? I want to curse it for keeping you away from me.

The god chuckles.

- Whatever you want.

They don't walk so far. The cave, where they arrived, is big and dark, only thanks to the Gold Sphere Poppy can see anything. And there are many, many bags filled with weird, magically sparkling substances.

- Go ahead - Branch encourages, seeing curious in her eyes. - Touch it.

The goddess goes to the nearest bag and sinks her hands into its silver content.

- Silver sand!

- Yep, I call it 'glitter'. Cause it's little and it glows.

Poppy chuckles.

- What is this for?

- You take a bit of it - Branch presents. - And powder somebody's eyelids during sleep. It creates dreams.

- Dreams?

- I mean... You can see your dreams during sleep. You can even feel them as if they are real life.

Poppy looks at the glitter flabbergasted.

- And the sleep will never be boring again...

- Exactly.

- That's so amazing! - She cheers.

- Yeah, but it has two faults - He heaves a sigh. - First, it's disposable. After one use it does nothing. Just glow silverly.

- Does it stay on eyelids?

- No, it falls on the ground. It smooths into the soil actually and masses deep under the ground.

- Is it dangerous or damaging?

- No.

- So why is this a fault?

Branch wrinkles his nose.

- I mean, if trolls find it, they would just play with it! - Poppy suggests.

- Play with it?

- Yeah, look - And with that word she throws a bit of glitter in the air. It sparkles so magically, slowly falling on them. She grins at the god's displeased face, making him chuckle.

- Okay, maybe you're right - He dusts the glitter off his capote. - But disposable still means I would have to make it more and more of it... - He looks away, twisting his mouth. - And that's... That's also the part of its second fault... If I want to use the glitter on trolls, I will have to spend all the Night running through the Land and powdering their eyelids...

Poppy blinks at him and then looks down at the glitter on her hands.

- That's why I was kinda desperate about it - He murmurs tiredly. - I wanted to be able to use it every Night... And still, have time for my main responsibilities... - He swallows and looks into the goddess's eyes. - But the most important was for me... To still have enough time for you.

She melts, smiling warmly at him.

- Oh, Branch...

- I know... It came ironically stupid...

She chuckles gently.

- You could tell me.

- I will do it next time - He carefully dusts the glitter off her nose with his finger. - I promise.

- What if we powder it together? - She asks after a while of thinking.

He frowns and hesitates.

- Then I guess, I will have time for my main responsibilities - He gazes at her. - But still not for you...

- I mean, we'll be spending the whole night actually.

- But rushing with my duties, that's ridiculous...

- Well... - She starts slowly and calmly. - The glitter is a genius invention, and if you want to use it and this is the only way, then that will be enough for me.

Branch blinks tiredly before he turns his sight at the bags full of glitter. He is staring at them for so long, thinking in Silence. Then he starts slowly shaking his head.

- No - He decides firmly. - I'm not choosing anything over you.

Poppy smiles widely, even giggle a bit with joy, feeling her cheeks turn red and her heart gets warm.

Suddenly something flares on the night horizon and both of them turn to see what it is. It walks to them unhurriedly, and soon they recognize Immortal's silhouette. His silver, sparkling skin shines like a diamond in the darkness. He stands in front of them with his hand on his hips and grins at them.

- Hi! - His voice echoes in the cave in a weird, extraterrestrial way. - Who are you, guys?

- Who are you? - Branch asks with clear confusion on his face. He turns to Poppy. - You know him?

- No, but... It's nice to meet you! - The goddess tries to be polite and welcoming to the stranger. - My name is Poppy, I'm the goddess of the Day and Light. The guardian of the Staff of the Light and the Gold Sphere on it. And this is Branch! - She points at the god.

- Yeah, I'm also the guardian of those - He shows the Staff in his hand. - As you can see. I'm the god of the Night, Darkness, and Silence.

- Sounds cool - The silver stranger cheers. - And who am I?

Poppy and Branch look at each other confused.

- You don't know? - The god asks.

- I've just come from this weird black hole at the end of the world.

- Oh, the Chaos - Poppy recognizes.

- Ha! So that hole has a name? - The stranger chuckles, and then frowns. - So you don't know who I am?

- We can give you a name! - She beams. - What about Diamonddd....

- ....Guy? - Branch ends. - Guy Diamond?

- Oh, this is a really good name! - The silver god bucks and poses like a model. - It fits me perfectly.

- Okay, let me guess - The blue god interrupts his rhapsodizing. - You're the god of the Glitter?

Guy freezes at those words.

- I have weird deja vu - He points at the bags. - This is the glitter, am I right?

- Yep - Poppy nods. - You know what is it?

- I feel like I know it more than myself - He sinks his hand into silver sand with amazement. Then after a moment, he grabs one bag and shoulders it. - And I know exactly what to do with it!

- Should I warn you that you will have to create more...

- I can produce glitter much faster than you think! - Guy interrupts Branch. - You can leave me all of this, I take care of it. - He points at the cave filled with bags. - And now, excuse me, I have so many trolls' eyelids to powder! - He yells enthusiastically and walks away with a bag full of glitter. They watch his wandering silver silhouette until he disappears on the horizon. Branch turns to Poppy with his tired eyes and shows her a smile full of relief.

- I kinda start liking Chaos - He jokes, making her chuckle. - So... Now when I'm truly free... What do you want to do?

Poppy looks at his weary face, his weak smile, his half-opened eyelids, and grey bag under his faded blue eyes...

- Come with me. I know exactly what to do - She smiles encouragingly.

The goddess brings him to the meadow where she was spending the last few weeks.

- The oak - He murmurs, looking at the huge tree. He recognizes the place where he showed her a shadow and for the first time he took off his capote in front of someone. It is a place with a beautiful view of the stars and the whole Land around. Many little lightning bugs are flying casually above the grass. He yawns loudly when the wave of tiredness hits him without a warning. - What do you want to do with this oak?

Poppy grabs his arm without a word and pulls him down to sit. He doesn't protest. He needs to sit right now. He slumps against the wide oak's trunk and leans the Staff against his shoulder. Then he notices that little warm hands are still holding his arm, so he turns to her with an asking sight.

- You need to rest - The goddess says calmly and warmly, and her sound voice makes his eyelids heavier somehow. - Take a nap.

- But what about the Night? You can't touch the Staff now...

- I won't - He feels his breath get calmer when she speaks like that. Quietly, warmly, softly. - I'll stay awake. You need sleep, even an hour or two. I'll wake you up, so you’ll be able to do your duties later.

He blinks slowly, staring at her little glowing freckles.

- You have a heart of gold...

- Stop talking, you dork, just sleep!

The god smiles amused. He closes his eyes and slumps his head against the tree. He breathes a deep, glad sigh. But before he falls asleep, he feels a warm touch on his cheek pulling his head down, and soon his chin lands on Poppy's shoulder.

- Are you sure I'm not too heavy for you? - Branch murmurs quietly.

The goddess smiles gazing at his blessed face.

- Your head will fall anyway - She whispers, feeling him briefly purring with a sleepy pleasure on her shoulder, like a big tired cat. - Good night, Branch.

She sees him sighing blissfully. Yes, his head is huge and heavy, but Poppy doesn't care. His arm is cold, as much as his cheek, but it gets warmer under the goddess's touch, which is weirdly satisfying for her. It is so pleasant, although she doesn't dare to touch him more, even if it lures her. She respects him so much, she would never do anything without his awareness and agreement.

But to be honest, now, now is a really huge dose of happiness, of adoring and enjoying their company, their talks, and touch. Her heart is filled with peace, with peaceful happiness.

Oh, she missed him. She missed him so much. It is so, so good to have him back.

____________________________________________

Index