#CANNOT be normal about it... it's 'So--here's my heart under your velvet now'--

[theimpossiblescheme]

Say what you will about the Cyrano movie (and one day I'll be able to in a halfway articulate manner), but I am still mildly obsessed with "Every Letter", and I think about this ending couplet all the time...

Your letters are drawings on me from above I know who you are and I know you are loved

Just... the idea of Cyrano and Christian receiving a letter in return from Roxanne and feeling their breath catch both with ecstasy and with bitter regret.

I know who you are...

But she can't. But she mustn't. But it would break her heart--she would never trust them again. But it wouldn't be fair to Christian. But Cyrano could never show his face again. But they already feel themselves burn under her gaze, and to meet it honestly without the armor of a soldier, of these letters, would scorch them until nothing remains. But the only true honor is to hide, even if they know it's really the coward's way out. But the only safety (if they were being brutally honest with themselves) is to hide.

... and I know you are loved.

But God, they wish they didn't have to.

[sereisstuff]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 // Shuntaro chishiya

Hey guys, I haven’t written in a while and got inspired by @hvrriicane​​ who’s Chishiya imagine is absolutely amazing. I wanted to write for Chishiya too so started off with him, next will be Niragi or Kuina. I still don’t know yet what I’m going to do but enjoy..

There’s literally no point to continue living, nothing but our own lives we cradle like a new bought gift.

“What’s the point of this reality anymore”

I questioned absentmindedly, gazing out into the open window while releasing the tension in my shoulders as I sighed in thought. My mind was running in circles ever since I arrived at the beach, defying all my morality to feel normal again. Selfish wasn’t it, to disregard human law to feel like my body was mine once more. Not some fetish in a game overruled by a faceless master.

The wind was calm, carrying the melodies of serenity with it. It was almost like I was myself again but I knew better than to question that, the pumping outrage of music often reminded me where I was and the stumbling people knocking loudly against the walls kept my mind at bay.

“There is no reason” was spoken in a sultry voice behind you, you could tell who’s voice that was by a mere grunt. Your heart raced and you cursed yourself for ever falling for someone in a world such as this “Living is just a game, you survive based on how well you play” chishiya spoke once more, followed by a light grunt of amusement.

His steps echoed through the room as he slowly approached my place, I didn’t waver nor acknowledge his presence. Concealing what I felt was always my specialty and I’ve yet to met anyone succeeded at deciphering them. He stopped just beside me, hands in his pockets, staring at the sky just as I did. 

“Is there a reason why you’re not speaking to me?” he laughed with a smirk smearing across his features making me furrow my brows in fury, he leaned slightly against the door frame. Hooded eyes meeting my own with the tilt of his head “I don’t want to die, in your attempt to steal” you explained with a fault, a lie no match for Chishiyas intelligence. You hadn’t met his fierce eyes yet, staring aimlessly into the sky, painfully watching the velvet lasers drip from the roof of reality sharply. As if one minute they were there and the next, their existence ceased to exist just like the souls they took with it.

It was an excuse, another reason to lie to his face. You couldn’t bear the thought of having to constantly be around him while concealing your feelings, his mere presence was something hard to resist and you hated yourself every day for it “I’m speaking to you right now” Chishiya raised his sharp brows with the pucker of his chapped lips, he spoke “for the first time in a week” 

“Is there any reason for your visit? Or was it merely to annoy me?” You managed to huff, concealing your heartache with pure annoyance.

Chishiya shrugged, his voice high as his dreamy eyes followed the lining of your body from your toes to your covered figure and then once more meeting your eyes “are you looking down on me?” he said with amusement, the words slipped from his mouth like a devilish command. 

"I would never, your too clever for me to care" 

"I get told that more than you know” Chishiya spoke, slithering his lips into a charming smile.

I cradled my knees closer to my chest as I relentlessly thought about the wonders it would be if we never met “Of course you do” you mumbled under your breath, Chishiya’s laughable gaze slowly rolled down, he looked from the corners of his eyes while swiping his tongue against the floor of his lips.

“Anything I said or did before, it was a lie. I don’t want to be apart of your plan anymore, I just want to go back to normal” There it came, your truth. Merely a disguise for your hearts motives but it bit you back venomously. Normal? Normal was adaptive, Normal used to be walking home at dawn after running to the store for a midnight snack, normal was falling sick and having your mother come and cradle you. You even missed her sharp tongue, preferring that more than the ache of love and the wrath of this immoral reality.

“Normal is adaptive, wicked or not. Nothing ever stays the same as much as you wished, Life is sickening like that” Chishiya spoke leaning against the frame, his feline eyes begging to be sunken into. Similar to you, Chishiya had a knack for emotion, easily able to ignore and manipulate his own but he could tell what you were thinking as if it was a superpower.

“I’ve found you amusing ever since the hide and seek game” Chishiya laughed, his words were sharp but something in you told you he was telling you the truth, you didn’t notice how the sharp tune of your neck snapping towards his direction whilst your fiery eyes met his but just like fire, his eyes calmed something in you. Chishiya raised his hands with a casual raise of his eyebrows and a low giggle. 

“If your here to laugh at me, leave the way you came or I’ll make you” your forced threat didn’t waver him, Chishiya was never one to back down even if he seems so. 

His hands slowly retracted back to his pockets, as he sat casually beside you. You could feel his warmth and enjoyed the mere second until you remembered his reasoning, you hated having to continue as if you felt nothing, wanting more of his comfort “Can I continue?” He asks politely, his eyes never leaving yours so you felt his truth seeping from his callous tongue, he knew you more than anyone else, not even poor Arisu knew just how deeply you thought and how hard you fought.

You sent him a quick nod, finally holding eye contact. Chishiya took this as a sign to somewhat move closer to you, his jersey knitting your sweater as his head stood just a few inches away from your shoulders.

“The world has a wicked way going about telling us about our feelings, showing us what we can and cannot have. Sometimes, we have what we want but we cannot grasp them fully because the world doesn’t want us to have them, selfish at most” 

“What are you trying to say chishiya? I’m not in the mood to play in your game of minds”

“The hide and seek game showed me what I could have, what that meant for me. I’m grateful that you saved me as stupid and selfless that was.” He continued and it was odd seeing this, you could see his own defenses melting but your anger got the best of you and you made an abrupt stand, clenching your fist as you fought the tears brimming your eyes. You felt tortured and played by him as one of his stupid jokes.

“Leave” you spoke sternly.

“Leave Chishiya, I already told you I don’t want anything to do with your riddles right now. I- I can’t handle it”

Chishiya although didn’t falter, you followed his body as he stood. His chest puffed high. Standing just before you “I know you don’t want me to leave” he knew, he knew all along and sat here toying with you like you were nothing to him.

Chishiya’s long lashes fluttered as his cold eyes stared deeply into yours, so deep your anger slowly subsided and you gave him the time to speak “I don’t want you to leave me, you’re an idiot, yes but I know if I let you go now. I’ll feel torn in the future, living at the beach taught me one thing. You can’t trust anyone but somehow I can trust you” he inched closer to you, so you felt his breath tickle your lips and for a moment Chishiya let his comfort seep over you, enjoying your company that he missed.

“Do what you wish with that” and just like that, he was gone again. Leaving you with frustrated thoughts. To untangle his way of words but what you most definitely knew was that your feelings weren’t alone anymore.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Happy Fucking New Year!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Words: 5071

Summary: You and Bucky spend New Year’s Eve together in Paris!

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (F receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, anal play, cum eating), explicit descriptions of violence, minor character death, SMUT, 18+ only!!!

A/N: Well, my grandma ass passed out while literally writing this fic last night at like 10PM so sorry it’s late! But it’s still New Year’s Day so whatever. It’s kinda fun, I definitely enjoy having Bucky and Sam be complete idiots while our poor reader is the only one with common sense, so you may be seeing a lot of those two fucking things up in this series. Join my taglist here if you’re inclined and a Happy New Year to all you lovely hoes!

“Damn, Barnes. Look at your ass in that tux.”

He choked on his champagne when you snuck up behind him, grabbing one ass cheek and giving it a squeeze before he had a chance to turn around.

He didn’t know how you always managed to catch him off guard.  He was used to being able to pick up on any threat immediately, but you were always able to slip under his defenses.

The expression that came over his face when he finally saw you was priceless. You loved surprising him with shockingly revealing outfits, offending those sweet old man sensibilities he pretended to have in public. But you knew exactly what he was thinking as his eyes drank you in.

The gown you had picked was a deep blue velvet that hugged your curves. While the skirt was tight against your legs, it still could’ve possibly been considered modest. The top though…. The v of the neck wasn’t as deep as your usual style, but the back dipped so low he wondered how you could possibly be wearing panties. All he could think of was snapping those thin straps with his vibranium hand and watching the fabric slide over your soft skin before it pooled around your ankles.

He couldn’t believe the two of you were spending New Year’s Eve in Paris. You’d barely had a chance to speak to each other after your tryst in Stockholm, and now you were together in the city of lights on one of the most romantic nights of the year.

“Hey, Barnes, you still in there?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He grinned at you as he watched you take a sip of champagne. “Just wondering where you’re hiding your knives in that dress?”

“Mmm, if this night goes according to plan, maybe I’ll let you look for them later.” You teased him, giving him a wink as you walked your fingers across his chest.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two promised to cool it with the kinky shit over comms.”

The two of you turned to shrug apologetically at Sam, who was glaring murderously at you from across the foyer.

“Sorry Sammy.” You whispered, tittering to yourself.

“Yeah, sorry Sammy.” Bucky gave him a stupid grin as the three of you started slowly moving to one the hallways leading to the main building.

“You don’t get to call me that, Barnes. You keep getting me into these fucking stupid situations, and your poor girlfriend always has to get us out. We were almost home, man, and you just had to follow that shady fucker at the airport.”

“No, he was following me. And anyways, I was right about him. I told you HYDRA had various goon squads lurking around.”

“You guessed.”

“I guessed right.”

“So, you admit it, you guessed!”

“Hey, boys!” You furrowed your brow as you turned to glare at the two of them, a little annoyed at the bickering. “Isn’t there supposed to be a door here?”

They finally shut up and followed your line of sight to where all the intelligence indicated the access door to the arsenal should be located.

Bucky let out a deep sigh and clenched his jaw, his eyes moving up the wall until they found the tiny hatch in the corner, fifteen feet off the floor. He turned his head to Sam and growled.

“You were in charge of reconnaissance. Do you not know the difference between a door and a hatch? Do your little robot minions not know how to take measurements?”

“Hey, don’t blame the robots man! This was based on human intelligence, which I’m pretty sure is your responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

You ground your teeth together as you listened to the two of them, not sure how you were able to put up with this shit. You took in your surroundings, trying to figure out a way through this situation.

“Well one of us has to get up there.” You murmured to yourself.

“I nominate robot boy.”

“Ok, ya know what, they’re not robots. I might’ve been able to let it go but, heh, I can’t. They’re drones. And if you think me buzzing one of those through the party out there is inconspicuous…”

“Oh, not one of your robots, you. What if I throw you at the hatch?”

One glance at him let you know he was seriously considering throwing your friend at the hatch. You rolled your eyes as you slipped out of your pumps.

“Ok, now you’re trying to piss me off, I just told you they were drones. And you are not throwing me at that tiny door. It’s not even open.”

“Well, if I throw you hard enough, that won’t matter.”

“It’s a solid steel door, dumbass. And I’m pretty sure it opens outward. I vote we come back later with some tools.”

“We’re on a timetable. I say we settle this with some old-fashioned rock, paper, scissors.”

“Um, no, you cheat.”

“How can you cheat at rock, paper, scissors?”

You did your best to tune them out as you stretched, sighing as you gathered your dress up over your thighs and grumbling to yourself about ruining another outfit.

“I don’t know, but you do. Ok, if you use your normal hand, maybe that’ll work.”

“Whatever, I’ll still win.”

You walked back down the hall, then turned and sprinted past the two of them, vaulting off one leg when you reached the corner and using your momentum to spring yourself off the wall until you were able to brace yourself in the tiny alcove next to the hatch.

“Could one of you toss me the laser driver from my clutch?” You called down to them, now that they had finally stopped their incessant arguing.

Sam grinned up at you as he picked your clutch off the ground, tossing the driver to you when he found it.

“Man, every time.” He shook his head at Bucky as you started working on dismantling the door. “I don’t know how your dumbass has survived this long without us, Barnes. You can’t just punch your way through everything.”

“I’m sorry, ‘us’? Seems like she’s doing all the work while you’re just bossy.”

“Can you two just give it a rest? I’m in.” You pulled the hatch open and slid through it, hanging over the edge by your fingertips for just a second before softly dropping on the balls of your feet on the other side. “Fuck, that’s a lot of bombs.”

“What kinds of bombs?” Sam asked over the comms, all business now.

“Well, I’m not an expert, but this sure looks like tesseract related tech to me.”

“Shit.” Bucky hissed. “Any way to disarm?”

“Well, probably, sweetie, but there’s at least 100 of these fuckers, and I don’t really feel like spending all of New Year’s Eve playing ‘which wire?’”

“Alright, just give us a second.”

You heard a yelp from outside and all of a sudden Sam’s torso came flying through the open hatch, his hips catching on the edge.

“Did he just throw you?” You asked, not bothering to hide the grin that spread over you face as Sam looked for something to swing down with. You dragged over an empty shelf and he pulled himself through, climbing down gingerly to come stand beside you.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking menace.” He grumbled, brushing some debris off his shoulders. He whistled through his teeth when he got a good look at the stockpile you had uncovered. “Shit.”

“Fuck me.” Bucky murmured, suddenly behind the two of you, making Sam jump.

“Goddamn it Barnes, why you gotta always be so stealthy?”

“Maybe you just need to pay better attention, what if I’d been a goon?”

“You are a goon.”

“Oh my god, I cannot do another round of this. Sam, can you call this in please? Maybe Sharon will have some idea of what to do about the massive pile of shit we just stepped in.”

“Fine, Y/N. I’ll call the boss.”

You went to examine the bombs more closely. They all seemed to have remote triggers, but you didn’t want to take the chance that they were volatile, so you resisted the urge to pick one up.

“Yeah, this is definitely tesseract tech.” Bucky muttered, and your heart jumped into your throat when you turned to see him tossing one of the bombs into the air and catching it again in his vibranium hand.

“Motherfucker put that down you idiot! What if there had been a pressure sensor?”

Bucky stared at you for a second, then back at the bomb in his hand. “Right, whoops.” He placed it back on the pile gingerly and gave you a sheepish grin.

“I swear to god, the two of you are going to end up getting me killed.”

“Ok, boss said they have a remote drone about one minute out that should have the ability to disarm these. She just wanted us to open the skylight for it.”

“The what?” You hissed at him.

“Uh….”

“There’s a fucking skylight?” You looked up and scoffed, seeing a very large window right there in the ceiling.

“Nice, Wilson.” Bucky just shook his head at him.

“Fuck you, Barnes! You didn’t know about it either.”

“No more! One of you morons get up there and open it!” You were seething. “You’re lucky I like the two of you or I swear to god, I would stab the both of you right now.”

“Alright, rock, paper, scissors?”

“No!! Bucky, just fucking do it.” You screwed your eyes shut and pressed your fingers into the peaks of your eyebrows.

“You got it, beautiful. You’re so cute when you’re mad… shit.”

He had to scramble up one of the shelves as you tried to charge at him, but Sam was able to hold you back at the last second.

“Ok, let’s all just take some deep breaths. It’s all good. The drones on the way. We didn’t have to fight anyone. And there’s still 25 minutes until midnight, so we’ll all get to toast the new year.”

Right as he uttered that last word, a large door on the opposite end of the room opened, and three goons carrying large guns entered.

“Goddamn it, Wilson, you jinxed us. And look, another fucking door!”

“Yeah, they do seem to be popping up everywhere.” He muttered under his breath. “Hey, fellas, we were just…. god, y’know what, I’m too tired to come up with something. Should we just fight?”

You sneered at him before hefting one of the bombs and chucking at the head of one of the guards, hitting him right between the eyes and knocking him out.

“OOHH! What if that had gone off?” Sam yelled at you as you charged the two standing goons who were still standing, diving at the last second to roll one of them over your shoulder.

“Oh, so only you and grandpa are allowed to make stupid decisions, then?” You said, pulling out a knife from under your skirt and trying to stab the guard who was still standing. You were just a little too slow and he dodged you, making you hiss. “Do you mind giving me a hand?”

“Shit, right.” He found a metal pipe leaning against the corner and walked over to where the first guard was starting to come to his senses, bringing it around in an arc to crash against his chin, knocking him out again.

“Drone’s here! Aww man, you guys started a fight without me?” Bucky had climbed back down to find the two of you grappling with your respective opponents.

He walked over and punched the asshole that had Sam in a chokehold in the face with his vibranium fist, feeling a satisfying crunch as he went down. Bucky started to stride over to give you a hand as Sam tried to catch his breath when you suddenly drove your knife up under your opponent’s ribs, giving it a twist before you withdrew it.

“Y’know,” He murmured as he watched you bend over to clean off the blade on the dead man’s jacket. “I’m a little mad at you now. I was looking forward to looking for that later tonight.” He grinned at you, nodding at the knife in your hand as you drew up your skirt to return it to the sheath on your thigh.

“Don’t worry sweetie, there’s plenty hiding under here for you to discover.” You teased him as he pulled you to him, pressing a deep kiss to your lips and moaning against your mouth. He always got so worked up after watching you fight.

“Ugh, I’m still here, you freaks!”

“Shit, sorry Sam!” You flashed an apologetic grin at your friend as he glared at you. Bucky was pulling at the front of his pants and screwing his eyes closed as he tried to fight his obvious erection.

“There’s something wrong with you two.” He muttered under his breath as he started climbing the shelves to leave through the skylight.

The drone had done its job. All the indicator lights on the bombs were off, showing there were no longer armed. You gave a small sigh of satisfaction before looking up at the skylight.

“Gimme a boost, Buck.”

“Yep.” He hooked his hands under one of your heels and grinned to himself as he brought his arms up a little faster than you had intended, flinging you up to the roof in one swift motion and making you yelp.

“You’re such a dick!” You shouted down to him as he started to climb out after you, making him laugh. “What time is it Sam?”

“Hey, we’ve still got 10 minutes to midnight!” He said, giving you a grin.

“Ooh, think we can make it back?”

“Yeah, it’s just a couple rooftops over! Barnes, move your ass!”

Bucky was just climbing onto the roof as you and Sam started jogging towards the adjacent building and cursed under his breath as he clambered to follow you.

Sam let out a whoop as he leaped between the buildings, one of his drones catching him halfway and carrying him to the other side.

“Oh my god was that waiting out here the whole time?” You scolded him as he swooped back to lift you across the gap, depositing you softly on the next roof.

“Yeah, why are you surprised?”

You just gave him a laugh as Bucky flung himself over the space between the structures, rolling in his landing and scowling at the two of you when he regained his feet.

“No thanks, I don’t need any help.” He growled at Sam, voice dripping with sarcasm as he brushed some pebbles off the shoulder of his tux jacket.

“You’re fine.” Sam waved a dismissive hand as the three of you walked to the next edge, which led to your hotel.

You dropped down first to the ledge that was 10 feet below, landing on the balls of your feet and twisting just a bit to gain your balance before you started gliding towards the window to your room.

“You good, Y/N?” Sam called as they watched you crouch as much as you could when you reached the end of the ledge.

“She’s got it.” Bucky muttered as you uncurled your body like a whip, shooting across the gap between the two buildings, latching onto the buttress above your window as you stretched down, your toes reaching for the lower sill. You found your purchase and released one hand to draw the window open, then slipped inside easily. “See?” He gave Sam a grin as he moved to follow you.

It only took the two of them a minute to join you, and you met them with champagne and a pleased smile on your face.

“Hello boys, just in time for the countdown!”

You passed out the drinks and took one for yourself before the three of you headed out to the small balcony that was around the corner from the window you had entered through.

“And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!” The three of you shouted.

You heard the city erupt in cheers and fireworks started exploding over the Eiffel tower. Bucky set his champagne flute down and drew you into his arms, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed as you opened up to him, welcoming the crisp taste of champagne on his tongue as he curled it against yours.

“Ooookay, that is my cue to leave.” Sam said, downing the rest of his drink and avoiding making eye contact with either of you as he made his exit.

“Mmm, Happy New Year, Sammy!” You called after him. Bucky just waved a hand at him as his mouth moved down to your neck, his lips trailing over your throat as his other hand pressed against the small of your back.

“Just, remember to take out your comms, I’m begging you.” Sam said before shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck, right.” You plucked yours out of your ear and set it next to your glass as Bucky drew you back into the room, sucking on the curve of your shoulder softly. He released you for just a second to remove his own comm and closed the door to the balcony before turning back to you.

“Oh, that fucking dress.” He growled as he took you in, his eyes dark with desire. “You know, I’ve been wanting to peel you out of that thing all night, you damn cock tease.”

You stepped into him and pressed your hand against the bulge in his pants as you nipped at his bottom lip. “Mmm, your always so good to me when I tease you though, baby. I can’t help it.” You moved your hands up to start undoing his tie. “Besides, I don’t know how you can blame me for teasing you when you’re walking around in this tux. I’ve been wet all night.” You whipped the tie off and started working on the buttons of his shirt as you took his earlobe between your lips and sucked on it.

His hands moved to your ass and squeezed as he ground his hips against you, making you gasp. “Don’t tell me that unless you want me to do something about it. Fuck, are you even wearing anything under here?”

You slid his jacket off his shoulders and followed it with his shirt, running your fingers over his bare torso before starting to undo his belt. “Why don’t you get it off me and find out?” You purred, gazing up at him through your lashes as you drew the belt through the loops and moved to unbutton his fly.

He leered at you and brought his hands up to your shoulders, running the thin straps of your gown through his fingers before snapping them easily. He sighed as he watched the material slither over your curves and pool at your feet. “I fucking knew it.”

You were completely bare under his gaze, aside from the two knife belts you had around your thighs, each of which contained 2 blades.

“Damn it, Barnes.” You scolded him.

“What?”

“Could we have one night where you don’t end up ruining at least one expensive item of clothing?” You sighed, bending over to pick up the dress and shooting him a soft look of reproval.

“Shit, baby. I’m sorry. I get too excited.” He did feel a little bad, but every time you wore something like that, all he could think of was ripping it off you.

“Well, now you’ll just have to make it up to me.” You teased, tossing the dress aside and drawing him closer.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured as his fingers moved to start undoing the belts around your thighs. He brushed his lips against the small hollow beneath your ear as he worked, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin there as his fingers brushed over your legs, making your pussy clench around nothing. “You want me to show you how sorry I am with my tongue?” He set aside the two belts and moved a hand to cup your sex, groaning at how warm and wet he found you.

“God, just fucking do it.” You hissed as he teased a finger between your folds, barely brushing against your heat before withdrawing again.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He picked you up and carried you a few feet to lay you on the dining room table, kicking the chairs out of the way with a clatter.

He gave you a searing kiss, taking your breath with him when he withdrew to kneel between your thighs. His stubble tickled at your skin as he moved his lips and tongue up your inner thigh at an agonizing pace, moving to the other thigh when he had almost reached your cunt and making you whine.

“I’m so sorry I ruined your dress, pretty girl.” He finally dragged his tongue over your slit and you let out a low moan, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as he repeated the motion. “Wish I could promise it won’t happen again, but this pussy does things to me.”

He pressed the flat of his tongue against you and drew it over your entrance heavily, slurping up all the evidence of your arousal with an obscene sound before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The whimper you let out made his cock twitch as your thighs clenched around his shoulders, drawing him into you even further.

“God, Bucky, right there.” You murmured as he increased the pressure on your bundle of nerves and inserted two fingers into your cunt, moaning at the feeling of your satiny walls clenching around him. He curled them just a bit and you wailed, arching your back into him as you started whispering “please” over and over like a prayer.

He grinned against you as he shook his head slightly, pressing himself even further into your heat and lapping up the juices that leaked from you as he fucked you with his fingers.

He added a third finger and crooked his wrist just slightly and that was it. Every muscle in your body went rigid as you came against his face, soaking him in your release as you clamped down on his fingers and sobbed with pleasure. You released him slightly, only to spasm again from the aftershocks as your muscles quivered around him. He finally managed to draw himself away and stood between your legs, grinning down as he watched you come down from your orgasm, shivering occasionally as a random jolt of pleasure shot through you.

“You think you can forgive me?” He asked wickedly as he finished undoing his slacks and slid them over his hips, followed by his boxer briefs. He drew his hand over his length as he waited for you to answer, nudging the tip of his cock against your folds and making you yelp.

“Fuck, yes. God Bucky.” You sat up and wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing his face to yours violently. You ground your hips against him, groaning as you felt his shaft slide through your slick easily. He started to lift you to bring you to the bedroom and you shook your head a bit before releasing him. “No, I need it now.”

He grinned at you as he teased his head against your clit, making you whine. “You want me to fuck you right here on the table?”

“God, yes please. Gimme that cock. I need you inside me.” It was driving you crazy. You brought a hand between the two of you and wrapped it around him, making him hiss as you lined him up. “I want you to split me open then fuck me until I can’t breathe.”

He let out a low growl from deep in his chest. He loved when you talked like this. He pushed into slowly with a groan until he was sheathed to the hilt, relishing in the feel of you clenching around him. “Fuck baby, you feel so good. So tight and warm. What else you want me to do to you?” He started moving his hips slowly, grinding them against you each time he was bottomed out.

“Shit,” You were panting with need as he moved inside you, his cock dragging against your g-spot over and over and making it hard to think. “I want your mouth on my tits. God, just like that.” He was following your instructions beautifully, dragging his tongue over the inner slope of your breast as his hips kept up their slow pace. “Fuck, baby, suck on my nipples now.”

He did as you asked, swirling his tongue over the sensitive buds as his lips closed around them, sucking softly and making you whine. He’d always been good at following orders.

“Mmm, move faster.” You commanded, wrapping your fingers in his hair as he continued lavishing attention on your breasts.

He obliged easily, picking up the pace until he was slamming into you, knocking the breath out of you. You met each of his thrusts with your own, mewling as you felt a coil starting to knot in your abdomen.

“God, I’m gonna cum.” You whined.

One more drive of his hips and the coil broke, making you scream. Your fingernails dug into his scalp as you went stiff for just a beat before everything released. He smiled into your neck as you vibrated against him, panting heavily as you came down.

He kept fucking into you like a man possessed. He brought his mouth back up to yours and kissed you softly as he felt you relax a bit. “Did I do good, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, baby, you did great.” You laughed into his mouth as he kept moving.

“You’re in charge, pretty girl. What do you want now?”

“God, work my clit. Fuck, just like that.” You were having trouble focusing as he did what you asked. “I need your mouth on my neck. Hngh, Bucky! That’s so good.”

“What else, beautiful?” he grinned against your throat, loving how easily you were coming apart around him. He picked up the pace with his hips a little more and felt you flutter around him.

“Shit, stick your thumb up my ass.”

He was not prepared for that and his hips faltered for a bit. He whipped his head up to stare at you as he regained his composure.

“What?”

“Ahh, fuck.” You were just a little embarrassed. You usually liked to ramp up to this type of thing, and especially with Bucky, you had wanted go really slow with this particular kink. You didn’t know how much of a thing anal play had been in the 40s. “Um, you can forget I said that.”

To your surprise, he broke out into an absolutely sinful grin and gave you a savage kiss as he laid you back on the table, stilling his hips but keeping himself sheathed in you as he drew your knees up to your shoulders.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ass, baby.” He said as he started moving his hips again, dragging his thumb through the slick that was leaking out around his cock and moving it down until it was pressing against your pretty hole, making you gasp.

“Bucky, don’t tease me.”

“Thinking about this tight little hole wrapped around my cock, I was worried you’d never let me in.” You moaned as he pressed himself through the tight ring of muscle and your eyes rolled up into your skull as you arched yourself into him. “But here you are, giving me a fucking invitation.”

He gave a groan when both your holes clenched around him, and he felt his cock moving in your cunt with his thumb through the thin lining between your passages. He drew himself out halfway and slammed back into violently, the tip of him barely kissing your cervix and making you whine.

His fingers on your clit pressed down hard and you flew apart around him, your orgasm ripping through you with abandon. The scream you let out was otherworldly as you creamed all over his cock.

The sight of you writhing beneath him sent him over his own edge and he shouted your name as his cum spurted inside of you, coating your walls and his dick as he collapsed on top of you.

You were still trembling as aftershocks rippled through your body. He kissed your neck and pulled out of you gently. You barely noticed, you were so fucked out.

“Shit sweetheart.” He muttered as he drew himself up. “This body treats me so fucking good. Damn, look at that.” He drew your knees apart and stared appreciatively at you pussy, still clenching as you came down. His cum was slowly leaking out of you and dribbling over your puckered hole. “Let’s clean you up.”

You had expected him to go get a towel, but he knelt down and dragged his tongue over first your asshole, then your slit, making you sob as he lapped up the mixture of your releases. When he drew his tongue over your clit, you came again immediately, it was so overstimulated.

“Fuck, you ok, Y/N?” He hadn’t expected you to be that sensitive and was worried he might have overdone it. He brought himself back up to look you in the eyes, cupping one cheek in the palm of his hand as he studied your face with concern.

“God, Bucky, I’m fucking great.” You gave him a sloppy grin as you stared up at him, turning your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand. “I don���t think I can walk though.” Your legs were jelly.

He just laughed and scooped you into his arms, carrying you into the bedroom and laying on the bed. He covered you with the sheets and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before heading into the bathroom to clean himself up. He was only gone for a minute before he was sliding behind you and wrapping you in his arms.

“Happy New Year, beautiful.” He whispered into your hair as you drifted off to sleep, drowsy now that you were surrounded with his warmth.

“Happy fucking New Year, Bucky.” You murmured before you dozed off, blissfully satisfied.

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @starlightcrystalline​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @buckysnumberonegirl​

[katsukikitten]

This is a repost for a fic I deleted ages ago. I've done zero editing and even had to go into my old phone to get it. Enjoy ~

Kirishima gripped onto your face tightly , tight enough that his fingers were causing indents in your smooth skin. Your heart was beating out of your chest, the two of you enveloped in darkness in the small confines of a random coat closet.

"Do you know the things I want to do to you, Y/N?" His voice is dangerously husky, his breath the only indication that he has been drinking.

Your cheeks burn at the question as he pushes you agaisnt the wall, separating your legs with a powerful thigh. Voices of your classmates and a low thump of music in celebration of new years is long forgotten as the roar of your blood echos in your delicate ears.

You swallow unsure of how to answer. Kirishima was always a good friend had he ever expressed interest in you? He was sweet and kind. The first to volunteer to show you around campus, the first to guide you to new friends and the first to encourage you to date someone else.

Someone else that broke your heart a few months ago and Eijirou was the first to lend his shoulder to cry on. Ruby eyes shining as they welled with their own set of tears. So how could he even think to like you?

His hand moves to your throat but his grip is much lighter, barely holding onto your thin column with plenty of opportunity to breathe.

"Are you not going to answer, little one?" His voice reverberates around the small closet, in your chest. Still you cannot even think of an answer depsite having too taken shots of liquid courage but clearly not as much as your red headed friend. His grips slowly becomes tighter yet no fear rings out into your body, only excitement. You never pegged Kirishima as the...commanding type.

"I..." Your voice gets lost in your throat your fist his black shirt. His eyes shine as he holds your gaze with what little light filters in thought the cracks of the door.

"You what? Speak up when speaking to your sir please baby girl." You inwardly giggle, even in his dominate state he asked nicely. But the effect was not lost on you what with his soft tone and grip.

No if anything it encouraged you more.

"I wouldn't know, sir. You've never seemed to express that type of interest in me." You say softly just a few decibels above a whisper. A haughty smile forms on his face as he pushes you further into the wall, completely pressing his body agaisnt yours as his lips find your ear in such urgency.

"Do you know how hard it was for me to pretend to be happy for you and Bakugou?" His grip tightens with his rarely found rage, still nothing compared to the ash blonde "I encouraged the two of you because the chemistry was obvious and I knew he'd treat you well. He did treat you well but I guess I got so caught up in making sure you got what you wanted that I didnt think about his inability to be open with his feelings. I should know best about that."

"Wha..what do you mean you should know best?" He doesn't answer for a long time, silencing anymore questions with a kiss.

His tenderness is welcomed although your body craves more, more punishment but you cannot find yourself being your true bratty self to Kirishima. How can you defy someone who asks so nicely? You melt into his kiss, feverish to feel more as you pulling on his hair.

Just as he is about to part your lips with his tongue the small closet is suddenly flooded with light.

"So this is where you two made off too." The voice is dark, causing both you and Eji's stomachs to clench with desire. You both are frozen under the scarlet gaze of the predator.

"Kitten what are you doing pinned beneath such a scrawny puppy?" Your heart races at the old nickname, body still pulling towards him despite the attraction to the ruby haired man pinning you to the closet. He grabs Kirishima by the back of his thick neck pulling the warmth away from you. Exposing how much you two have really been up to in the dark as your shirt is haphazardly lifted up your smooth torso. He slams Kirishima agaisnt the wall of the closet by his throat as he gently grabs onto the crook of your arm.

His eyes scream unquenched rage, knowing if you defy him now there will be hell to pay later.

"But King I was only enjoying his company. His lips are marvelous and his hands..." Katsuki's eyes flicker back to you, he wraps his fingers in the thick hair at the base of your skull. Pulling harshly as your core begins to heat.

He harshly tilts your face away from him, exposing your neck to his hungry teeth. His kissable lips press to your ear.

"Still a brat I see. I guess I didnt punish you harshly enough." His voice is velvet contradicting his deadly grip. Kirishima whimpers beneath Katsuki's touch, reaching out a hand for yours that you gladly grip onto.

A little unused to Katsuki not having a free hand to comfort you, unknowing that Eji feels the same. Crimson eyes shift to the man beneath his crushing grip and a small smirk plays on his lips.

"My little puppy if you hang around kitten too much her brat will rub off on you." He loosens his grip when he sees Kirishima's eyes rolling into the back of his head, for once not realizing how harshly he was gripping.

He was unused to both of his hands occupied but that wasn't to say he didn't mind. A bratty kitten and an extremely obedient puppy was going to prove...interesting. The strong hand moves from your hair quickly to your waist to pull you to him while his eyes stay glued to Eji.

"Ah are you alright little one?" He asks soothingly as he peppers kisses onto Eji's neck, slightly red, "I've gripped too hard huh."

Tears prick Kirishima's eyes and you squeeze his still held hand having been there too. Not with Katsuki being too rough, no he was always the right amount but teetering on the fine line of pleasure and shame to allow someone to control you, to provoke such reactions out of you. He gently kisses your knuckles that are interlaced with Ejis, lips trailing over his before he gently separates them with his free hand. He squeezes your hip as he exits the closet.

"Follow me." A command that neither are allowed to disobey, even going as far as to make sure that you do not escape.

Kirishima stays frozen against the closet wall.

"But..." His voice is soft, small even unlike the normal booming confidence he normally displays.

"Puppy." Katsuki barks out darkly, not even bothering to turn around, "Unless you want your erection to go untouched by anyone but you, I suggest you follow your King."

"Yes, Katsuki-sama." He says softly falling into place behind the two of you. He guides you both up the stairwell taking a familiar path until the three of you stop in front of a thick oak door of a college dorm room.

Your door. That he opens with ease as you never lock it unless sleeping or during a session. He flicks on the switch that allows the soft string lights to flicker on, leaving the harsh center over head light off. He turns to grab onto Kirishima's hand bringing you both to the center, standing barefoot on the plush faux fur rug.

"Kneel." He orders and Kirishima sinks to his knees, posture straight as he murmurs with a bowed head.

"Yes, Katsuki-sama."

"I..." You protest your head clearing just a bit, hadn't he said he was done for awhile. Needed a break to think and now here he was bringing someone else into your room. You did not feel jealousy over the heavily hinted and obvious displays of interaction between the two men. If anything you desired to see it, to share your King with another would not be a bad idea. Two to support one another in the time of a "tyrant" you would just after to learn how to share the after Bakugou.

"And I said *kneel* Kitten." He steps closer without touching you and your body heats up, "Unless you want to be denied release all night. You're already up to twenty minutes worth of edging."

"But...." Tears prick your eyes as you sink to your knees, long forgetting your heartache for now. Unfair in his dominance or so you always think.

You face Katuski always as Kirishima keeps his head bowed. You try to study the different dynamic and cannot fathom being that good.

What kind of pleasures does Kirishima get with such good behavior?

Katsuki lifts his chin, holding his gaze.

"You may hold eye contact for tonight until I say other wise, okay, Koinu?" Kirishima nods in response earning a gentle kiss on the forehead before Katsuki stands over you, again gripping your hair roughly as he places a feather soft kiss onto your forehead. The rules the three of you have are unspoken but known by heart. One 'King you're hurting my heart' uttered from either pair of lips he will stop in his tracks and he will crush you to him.

"Now explore one another." His tone close to boredom as he pulls up your pink computer chair to sit on.

The two of you stare dumbfounded at one another then towards the higher power in the room. Small impatient explosions litter his skin as he sighs out his unspoken anger. His eyes level to both of you as he speaks.

"You two had no problem in that cramped closet. Koinu, why dont you see if little kitten is wet."

"King..." Eiji starts, Katsuki listens with narrowing eyes dissecting if it is disobedience or fear that causes him to hesitate.

He gives him a moment as your eyes return to Kirishima. You smile in his direction as Eji's heart beats rapidly.

Is this....is this what he wants? Does he want to share you? Does he want to share Katsuki?

Ruby eyes meet scarlet and the ash blonde stands before squatting to the red heads level.

"Are you okay Koinu?" Voice ever soft as he places his strong palm behind his red haired head and you reach out to touch Kirishuma's knee. Hair ruffled by a calloused hand while skin is being caressed by smooth fingers.

Something ignites in his chest.

"I...I'm okay, thank you Katsuki-sama, Kitten." Katsu smirks easing into his temporary throne, voice returning to that deadly tone.

"Then check to see if my kitten is enjoying our company my Koinu."

Kirishima hovers close to you, suddenly unsure of what he should be doing.

As if his hand wasn't half way up your skirt just downstairs. His hand follows the curve of your powerful thigh as it slips beneath the black fabric that drapes over your ass and your heat.

His fingers make their way to your core and when he discovers no restrictive fabric over your mound his eyes widen.

"Ah she must not being wearing underwear." Katsuki laughs, "I see you didn't know how much of a slut she was huh, Kirishima? Then again she never wears underwear with that skirt. Were you expecting to get laid?"

"No!" A mock shriek as his smile darkens.

"Then why are you up here with us kitten?"

For that you have no answer as Kirishima steals your breath. Still following the order to explore you as his fingers swirl over your needy clit with the ease of your own arousal.

"How does she feel?"

"Good." He breathes out, his other hand exploring your chest.

"Nice and slick huh? Easy to pound into. She's always ready to be fucked, doesn't matter how many rounds." Katsuki brags with a chuckle. Kirishima hesitates when you moan. He stops, swallowing.

"Continue but you cannot get her close to cumming. You won't know when to stop and with the way she moans you won't want to stop." Katsuki leans back, placing his hands behind his head.

Kirishima listens as he toys with you, leaning you off of your knees. Spreading your legs so he can better slip a digit in and out of you.

Two sets of eyes have your cheeks burning with desire as you lean your head back crying out with every gentle thrust. With each moan he increases in speed and you feel your core tighten.

Oh are you close, he's only a few thrusts away before fingers are ripped from your oozing center. You cry out, frustrated tears welling in your eyes.

"I told you to watch it. You cannot reward this brat until her behavior changes." Katsuki has Kirishima by the wrist now. He brings his soaked digits to his mouth sucking on Kirishima's middle finger. Your body mirrors Ejis as he shudders with pleasure. Katsuki brings Eiji's forefinger to his own mouth.

"Koinu, taste her." He sucks his own finger holding eye contact with Katsuki, "Good huh?"

"Yes Katsuki-sama."

"Good then you won't mind licking the taste off my cock in a few moments." He pulls on the belt on his pants and places it around Kirishima's throat, leaving the longer end in the front like a leash. He gives it a small tug and Kirishima groans, "I'm going to show you how to fuck her properly."

"Kitten, get into position." He snarls darkly and you obey as you move to all fours before lying on your forearms, pushing your ass up higher for your king. He teases you at first, pushing only the tip in having you begging after the third withdrawal. He obliges by sheathing himself in on hard thrust. You cry out clenching onto him as he pounds into you agonizingly slow.

You buck agaisnt him and receive a fist full of hair pulling you up to all fours.

"Kitten." He says lowly and you whimper, "Did you forget that quickly that I set the pace?"

"No."

"No what?" He stops mid thrust and you squirm. You catch Kirishima staring and embarrassment paints you red.

"No king." You moan, fighting the urge to fuck yourself on him. He eases into a slow pace.

"Koinu, come." Katsu calls and Kirishima's obeys, waiting next to him. Nails bite into your hip as a strong hand wraps over leather, thoroughly enjoying the power you both are lending to him. He pulls on the belt, crashing Eji's mouth to his own, forcing his tongue past sharp teeth for a battle he always wins. He breaks the kiss and both males are panting as you moan. The sight, the sound of their heated grunting kisses and the feel of Katsuki has you so close.

"You've been such a good puppy, that I'm going to change the plans. I'll allow you to help me us my slut." He kisses his lips firmly again, "Kitten suck his dick as well as you do mine while I fuck you senseless okay?"

"Yes king." You breath as Eiji comes into view. Slowly freeing himself and you cannot stop your want, your greed from feeling whole in two places. You take him all the way in, though difficult with his length, and gag just as Katsuki likes and Kirishima groans. Hands hesitant to grab onto your hair.

You look up at him, sucking his length as your moans from being fucking vibrate over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck...." He growls, fisting your hair as your head bobs quickly. He looks down on you with glazed ruby eyes and drinks in the sight of you. Cheeks flushed, eyes every now and again threatening to roll back and delicate mouth wrapped around his length.

The sight alone could have him come undone and when he watches his master pound into you his dick twitches eliciting a whine from you. You push him further when you pull on his "leash" choking him a devilish smile on your lips.

"Good idea Kitten." Katsuki praises with a smack on the ass before grabbing onto the belt and tugging on it hard. Kirishima gasps and the leather slaps your back, still working diligently to receive your mouth filling surprise.

"Katsuki-sama..." He groans.

"You're close already?" He laughs as a devilish smile plasters his lips, "She's good isn't she? Now Koinu has she been good enough to allow her to cum? She feels like she's been edged enough. She must love being used."

You work harder and faster, anything to get him to agree to rewarding you.

"Aaaahhh. Yes, yes she has."

"Well you know the rule, ladies first then we can paint her should we wish." He squeezes onto your hips as he begins to take harder and sloppier thrusts. He knows God damn well you cum best when he's about too.

And now to have the stimulation of two throbbing cocks inside you does send you over the edge.

Twitching, a moaning muffled screamed mess as tears run down your cheeks still trying to please the man before you. Your release sets off a chain reaction as your mouth is filled with what you crave before Katsuki sends you spiraling again with his own grunting release.

Slowly the three of you disentangle, Katsuki pulling you into Kirishima for a moment as he leaves to get a warm rag.

He cleans you gently, then deft fingers make quick work of removing the belt from a sore but happy throat. He looks at you both, palm behind each head and places the most stomach fluttering kiss on each of your heads.

"Now I've shown you how she likes to he fucked. When she's bratty just be extra stern okay?" He says to Kirishima as he goes to get dressed. His heart breaks knowing what his words mean but fire is lit in your stomach. You grab onto his wrist yanking him down onto the two of you. Ash blonde brows furrow as they stare up at you, firmly held by a strong masculine arm to two opposing bodies.

"You have an obligation to us, King." Your voice is all bite, all venom with warning that if he leaves there will be HELL to pay.

"Is that so?" He chuckles looking to Kirishima, "You agree?"

"I agree. You belong with us. This Kitten and Koinu might go wild with out a proper King." His voice is back to all confidence as it dances on the fringes of a threat.

Katsuki laughs harshly before kissing you both with breath stealing ferocity.

"Guess you always get what you want huh brat?"

[bonjour-rainycity]

Late in the Night | Part Four

Previous part

Prompt: Friends have a bet how long it will take the ship to get together (Content Challenge Day 7)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1602

Warnings: None

Challenge participants: @game-ofthe-company @grunid @themerriweathermage @errruvande @the-reformed-ringwraith @awkwardkindatries

^^ Hey! If I haven't commented on your post(s) yet, it just means I haven't gotten the chance to read them. School has been ramping up, but as I have free moments, I'll be going back and looking at all your challenge posts <3

A/n: You guys...IT'S THE LAST PROMPT OF THE CONTENT CHALLENGE! What?! Thank you so much to everyone who participated and interacted with our posts. I had such a blast creating this past week and getting to know each and every one of you. I think it would be fun to do something like this again in the future, so let me know if you would like to be involved in planning/get updates! 

As always, I encourage you to check out the accounts tagged above and our masterlists! You can find the challenge masterlist here and my personal masterlist here. Okay, enjoy :)

Aragorn waits, keeping an eye on the trees.

The minute his friends from the eastern inn arrive, they will leave town.

He had a pleasant night — private room, hot bath, well-prepared meals — but is ready to get back on their journey. For all he knows, the brief rest he allowed them could have already cost them vital time.

That thought causes him to pace.

“Calm yourself, dear friend, they will be along shortly,” Gandalf councils.

Aragorn tries to heed the wise wizard’s advice. Sure enough, he soon hears the light sounds of feet crushing grass and twigs, and knows they are close.

The four of them break into sight at roughly the same time, and Aragorn notices two things:

One, Legolas and Y/n refuse to look at each other.

Two, Gimli wears a grin bright enough to rival the sun.

Aragorn knows he must speak with the dwarf as soon as possible.

Something has happened.

Merry, who doesn’t get enough credit for his observation skills, notices the oddities too, and elbows Pippin in the side. Their eyes grow wide, and it takes everything in them not to shout guesses as to what this means.

It is a good while before Aragorn, Pippin, Merry, and Gimli have a chance to convene and discuss the new development. All four of them, though of course dedicated to the task at hand, desperately want a resolution to their ongoing bet.

It had started innocently enough.

Merry made an off-hand comment about how well Legolas and Y/n seem to get along. Gimli noticed the lass was a clumsier fighter when Legolas was watching. Aragorn realized his friend seemed nervous around the human woman. Pippin saw how each of them smiled brighter when the other was near.

Somehow or other, the four of them had put together their observations, and the rest is history.

The bet was born.

Each of them had put down fifteen coins and a deadline, losing the coins if Legolas and Y/n did not become a couple by the deadline, and winning coins if they did. Knowing his friend’s shy nature well, Aragorn had given the two the lengthiest allowance — six months. Pippin and Merry recognized the bold nature of humans, and guessed it would only take four months for Y/n to speak her mind and Legolas to reciprocate. Gimli, on the other hand, thought the two were already head-over-heels for each other and wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it, and had given them only a month and a half.

Each participant, knowing his deadline was drawing nearer, had taken steps to push the two in the right direction.

The hobbit friends moved Legolas’ and Y/n’s bedrolls closer when they weren’t looking.

Aragorn put them on watch together. A lot. To the point where he actually felt bad about the bags under Y/n’s eyes.

But Gimli, perhaps, had been the boldest of them all, and proudly tells his friends so the moment they are alone much later that evening.

“Quickly, they are suspicious why it took four of us to gather firewood and herbs,” Aragorn mutters, darting a quick glance in the direction of camp.

“Yes, just get on with it,” Pippin squeaks, then throws a hand over his mouth, knowing he might alert Legolas with his volume.

“Alright, listen up lads.” Gimli grins and proudly tells his tale. “Boromir and I got to the inn first, as planned, and the innkeeper asked how many were in our party. I said two, and the innkeeper made a comment how it was good we didn’t have more folk waiting outside, as his inn was almost full. Well, that got me thinkin’, so I inquired how many more rooms were available. The innkeeper said two, not including the ones Boromir and I purchased. So I whipped out my velvet pouch and paid for another room, fibbin’ a bit and saying I might have a lady friend visiting and wasn’t sure if she would want to sleep in my room or not after our activities.” He wiggles his eyebrows in response to the stunned looks of his friend.

Aragorn shakes his head slowly, a bemused smile setting in his lips. “So you paid for an extra room just to force Legolas and Y/n into sharing?”

“Right you are,” Gimli grins, placing his fists on his hips. “It wasna even that expensive — I’ll make it back three times over, now that I’ve won this thing.”

“Ah, ah, ah, hold on,” Merry holds up a hand, halting Gimli’s gloat. “You can’t prove they did or said anything to start a courtship, so you haven’t won!”

“They won’t even look at each other and the elf’s as red as a strawberry, of course something happened,” Gimli practically shouts.

Aragorn, reliably a voice of reason, intervenes. “We shall have to inquire then, but be smart about it. We do not want to jeopardize their potential courtship with our game.”

The companions agree, then quickly turn to the forest, gathering firewood and herbs to supplement Sam’s soup and their cover story.

{***}

Back at camp, Legolas sits on a low tree branch, keeping watch over all his friends.

But mostly Y/n.

He cannot pull his eyes from her face. She sits on a rock, staring into the fire, absently cleaning the mud from her boots. Without permission, his mind goes back to the way he held her this morning, tucked against his chest, her leg wrapped around his. It was wildly improper, and he should be ashamed of himself.

But he doesn’t feel ashamed. Because the way they woke up this morning didn’t feel improper, it felt natural. With all his heart, Legolas wants to wake up like that every morning — his favorite person kept safely against his side. He wants to guard her and give her a wonderful life and bring her home and have his people adore her, too.

Legolas’ resolve hardens, because he knows he can no longer keep this to himself. Y/n has a right to know how he feels, because it affects her too.

He pushes himself from the branch, landing on the ground in silence. With four long strides, he stops beside her, reaching down a hand. “Will you talk with me?”

She looks up at him, nerves like she’s never felt before erupting within her. But she gathers her courage, forces what she hopes is a smile, and takes Legolas’ hand.

She wonders what he’ll say.

All day, she had been lost in embarrassment. Somehow in the night, she’d thrown her leg over his and practically attached herself to his chest — who does that?! And he’d said nothing when they woke up, only got up and went about his routine like normal.

So obviously, he doesn’t feel anything for her.

And that’s what this conversation has to be about.

Briefly, though, she allows herself to remember what it felt like to be in his embrace, and knows that she will cherish that feeling forever.

The warmth of his hand in hers helps her hold on to that memory and, to her surprise, when they reach a secluded spot, he does not let go. No, he takes her other hand in his, clutching both tightly.

Legolas nearly shakes with nerves, and he wonders if she can tell? Does she know how he feels like he might be sick? Oh, he has never felt anxiety like this before, and desperately wishes for it to be gone.

So he wastes no time in putting himself out of his misery.

“I want to be with you.”

Y/n blinks. Surely she can’t have heard him correctly? “What?”

Legolas sighs — her reaction gives him no indication how she feels either way. He bolsters his courage, and tries again. “I feel affection for each member of this Fellowship. But whereas I love the others as if they were my kin, I am unable to deny that how I love you is different. Elves live long lives and thus take matters of the heart very seriously. And, well,” he shrugs, all eloquence leaving him the moment he sees the shy, hopeful smile spread across her lips. “My heart is with you.”

Y/n can hardly believe her ears. She thought that he didn’t…that there was no chance of…but rather than dwell on all her miscalculations, or the myriad of dangers that haunt their future, she decides to just enjoy the moment. She throws her arms around Legolas’ neck, and he grips her tightly against him.

She turns her cheek to rest on his shoulder, unable to contain her grin. “You hold mine as well. I love you, Legolas.”

He pulls back only to rest his forehead against hers, head swimming from the joy of her acceptance and at being this close to her. “And I love you.” She lets out a giddy laugh and he closes his eyes, soaking in the sound. But then he focuses again, for there is something important he still must ask. “Will you accept my offer of courtship?”

Y/n can’t help herself from bumping her nose against his affectionately, and it feels so wonderful, so free to be with him this way. She has no desire for her future to continue without him, and so, her answer is found easily. “Of course.”

Relief settles in Legolas’ bones, the nerves finally leaving him and being replaced with happiness.

Just as their lips meet, the four friends break through the tree-line, back from collecting supplies.

Gimli’s triumphant shout can be heard for miles.

“Pay up, lads!”

A/n The end! This is the last chapter of this mini-series! Thanks for sticking with me as I had some fun with this one. I keep tag-lists, so at any time, just let me know if you would like to be tagged in anything. I’m in the planning stages of a Haldir x OC fic, and while I usually stay away from OC’s, I just cannot fathom typing “Y/n” for the length that I’m planning on making that story. So be on the lookout for that! Hope you all are taking care of yourselves and please know that my inbox is always open. Lots of love!

LITN tag list: @angelic-kisses13 @lainphotography @anangelwhodidntfall @sheriffgerard @themerriweathermage @k-llama-llama @hirokosoul @wellfuckmyexistence @ipsychosocial @anjhope1 @my-lotr-obsession-is-unhealthy

[elliestormfound]

Ellie, my darling! For your mistletoe prompt! Jaskier gets a little bit tipsy and decides to cover himself in sprigs of mistletoe and Geralt has to kiss him for every one he takes off! (Like wrist kisses etc.) Bonus if Jaskier has mistletoe tucked into his butt bow! 💝

my dearest wolfie, thank you for this lovely prompt!!! <3  the fic that came out is not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you like it anyway! 

this is just soft fluff

read on ao3

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Jaskier flitted through the library of Kaer Morhen, humming festive songs under his breath as he decorated the cozy room with fir branches, candles, dried orange slices, apples and paper stars he had made earlier.

Geralt stood unnoticed in the door for a few minutes, watching him. Jaskier had put on his burgundy doublet and trousers, elegant but sturdy leather boots that were lined with soft fur that Geralt made him buy for his first winter in Kaer Morhen and a dark green shirt was peaking through his open doublet. 

“Oh, Geralt, there you are,” Jaskier said with a beaming smile as he noticed the witcher. This smile made Geralt’s heart miss a beat and he coughed to regain his composure before he hummed in greeting. 

Jaskier spread his arms wide and asked, “and? What do you say? Do you like it?”

Geralt looked around and nodded appreciatively.

Jaskier had done a good job transforming the library - the room the witchers and the bard spend most of their winter evenings - into a festive hall. And it was not only looking good, the scent of pine needles, oranges and cinnamon hung in the air. It was just a faint scent, pleasant even for a witcher’s enhanced smelling.

“Its good.”

Jaskier shook his head but smiled and said, “oh Geralt, you are always so very eloquent.” 

A moment later Jaskier clapped his hands together and said,  “you must be sent by Melitele, I need help from someone tall and strong.” He winked at Geralt who raised an eyebrow at that. Jaskier grinned sheepishly and held up a sprig of mistletoe - or more like a whole bunch of sprigs. 

Geralt frowned and asked, “what do you want with that?” 

His heartbeat had picked up at the sight of the mistletoe and the thought of what custom was related to them. What was Jaskier planning?

“I cannot reach this beam.” The bard pointed up at the ceiling to a wooden beam with a conveniently placed hook where the witchers normally hung up herbs to dry. 

“Just the last touch of decorations,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked at him for a moment longer, hummed and said,  “I get the ladder,” and turned to the door.

“Or,” Jaskier said, stopping Geralt midstep, “you could let me sit on your shoulders and lift me up.”

Geralt sighed and turned around. He looked at Jaskier who was smiling at him. Geralt wasn’t quite sure if he looked mischievious or...shy?

“No,” Geralt said. It came more out of reflex than an actual unwillingness to do what Jaskier had asked. 

“Oh, come on, Geralt, please,” the bard said and put on his best pout, complete with pleading puppy eyes, “I know how strong you are and I will be quick as a...nekkar.”

Geralt huffed. “Nekkars aren’t that quick.”

“Then I’ll be quick as a...squirrel,” Jaskier said with a satisfied grin.

Geralt frowned and sighed again for good measure before he let his eyes roll up and said, “okay, but be quick.”

He walked over in quick strides and lowered himself down on one knee. 

The bard smiled softly and said, “thank you, dear,” before he quickly slipped off his boots so he wouldn’t get dirt on Geralt’s shirt. Then he walked around him and climbed on Geralt’s shoulders, his leg’s left and right from the witcher’s head. When he was sitting in a comfortable position he placed one hand on Geralt’s head.

“Hold on,” Geralt said as he gripped Jaskier’s legs and slowly stood up. The bard giggled as he started to wobble a bit, but Geralt held on tight to his legs and placed his own feet firmly on the ground for better balance. 

“That is fun,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt’s head, “we should do that more often.”

Geralt grunted. “Not gonna happen. Are you finished?” 

“No,” Jaskier replied, “you need to go one... two steps to the right...yes, that is perfect! One moment.”

Geralt could feel the small movements of Jaskier’s body as he stretched up to the wooden beam to hang up the mistletoe.

Jaskier put one hand back on Geralt’s head and said, “you can put me down again, love.”

Slowly Geralt sank down to one knee once more and Jaskier climbed down. 

Geralt stood up and turned around and in that moment the hook in the beam came loose and the sprigs of mistletoe fell down - right on the bard.

Geralt smirked at Jaskier’s indignant squeal at the unexpected shower of mistletoe. There were leaves and berries in his hair and on his shoulders.

Jaskier pouted and looked heartbroken for a second before his gaze fell upon Geralt.

Geralt’s expression softened and he said, “I’ll help you get the stuff out of your hair.”

He made a step towards him but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Oh no,” Jaskier said, “it’s bad luck, you have to kiss me first.”

Geralt looked at him for a moment and asked, “kiss you?”

“Yes.” Now he was smiling mischievously. 

Geralt pointed at the beam where the hook had been, “you didn’t want to kiss me when you hung up the mistletoe and we were directly under it.”

“We were just hanging it up, that doesn’t count.” Jaskier grinned.

Geralt’s eyes wandered over Jaskier’s face, up to his hair and to his shoulders, surveying the mistletoe till they landed on Jaskier’s eyes again. Geralt cocked his head and hummed. 

Very quiet now Jaskier said, “actually you should give me a kiss for every leave you remove, just to be on the safe side.”

Geralt licked his lips and swallowed. 

“Just to be on the safe side,” he echoed. He was standing directly in front of Jaskier now. He smiled softly and expectantly up at him. 

So Geralt lifted his hand and carefully picked one leaf from his shoulder. He let the leaf fall to the ground, leaned forward and placed a kiss on the same spot, feeling the smooth silk of Jaskier’s doublet under his lips. Jaskier stood still, eyes closed with a smile on his face.

Geralt reached up and picked one of the white berries out of the brown hair and placed a kiss on that spot too. Jaskier hummed contentedly.

But a moment later Geralt took a sudden step back when he heard footsteps from the hall. Jaskier blinked his eyes open as Eskel walked in. The dark haired witcher stopped in the door and grinned as he saw the mistletoe mess on and around the bard.

“What happened here?” 

As Jaskier started to tell him, Geralt sneaked out, walking fast to his room. He shook his head. What did just happen?

--------

Some time later he heard a knock on his door. It was Jaskier. Instantly he started to talk about the rest of the decorations he had put up and the mulled wine he had prepared. He walked through Geralt’s room, gesturing wildly. 

He behaved as if nothing had happened earlier. Maybe it had been nothing, Geralt wondered.

Then Jaskier stopped in front of Geralt’s window and looked out into the dark, back to the witcher.

That was when Geralt noticed it. A small sprig of mistletoe neatly tied in the velvet bow on Jaskier’s pants, right above his butt. His very well rounded butt.

Geralt inhaled sharply and he tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly very dry. Jaskier turned around to him, a knowing smile on his face.

“Have you discovered my...decoration?”, he said in a voice as soft as the velvet bow, “I think the green goes rather nicely with the burgundy, don’t you think?” He pointed to his pants and wiggled his butt for emphasis. 

Geralt hummed. He took a few steps towards him before he finally said in a rough voice, “do you need me to...help you remove it?”

This time Jaskier hummed. “First I need your help here…” he said as he made the last step towards Geralt.

Jaskier lifted one hand and the witcher saw that he was holding another sprig of mistletoe in it. Slowly Jaskier brushed it over his own lips. Geralt’s eyes traced the movement.

“It would be bad luck if I wouldn’t,” Geralt said in a low voice.

“Bad luck,” Jaskier repeated.

Slowly Geralt lifted his hand and cupped Jaskier’s cheek. And then he was leaning forward and pressed his lips softly to Jaskier’s. 

The breath that escaped the bard’s lips sounded almost like a moan before he leaned into the kiss.

--------

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[hongism]

chaser - chapter 1

pairing: vampire!seonghwa x human!wooyoung x ??? synopsis: wooyoung is no stranger to one-night stands, but something about this one leaves a lasting impression on him and his body that he can’t ignore. seonghwa, on the other hand, considers himself smart enough to avoid making stupid decisions after living for so long, but alas, he must not be as smart as he thinks himself to be. rating: M/18+ word count: 6.0k warnings: language, violence, fighting, injuries, blood, explicit smut a/n: hi hello yes welcome to swm’s new and mUCH improved version chaser (i’m howling for you)!! this first chapter has some similarities to the original and is ULTRA heavy on the smut so pls be aware that this first chapter has VERY little plot and LOTS of smut

masterlist

Between the steady thrum of music in his ears and the sensation of his heart beating erratically in his chest, Wooyoung cannot sit still to save his life. He isn’t sure how his friend managed to drag him out to one of these places — a club (somewhere he normally wouldn’t be caught dead near usually) and a vampire one at that. Despite the never-ending insistence that this would be a pleasant experience for them both, Wooyoung still finds himself wondering as his gaze slips over vampire after vampire with glowing golden eyes. He is a bit desperate to get laid, yes, but that is neither here nor there, and he didn’t think he would have to find someone who wanted to suck every ounce of blood out of his system to sleep with someone. Wooyoung could not admit such a thing to San at the time (that would be far too embarrassing), so he simply agreed to come and sit in a back booth where he could properly hide himself from the crowds.

Dancing is one of Wooyoung’s skills, yes, but he cannot muster the courage to embarrass himself in front of a crowd of vampires. And by ‘crowd’ he really only means the one tall, dark, and fucking handsome vampire standing across from the booth Wooyoung finds himself perched in at the moment.

Curse him for being weak because this man is by far the hottest… creature… Wooyoung has ever laid his eyes on, so much so that he cannot even try to be discreet about the way he stares the vampire up and down like he’s the last slice of a cake at a birthday cake. There is a gross irony to that too — the vampire should be the one eyeing Wooyoung like he’s a meal, but Wooyoung is far too enamored with taking in every inch of deep purple velvet over the vampire’s body to think about specifics right now.

Although he wishes to blame it on alcohol, Wooyoung knows that he has not touched the glass on the table in the past hour he’s been at the club, so there is not nearly enough alcohol in his system to cloud his judgment. The staring must have tipped the scales, however, because said hottest creature on the face of the Earth is now making his way over to Wooyoung’s table in long strides. Wooyoung fumbles to grab for his drink and down some of the liquid — a desperate attempt to busy himself and save face in case the vampire is bothered by the way Wooyoung has been eye-fucking him for the better part of the hour.

People move out of the vampire’s way as he walks, such a domineering presence in the club that Wooyoung feels his knees trembling under the table a bit just from the sight of him. Even guzzling the alcohol before him does nothing to quell the sudden burst of nerves in Wooyoung’s system, and the black-haired vampire slides into the booth across from him with a barely-there smile.

“It’s not good to be alone in a club, let alone a vampire one,” he says, tone so low that Wooyoung has to strain to hear the statement. That steady and persistent thrum of bass and electronic music rumbles on in the background. Wooyoung feels like he is swimming in it. It nearly drowns the vampire out, but he moves as Wooyoung leans forward to catch the words. Suddenly their faces are much closer, mere inches between them. Wooyoung inhales sharply. He swallows hard around nothing, and his Adam’s Apple bobs with the movement. The vampire’s gaze traces down the expanse of Wooyoung’s exposed neck, tongue teasing the corner of his lips with little purpose.

“I’m… not alone,” Wooyoung responds with some struggle, thinking back to where San might be, disappeared into the crowd of bodies on the dance floor.

“Not anymore, no.” The man smirks a bit around the words, and one corner of his lips drags upwards. The action is so stupidly simple, yet it has Wooyoung clenching his thighs together harshly and trying to press the arousal in his gut down. “My name is Seonghwa, and you are?”

“I-I, um, Jung Wo-Wooyoung. No, uh, just Wooyoung.”

“Fitting and beautiful. A strong name too… although I can’t say I’m too surprised.” The vampire — Seonghwa, as he called himself — lets his head fall to the side.

“Are you always so charming with people you just meet?” Wooyoung inquires, unable to hold his gaze on the man any longer thanks to the influx of nerves rushing through his body.

“Only the ones that catch my eye.”

“I’m sure that gets everyone crawling to your bed,” Wooyoung scoffs as he lets his hand toy mindlessly at the edge of his glass. The words do have an embarrassing effect on him, of course they do, but Wooyoung doesn’t want to seem so desperate and needy quite yet. Seonghwa returns the smile with one of his own, then releases a small, mirthful chuckles. The sound rumbles through Wooyoung’s system with a shocking effect, and the arousal peaks as Seonghwa’s eyes glint with desire. Almost like Seonghwa enjoys the banter and feistiness Wooyoung is putting out.

“I wouldn’t know… you’re the first person I’ve approached.”

“To-Tonight?” Wooyoung stammers, caught a bit off-guard by the sudden admission.

“I don’t make a habit of coming to clubs like this, but I might have to make an exception for you. If you come often, that is.” Seonghwa is nearly too smooth for Wooyoung to handle, and he hardly realizes how close the vampire has gotten until hot breath fans over Wooyoung’s lips. The distance between the two of them has decreased to centimeters now, yet Wooyoung still finds his body eager to press forward as well. “I’d be more intrigued if I could see such a vision before me every time I came here.”

Fuck, Wooyoung is either very deprived or it’s truly been a long-ass time since someone was this smooth and at ease with him. He can play this game well himself, but to be on the receiving end of it? That is a different ballpark and Wooyoung feels as though he is striking out right now.

“A-Ah, well, this — this is my first t-time here. At a club. Um, one like this. I – I’ve been to clubs, just n-not, yeah,” Wooyoung explains through his flustered state. The hints of his struggle don’t escape Seonghwa’s notice, but the vampire only seems more amused by the way Wooyoung is reacting to his teasing. That damn cocky grin painting Seonghwa’s lips will end Wooyoung if it grows any larger. (The growing issue in his pants is not helping either — that might end Wooyoung as well). “My friend – he dragged m-me out here with him.”

“Hm, then we have something in common, Wooyoung.” His name sounds like honey on Seonghwa’s tongue. Wooyoung’s mind quickly takes that thought further south, guided by his intense lust for the vampire, and he vaguely wonders what Seonghwa would sound like moaning the name instead of merely speaking it. “My friend dragged me out, as well. Said I would find it… enlightening.”

“And is it?” Wooyoung asks, once again swallowing around nothing. His lashes flutter against his will, almost like his body is urging him to just get on with the flirting and speed this process up. Wooyoung doesn’t intend to be so flirtatious or gaudy, he truly doesn’t! It just… slips out in times like these — where arousal rules his brain rather than reason. “Enlightening, I mean?”

“I have yet to find out.”

Some supernatural force must possess Wooyoung because he has no idea what on earth is going through his head as he pushes his way out of the booth to step around the table separating him from Seonghwa. He slings a leg over the vampire’s thighs, straddling his thighs as though‌‌ Wooyoung has done this very same action a million times over, and Seonghwa sits as straight as a rod out of sheer shock.

“Might I be able to enlighten you then?” Wooyoung whispers, tone so sultry and low that he barely recognizes his own voice speaking the words. Seonghwa’s lips fall open, partially in shock and in other parts unabashedly intrigued by Wooyoung’s proposition. Wooyoung has obviously affected him quite a bit if the hardening bulge under that purple velvet is any indication to go by. That sends a surge of confidence through Wooyoung’s veins and causes him to guide his lips down to Seonghwa’s deep red ones. The vampire meets him halfway after recovering from the initial wave of shock and doesn’t waste a second before slipping his tongue out to caress Wooyoung’s lower lip. Wooyoung shivers into the faint touch. The heavy film of lust over his mind deepens further, shrouding every ounce of reason like a veil, and Wooyoung forgets where he is when his lips are on Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa is an enthusiastic kisser, as well as a passionate one; his tongue dances over Wooyoung’s lip to the rhythm of the music until Wooyoung finally decides to drop his jaw and let the man into his mouth. The second Seonghwa pushes into his wet heat, Wooyoung releases a startled moan thanks to the sheer coldness on the vampire’s tongue. Seonghwa eats the sound right up and presses harder into the human’s body with such fervor that Wooyoung thinks he might melt from the sensation. He doesn’t dare stop for a breath — he can breathe later and surely Seonghwa doesn’t need to breathe; right now he just needs Seonghwa’s lips on his like it’s a drug. Slowly but surely, Seonghwa’s arms fold around his waist to form a delicate cage that keeps Wooyoung secure against the vampire’s sturdy and lean muscle. He is cold all over, colder than Wooyoung expects him to be, but he supposes that makes perfect sense since Seonghwa is a vampire.

Nonetheless, Wooyoung tenses as cold fingers trace over the bit of exposed skin on his lower back, toying with the hem of the crop top he wears. Seonghwa uses the moment of surprise as an opportunity to thrust his wet muscle further into Wooyoung’s mouth, exploring his palate and tasting every inch of the human’s wet cavern as though it’s his last meal.

The delicate sensations have Wooyoung grinding down hard on Seonghwa’s tented erection, and his own erection rubs deliciously over Seonghwa’s suit. It’s Seonghwa’s turn to groan into Wooyoung’s mouth, however, and the sound is better than ‌Wooyoung could have imagined; if his gut could pool with more arousal, it surely would at this point. He repeats the jerking motion a second time, shifting the angle a bit this time so that his cock rubs more directly against the outline of Seonghwa’s straining member. A weak whimper slips through the kiss and permeates the air around the two of them — Seonghwa’s gaze grows so dark with desire that his eyes don’t seem gold any longer and Wooyoung thinks that the vampire could devour him on the spot.

Seonghwa finally pulls back from the kiss and sits back against the booth to admire the sight of Wooyoung above him. He’s almost too cheeky in the way his tongue continues to tease the corner of his mouth, arms coming up to rest on the back of the booth like he’s sitting on a throne with Wooyoung on top of him. Wooyoung can’t get enough of that smug and arrogant demeanor, though, something about it sends him into an erotic frenzy, nor can he recover from the arousal still plaguing his mind. Thus Wooyoung braces his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders and grinds down against his clothed dick with more force than before.

The vampire tilts his head back, teeth bared like an animal. Air hisses through them as he tries to maintain his formal composure. Wooyoung knows what he is doing though; he is dismantling Seonghwa piece by piece, and that is painfully obvious from the lust in his eyes and the erection between them. Seonghwa doesn’t let his gaze leave Wooyoung for even a second, watching him with such intensity that Wooyoung sees himself falling to pieces under it. He stays in one piece at least until the vampire beckons him to come closer with a single finger. Wooyoung falls against his chest without a drop of hesitation.

Seonghwa doesn’t bother explaining what he’s up to; he merely leans until his lips find the base of Wooyoung’s neck and exhales hot breath over the sweat-slick skin there. His tongue pokes out to brush the warm, all-too-human skin underneath him. It brings an audible sigh from his full lips, the taste of Wooyoung on his lips and filling his senses in no time.

“May I bite you, lovely?” Seonghwa inquires, tone thrumming with desire. Wooyoung wouldn’t dream of saying no to him, not when he is so pent up with this combination of sexual frustration and arousal.

“P-Please,” Wooyoung pants into the shell of his ear. He delights in the goosebumps that travel over Seonghwa’s skin as his words caress the vampire’s ear, and Seonghwa inhales sharply before letting his tongue once again lap over the warm skin beneath his lips. Then his teeth — well, his fangs rather — sink into the junction of Wooyoung’s neck and shoulder, piercing the human with a sudden burn of pain. It catches Wooyoung off-guard for a prolonged moment, but that sting is merely momentary as it dissolves into a strange pleasure he can’t really explain. Heat swarms his veins, like a fire has been ignited in him from the inside out, and it makes him almost light-headed despite the fact that Seonghwa hasn’t pulled a drop of blood out of him yet. In fact, Seonghwa doesn’t suck any blood from his body right away, leaving that heady sensation to thrum through Wooyoung’s veins until his muscles lose some of their tension. It is like an itch Wooyoung can’t scratch, a buried need for something more, and he blindly pushes himself further against Seonghwa’s mouth.

Seonghwa doesn’t have to question what Wooyoung is asking for; it is already more than evident in the human’s erratic movements. The tips of his fingers tingle as Seonghwa begins to drag blood from the puncture wounds in his neck, and he feels his eyes fluttering as a dull throbbing blossoms there. Seonghwa eases him through it with gentle laps of his tongue between soft sucks.

Wooyoung doesn’t expect for it to be as pleasurable as it is, but his dick throbs behind the confines of his pants and pulses with each suck Seonghwa provides. He ruts like a dog shamelessly against the other’s cock in an attempt to feel more of that heady pleasure before daring to bring a hand down to ghost over the tent of Seonghwa’s arousal. Thinking with reason and rationality left him long ago, and Wooyoung only makes matters worse by pressing his fingers over that button and zipper, tugging the material back so he can slip the same hand below the band of the vampire’s underwear.

His member is slick with precum against Wooyoung’s palm, and there is a small wet splotch to be felt on his black briefs from said substance that makes Wooyoung practically preen. Precum continues to spill from the vampire’s slit the more he laps at Wooyoung’s neck, taking the blood onto his tongue and swallowing it down with a practiced ease. Wooyoung uses that slickness like lube to jerk his cock with hasty movements. Seonghwa twitches against his palm.

Pulling back from the human’s neck, said vampire heaves several deep breaths that come out in ragged gasps despite the lack of need to breathe, and that alone is a cue that Wooyoung is bringing him closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

“F-Fuck, need to – ah, need to close that,” he stammers while motions towards Wooyoung’s neck with his head. A swell of pride rises in Wooyoung’s chest as he hears the stutter, glad to have a similar debilitating effect on the vampire. Thus, he leans his shoulder back towards Seonghwa’s mouth and exposes the pretty line of his neck further. It’s an invitation for him to continue to pull blood out, but Seonghwa seems to pull some restraint out of his ass and shakes his head. “Can’t take — mm, fuck — can’t take too much. Don’t want you to pass out before the real fun begins.”

His words leave a clever insinuation that has heat rising up the back of Wooyoung’s neck. Seonghwa pulls him close before he can think too hard about what it might mean, and this time when the vampire brings his lips to his skin, it’s only his tongue that pokes out and touches Wooyoung. Sharp fangs pull back into regular canines to let him close the wound, saliva hot and scalding against Wooyoung’s skin, and the human mewls under the ministrations.

“What? Does your spit ha-have some sort of magical healing properties?” Wooyoung huffs out as the man tongues over the puncture wounds.

“Hm, something like that. Perhaps I can explain it to you sometime when we aren’t… otherwise occupied. Unless hearing archaic verbiage and medical terms increases your pleasure, in which case I can surely speak more.”

“F-Fuck, no, pl-please not now. I just wanna t-touch you.”

Wooyoung can’t keep the same pace on Seonghwa’s cock any longer, hand jerking in haphazard and stuttered strokes along his length. Seonghwa brings his arms tight around Wooyoung’s midsection and squeezing him tight; the motion indirectly forces Wooyoung’s cock to rub harder against where he has his hand shoved down the vampire’s pants. It is tantalizing and teasing in a way that hurts almost — he can’t quite reach his high like this, it isn’t enough to push him over the edge, but Seonghwa does end up breaking. His cock twitches and spills surprisingly warm come over Wooyoung’s hand.

The human doesn’t think twice before bringing that same hand up to his lips, pulling back so Seonghwa can watch the action clear as day, and Wooyoung pulls his tongue over every centimeter of his fingers and palm until the come has fully disappeared behind his lips.

“That’s… damn, that’s most definitely enlightening, doll,” Seonghwa exhales. His breaths remain shaky, and his eyes still contain that thick film of lust like nothing has changed and he hasn’t just come. Wooyoung can’t look away even for a second.

“And what about that real fun you promised?” Wooyoung inquires in a tone that suddenly sounds small and weak. The confidence ebbs away as need settles in, cock still throbbing painfully in his pants. Seonghwa smirks back at him. His gut surges with anticipation.

“Why don’t we get out of here so you can find out?”

That’s how Wooyoung finds himself in the passenger seat of an all too sleek black car with Seonghwa in the driver seat. The vampire is far more cool and collected than Wooyoung, with his hand curled on the upper portion of Wooyoung’s thigh and close to his crotch. The touch burns and stings in a beautiful way, one that makes Wooyoung even more needy for a release. He left San in the club — along with a quick text that he was on his way out — before letting Seonghwa open the door for him. And ever the gentleman, Seonghwa offered to merely drop him off and nothing else, but Wooyoung has already thrown caution to the wind and refuses to come unless Seonghwa is the one to make him do it.

“You live in a rather convenient spot. Easy access to lots of things in the city. I’m assuming because of work?”

“Um, y-yeah,” Wooyoung stammers. Seonghwa’s index finger digs harder into the flesh of his thigh. “I’m a receptionist a-at a brokerage firm. Kinda boring but… uh, it’s temporary.” Seonghwa massages the leather around Wooyoung’s leg again. “I — f-fuck.” Wooyoung can’t figure out what he was wanting or trying to say; it’s all blurred by that hand on his leg that just rubs and massages his muscle with such intensity that he cannot think straight.

“Hm? Am I distracting you, doll?”

Doll.

Wooyoung wants to melt through the floor of the car.

“I-I need…” Wooyoung trails off.

“What do you need, Wooyoung? Say the word and it’s yours.”

“I n-need you to touch me please,” Wooyoung whispers with a fragile shakiness to his tone. It betrays how much desperate he is, and Seonghwa is right there to reward him by pushing his hand further up to cup his strained erection through the leather.

“I can touch you more once we’re at your apartment, precious,” Seonghwa purrs, eyes flitting over the GPS with Wooyoung’s address typed into it.

“Will you… fuck me?” Wooyoung asks as he shifts to glance over at Seonghwa. The vampire’s fingers tighten around the wheel and clutch the leather like it’s a lifeline.

“Perhaps not tonight… I would not wish to fully ruin you during our first night together. However, I can promise that after over a millennium of practice, there are numerous ways I could have you falling apart under my ministrations if that is what you desire.”

Two things stop Wooyoung in his tracks.

First the realization that Seonghwa has lived (if it can even be called living – perhaps undead living? Wooyoung isn’t sure what the proper term would be) for over a millennium.

And second, the implication behind this being their first night together. Wooyoung is not loath to admit how desperately he wants to figure out every single manner in which Seonghwa could ruin him, and as such he will happily settle for whatever else Seonghwa has to offer.

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispers, equal parts breathless and overwhelmed. Seonghwa’s palm alleviates some of the pressure on his cock. Wooyoung darts his own hand out to clutch tightly at the vampire’s wrist. “Please don’t stop.”

“Then how will we ever get inside, darling?”

It’s only when Seonghwa utters those words that Wooyoung realizes the car has come to a stop in front of his apartment complex, and he doesn’t fight it this time when Seonghwa’s hand slips away from him. He does, however, wait in the car as the vampire loops around to his side of the vehicle and pulls the door open.

“I’m not used to anyone being a gentleman with me,” Wooyoung murmurs as he climbs out of the car, trying to shift his uncomfortable erection a bit so he can walk better. Seonghwa’s hand comes to find a home on the small of his back after shutting the door and locking the car. Cold breath brushes over Wooyoung’s ear.

“Then it seems they have all been treating you improperly. In fact, it wasn’t very fair of me to take my pleasure before you did earlier. I promise to make it up to you by letting you come as many times as you would like.” Wooyoung can feel the way Seonghwa’s lips curl into a smirk with those words, and he would be lying if he claimed that they didn’t make him want to get on his knees and suck the vampire dry in this dingy parking lot. He manages to maintain some dignity — enough to make it into the building and onto the elevator — before he is pressing his flushed body hard into Seonghwa’s cold one. The vampire catches him with ease, like he weighs nothing, and Wooyoung is sure that he must seem rather light compared to that superhuman strength.

“Well if you don’t plan on fucking me tonight, then I would very much like to explore the numerous ways you can make me come otherwise,” Wooyoung says through a smile that borders on lecherous. He catches the velvet choker clinging to Seonghwa’s neck with his index finger, tugging the man down to his height so their lips can brush over each other. “I’ve never come more than four times in a night, you know. But then again… I’ve never been with a vampire either.”

“Are you insinuating that I can do better than your past lovers, doll?”

“Don’t you think you can manage five in the very least?” Wooyoung quips back, glancing up at Seonghwa’s dark golden eyes through fluttering lashes. “I hear that a vampire’s bite just before an orgasm can be quite intoxicating and addictive. Is that true?”

“Depends on the type of bite.” Seonghwa’s lips won’t lose their smile, even as the elevator dings and announces their arrival on Wooyoung’s floor. “We have feeding bites like the one I gave you earlier which are quite pleasurable for both parties, but then we also have marking bites, and those are the ones that are as intoxicating and addictive as you’ve heard.” Seonghwa guides Wooyoung into the hall with hands gripping hard at his hips, pushing the man through the corridor like he knows where he is going, but he stops a little ways away from the elevator to let Wooyoung guide him the rest of the way. Wooyoung lets his hand fall from the vampire’s neck down to the soft velvet belt loops on his pants, using them as an anchor to tug Seonghwa along. He refuses to let go even as they reach his door — room 427 at the far end of the hall on the left. He is silently begging that his roommate Hongjoong won’t be home, but those hopes are crudely dashed when the door swings open just before Wooyoung inserts his key.

Seonghwa stumbles back as Wooyoung does, but he braces the human against his chest with hands on either shoulder when Hongjoong’s mop of red hair pops out of the room. He startles just the same when he spots Wooyoung and the guest behind him, eyes quickly darting between both without saying a word for several seconds.

“Ah, that explains it,” Hongjoong mutters at last after some time has passed.

“Are you on your way out?” Wooyoung may or may not be in a fucking rush to get Hongjoong out of the way because his raging boner hasn’t gone down in the slightest. If he gets cockblocked at this point, he won’t—

“Yeah, Sannie asked me to pick him up from the club because he’s had a lot to drink. I’m gonna take the bus to get to the club then take him home in his car.”

“Oh good, then you’ll be gone a while!” Wooyoung chirps, pulling himself up straight once more and pressing forward to get past his roommate. He grips one of Seonghwa’s hands tight in his own; an encouragement for the man to follow after him and join him inside. “Might want to stay gone a while too!”

“I plan on it!” Hongjoong calls after him through a snort, then the door snaps shut a moment later to leave Seonghwa and Wooyoung very much alone once more. And the first thing the vampire does is stand beside the door to slip his pristine black loafers off. Wooyoung can’t help but to laugh to himself as he sees them because they simply look so out of place in his dingy apartment that is covered in Hongjoong’s art projects along with scuffs and chipped paint.

“You look too expensive to be standing here,” Wooyoung murmurs, taking the fabric of Seonghwa’s purple vest between his fingers. The vampire tilts his head to the side in question.

“Would it help if I took my clothes off?”

Wooyoung almost rolls his eyes at the tone the vampire uses.

“You would still look… it’s in the way you carry yourself. You just look expensive and elegant, so I’m sure being nude wouldn’t change that a bit.” Wooyoung sucks his lower lip between his teeth as he thinks, suddenly withdrawing from the man to lead the way to his bedroom. “Well, don’t be a stranger! You’re still planning on breaking my record, aren’t you?”

With that, Wooyoung turns to look at Seonghwa over his shoulder as he pulls his sheer crop top up over his head. He tosses the fabric at the man with a high-pitched giggle, delighting in the sudden haste in Seonghwa’s movements when he catches the shirt and rushes to join Wooyoung in the bedroom. The human had forgotten about the stories of how quickly vampires can move, and Seonghwa’s reflexes alone are something to balk at. But what really gets Wooyoung going is the speed at which Seonghwa reaches him; crossing the living room and pinning him flat on his back on his mattress in less than two seconds flat.

It’s a maddening combination of something horribly terrifying and inexplicably arousing. He hadn’t even gotten to take his pants off.

“You enjoy teasing that much, Wooyoung?” Seonghwa hums from above him, fingers closing around the man’s wrists. He simply arches a brow in response as though testing the vampire to do something more, then spreads his legs further apart to let Seonghwa slip between them with ease. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Wooyoung inhales so sharply that his chest burns. Next thing he knows, Seonghwa has descended lower and taken Wooyoung’s pants with him, hooking two fingers around the leather and tugging it down until it hangs about his ankles. And admittedly, Wooyoung had forgone wearing underwear because he had hoped to pick someone up while at the club yet the way Seonghwa’s teasing gaze flits from his leaking member up to Wooyoung’s face sends a surge of embarrassment through the human.

“You grow more fascinating by the second, doll,” Seonghwa murmurs. The tone leaves Wooyoung shivering; either that or it’s the cold air brushing over his now naked body that has him getting more chilly by the second. Seonghwa doesn’t let that sensation last much longer. He folds lithe fingers around the base of Wooyoung’s cock. Just seeing the vampire’s hand around him makes Wooyoung feel helplessly small. He has never been insecure about his dick size, and if anything, the way Seonghwa dwarfs him with his large palm and sprawling fingers makes the arousal in his gut even more intense. Wooyoung squirms under the touch. He’s so embarrassingly hard that he might just come after a few jerks of Seonghwa’s hand, but even that seems to be an overestimation — all the vampire has to do is drag his hand up to the head of Wooyoung’s cock and dig his index finger into his slit.

“A-Ah, Seonghwa!” Wooyoung chokes out a moan, slapping a hand over his lips as the sound escapes him, then he’s coming all over Seonghwa’s hand like he’s never been touched before in his life.

“Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear it all.” That’s all Seonghwa says before he is descending on Wooyoung’s dick with his lips. He takes Wooyoung all the way until his nose brushes against the bare skin of his crotch, leaving the man crying out. His tongue feels impossibly long on the underside of Wooyoung’s cock as it teases a bulging vein there even as Wooyoung softens up. Seonghwa doesn’t budge on bit for what feels like hours, and Wooyoung grows mildly concerned as the minutes pass before he realizes that Seonghwa has no need to breathe, so he can’t possibly choke or run out of breath while cockwarming Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s mouth is as oddly cold as the rest of him, but it isn’t an unpleasant feeling in the slightest. Especially not as Seonghwa starts to suck over his member.

Now, Wooyoung is young, yes — the ripe and youthful age of 23, fresh out of university and in his prime — and as such, he usually can last around seven and a half minutes before coming. Note, usually, because whatever the fuck Seonghwa is doing to his cock right now has Wooyoung coming down the vampire’s throat in less than two minutes. He can’t even make a sound beyond a weak and shaky whimper this time. Seonghwa swallows around him, taking down every last drop of come, and once he’s done, he pulls off Wooyoung’s softening member with a wet pop.

“I thought you said this would be a challenge, darling, but that’s already two of five.”

“Oh, bite me,” Wooyoung scoffs without thinking twice about what exactly his words might entail. Seonghwa shifts to be eye level with him a second later.

“Is that how you’d like to come next? Untouched and at my mercy?”

That should terrify Wooyoung. Make him want to run and hide like any normal person would, but Wooyoung doesn’t consider himself or his interests in the bedroom normal in the slightest, because all those words make him do is sling an arm around Seonghwa’s shoulders and fist a hand through the man’s jet black hair. He guides Seonghwa down to the curve of his neck, right over the place where Seonghwa bit him before, although that mark has dissolved into nothing now.

“Show me exactly how intoxicating and addicting it is then.”

Seonghwa hesitates, hands braced on either side of Wooyoung’s head, and even as Wooyoung tries to push him down, the vampire manages to maintain some distance between his lips and Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung almost thinks that he’s going to be left high and dry like this because of how long Seonghwa ponders. Then a tongue teases his skin, tasting the sweat clinging to his body. The groan that leaves Seonghwa reverberates in his chest and sounds practically visceral. He makes good on his promise with his next action though.

This time when teeth sink in Wooyoung’s neck, the pain increases tenfold, like there are two sets of fangs pushing into him rather than just one. Wooyoung cries out, and his hips cant forward as pleasure seeps into his body. It’s like a drug — one that clouds his vision and makes fire run through his veins. The soft velvet of Seonghwa’s pants allows for some comfort as Wooyoung ruts helplessly against him, and all the while, the vampire laps his tongue around the puncture wounds he left at Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung is too far gone to think about whether he’s also pulling blood again; he isn’t even sure if his eyes or open or not at this point. The white light clogging his eyes is too strong and powerful for him to think about anything other than the sheer euphoria he’s experiencing in this moment.

Seonghwa guides him through it, hands reaching down to roam Wooyoung’s searing body like a cool breeze. Wooyoung doesn’t feel a thing when he comes again; all he knows is that his hips come to a halt and something eases him back to the bed to rest comfortably there in a daze. Cold hands brush over his forehead, the white light starts to fade from his vision, and when Wooyoung comes back to his senses, Seonghwa is leaning over him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung exhales.

“Perhaps it’s been too long since I engaged in that… I forgot how intense it would be for a human’s body.”

“Oh, it was intense alright.” The words slur together. All the strength is leaving Wooyoung’s body quickly, and instead a pleasant floating sensation takes over him. “Best orgasm I’ve ever had too, holy fuck.” A small huff of laughter escapes Seonghwa.

“I’ll spare you your challenge tonight. Any more strain on your body wouldn’t be good.”

Wooyoung has enough willpower to pout at those words, but Seonghwa’s resolve remains, and the vampire merely tuts and thumbs over Wooyoung’s chin.

“Now, now, doll. Only for tonight. We can break your record another time. For now, let me get you cleaned up so you can rest comfortably.”

“Towels in the bathroom…” Wooyoung drawls as his eyes fall shut again. He feels Seonghwa’s cold fingers brushing over his cheek once more before sleep overtakes him, dragging him down into a peaceful and dreamless rest.

↢  ♡  ↣

[wandering-child-rp]

For the mini fic: what about number 7 things you said while driving for E/C 💖💖

“Thanks for the lift. You didn’t have to. I could have gotten the bus.” Christine forced a smile onto her nervous face as Erik gripped the steering wheel a little harder. It was painful for him but he didn’t like the idea of Christine alone on public transport late at night.

The lights of the highway would bathe the saloon car into bright light every so often and gave them both some shadows to hide in. Christine put the lead in her stomach down to nerves.

“I don’t mind driving you. I know you’d do the same for me if I needed a favour.”

“Except I don’t have a car and I cannot drive.” Christine laughed, it was a one-sided friendship. It was strange really. He didn’t seem to have many friends and it was always Christine chasing him. Unless it was after a lesson because then Erik always had a fantastic dinner for her, a great bottle of wine and he was good company. There had been a while when Christine had developed a crush on him but it was never reciprocated. She’d given him a thousand opportunities and lingering a little longer than needed at the door waiting for a kiss that never came.

Her hands stretched over her thighs with a huff of air.

“Nervous?” Erik asked but desperately he didn’t want to hear Christine pour out her feelings about her new boyfriend. He hated the constant buzzing of her phone when they sat together or the way she’d smile and laugh at whatever was on that stupid screen.

“Yeah... a little. I wish he could have come back instead of me flying out to him.” Erik’s large hand landed onto Christine’s with a comforting squeeze.

“I know. It’s sad your missing the season opener.” In his heart of hearts, he wanted Christine to be sat next to him in the box. He wanted to twist the playbill in his hands over and over trying to pluck up the courage to slide his hand into hers. Exactly like it was now. His hazel eyes went wide and he whipped away the warmth all too suddenly leaving Christine confused again and feeling like an imposition.

It would have been nice to go with Erik. He was a gentleman truly. Yes, he was a little older than her but he was sweet and respectful. Meg kept saying it was just a crush on an older man who had that mysterious thing but Christine wasn’t so sure. She laughed at his clever jokes and dumb ones and could listen for hours to him play or dissect a film scene by scene. He lent her books that he thought she needed to read and empowered her beyond belief. Only when she needed it though did he interfere.

</i>

“Your favourite book is ‘Pride and prejudice? Did Mr Darcy like Elizabeth more because she was outspoken and her own woman?” Christine only nodded. “Then stop pandering to these idiots. Yes, take their direction but not when it cuts you down. If it doesn’t stop I’ll bloody tell them.”

“They’re bossy; not romantic though.” She said trying to lighten the atmosphere and stop feeling like such a silly little girl. Erik only raised his eyebrows and bit his tongue trying to keep his attention solely on the tv in front of them. “No one has ever declared their undying love for me.”

“Maybe if you followed the advice.” </i>

Erik remembered that night. The air hung thick as Christine ran her finger around the rim of her glass and the silence rang. He knew he loved her then. It was sudden and all at once; like drowning. He fought it but couldn’t swim to the surface again. It was fine when it was just lessons and direction but then they met up. She didn’t look at the mask but at Erik’s eye. He held his temper and the time it was ragged, she simply laid her hand on his shoulder and then it took all his power not to declare his feelings. Erik wasn’t stupid; she was young, beautiful and smart. Out of his league. Then, she suddenly had a boyfriend on the scene after a connection with an old friend. It was dreadful to watch them. Erik was waiting at the stage door with flowers but they ended up in the trash can when he realised he’d been beaten to the punch.

The pair came to the airport all too quickly. Christine methodically checked off her list for the hundredth time.

“Passport? Yes. Money? Yes. Ticket? Yes. Phone? Yes. Makeup bag? Yep. So, I’m all set.” Christine looked beautiful in her thick sweater, the mass of curls blow dried out by the hairstylist this morning and her body bouncing nervous energy as she smiled widely at Erik with the harsh light reflecting off his mask. “Vienna, here I come! City of opera dreams and I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

Erik knew she wouldn’t come back. She had nothing in Paris anymore and her father was back in Sweden. He knew the allure of a new city and a new start but he’d miss her too much to admit. She was tense and clearly something was distracting her, as always, she just blurted it out after only a stern look from her mentor.

“He’s nice, right? He’s not texted much but now a driver is going to pick me up? That’s okay, isn’t it?” Erik wouldn’t dream of it. He would even let her take public transport alone and insisted she stayed in his guest room when he caved and shared a bottle of wine with her.

“Yes.” He replied monosyllabically before adding some care when he saw Christine's face drop a little. “Let me know when you get to his house at least. Goodbye, angel.”

‘Angel’ Christine melted just like when he’d coined the term back for her. She had not known his name when the first note had come or the loud shout across the stage from a fast-moving figure. Erik had told her to start an octave higher and, it had worked perfectly, she had hit the last note despite not knowing. Jokingly, she’d referred to him since as her ‘Angel of music’. It had become truthful as her broken heart had begun to mend itself.

“I can still call you, can’t I?” Erik noted she was picking at the handle of her bag and delaying for time. Nodding, Erik was about to splurge out everything but as he opened his mouth, some jackass behind him started to honk for the drop off space.

“Of course. Good luck with the audition. I’ll come to see you perform, I’m sure.”

He watched her walk away with the backpack that was his before, handbag and battered suitcase decorated with a floral print. It wasn’t medically possible but he was quite sure he could physically feel his heartbreaking. The tears clouded his vision so Erik gave up trying and pulled in for a drive-through coffee he’d normally baulk at. Red and white lights flashed overhead as planes carrying people off to their dreams, vacations and loved ones. The pain came in another crashing wave as he saw the coffee Christine got flash on the menu board; double-shot caramel latte. How was it possible for a coffee to cause a thousand stabs of ice to a heart. Erik reconciled himself to just wait out the hour and a half to watch her plane take off into the night sky. Then he’d go home and drink his body weight in liquor.

The whole plane groaned as the captain announced the delay. They’d sat on the tarmac for half an hour but it felt so much longer for someone as nervous as she was. Christine swore under her breath as she wrestled the backpack from the compartment. Why wasn’t Erik here? He never had to stand on his tiptoes to reach anything.

1 Voice Note from ‘Angel of Music 🎶 (ERIK DESTLER). 20 minutes ago. Christine held the phone to her ear as she jostled her way through disgruntled people and his velvet tones spilled into her ears.

‘So, I’m just at Starbucks and I can’t not say this anymore. I’m so sorry to do this, Christine, and like this. Look, just don’t listen past this but let me do it. We can pretend it never happened. I really want you to be happy and I don’t care if that’s not with me but... fuck... I don’t even know why I’m doing this but... here goes. I love you. A lot. Always have and always will. You can’t blame me because look at you and look at me. I know you won’t feel the same but I care for you so much, Christine. My wretched heart will always belong to you. The one who saw through the bullshit. Don’t think nothing or no one is missing you in Paris because I will be. Don’t dwell on it though. Go be happy... If you want to come home or something goes wrong, I’ll buy your ticket home and be waiting to collect you. Anytime, any day, just call me. You can always call me. No questions asked.’ There was a noise of a steering wheel being slapped and Erik squeezing his nose and clearing his throat before a new note started. ‘Anyway, just call me if you need and, best of luck. I know you’ll be perfect and don’t take any shit from anyone. I’ll get over all of this and I’m sorry. Unless you didn’t listen to that message in which case, erm, send me a postcard kid.’

Christine felt like the world had fallen out from under her and anything she thought was true wasn’t anymore. Throwing her handbag onto the seat, she paced around and listened to the message again. Surely she’d misheard him.

Erik perched himself on the wing of his car. His third cup of coffee in one hand a cigarette in the other as he blew smoke into the sky and watched a plane take off. Her flight was seven minutes late but he saw the green tail knew it was her flight as the flight app hadn’t updated with the last-minute delay.

“Fucking hell, Erik...” he mumbled to himself and threw the butt of the cigarette away after only taking three drags. “Stupid bastard...”

Never before had he felt so deflated but with freedom now. It was out into the world regardless of his regrets or lack of. The words where just like the smoke; impossible to catch or recall in the night sky. It was what it was, Erik thought as he sat back in the driver's seat and drummed the leather wheel defeated. He sat there spinning his phone on his thigh whilst the radio played the weather forecast monotonously. He had muted Christine and unmuted her twice just in case she needed him suddenly yet he hadn’t looked to see if she heard the message before boarding. The timing was meant to be that she’d already have shut off her phone before getting on the plane. It was nearly an hour ago since he’d practically bled the words out of his mouth and tonight, he’d go home and get very drunk before sleeping in tomorrow and he’d remain drunk until the opening night of the opera in four days. Then, he’d force himself back together and to face the world.

“Erik?” That voice. His head whipped around quickly and pulled a muscle. “My- my flight got delayed.”

His face visibly dropped but Christine held up her phone with the screen illuminating the picture of the artwork in Erik’s corridor that she adored. It was a perfect metaphor. Even when it wasn’t about him, Erik was never far from her thoughts.

“I got your message.” The young woman was nervous and simply flying on instinct as the moments turned into seconds and she was closing the gap between them and then her body hit his and their lips met in a breathless kiss full of fire and longing. Christine’s smile was large and her eyes crinkled when Erik looked shocked and confused. Slowly, his long arms wrapped around her waist and one knee shook weakly. She was here, in his arms and smiling at the thought of him. “I wish you’d told me before.”

“I didn’t want to cloud our friendship.”

“Friendship? Erik, it was never just a friendship with us. It doesn’t take me five minutes to unlock my door and say goodbye in the car and I wanted you. I thought you could see that-“

In response, his lips met hers again as one palm cradled her cheek. The mask was unforgiving but Christine knew what was underneath already from coming over early months ago. He’d freaked out and was embarrassed but she handled it without a moment of thought.

“Are you staying?” Erik whispered with a voice dripping with dark honey and his nose rubbed against hers as Christine cuddled him close in the chilly night with her arms around his neck.

Several hours later and Erik was kissing Christine’s nude shoulder as he cuddled behind her still unable to sleep despite their activities. Christine hummed in happily nuzzled softly in a bed that smelt of his cologne. She couldn’t stop thanking delayed flights and voice notes of deep thoughts in cars. She could have missed out on her love so easily but as Erik’s chest pressed against her back in his bed, Christine knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

@sloanedestler

[takoyakitenchou]

masquerade ch.11

thank god i had the foresight to write this entire fic in advance now i can just post at irregular intervals

Souma had never been one for speeches—although his improvised addresses had been pretty good in his opinion—but his best man toast for Takumi Aldini was definitely his magnum opus. 

Under normal circumstances he would’ve referenced it in every vivacious conversation he had with anyone that night, but his… uh, date…  had had to cancel last minute and effectively sent him on a solo venture to the bar.

So when Marina Vesca pulled up a stool next to him and requested a tequila sunrise from the bartender, Souma had never felt more grateful in his entire life.

“The fuck are you doing by yourself?” she asked.

Well, he stood corrected. “Why’re you here?”

“I got invited, Sherlock. Now stop deflecting.”

“I think you were wrong, Marina.”

“I seriously doubt that, but let’s assume I was. How so?” Marina propped her chin on her hand and regarded the chef with a mordant look.

“You remember back when we were opening Origin, you said Erina couldn’t keep up the masquerade forever? I think her facade is going to last longer than my time on this Earth.”

Marina said with a straight face, “You’re fucking stupid.”

Souma frowned. “Don’t know how to break this to you, but I’m really not in the emotional state to receive that kind of compliment.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a compliment. Second of all, soulmateship and horribly packed schedules are independent events.”

“What the hell is soulmateship? You just made that up right now.”

“What’re you gonna do if I did make it up? Why don’t you quit your moaning and actually do something? My intuition says she wanted to show tonight but some incompetent fuck of a politician held her back and made it impossible.”

Souma sighed. “Whatever happened to love being—”

“Why is it that I’ve never had a legitimate conversation with Erina in my entire life and yet I can see exactly how she feels about you when you can’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a journalist?”

“You’re in denial, Souma. Are you afraid she’s going to break your heart again? I think you’d rather be broken now by getting ghosted than take a chance and love her for real.”

“Heart’s already broken,” Souma deadpanned.

“I know, but she’s the only one that can fix that. You need to give her a chance.”

“Was all this not enough?”

It was just then that a certain blonde chef decided to make her appearance at the reception. She was wearing slightly wrinkled business suit with the top button of her blouse undone and her cheeks were flushed — it was pretty obvious she’d gotten here in a complete rush without even changing.

And at the exact moment that the iconic lilac gaze met Souma’s, the journalist swore the light returned to his eyes and his vision tunneled.

“I gotta bolt to Kronberg. I swear to god, Souma, the next time we meet, you will be with Erina or I will drop out of Northwestern and join the fucking MMA. Am I clear?”

Souma grinned. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You’re deflecting again,” she warned him.

His smile widened as Erina waved subtly at him. “Yeah. You’re clear. Have a safe flight, Marina.”

“Now to business,” she said, grabbing him by his lapels and generally chucking him in Erina’s direction. “Go get her, dumbass.”

7 years post grad

“Give me one plausible reason why you absolutely cannot be the new dean of Totsuki.”

Akira slammed his head down on his desk. “I can name at least ten, Kurokiba.”

“Shoot.”

“I finished grad school last year—”

“That is irrelevant.”

“There are plenty of other compet—”

“Gramps tried to get Erina to be dean when she was a second year. Dismissed.”

“I’m busy with Hab—”

“I’m CEO of NTG. Dismissed.”

“Also, I have to plan a—”

“YOU’RE PROPOSING? HOLY FUCK HAYAMA WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!?”

Akira sighed as he heard vague crashing noises on the other end of the line, followed by a “Hayama-kun’s proposing to Hishoko!? OHMYGOD I NEED TO TEXT ERINA!”

“Wait, Kurokiba, tell your crazy wife not to publicize. I want to surprise Hisako. Actually, after today we’re all going to have to call her Doctor Arato.”

“Even you? Damn. Hang on.”

Fifteen seconds later, the silver haired chef turned CEO asked tentatively, “Uh, Kurokiba?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’ll keep our mouths shut. But! The thing is, I already told Chef Doujima that you’d agreed to be the new Totsuki dean, so he retired. He’s getting married with Riko Eibisawa in a few months. You’re invited to the wedding, by the way.”

“I hate you, Kurokiba.”

“I mean, if you’re gonna be in Tokyo, you might as well run Totsuki.” Then Ryo’s voice hushed considerably, and he said in a whisper, “It’s better than having Alice as dean, right?”

Akira blanched. “True. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Alright. I’ll facetime you when I feel like it.”

Well, there was no arguing with Kurokiba Ryo.

Akira called the newly minted Doctor Arato to tell her the news.

“Alice just told me Kurokiba installed you as the new dean of Totsuki. Is that true?” she asked before he got a single word out.

The world was going to leave him behind if he wasn’t careful. “Yeah. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Of course I am. But I hope you focus on taking care of yourself more than the school. And Habui for the matter.”

“Anything for you,” Akira replied, and knew it was true. “When are you coming to Japan? I’ll send a jet.”

“It’s okay. I’m flying out to Illinois to check up on Innlausn and then I’ll probably stay a night or so at Yukihira’s place. He has some interview thing in Chicago this week and we haven’t caught up in a while.”

Akira sighed. It’d be another three days until he saw her—and he’d been getting so excited. 

But then he remembered that if all things went according to plan, by the end of the month he’d be secure with the knowledge that he’d be able to spend the rest of his life with her. Not for the first time, Akira understood just how blessed he was. The velvet box sitting in his desk drawer was proof.

Arato Hisako had changed his life; now it was his turn.

[nerdyfangirl67]

My Angel - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader

Warnings: Erik insecurities, dark thoughts and feelings

Word count: 2090

A/N: Hey y’all. I am trying to finish up the next chapter and am not sure if I am going to expand it or not. If I’m lucky, and y’all are too, then I will have the next chapter, whether it is the last one or not, out by Friday. Thanks for reading and requests are always open!

----Chapter 2----

You spent every day tirelessly working in the opera house, scrubbing floors, dusting fixtures, and hand washing delicate costumes.

You spend every evening in the tunnels, relaxing to the wondrous music your angel composes. You had noticed a change in his music, one that you rather enjoyed. No longer was his music dark and full of melancholy, but it had become bright and inspiring and full of hope. You were unaware of what brought about this change, but it warmed you nonetheless. You finally felt as though your angel was no longer in constant darkness and pain.

As the music got more hopeful, you started staying longer and longer in the tunnels. Many a night you spent wrapped in your warmest winter cloak, the music of your angel lulling you into soft and dreamless sleep. You had even written a few more letters for your angel, proclaiming your deepening feelings for the phantom figure.

My angel,

The nights I have spent here in this balcony, listening to the music you create, has been some of the best of my life. I cannot imagine a future without you in it. You have brought a certain light into my life that I had not known I had been missing.

It’s like you hold the missing piece of my heart, the piece that reveals who I truly am and whenever I am near you, I feel whole. I feel that I am the truest, most honest version of myself when I am around you. It’s as if your music is a reflection of my soul, entwined forever with yours. Forever and always

This was the only letter you had managed to keep track of because for some reason you always manage to misplace them. Regardless, you continued to write them, each one revealing more of your feelings than the last.

-PHANTOM-

The letters always seemed to appear as if by magic. After he had found the first one, he had been quite sure it was all in his imagination, because who with a sane mind would have such deep feelings for him. He was after all a true monster with a rock cold heart, a man who was obsessed with the idea of a soprano of his own, a ghost who would not even look at his own reflection in the mirror.

Yet, the letters kept coming, all appearing in random places. He had found one wedged underneath the edge of his organ and another stuck to the damp shore of the underground river in his cavern. There had even been one precariously hanging near the flame of a candle by his bed. A few he had found had been ruined to the point that they were unsalvageable. Finding those letters had hurt. Everything in him had ached to read the words that those letters had contained. He felt connected to the writer of these letters, even though he didn’t know her. Every letter, every word melted his long dead heart just a little bit more, making him feel more human for the first time in years.

His warming feelings translated over into his music. New melodies swirled around in his head, completely obliterating the dark motifs that had dominated much, if not all, of his musical compositions. His music since reading those letters had taken on an almost giocoso tone, something he had never thought would happen in his music.

Now, he spent the time he was not composing, which oddly had become more frequent as of late, looking for this mysterious admirer. He still did not know where this celestial being was hiding or even when she was listening, but the mere thought that she was listening made each moment at the organ that much more intriguing.

The time he spent in the shadows became less about watching those running his opera house, and more about observing those in the Opera Populaire in hopes of finding his admirer. Everything inside him, that was not committed to music, was devoted to finding his angel. Even just knowing her from her letters had made him protective of her. He knew when he met her, he would feel connected to her in a way he never had with anyone else.

Although his life felt brighter for the first time in what seemed like forever, the wicked gloom of doubt and self-hatred still overtook his thoughts. Time and time again, the words of those letters would enter his thoughts and he would be ridden with a sick twisted feeling of uncertainty and suspicion.

An all consuming rage usually followed and was accompanied by the smashing of mirrors in disgust, the burning of half-finished compositions and even an explosive burst of funry in which he had run straight into the underground river to destroy his elaborate candelabras. He felt such intense anger with these thoughts because he could not fathom in these moments, why anyone would feel for him so intensely.

----

There had been a time before this, before the letters, when he had thought that maybe he was deserving of the love of a beautiful young woman. A woman who was his star pupil and lived to sing his music. A woman who lived for the opera as he did.

Yet he had been wrong then. Christine had been deeply in love with Raoul and finding out that she would do anything to live her life with him had crushed him. He had been devoted to her, to showing her what she meant to him.

He had not come out of the Christine - Raoul fiasco with just insecurities of the human nature. He had become a darker, colder version of himself with even the mere thought of either Christine or Raoul giving him an intense mix of burning hatred and rage and a crushing feeling of inadequacy. He also had developed a very deep lack of faith in the concept of love.

Her rejection was a large part of why he struggled to believe the words in the letters. He could hardly believe having the opportunity to fall in love with one woman of such beauty and grace but to become connected with another, who saw him for who he truly was, and have her love, well he found that nearly impossible.

Reading the letters also had him questioning if he was even good enough to have the love of such an understanding woman. Although he had yet to meet his admirer, he felt that he would never be good enough for anyone to love him.

----

He spent many a night on the organ, practicing and perfecting the compositions that he created. This was one of those nights, but it felt different somehow. There was a charge in the air, crawling over his skin and pricking his nerves. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, sending his heart into overdrive and causing him to play with an intense frenzy. Music he had never played before, music he had not even written, was flying from his fingertips. Sweat was dripping down his brow, causing his face under his mask to itch. He rips it off, irritated by the distraction, and continues to play with fever.

— YOUR POV —

The music he played that night was phenomenal. The emotions raging through the phrases and dynamic changes had your heart pounding. You could barely breathe as the music tapered off into a gentle melody that you were straining to hear. Only a moment later, he was back to rapidly pounding on the keys, causing your heart to jump into your throat.

That night you listen to him play for hours, never feeling the slightest bit tired and when he finally stops, you stand, your body moving without you telling it to. You are moving towards the cavern, or where you believe the cavern to be, as you have never actually been in it. It is as if a string is tied tightly around your heart and pulling you directly towards your angel, you other half, and the only person you had ever felt so strongly connected to.

Even though you have no idea where you are going, you are in the cavern only a few short moments later. You slowly make your way towards your angel, who is currently sitting at the organ and furiously writing.

This was it. For the first time in a very long time, it felt as though you were home. The sound of a pen scribbling on parchment felt normal. The coolness of the air in the cavern felt natural. The musk of damp earth and burning wax felt homey. Never had you felt so comfortable and at home in a place you had just entered. But, walking into this place felt like coming home after being away for days, months, years. If this was the last place you ever came to in your life, you would be complete. You quickly come to the conclusion that the person who was in this place with you was what really made it home. You felt as though your heart was beating in time with his, even though you could not hear it, pulling your soul even closer to his.

You allow yourself one breath to steel your nerves before you clear your throat and call, “My angel of music.”

The man whirls around, clutching a desperate hand to one side of his face. Peeking through his fingers are glimpses of angry red, scarred flesh. You watch as he swiftly picks up his mask and pulls it tight against his face.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” His voice floats over you like thick, smooth velvet, causing you to let out a deep sigh of appreciation.

After an awkward moment of silence, you realize that the man is waiting for your response. “You are my angel. Your music dominates my mind and has since the day I arrived here. You are the one my soul is connected to and I wish to spend every day I have left in your presence.” Your heart is thudding against your chest as you wait for a response.

He searches your face, his eyes locking with yours for several beats. He takes a tentative step towards you, his hand hovering nervously near your face, as if he is unsure whether he should touch you or not.

You take a small step closer to him, gently grabbing his gloved hand and pulling it in towards your chest, resting it against your racing heart.

“You wrote the letters.” It is not a question, but rather an observation. You slowly nod your head, afraid of what he would say next.

He does not speak for a long while, simply watching you instead. When he does speak, he pulls his hand away from you. Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to tamp down the anxiety that is starting to consume you. “You wrote that you feel I am a part of you. Why? You do not know who I am.” His voice is deep, darkness lingering behind his words and his eyes flash.

Everything inside you wants to cringe away from him in fear, but you know that is what he is expecting you to do. Instead, you straighten up, your eyes locked on his as you respond.

“I wrote that because your music is thrumming through my veins and has become a part of me.” You pause for a moment, steeling your confidence before continuing. “It is more than your music. I feel connected with you. What you feel, I feel. Your soul is entwined with mine.” As you finish, you close the distance between the two of you. You slowly move to pick up one of his hands, placing it over your heart before taking the other and placing it over his own heart.

“Our hearts, they beat in unison.” You whisper as you study him.

“Mon cher, I feel it.” His voice is gentle as he hesitantly moves his hand from your heart to your cheek. “Tu es à moi, mon cher.” His switch to French has your heart growing in your chest.

“Play for me my angel.” You whisper, clasping his hand in yours as you move towards the organ.

“Mon cher, call me Erik. That is my real name and there is no one else I would rather have call me that, than you.” He whispers back, his breath tickling your ear as he lets you lead him to the organ.

[let-it-raines]

Black Velvet (Part Two)

1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England.

Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I know, I know, we thought my days of you guys convincing me to continue one-shots were over 😉 In all seriousness, I did not intend to do this and wasn’t going to, but my mind started working and here we are. 

We pick up with our favorite duo (and Lee, lol) on their journey to America! Thanks to @shireness-says and @resident-of-storybrooke​ for helping me out a little on this🖤

Ao3: Part One | Part Two

Tumblr: Part One

-/-

1920.

Emma has never hated the sea more.

When she was a child, it was her favorite place in the world. The insides of orphanages and homes were dull with broken furniture and scratchy blankets, and when she could get away, she would try to find the ocean. There was a rare time in her life where she lived near the shore, and every day she breathed in the salt air and looked out onto the water with the hope that more was out there and with the hope that she wouldn’t always be so alone.

The sea was her safe haven.

Now it is her enemy.

One of many, if she’s honest. Her childhood dreams have become her waking nightmare. She’s spent fifteen days on the ocean on her way to a new country, but all she wants is to be back in England in the comfort of her bed in her grungy little flat she thought she hated. Every day feels a little closer to her last, like Gold is on her heels, a gun pressed to her temple.

Her thoughts have run wild with fear. What if he was fast enough and followed them? What if he’s on the next ship to America? What if he’s found William or Rob and hurt them?

What if he’s found her son and hurt him?

She doesn’t keep up with him, knowing that each bit of information about him breaks her a little more. She wasn’t ready to be a mother, still isn’t, and it isn’t fair to the kid for her to check up on him. She gave him up for him to have his best chance, for him to have a good life, and from what she’s seen, he’s had that.

Emma is terrified that her running away is going to strip that good life away from him, and she should have thought more about that before she allowed Killian to pay for their passage on this ship. Hopefully his parents have enough protections that everything will be fine, but she knows that just because they work in the government with Gold doesn’t mean he’s safe.

Gold will obviously betray anyone, but she hopes he has limits when it comes to a child.

Her stomach turns as they move over a rough patch of ocean, and she wraps her hands around the railings as another breeze washes over her. Her nose is red with chill, her toes curling under themselves in her boots, and suddenly the temperature warms, a solid body closing in on hers, an arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her closer as unshaven whiskers prickle against her temple.

“You’ll be nothing but an icicle if you stay out here, love,” Killian tells her as the ocean roars around them.

“And why would you care about that?” Emma bristles.

He sighs. “Please come back to the cabin.”

Emma pulls away from Killian, gooseflesh bubbling up her arms and a shiver wrapping around her spine. She doesn’t feel like having him near her or going back to the cabin. Escaping closeness to Killian is the reason she left the warmth of the cabin to begin with. “I don’t want to come back to the cabin.”

“You are going to freeze.”

“It is a hell of a lot warmer out here than it is in there.”

“You speak in falsities.”

She does, but she won’t admit that.

Emma cocks her head and rolls her eyes before looking at the ocean again. According to the Captain and several crew members, they should be in New York either tonight or tomorrow morning, and Emma cannot wait to step foot on dry land again. She doesn’t know what their plans are for when they get there, but she knows that even if she doesn’t stay with Killian, she has enough money to get her lodgings and food for at least a few months. She hopes that she’ll be back in England by then. Or another country in Europe.

“I don’t.”

Killian’s lips press into a firm line, and the lines on his forehead appear. She’s seen that look more than she would care for, and she doesn’t care to see it now. “Swan.”

“No. I don’t want to go back to the fucking cabin, Killian. I’ve been in there for two weeks with you and Lee, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of having to listen to Lee complain, and I’m exhausted from having to figure out when you’re going to ignore me or not. I sleep with your chest pressed to my back every night, and I’ve never felt so alone.”

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Emma throws her hands up in the air as they hit another rough wave and Emma’s stomach churns. This fucking ship.  “I want you to make up your mind, Killian. Do you want to kill me for betraying you? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want both? Because I don’t know, and I need to know what I’m dealing with. Because if I’m going to die, do it now so I don’t have to suffer on this ship any longer.”

He takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest, his coat shifting with the movement. Emma watches as his hair blows in the wind, long black strands whipping together then apart. He hasn’t shaved for these two weeks, his skin is paler, and there are purple bags underneath his eyes. Even with the striking blue, his eyes are tired, sad, and Emma likes to convince herself that he is just as confused and affected by everything like she is. He has to be, but then again, Emma has never known Killian to be unsure of anything.

His power is in his sureness. His steadiness.

It is all rocking beneath their feet.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to kill you. That has never been in question.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Bloody hell! I don’t know, Swan! You cannot expect me to have everything between us figured out in a fortnight when I’m aware of the fact that I’ve known you since June and yet all of it has been a lie.”

“It hasn’t all been a lie.”

“What hasn’t been?” he counters, his voice still raised, and she notices the crowd around them turning their heads to look. Their conversation has piqued the interest of the ship, and Emma doesn’t want that. She cannot have this conversation with people watching, listening, judging her. “I need to know because I cannot be a fool who is brought down by giving my trust and my heart to someone who hasn’t bothered to do the same.”

“What you mean to say is you cannot be a fool who is brought down by a woman.”

Killian scoffs and steps toward her, pressing his hand into the small of her back. It’s a feather of a touch beneath her layers of clothes, but she can still feel it, warmth permeating through. “Let’s go back to our cabin.”

“Is Lee there?”

“No.”

Emma nods and begins walking through the crowd until they come across the staircase that leads them below deck and to their cabin. They’re in the middle of the hall, and she has to kick the door open until she’s in the small space that has nothing more than two small beds and a dresser that is bolted into the floor. There were more luxurious rooms as well as ones without privacy, but Killian didn’t want to waste money when they don’t have much of a plan for what to do when they arrive in New York. Well, he might have a plan. Before they left he managed to send a letter to Liam as well as making several phone calls, but Emma wasn’t privy to any of that information. She was still trying to wrap her head around the previous twenty-four hours of her life.

The door clicks closed behind them, and Emma settles down on Lee’s bed while Killian sits opposite her on their bed, his knees hitting hers. In reality, it’s much warmer down here, and the shivers that were taking over her begin to dissipate.

Emma loves this man sitting across from her. She loves the blue of his eyes, the quirk of his smile, the scars lining his skin. She loves the way his mouth feels when it’s on her, the way he feels inside of her. She loves the way he tells a story, the way he makes her laugh until her stomach hurts, and the way that despite their history, he makes her comfortable for the first time in her life.

No part of her is comfortable right now.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, Emma looks up from her twiddling fingers and to an expectant Killian. She doesn’t know what he wants from her or what she can give him, so she begins with the basics, the history that is unchanged no matter how much she wishes to change it. “I was born in Brighton. I don’t know of my parents. I was raised in homes until I left to be on my own at sixteen. That’s when I became pregnant, and everything after that has been me working for Gold. He gave me my education out of necessity for the job, and everything I own has been his doing. A part of me sometimes feels like everything I am is his doing.” Emma shrugs and clasps her hands together. “I can’t think of any specific lie I’ve told you. I have learned it’s easier to keep track of things if I only tell the truth, even if it means cutting some details short. The only lie was my intentions and why I walked into My Fairest Lady.”

“How old are you now?” Killian asks.

“I turned twenty-four in October.”

He hums and leans back, closing his eyes so his dark lashes fall against his cheeks. “So Gold has had you under his thumb for eight years then?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a coward of a man,” Killian growls, but his eyes stay closed. “His wife, my Milah, was tired of the way he paid her no attention. She wanted out of the marriage. She wanted…she wanted to do many things with her life, but he wouldn’t let her leave. When she did, he murdered her in front of me and then set the building on fire. I nearly lost my hand trying to save her. I’ve never understood why he went away after that, why he was waiting to catch me in an illegal act. He could have pulled the trigger at any moment, but he didn’t.”

“Do you have an idea as to why?”

One eye opens, and his foot hooks around her ankle. “I think he believed that living on the edge of fear would be a greater torture than instant death, but I fear neither him nor death. He should fear me for what I’m going to do when I see him again.”

The venom in Killian’s voice has Emma’s shivers return. This is a man set out for vengeance, a man who wants to take a life, and as much as she would like to do the same for all Gold has done to her, she doesn’t know if she can.

Emma has feared death for years, and all she wants is to live without shackles holding her down.

“How do you despise Gold but love me?” Emma asks. “I worked for him. I could have been the reason you were murdered.”

“You had no choice, love.” He leans forward, invading her space, and his breath comes up in a white puff of air between them. She can smell the rum he must have had earlier. “I never once thought I would love again after Milah. My heart was black, and there was no room for that sort of thing, especially after the War. My only job in life is to keep the Jones Corporation alive and make sure it continues when I’m gone, but then you walked into the pub and sang as you poured a drink for Leroy. Something shifted inside of me then. I cannot give you my full trust, love. Not yet. And I cannot guarantee that there will be no strife between us because I am still trying to figure what the hell is going on in my mind, but I would like to imagine there is a world where you and I can have the simple pleasures in life.”

He leans back and laughs, clicking his tongue. “Well, at least on occasion. I don’t think you and I are set for a life with a white picket fence and nothing to worry us.”

“I’d like that,” Emma smiles, “I think. It’d be nice not to worry.”

Killian leans forward and reaches his hand out. She takes it and is pulled into him, settling her knees on either side of his hips and she settles in his lap. His lips ghost over the bare skin of her neck, his hand tugging away her scarf until there’s more skin for him to devour, and Emma lets him. She does not know what is between them or what will come next, but for now, she can forget about all of that.

She hasn’t felt good like that for two weeks, and the chill that’s been constant on her skin has been both from the ocean and from Killian, his shoulder turned to her even when he’s pressed against her.

“Swan,” he whispers, almost reverent, as her hands reach underneath his coat and start to take it off. “What are you doing?”

“Do you have to fully trust me for us to do this?”

His breath is warm against her, his teeth sharp with her skin, but his nose is soft as it presses into the hollow of her throat to speak. “No.” He helps her push his coat off, and now she can feel the muscles in his back. “You don’t have to fully trust me either, love, but one day, we’ll do this with no barriers between us.”

Emma’s nails scratch against his skin. “What a glorious day that will be.”

Killian kisses her until she’s dizzy, touches her until she’s breathless, and he moves inside of her until she’s fully warm, sweat beading at her temples and the small of her back. Killian’s weight above her is a comfort, his hand on her thigh is a guide, urging her to lift it higher so he can sink deeper, and his voice is a melody of a song that is familiar but the lyrics are floating away, so close, but far enough away for her to not be able to reach.

She doesn’t care.

Not when she finally might have someone who could want to be hers.

“Oi, did you see what they’re serving in the dining hall?” Lee groans as he pushes his way into the room with little preamble. “It’s nothing more than stale bread. I – oh, fuck off,” he mumbles as Killian shifts over Emma to cover her and pulls the sheets over his arse. He chuckles into her neck, and Emma presses her lips to his cheek. “I have to share this cabin with the two of you. Have a little compassion.”

“Lee, go back to the fucking dining hall and get us some bread,” Killian mumbles, pulling away from her neck and winking.

“Did you not hear me when I said it was stale?”

“Are you so obtuse that you do not realize that the lady and I need our privacy?”

“I expect my own room whenever we get to New York.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t leave you on the streets. Now go.”

Lee curses underneath his breath, but he quickly leaves the room, the cabin door clicking behind him. Killian’s jaw clenches, and Emma reaches up to caress it, her fingers dancing along his skin, coaxing him back to her.

“Would you really leave your brother in the streets in a foreign country?”

“Eh,” Killian clicks his tongue, “possibly. He has a few lessons he needs to learn.”

Emma sighs and closes her eyes before pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw. “Promise me you won’t leave Lee on the streets…unless he insults me because I’m a woman again. Then he can spend some time away from us.”

“That is a promise I can make,” Killian chuckles.

-/-

When they step on dry land the next day, Emma’s legs nearly crumble beneath her. America is a foreign land, and while the soil should feel the same as England, it doesn’t.

She doesn’t know how it feels or what to feel, and Emma doesn’t fully process everything that happens once they leave the ship. She fills out papers, careful only to give as much information as is necessary, and she watches as Killian puts in false information. She should have done the same, but it’s too late now.

Hopefully Gold will never make the voyage here and if he does, he won’t come through this port and check the records.

She doesn’t know where to go, but Killian does, taking them to a line of smaller boats that are going to take them into Manhattan. The thought of getting on another boat makes her stomach queasy, but she does it anyway, keeping her luggage in her lap. When they’re on land again, they start walking, wandering through bustling streets that are full of more people than Emma ever saw in Birmingham. As they move and her feet begin to ache in her boots, she watches as the clothes and the hair change, going from dull and much like hers to bright and extravagant. The buildings change too: fresh paint, doormen, nice cars waiting on the outside. It’s two different worlds, and from everything she’s heard, there are more worlds within this place. It’s divided between classes and race, and Killian walks through every section like he belongs.

He knows not a soul, but Emma swears some who pass by look as if they know who he is, what he does.

The chill that runs down her spine and makes residence there returns as she thinks once more of why they are here, of what they’re running from.

She’s been running for her entire life, but she’s never run this far.

She’s never had someone to run with.

They stop at a small restaurant for something fresh to eat, the aroma of fresh baked bread overpowering the scents of the city, and Emma nearly melts into the leather booth that sits by a warm fire. Killian orders their lunch, nicely cooked beef with a heavy soup and bread, and the taste is so miraculous that even Lee is quiet for the duration of the meal. He’s been complaining, wishing he would have stayed back in England and traveled to see Liam and Elsa instead of coming to America, but unless he wants to get back on the ship and travel back now, he is stuck with them.

Emma isn’t too fond of the kid, but at the end of the day, he is still a kid who has time left until he’s technically a man. Even growing up in times of war in a family that is entrenched in crime and danger, he still has the soft edges of a child who has been raised without a mother and is searching for someone to guide them.

Emma would know. She’s been searching for her entire life, and she did not have any brothers to surround herself with.

The couple who owns the restaurant comes to say hello and ask if they would like any more food, and when they hear the differing accents, they begin to ask questions. It puts Emma on edge, as if these two people who radiate kindness could know they are on the run, and she doesn’t like to answer with anything more than the minimum. Killian is much better at talking to them, eloquently giving them enough information without giving too much, and she does not fail to notice the way he keeps her left hand in his, hidden underneath the table.

“My wife and I are thrilled to be starting a new life here,” Killian tells them, squeezing her hand, a silent request for her to play along. “It seems we’ve already picked the greatest restaurant in the city to dine in, so we are off to a wonderful start.”

“Oh, how long have you two been married?” the woman, a petite brunette with short hair asks.

“Newlyweds,” Killian answers. “What about the two of you?”

“David, how long has it been now? Five years?”

“It was five years in October.” David kisses his wife’s temple, and Emma moves closer to Killian, glancing at him in an attempt to see what angle he’s playing. “Best five years of my life.”

“And you’ve opened up this damn fine establishment in this time?”

“If only,” Mary Margaret laughs, holding her hand to her chest. “My parents own several businesses across the city, and when we were married, they gave David a few of their finer dining establishments to manage. Where are you two living? We could give you all of the best recommendations.”

“We haven’t figured that out yet, love, but I’m sure we will find a place.”

“Stay with us!” Mary Margaret suggests, rising on her toes in excitement.

“Pardon?” Killian asks as Emma coughs on her drink and Lee kicks his leg under the table.

“Stay with us,” Mary Margaret repeats. David doesn’t look thrilled at her suggestion, but she’s powering on. “We live in an apartment a few blocks away, and it is far too big for just the two of us. You could have your own bedrooms, bathrooms, and living area. We would have to share the kitchen, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, would it, honey?”

“We couldn’t impose,” Killian insists, laying on every ounce of charm he has with his smile.

“My wife won’t take no for an answer, so believe me, you wouldn’t be imposing. We’d love to help get you on your feet. Maybe one day if we make it over to England, you two could be our guide.”

“Absolutely, mate,” Killian promises, squeezing Emma’s hand.

-/-

When Mary Margaret mentioned her family owning several businesses and restaurants, Emma knew they were wealthy. It was obvious in the way the woman dressed and the way she spoke, but as Emma sits on a bed with blankets as soft as silk and as warm as every coat she has ever owned, she is taken aback by the luxury of the place they are in. Emma has never been in a palace, but she imagines the Nolan flat is similar. Everything is ornate, no detail left unchecked, and being inside here is a different world than the outside. Even where the city is bustling and bright, there is still a darkness to it with the rarity of nature. It’s not Birmingham with its lack of sun and smog-coated air, but there are similarities.

This flat is a world away from any place she has ever stayed, and she imagines once they leave, she’ll never return.

If she’s honest with herself, Emma is worried her clothes are going to ruin the furniture every time she sits down.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret calls as she enters the room, a basket in her arms. “I know you likely have your own things, but I figured you could use some soaps and lotions. I also brought a robe. I have several, and I can only wear one at a time.”

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“I insist.” She walks a little further into the room and places the things on a low table. “The boys are having a drink together and talking business. You know how men do. So I figured I could make sure you’re comfortable.”

“This is the nicest place I’ve ever been inside, so yes, I am more than comfortable.”

“Good.” Mary Margaret smiles, and sits down on the arm of a sofa. “Listen. I don’t know if you’re interested in working or if Killian is the breadwinner for you and Lee, but if you are, I have connections with every department store and several offices where you could be a secretary. What did you do back in England? Did you work? I know it is rare for married women to work, but I take you for a rare woman.”

“I was a barmaid,” Emma lies. She was, technically, but for years before that she was blackmailed into being a spy. A part of her doesn’t feel free of that yet. “I was a barmaid and sometimes I would clean homes.”

“Oh, well, if you want to work in one of our restaurants, I could arrange that. Or you don’t have to do anything at all. What does your husband do?”

Emma blanches, and she inhales to calm her breathing. “He produced rum, owned a few pubs. It’s a family trade, actually. After the War, Killian and his older brother took over, but Killian wanted to explore the world for a little while and allow Lee to experience new things and mature. I don’t think Lee expected that would mean traveling with the two of us.”

“Is that how you and Killian met? At one of his pubs?”

“Yes.” Emma nods and smiles, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to smooth away the gooseflesh. “That’s how we met.”

“Do you not wear a ring?”

Emma’s fists clinch, and she attempts to hide her left hand, wrapping it under her arm. “Oh, it’s in my luggage. I didn’t want to risk losing it or having someone take it off my hand.”

Mary Margaret nods and returns Emma’s smile, hopefully believing her lie. “Anyhow, I don’t mean to be intrusive. I’ll leave you to bathe and take care of yourself. Would you like to have breakfast with me in the morning?”

“I would love that.”

Once Mary Margaret has left the room, Emma rises from the bed and collects the things she left. The bathroom is connected to the room, and the tile is cold against Emma’s feet. The bathwater is warm, however, the lotions all smell of vanilla and apples. After she’s bathed, Emma’s skin is softer than it’s ever been, and the dark shadows that have been lingering underneath her eyes for two weeks have begun to fade. She’s clean and comfortable, and she melts into the sheets when she gets into bed. Emma doesn’t know what time it is when Killian sulks into the room, but what she does know is that he never comes to bed. Instead, he sleeps on the chaise in the corner of the room and she’s left with no warm body pressed into hers.

Emma’s confusion grows, but at the moment, all she cares about is how she is sleeping with solid ground beneath her.

-/-

There’s a note and a box sitting next to her head when she wakes up the next morning.

Wear this. The Nolans are traditional. That is why I said we were married in the eatery. I realized in my conversations with David that we would need rings and to discuss a few details to align our stories. I don’t want to take advantage of them or their kindness, but as you well know, sometimes lies can be used to get us what we need.

Killian.

Emma squints her eyes to see if the words change, but they don’t. The words don’t change, and Killian’s lack of presence in the room doesn’t change either. She doesn’t know what time it is or where he is, but she knows he’s not here.

She also knows that inside the black velvet box is a ring, a gold band holding up a round emerald stone. It’s delicate and intricate, and even with her untrained eye, she knows it is real.

-/-

Emma’s day is spent with Mary Margaret in the flat and in another one of their restaurants where they eat lunch. They chat and wander around, and Mary Margaret shows Emma her collection of books as well as some paints and fabrics she uses to occupy her time when she cannot drive to her family’s land where they have horses and a bow and arrow course where Mary Margaret apparently likes to spend much of her time.

Emma never would have figured the woman for enjoying so much time outdoors, and the past near decade of Emma’s life has been spent reading people for their secrets.

Killian returns long after the sun has set, Lee and David with him, and David informs all of them that Killian will now be handling the books at several restaurants until he establishes himself in the city. Lee will work as waitstaff when he can, but they want to work on him enrolling in University.

It all sounds great, but to Emma, it sounds like she’s been left out and that she’ll have to piddle around all day with nothing to do but talk about fabrics and the latest fashions with Mary Margaret.

Emma isn’t used to not working, and she’s going to need something to occupy her time if she doesn’t want her mind to run wild. Working in a department store or as a secretary sounds dreadful, but she may have to take the offers she can get.

-/-

“Do you like it?”

“Hmm?”

“The ring. Do you like it?”

Emma glances down at the stone on her finger, the heavy weight she’s been fiddling with all day, and she turns back to Killian as his arms wrap around her waist and his lips press into her neck.

“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it? How did you get it so early in the morning?”

“I have my ways.”

“Killian.”

He doesn’t say anything back, instead kissing her until no thoughts are left in her brain and no clothes are left on her body. They fall into the back and forth, the push and the pull, and Emma’s left breathless as she moves on top of him, every problem melting away into the firmness of Killian and the comfort she feels with him.

The pleasure too, especially when his head is buried between her thighs, and Emma can do nothing more than hold onto his hair as tightly as she is holding on the sheets.

-/-

When she wakes up in the morning, he’s gone, and she’s not sure if he slept next to her or not. The blanket hanging over the chaise makes her think otherwise.

-/-

Emma takes the next few days to explore the city. As kind as Mary Margaret is, she cannot spend all of her time with the woman, and she certainly cannot commit to a job when she isn’t sure which would make her less miserable. So, she walks and explores, listening to people play music from street corners and coax people into their stores. It’s as if the people never sleep and more and more come in each and every day. Emma thrives in it, even if she stays in the corners and observes.

So much of her life has been spent with a gun pressed to the back of her head, and for once, she has been relieved of the cold weight of the metal.

She isn’t sure how to deal with any of it.

Days begin to pass, and Emma spends many of them wandering, even more of them sitting by a large window with a pile of books next to her as she stares out at the snow falling outside and coating the streets with a white powder. Killian comes and goes, sometimes coming back for meals in the middle of the day, sometimes not, and a week after arriving, Emma tells Mary Margaret she would love to work in one of their eateries as a barmaid or a server, even if that is uncommon in America.

That’s when all hell breaks loose, and the government passes laws about the sale of alcohol.

The prohibition, they call it.

Bloody pointless, Killian calls it.

Every night at dinner, Killian and David discuss how not being able to sell alcohol is affecting the restaurants. Mary Margaret’s father comes by one night in a rage of fury that is only quenched when he realizes Killian, Emma, and Lee are there, and it seems that the little slice of paradise they’ve found may be disappearing.

“Should we look for somewhere else to stay?” Emma asks as she rubs lotion down her arms, vanilla filling the bathroom. “I know the Nolans will never lose their money because they owned more than pubs and eateries, but I can’t help but feel we’re taking advantage of them.”

Killian moves a blade across his jaw as he stares in the mirror. “The only lie we’ve told them is about the state of our relationship, love.”

“That’s quite the lie.”

“I don’t think it’s too far fetched.”

Emma turns to him and crosses her arms over her chest. “We are not married, Killian. We are so far from married that we don’t sleep in the same bed. Actually, I take that back. From what I’ve heard of some couples, we might as well be married in that you fuck me and then leave. So I guess you’re right. We’re not lying to them.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he finishes his shave and puts the blade down near the sink before turning to her with a clenched jaw and fire in his eyes. “What is it you’re trying to say, Swan?”

“I don’t think I have to bloody explain it!”

Killian cocks his head to the side and mirrors her, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “So, you’re cross that I’m not sleeping in the bed with you?”

“I think it’s preposterous that you sleep in a chaise when we have a bed.”

“I think that’s not what you’re truly mad about.”

“Well, what would you know about what I think?”

“You’re an open book, Swan. I’ve told you that before, and I’ll tell you again. You try to hide how you feel, but you cannot do that from me.”

“Well, that makes you a real arse because then you would know that I’m not happy to be wandering around this place all day with Mary Margaret. I’m not someone who is meant to be a housewife.”

“I thought you were tending the bar at – ”

“I obviously lost that job, Killian. We can’t sell liquor.”

Emma turns away from him and catches a look at herself in the mirror. Her hair is long and soft, brushed out and curled, and it’s never been like this, never this smooth and well taken care of. Half a month in a new place, and she already looks like a different person.

“I don’t like not having work,” Emma continues, “and I don’t like that I’m in a new country and the man I came here with runs off and spends all his time in business I know nothing about.”

Killian scoffs and drops his hands to his sides. “Need I remind you that we are here because you got yourself involved with Gold.”

“Need I remind you that you slept with his wife and are a gangster. I didn’t make him come after you like that. You know I had no fucking choice, Killian. I was trying not to die or to have my son killed! You have always had a choice in your actions. This is not my fault.”

“You betrayed me,” Killian says, his voice steady even as his fingers twitch, the ring on his left hand catching the light from the lamp above. “You betrayed me. You worked with my enemy, you lied to me for months, and you made me believe you were getting close to me because you fancied me. Little did I know that it was because you were trying to learn all of my secrets so I could be carted off to prison while you continued to live your life.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

Emma throws her hands in the air and covers her face, trying to regulate her breathing to calm her breath.

She is not successful.

“So what do you want, Killian? I can’t keep having this conversation. I can’t keep walking on the edge of a cliff. I want some stability. I want to not be terrified all the time, and not knowing where I stand with you terrifies me. If it would be better for us to part ways, let’s part ways. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling like you’re never going to trust me. I’m tired of us running in circles and not solving anything.”

Killian moves her hands away from her face, calloused fingers cupping her chin and tilting her gaze up to his. His eyes are still dark, his mouth still firm, but there’s a softness there that wasn’t there before. “I am not an honorable man, love, and you deserve better than me. You deserve to live a good life with a man who can give you everything your heart desires and who doesn’t have so many secrets.”

“Tell me your secrets,” Emma whispers. “Tell me, and I’ll tell you the rest of mine. That’s the only way we can make this work, and if we can’t, I can find my way back home or to a new place. I’ve always been on my own, and I don’t have any problem with that.”

Killian leans his head forward and presses his forehead against hers, wet hair dripping onto her. “I should hate you. You should hate me for how I’ve treated you over the past month, for how I treat others.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

“I think you’ve been a right bastard lately, but I also think I deserve it.”

“You don’t.” Emma chuckles, and Killian presses his nose further into her cheek. His lips inch closer, but they don’t touch, not yet. “We’re fucked up, Swan. There’s no way around that.”

“But we could be less fucked up if we tried.”

Killian huffs and gently kisses her. “Will you come to bed with me?”

“Well, as long as we get into bed and not your chaise.”

“Aye, I think that sounds like a better plan. The bloody thing has been straining my back.”

Nothing about their relationship has ever been normal, and as they settle under the covers of their oversized bed, Emma is once again reminded of that. They’ve never had this, not like this. They had their night in the pub, which was interrupted, and then they were forced to share space on the ship. Here, Killian has only come to bed for sex, and then he’s moved to his own space.

This is foreign, especially as Emma rolls over to face Killian and finds him already looking at her with his hand reaching out for her hip underneath the covers.

“The night we first slept together,” Emma begins, “why’d you have to get that gun that night?”

He slowly blinks. “Rob needed it the next day for a job, and it wouldn’t have been smart to go digging in graveyards in the daylight.”

“What was the job?”

Killian raises his brow. “Someone made an attempt on his lady’s life, and he needed to take care of it. I was the only one who knew the location of the guns, so it had to be me who retrieved it.”

Emma nods and moves an inch closer as Killian’s thumb traces circles on her hip. “Will you tell me more? About everything? As if I was one of your brothers and in the inner circle?”

Killian huffs and squeezes her hip. “You are certainly not one of my brothers, and thank fuck for that.”

“So crude,” Emma laughs.

“I’ve never claimed to be otherwise. My life isn’t pretty. Are you sure you want to hear it all?”

“No secrets,” Emma repeats. “That’s what I want. Keeping them has gotten us nowhere.”

So, he tells her. He tells her of how his family has been in the business for generations. They used to be wealthier, but they fell apart under his grandfather’s guidance. His father, who Killian holds no affection for, was ruthless and his ruthlessness elevated the Jones Corporation to the levels it once held in the past. He made the relationships with the coppers, figured out how to hide illegal dealings in legal ones, and it is with all of his teachings that Killian learned everything he knows.

It is with Killian’s hatred of him that Killian has learned to do everything better than his father.

It is his love of his mum that kept Killian from living his entire life in the pursuit of money and revenge. After he lost Milah, all he wanted was revenge on Gold and every person who had done him wrong, but then the War happened and Killian saw more evil in the world than he had ever seen before. It changed him, and while violence is still necessary in his line or work, he does everything he can to avoid it or minimize the carnage.

Killian tells her so much of everything she’s never heard before, and as each minute passes, the man in front of her changes, a chameleon that she is attempting to keep up with.

She does the same.

She tells him everything she can think to tell in the dark of night when sleep is creeping into the edges of her eyes, and she knows in the morning she won’t remember each word she utters and each story she tells. But in the morning her heart will be lighter, and maybe, just maybe, she and Killian can be lighter too.

For good this time, with all of the trust they did not have when exchanging stories on the ship.

-/-

He drives her across the city in the morning, not telling her the destination, but she recognizes Harlem and the way it differs from Fifth Avenue almost immediately. The buildings are smaller, not as luxurious, the people are more diverse, and the streets are filled with children playing and more street performers than in the main parts of Manhattan.

It is more like what Emma is used to, and it creates a stark divide between the wealthy and the normal.

She imagines she would like to live here more than in the Nolans’ flat.

“Was that Lee?” Emma asks as they drive past a small block of apartments. “Isn’t he supposed to be in classes?”

“He gets time off, and the lass he fancies lives here. That is not what I’m trying to show you no matter how interesting the lad’s love life may be.”

What he is trying to show her is an empty café, the black and white tile work half done but no one around to finish it. Despite the obviously new tile, it looks abandoned. “What is this place?”

Killian takes her hand, interlacing their fingers, and walks her through the café and toward the back wall. He presses against it. There’s a click, and then the wall is sliding open. Killian guides her through the hidden door, which makes her heart ache for the My Fairest Lady back home, and then they’re walking down a hallway and down a set of stairs until they’re in what looks like a combination of a pub and a dance hall. It’s darker and full of stained wood, and the lights are dim. There are no windows, but she does see several doors behind curtains and counters.

“Killian – ” Emma begins as he turns on more lights. “Killian, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

He turns to her and flashes his trademark smile, the one that could get her to do anything without a word muttered from his lips. “It’s a speakeasy.”

They’ve been popping up across the city ever since the ban on liquor was announced, and she should have known this is what Killian has been doing.

Emma shakes her head. “You’re a scoundrel.”

“Dashing rapscallion. I prefer that.” He winks and takes both of her hands in his. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be here. I’ve wired and written Liam and Will, and they both say they’ve heard whispers of Gold searching for me, for us. Liam is staying in France for a longer time to protect Elsa. Will and Rob are taking care of the businesses. I don’t have everything figured out yet, but I thought we should make the best of our time here.”

“You’re going to get arrested. You don’t have the coppers in your pockets here. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“This is who I am, Emma. This is what I do. I find ways to maneuver around the bloody system when I can. I know many a lass expects a man to change and become softer when he falls in love, but I do not want to give up who I am.”

“I would never ask you to do that.”

“Then trust me,” he insists, cocking his head and smiling, a real, genuine smile this time. “I know what I’m doing, and this is an opportunity for me, for us. If I don’t do it, someone else will. You can help me. You can be by my side, fully this time. It’ll be similar to how I ran things back home.”

“That nearly got you killed.”

“I don’t think a spy is going to maneuver her way into my life and seduce me.”

Emma tilts her head back with laughter. “She better not.”

Killian tugs her closer until they’re pressed together, and he glides his lips over hers as his hand slides down her back and rests in the dip. He’s gentle and demanding all at once, and he could convince her of anything with one kiss.

One kiss, one smile, one turn of phrase.

“We make quite the team, love.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

-/-

Over the next few weeks and months, Emma watches as Killian works his magic on this place. Out front, construction continues on the café, a place that will sell sandwiches, sweets, tea, and coffee at a quick pace to compete with other cafes, and in the hidden halls behind and below, the dark room is finished and transformed into a pub that Emma would have wandered into in England with little question. It’s beautiful, and when it’s full of people and records are at full blast, Emma can feel the life vibrating through her skin.

New York City is unlike any place she’s ever been before, more alive than any place else, but hidden in the back of a café with Killian’s arm around her waist and a drink in her hand as people dance around her, Emma knows that she partially feels that way because of the man she’s with.

He brings out color in things that are black and white, and she could dance and laugh with him forever.

The money comes in like nothing she’s ever seen, and Liam brings in barrels of rum and whiskey from England. It’s a coordinated effort that nearly goes awry at the port, but they manage it. For a week, Liam, Lee, and Killian are reunited, and since Liam brought Elsa, Emma takes her to meet Mary Margaret, who insists on taking them shopping and to get their hair done before they dine in a park, the new spring flowers beginning to bloom. Mary Margaret and David have no idea as to what goes on behind the scenes of one of their businesses, and Emma hopes they never do. She’s grown overly fond of the couple, and they’re good people. She doesn’t like taking advantage of that kindness, and after much warring in her heart, she’s decided that she won’t tell them about any of it. Their ignorance is for their safety.

That isn’t a thought she has too often, though. She’s too busy helping Killian by making sure everything runs smoothly. Every day more people come to their speakeasy. Lately, it’s been full of singers and actors who are in the pictures and on Broadway, and Emma knows they’re gaining a reputation as one of the best places for drinks and music. As good as business is, that also comes with its own dangers. With more notoriety comes more of a chance of the coppers finding out, but with his impossible charm, Killian has managed to get them in his pocket as well. It hasn’t been easy, and there have been times when she’s not sure Killian is going to return to their bed at night.

He always does, laying a kiss on her cheek before he falls into a slumber right before the sunrise.

Elsa and Liam return back to Europe after a wonderful week, taking Lee with them after his schooling period finishes, but Emma and Killian don’t join them on their return. Rumors of Gold run rampant through Birmingham. Few have seen him, but Liam told Killian yet again that the threat on his life is still prominent. It would be better to stay until they can locate Gold and take care of their problem. Liam looked at Emma with disgust when he said it, like every danger toward Killian was her own fault, but she knows that Gold’s history with Killian predates Emma. His deciding to murder Killian, however, does not, and she never allows that to slip from her mind. Emma doesn’t think Liam likes her much, likely thinks her too much trouble, and she wouldn’t disagree.

She never was too fond of Liam, but after he assures her that her son is safe with his parents living life completely unaware of his birth mother’s troubles, she thinks she has never loved anyone more.

She won't let anything bad happen to that child. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

When Mary Margaret announces she’s pregnant in May, Killian makes the decision that he and Emma are going to move to their own place. The Nolans insist that they stay. They like having them around, but it truly is the best for them to find their own home. Emma promises that she will see Mary Margaret every week and that she will be sure to shower her baby with all of the finest things.

“Are you two thinking about children?” Mary Margaret asks as she cradles her bump. “You would be a wonderful mother, Emma.”

“Maybe someday,” Emma insists, trying to keep her voice steady when it wants to waver. “Maybe someday.”

Killian takes her hand, warm palm over the cool metal of her ring, and squeezes before guiding her out of the Nolans’ apartment and to the car that’s waiting to take them to their new home, a brownstone away from Fifth Avenue but still close enough that Emma can easily walk everywhere she needs to go.

Their furniture has already been placed, food stocked in the cupboard and the icebox, and while now would usually be the time for them both to go to the café, Killian assures her that someone else is taking care of it for the night. They can take the night off to relax into their new home and make it theirs.

Emma quickly learns what he means by that when his hand cups the back of her head as he pushes her into the door. She laughs into the kiss as Killian murmurs filthy words, but soon she’s breathless. Each touch, each whisper, each kiss builds her higher, and by the time they’re in their bed and stripped out of their clothes, Emma is dizzy in the desire for it all.

As she moves above him, each thrust of his hips and movement of hers bringing them closer, all Emma can think about is how she’s home.

This is her first true one, and it is nothing like any of her dreams told her it would be.

“I love you,” she whispers to Killian as her nails leave red marks on his chest.

“And I you,” he promises, bringing her down to meld their lips together.

-/-

Emma’s staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, soft sheets strewn over half her body, and Killian’s leg is half hooked over hers, his breathing coming down from heavy until she can barely hear it at all. Emma reaches out for him, placing her hand on his chest, and Killian reaches for it and brings it to his lips to kiss.

“Do you like your ring?” he asks.

“Hmmm?”

“Your ring. Do you like it?”

Emma lifts her hand away from Killian’s and moves her fingers, watching the gold and emerald glint in the lamplight. For so long this ring felt foreign on her. It felt like more of a lie than it was, but now, when she takes the ring off to bathe or to clean, it’s as if something is missing from her.

“It’s beautiful.” Emma flips over onto her stomach, her breasts pressing against Killian’s chest, and she props herself up on her elbow to look both at Killian and the ring. “How did you get it so quickly? You left it by the bed so early in the morning. I don’t think any jewelers were open before the sun rose, and you didn’t answer the first time I asked.”

He clicks his tongue and presses his head back to the pillow. His hair is messy from where her hands were running through it, and she can see some of the lines around his eyes and the few that have started to form on his forehead. She realizes now that she has no idea how old he is. He was born in August, but she doesn’t know what year. He asked her about her age, but she never thought to do the same.

“It was my mum’s.”

Emma stops tapping her fingers against his chest and looks at Killian. “What?”

“Your ring was my mum’s. She had it made for herself, and she wore it every day. When she was sick, she gave Liam her wedding ring, and she gave me this one. We were instructed that we were to give the rings to the women we married, and, well…”

Killian arches his brows, as if he wants Emma to fill in the blanks, and Emma drops down and rests her hands on his chest and her chin over her knuckles so her eyes are on the same level as him.

“We’re not married.”

“Aye, but…” Killian tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and his left hand finds her back, cool metal running against her skin. “We could be. I could make an honest woman out of you.”

“I think you and I both know neither of us will ever be honest.”

Killian chuckles. “We’re honest with each other, and that’s enough for me.”

Emma’s heart is beating in a faster rhythm than a jazz band, and yet, she feels calm.

She feels steady, and her home is so much more than the four walls around them.

“Would you really want me as your wife? All I seem to do is get you into trouble.”

“Ah, but I love trouble.” His hand slides further down her body and squeezes her arse. “And you only get me into the best kind. So, what do you say, Emma Swan? Would you like to marry me?”

“Yes.”

-/-

They get married a week later in the park near their home. Killian wears a suit that isn’t in his daily rotation and Emma wears a white dress with silver beads sewn into it that she found while walking to the café two days before. It’s simple, intimate, and if Emma is honest with herself, not much changes other than her last name.

Emma likes it that way.

She likes her life.

She loves her husband.

“One round of drinks on the house,” Killian exclaims in the speakeasy that night as a band plays loudly in the background. “But only the one. I’m not made of gold.”

There’s a chorus of cheers around them, and Killian nods to the bartender before wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing his lips to her check, stubble scratching against her skin.

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Emma teases. “What’s the occasion?”

“Married the bloody love of my life today.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“Aye,” he winks. “The best.” Killian pulls her closer and moves his lips over hers in a dirty kiss. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Most intelligent too.” He kisses her again, then moves to her jaw. “Witty and wild and fierce.”

“Wild?” Emma sighs, tilting her neck back to give him more access.

“You wouldn’t believe the things she gets up to. I hear she had the bollocks to become friendly with gangsters.”

“Who would ever do that?”

“She would.”

Emma laughs and presses her fingers against Killian’s chest, tugging on his jacket sleeves to pull him even closer. “You have a private office here, right?”

He arches his brows. “Aye.”

“You might consider taking me to it.”

“Mrs. Jones, you need only ask.”

She and Killian walk through the crowd of people, stopping to say hello to everyone along the way, before they move past a wall of beads hanging from the ceiling and several doors that lead them to Killian’s back office. It’s filled with files for the speakeasy and from the café, his legitimate and illegitimate businesses combining in one place, and Emma shakes her head when she sees it all. How has he managed to pull this off?

How have they?

The door clicks behind her, several bolts shifting as it locks, and the heat of Killian catches up on her as he moves behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, breathing her in and slowly swaying her. Emma sighs back into him and tilts her head to look at him.

She could get lost in his eyes, and she would willingly throw away the maps.

“Do you remember the song,” Killian begins, “the one you sang in the pub?”

“The one that made you kiss me for the first time?”

“Aye. That would be the one.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Would you mind singing it again?”

Emma laughs and twists around in his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck and continues to sway. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

Emma sighs and rolls her shoulders back, all of the sounds of the outside fading away as she focuses on Killian and the way that he is gently swaying her, their steps only matching up with each other instead of those outside the room.

“In a neat little town they called Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. And many an hour's sweet happiness have I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band.”

Killian closes his eyes in the middle of the verse, but his lips tick up in a smile. There’s a flash of white teeth, and Emma leans her head against his shoulder, resting her cheek in a place of comfort, and sings in his ear.

“Her eyes they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band. I took a stroll down Broadway, meaning not long for to stay when who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder tied up with a black velvet band.”

“Do you know how this song ends?” Killian asks.

“She betrays him.”

“I think it’s rather fitting for you and I, but the lyrics would have to change for us.”

“That can be arranged.”

Killian laughs into their kiss, and Emma can feel joy spreading over her body as she melts into it. He is not perfect. Neither is she. They will never be two people who have a white picket fence and no stains on their hearts, but if Emma is honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

All she needs is to be happy, and she is.

There’s a sudden bang outside the room, and Emma pulls back from Killian’s lips. His hands tighten on her back, and they still as another bullet is released from a gun.

“Bloody hell.”

“What’s happening?” Emma whispers as Killian moves away from Emma and toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck. The coppers are here, and I don’t think it’s the ones who enjoy our drinks.”

Emma feels her stomach drop.

“What do we do?”

“We stay here,” Killian says, slow, measured. “Help me move the desk against the door.”

“They’ll hear it scraping.”

“Not if we lift it. There’s too much commotion outside for them to come here first.”

Emma nods and helps Killian move the desk. It’s a heavy oak, and she struggles to keep it from falling to the ground. They get it, along with several filing cabinets, and Emma’s heart pounds as the commotion outside keeps happening. There are several exits for this exact reason, for people to run away if someone snitches on the place, and Emma hopes most everyone is able to leave and run to safety.

She knows that she and Killian are not going to be so lucky. They’ll only have so much time before they’re arrested.

Emma turns to see Killian with a crowbar, and he pulls back a plank of wood siding on the wall. “What are you doing?”

“There’s a tunnel through here,” he explains. “I had it installed when Dave put me in charge of construction on the place.”

“Oh my God, are the Nolans going to be charged for this?”

“No.” Killian shakes his head. “I changed the paperwork. Even though this is connected to them, no one will ever know. And if someone finds out, Mary Margaret’s father has enough power to aid them. Come help me. We’ll only have so much time to get out of here.”

Emma nods and walks toward him, helping to pull away boards until there’s a big enough gap for them to move through. Killian gets down on his knees and goes first, and Emma follows behind him, only a little light available to guide them. Her hands and knees are covered in dirt, and with each passing minute, they become more scraped and bloodied. It stings, but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

Emma doesn’t know how much time passes or how far they travel, but eventually, they come to a stop and Killian kicks against another panel. The sounds of the city come through, pouring rain joining it, and when Killian climbs out first, she can see streetlights. He helps her out, apologizing for making a mess of her dress, and Emma doesn’t have to look down at it to know that it is no longer white and that some of the beads are lost.

“Where are we?”

“A few blocks over. C’mon, love. We have to go.”

They walk through the rain, puddles gathering at their feet and water soaking through their hair and their clothes. Killian attempts to shield her with his jacket, but it does no good. She is already a drowned rat, and she might as well accept it. They can’t go back, can’t see what’s happening in the place they’ve put so much of their heart into, so they go home.

Nothing about it feels right.

“Aren’t they going to come looking for you here?”

“I’m Mr. Jones to everyone there. No one knows my first name. No one knows anything about us. We should be safe for now, but I’ll have business to attend to. We may need to leave for awhile, possibly return to England to keep me from ending up behind bars.”

Emma stills then slips off her heels. “What will we do with everything here?”

“Save it for us to return. We can make a home in whatever place we desire. The options are there for us, sweetheart.”

Emma reaches up and squeezes the water out of her hair as Killian undoes some more buttons on his shirt, his hair dark with water on his chest. “What about Gold? You remember what Liam said? He’s looking for you, Killian. He’s looking for us.”

“I am not scared of that crocodile of a man,” Killian seethes. “He is a coward who has others do his work for him.”

“Are you not a coward, Mr. Jones? Running away with your mistress to America and then running back to England when your threads are pulled?”

Gooseflesh rises on every inch of Emma’s skin, and ice runs down her veins. She knows that voice. It haunts her nightmares and her waking hours, and she thought she’d washed the grime from him away. She thought he was gone, that she was safe.

And yet he’s here, in her home, emerging from a dark corner. The silver of his gun appears as lightning flashes outside and thunder joins with it, shaking their home to its bones of wood and brick.

“Killian,” Emma whispers. Her hands are shaking, and she wants to vomit. Her legs are heavy, unmovable, and she watches in horror as Killian’s eyes widen. For the first time, she sees fear there.

“What do you want, Gold?” Killian turns away from her to face Gold, and his shoulders straighten. The tension is obvious through his soaked white shirt, each muscle defined despite the lack of light.

“I want you dead, of course. I’ve come all this way to finish you off for all that you’ve done to me.”

“I did nothing to you.”

“You had my wife.”

“Your wife left you, and you murdered her.” Killian’s voice is even, but she knows he’s raging inside. They don’t talk about Milah often, only on nights when Killian is near drunk and a little melancholy, but Emma knows Killian loved her and she loved him. “That happened years ago. An entire war has been fought since then. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to kill me. You could have shot me while I was walking down the street at any time. I half expected it every time I left my home. What are you getting from this?”

“Getting to see you suffer, of course.” Gold steps closer, his face becoming more illuminated, and though it has only half a year since Emma last saw him, he looks years older. “It was so pleasurable the last time, but you didn’t get your due then. No, no, that comes now.”

All those times Killian suspected that Gold let Killian live because he wanted Killian to suffer from uncertainty were right. That’s exactly what the bastard was doing, but the time of waiting has run out.

Killian’s hand flicks behind him, and she knows he’s trying to subtly reach for his gun. Emma regrets not having any weapons on her. She didn’t think she’d need any today. She didn’t expect this to happen.

Any of it.

The raid of the speakeasy and Gold showing up in their home are connected, and while Emma wants to know how he found them and why he waited until a day that was supposed to be about them celebrating their marriage, she knows none of that matters when he might kill them both.

“It’s so nice to see that the two of you have patched things up,” Gold giggles, maniacal. “I assume this means you know you’ll not be with a blushing virgin tonight, Jones. What a shame for you to have to deal with on your wedding day. Broken goods.”

“Keep your mouth shut about her,” Killian hisses, his hand flinching right over his holster. “This has nothing to do with her.”

Gold clicks his tongue. “That’s where you’re mistaken. It has everything to do with her. You took my wife. Now I think it’s time I took yours. It’ll be so much more satisfying than it was the last time.”

The glass shattering behind her comes to Emma’s attention before she realizes that shots have been fired. She doesn’t know who shot first, where any of the bullets landed, or if Killian is okay. The power has gone out in their home, the rain and the thunder have picked up outside, coating the world in darkness like she has never seen before, and when the lightning comes, she sees flashes of limbs moving. It’s not enough to know where anyone is or what’s happened, and Emma is pulled down to the ground as another bullet soars by her, crashing into a mirror. Emma covers her head and drops fully to the floor, careful not to cut herself on any of the glass.

She should run.

She’s been doing it for her entire life, but she can’t do it now.

She can’t leave Killian behind.

Grunts, groans, and curses mix in with the roar or the thunder and the pounding of the rain, and she sees more flashes of movement, hears more shouting. Killian lets out a loud hiss of pain, and Emma moves closer to where the noise is coming from, trying to find him.

She can’t find him, and her heart starts to pound.

One beat, two beat, three beats too fast until her cheeks are heated and her chest aches in pain.

Killian is still making noise, so he can’t be dead.

He can’t be, he can’t be, he can’t be.

She cannot lose him.

“Emma,” he groans, and she turns. He’s in the corner of the sitting area, his knee clutched to his chest, and there are visible red stains on his fingers and his shirt. “Emma, love, you have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” She moves quickly in an attempt to get to him, to heal whatever has been hurt, but then she’s being yanked back and can feel the barrel of a gun pressing into her temple.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, but she has a sinking feeling it will be the last.

“You should have listened to him, dearie,” Gold whispers in her ear, and that old familiar shiver at the sound of his voice comes back. “Better yet, you should have listened to me and not run away with a dirty gangster.”

“How is that any worse than having to work for a dirty politician?” Emma spits.

“Because with me, you don’t end up dead.”

Not dead but certainly not alive.

Emma hears him cock the gun. She feels him twitch behind her. It’s not enough and too much all at once, and Emma’s hand flexes, blood running across her palm and she takes the shard of glass she’s holding and jams it into Gold’s bad leg. It’s enough for him to fall back in pain, for him to lose his footing and stumble to the ground, and before Emma has a chance to do anything else, a bullet hits Gold.

One that will keep him from ever getting back up.

“Emma, darling,” Killian pants, dropping his gun to the floor. “Emma I need you to come wrap my leg, and I fucking need you to get me my rum. This bastard fucking hurts.”

If she wasn’t too busy crying, Emma would laugh at Killian’s words. Right now, all she wants to do is collapse to the ground, but she can’t. She has to help Killian, so she moves to the kitchen, stumbling over furniture and hoping her bare feet don’t get cut up with glass, and she finds Killian’s rum and some wraps before returning to him. She can’t see, but she thinks there’s a bullet in his thigh, and she already knows he won’t allow her to take her to the hospital for this.

“Are you okay, love?” he asks as he takes a large gulp of rum.

Emma laughs at the ridiculousness of his question. “I’m not the one who got shot.”

“But you could have.”

She yanks on the cloth and starts wrapping it around his leg. She won’t be able to do anything more than stopping the bleeding right now. “I didn’t.”

“I should have been more careful, love. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so soft.”

“Killian Jones, never in a million years could that happen to you.” He manages a lopsided smile, but from the way he grits his teeth afterward, she knows it’s taking more effort than he would admit to hide his pain. “Some wedding night, huh?” Emma jokes as she tightens the wrap. If she had been a nurse in the War, she imagines she would have been sent home almost immediately for her shoddy skills.

Killian laughs, this time genuine, and Emma leans forward to press her forehead to his and press her hand over his heart, thankful to feel it beating right along with hers. She can feel his smile pressing into her mouth, and she never wants to lose that feeling. “We’ll get there, my love.”

And they do.

In the morning light and with the help of one of Killian’s bartenders who was actually a nurse in the War, Emma gets Killian back to functional. He struggles walking for awhile and is stubborn enough to act like nothing hurts, but Emma knows him better than that. They know their time in New York is limited with everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, so after packing a few bags and Killian having his men here clean up the mess with instructions to return the house to livable condition as soon as possible, they make themselves look presentable for a few last goodbyes.

Emma buys Mary Margaret baby gifts, and Killian buys a pram to put it all in, his way of thanking them for everything they did that neither Killian nor Emma deserve. They don’t see them, instead leaving a note and promising to come back to visit when the baby is born, and Killian leaves a separate message for David about their work. It’s not the cleanest break, but there’s no way they could allow the Nolans to see them with all of their scrapes and bruises.

It would only break their hearts.

Soon after that, they’re at the harbor, Killian is buying them two tickets back home, and Emma can do nothing more than stare at the ocean, the one that she is ready to cross again when she spent so many months hating it.

Once again, it is her safe haven.

Though, she may have found another one, a man whose eyes mirror the ocean and consume her all the same.

Killian grunts as he sits down on the bench beside her. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, wishing she could take some of the pain away. It won’t last forever, and soon, his scars will be another mark on his body, another story to be told. If Killian tells the story, she imagines he will embellish every detail. The thought makes her smile even as the cuts on her own two hands sting when they are hit with the mist of the salt water.

“I don’t want to run away again,” Emma admits. “I know we’ll never be traditional, but I’d like to stay in one place and be surrounded by our family. I think it’s time you took back your rightful place as the head of the Jones Corporation in Birmingham. For good.”

“As long as I have you by my side.”

“Always.”

-/-

-/-

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[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 14)

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I’m back at college but the next, and final 2 (!!) parts will be up within two weeks! AH! Thank you all so much for reading xoxo

Word count: 6.7k

Tw: angst, cursing, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“When I got home from Florida the house was even emptier. During the four days I was stuck in a hotel room drowning in my own tears and the minibar, you packed up the rest of your stuff and left. At that point, most of your things were in your apartment, all you had to get was some clothes and books. I wonder how long it took you to pack it all up, pack your life with me up. Did you stare at the walls and cry? The same way I did when I packed today? Did you take your time, go through each room and remember everything we did? Did you take it all in? Admire what we could have been? Were you even a little bit sad about leaving the life we tried and failed to build together? Or were you in and out in ten minutes? Did you shove your clothes in a suitcase, the same way you did in Florida, and walk out like it was nothing? Was it easy? Was it a relief? Were you happy to leave the key, lock the door, and never have to come back? 

I know I was devastated when I found it. 

It was in the dish we used to put our car keys and ID tags in. It was right by the front door. It was the first thing I saw when I got home. I walked in and dropped my own keys in the dish, and to my surprise I heard them clink as they hit into yours. At first I thought that meant you were there, waiting for me. I thought you were going to emerge from the kitchen with a wide smile and I’d run into your arms. So, I called out for you, yelling like an idiot in the front doorway, but I was only met with silence. The silence that signified the absence of you. The silence I had grown comfortable floating in. 

I stared at the key for a while, trying and failing to remember when I gave it to you. I feel like I gave you it pretty early on; you definitely had one before Jacksonville. But I cannot for the life of me pinpoint what day I handed you the key, with the hope that you’d always have it. The hope that my home would always be your home because we only felt at home when we were together. 

That damn key, sitting in a dish from Target was your way of saying that your home was no longer my home. It was your way of saying that you were done too, and the storm I had tried to control became a full on hurricane. I was sobbing, sitting against the front door and holding onto your key like it was the life raft that could stop me from drowning.

I’d give you this key as your momento, but I had to give it back to my landlord this morning. And now I have a new set of keys waiting for me in Seattle. Keys to a home that isn’t yours; only mine.”

Spencer sat on the couch now, appreciating the softness of it in comparison to the harshness of the dishwasher and kitchen floor. The boarding pass was burning into the kitchen table, his hands sweaty and trembling as he read and remembered. 

He remembered every moment after the breakup more vividly than he normally did. Usually his memories were like film strips that he had stored on a shelf in the corner of his mind. He could pick the one he needed out, kick his feet up in the theater of his mind and watch them back, popcorn in hand. But these memories were different. Memories of you were burned in. His brain was branded with them. It wasn’t a movie he could choose to play or not, it was constant, like a sad song stuck in his head, driving him insane. He never stopped thinking about it, replaying every word, regretting every moment, every yell, every item shoved in a suitcase, every raindrop, every tear stained sleeve. 

He hated himself for walking out. He hated that he could leave so easily, after his whole life was plagued with people leaving him too easily. He never wanted to be that man, especially to you. He surprised himself when he grabbed the suitcase, held you tightly one last time, and got in the elevator. He was ashamed to admit that the second those steel doors closed and he could no longer see you crying in the hallway, the first thing he felt was relief. He was finally alone again.

But then he realized he was actually alone. All alone. You weren’t there waiting for him to come back anymore. You were gone, and he was alone. 

The whole flight home didn’t feel real, it was like an out of body experience. He felt like a shell of a person, a hollow body merely going through the motions as the events of the last three years played in his mind. How did those people who danced in the kitchen in the daybreak’s sunlight end up here? One of you on a plane to escape the other, who was no doubt drowning themselves in mini tequila bottles and crappy room service food. How did the people who swore  to love each other through everything, end up as two lonely hearts wondering why promises and hearts are so damn easy to break.

The numbness first started up there in the sky, with nothing but gray stratus clouds to keep him company. The realization hit him up there. He was wrong. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t be alone. He needed you; you needed each other. He thought about asking the pilot to turn around, take him back to that island so he could save this. He could pull the blue velvet ring box out of his bag and fix everything with just a few words. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he ate airplane peanuts and tried not to cry. When they landed and took the subway out as far as it would go and walked to your house. He hadn’t even intended to go there, it just happened. He started walking and his feet brought him there without his brain having any say. He stared at the front of the house, remembering the countless times he carried you over the threshold because you couldn’t stand. He remembered how he’d decorate for Halloween in September and how the day after Thanksgiving, you’d beg him to take out the boxes of Christmas decorations. He remembered how you insisted on listening to ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas,’ as he strung lights around the front porch and you made him hot chocolate.  

The house he saw now was bare. There were no Christmas lights strung on the front step, like they usually would have been by December fourth. There were no statues of snowmen and no wreath. It was just a house that was so clearly devoid of any and all love. 

He hadn’t thought about how the weather would be different there than in Florida, but the cold was comforting in a way. He didn’t bother changing. He stood in front of the house he no longer had any right to call his own, in flip flops, shorts, and a dress shirt. He allowed the cold air to bite at his skin until he was as numb on the outside as he was on the inside. 

He unlocked the door with his key, and took his time moving around. He started at the front door, where he saw the picture of the two of you at Rossi’s and his hatred for the four walls he used to call home came back. You hadn’t changed much of the place. The ultrasound was still pinned to the fridge with a smiley face magnet. Old flowers were hanging from the wall, case files littered the table. It looked like home, it just didn’t feel like home. 

He went through everything slowly, over several days. He started in the living room, where he saw the cave of blankets you’d no doubt been living in and the crack in his heart became a canyon. He should’ve been laying in those blankets with you, staring at the TV and listening to you drone on and on about how much you love Nick Miller. He hated that he wasn’t there with you. He climbed inside, in an attempt to make up for all the times he missed, and allowed the smell of you to envelope him. He dreamt of you. 

When he woke up the next morning, he smelled you again and instinctively reached out to pull you close to him, but when he did his hands were met by a mass of blankets rather than your warm skin. He sighed, and went into the kitchen. There he grabbed his favorite mug from the cabinet, filled it up, and sat at the table as he read the newspaper. He imagined you next to him, bringing him the sugar bowl and laughing at the name of the obscure town on the top of the page. 

“Where is Biwabik?” You’d say, pushing the sugar bowl over to him as he took two more spoonfuls.

“Minnesota,” he’d say plainly, reading about their local fireman’s bazaar.

“Oh, yeah, Biwabik, Minnesota,” You’d laugh and kiss his forehead before going upstairs to take a shower. 

He finished his coffee while staring at the gray sky. He hoped it would snow, so when you came home you’d be greeted by your favorite weather. 

He took a blisteringly hot shower and opened up your body wash just so he could memorize what it smelled like, just in case he never got to smell it again. The hot water defrosted his inner and outer numbness, allowing all his feelings to come to the top. The water mixed with his tears, the same way yours had with the rain. He was waiting for the day dream to end, all he wanted was to hear the sound of you opening the shower curtain, poking your head and asking, “Can I join?”

But that soothing sound never came. 

He stood under the hot water until it went cold, and moved into the bedroom. He stared at the bed he used to curl up next to you in. He found it hard to even look at, considering the last time he slept in it he woke up to the sheets being stained in blood. He moved to sit on the bed, trying not to disturb the specific way you made it. He looked at the sticky note you had placed next to you. It was from him, saying ‘I went in a little early today, didn’t want to disturb you on your day off. I can’t wait to see you at 6. I love you, Love.’ He smiled, knowing you placed it there so it was the first thing that you saw when you woke up each morning. But then he remembered that you put it there because each morning you weren’t waking up next to him. This note was as close as you could get. 

He looked through your drawers, smiling at the CalTech hoodie folded neatly on top. He decided to leave that one in the drawer. That way you’d always have a physical piece of him, even though you’d always have his heart. 

He moved from there into the nursery. It was empty. A regular person would just think it was a green spare bedroom, but he knew. He knew which wall the crib was going to go on. He knew that the hook from the ceiling was meant for the mobile Penelope had made. He knew what should’ve been there. 

Spencer spent three entire days in the house. He ate there, slept there, cried there. He felt all the feelings he’d been running from, and regretted that he hadn’t stayed with you to feel them together. 

Rossi was right, the only way through this was to lean on each other. Spencer hadn’t. He leaned as far away from you as he could. He realized just how lonely that two-bedroom could feel, and he understood how you’d nearly gone crazy in there. He was there for three entire days, and felt like he aged fifty years. Somehow, he felt closer to you than he had in months, even though you were 1,074.6 miles away in a hotel room he should’ve been in too. 

He talked to the moon each night, begging it to answer him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he let you go? Isn’t that the saying? ‘If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back it was never yours in the first place’? Would you ever come back? Were you ever his? Was he ever really yours? Should he honor your wishes to break up? Should he pack this life up and leave without any closure? Without a proper goodbye? Or should he wait for you there? Kiss you the second you walked in the door and tell you that he was a fool, an idiot, that no one ever meant as much to him as you do? Should he fight for you?

But then he heard your voice ringing in his ears, “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

And he didn’t. He packed his few things up, took one long, final look around with tears in his eyes, dropped his spare key in a dish, and walked home alone. 

“You forgot a few things, of course. You forgot the watch. You forgot the CalTech hoodie. You forgot your favorite mug. You can tell it’s well used and well loved because there’s a permanent coffee stain in the porcelain around the top where you always let it sit because it was too hot to drink. 

I gave you the mug my first day back to work. I couldn’t stand looking at it every time I opened the cupboard. I decided to be nice, give it to you as a peace offering before we started onto the uphill battle that was working together. I’d also like to consider this whole box a peace offering. I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. It’s the complete opposite, Spence. I love you too much to just watch you and not be with you. 

Three weeks after Florida, Hotch called me in for another mandatory evaluation. And I passed. I passed because I went to the counselor. I talked to Dr. Stevens for an hour and a half every Thursday and Sunday morning. I’d go in and he’d give me a glass of water and we’d chat. Sometimes it was about work, turns out I have a lot of pent up grief from all the things I’ve seen, but usually it was about us. I think I spent at least an hour and fifteen minutes each week talking about us. I told Dr. Stevens about every memory I’ve included in these letters. I told him about all of it, from the day I realized I love you, to the day I realized that I couldn’t anymore.

It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had to pour my heart out to someone who didn’t know me. I had to pour my heart out to someone who wasn’t you. I had to grieve the loss of a child and of a lover at once. But to my surprise, he helped. In a weird way, he seemed to understand. I know that’s just because it’s his job, he is literally trained to understand and help people with their grief, but I feel like he knew me. Not nearly the way that you did, but he knew me.”

A dark green monster formed in Spencer’s chest. The thought of another man learning about you in the way he had was enough to make his mouth taste sour. You let this other man into the most intimate parts of your brain, places only Spencer had ever gotten to go before. Did Dr. Stevens know you better than him? He couldn’t help the envy blooming in his chest at the idea. He wanted to be the person you poured yourself out to, and he had been. He wanted that back. 

“I’m doing better. That’s how I passed the eval. A male grief counselor helped me through my grief, which you said wouldn’t work. And you were wrong. I must admit it gives me a little bit of joy to tell you that. For once, Spencer Reid, you were wrong. And maybe if you had just agreed to go with me, you would feel better too. If you had just agreed, we never would have had that fight. You never would have packed a suitcase and gone down an elevator alone. 

I was right. For once in our lives, I was right, and you were wrong. I just wish it was about something more trivial than this. 

My first day back was a Wednesday, about a month and a half ago. I was terrified. I hadn’t seen you since Florida and everyone knew what had happened. Hell, my first day back in DC after the breakup, Derek sat me down with a bottle of tequila and let me cry until the couch was underwater. I just knew it would be awkward and painful and sad. I knew that our friends would stare at us and ‘pick sides’ as if we had suddenly become enemies. I was scared to sit at my desk across from yours and have to look at you. I was scared of the feelings. I was scared of all the progress I’d made in counseling going down the toilet the second I laid eyes on you, and I was right.

I showed up that morning in my best pencil skirt and blouse and pretty red heels. I did my hair. I put on makeup. I tried to make myself look good, so then I’d feel good. I had to fake it, so you wouldn’t be able to see the real me. I caked on makeup to cover up the bags under my eyes from crying over you for weeks. I brushed my hair and strands kept falling out because my hormones changed and I couldn’t eat most nights. I wore black tights so you wouldn’t be able to see the bruises on my knees from the nights I drank and cried and ended up with my head in a toilet, knees bumping the cold tile floor; desperately wishing it was morning sickness, so you’d be close behind me, rubbing my back and taking care of me.

When I exited the elevator, everyone greeted me as usual. I got hugs from the whole team, but you didn’t budge from your desk. You were staring at a book that I know you weren’t reading because you weren’t turning the pages. You were listening to me say hi to Rossi, tell him I missed him, and I could swear eyes flicked towards me a few times when I hugged Derek. That’s probably just wishful thinking, because I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to see me, see that I was “fine.” I wanted you to look at me because I couldn’t stop looking at you. You, who I fell in love with over these same BAU desk partitions. I saw the ghosts of me and you three years ago, young and happy, your hair curling over your eyebrow, your pursed lips, the way your tie was just slightly crooked. I saw the you I wanted. I saw the man I stared at with lovesick stars in my eyes as we filled out Hotch’s paperwork. I saw me and you and Jacksonville and Meridian Hill Park and everything that we could have been.

And I cracked.

You didn’t even have to speak to me, Spencer, and I cracked.

I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk and ran to the bathroom to cry off the makeup. Seeing you felt like I was drowning but on fire at the same time. I swear time stopped for a moment when I exited Garcia’s hug and saw you across the BAU. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t remember a single coping mechanism Dr. Stevens showed me. I just stood there. Frozen. Trepidation. Regret.

I stared at myself in the shitty flourescent lights of the bathroom, tears washing away my concealer and exposing the dark bags that matched my blood shot eyes. I stared at the way my cheek bones hollowed out since I’d lost over twenty pounds. I stared at a person I didn’t recognize, and that’s when I realized that I wasn’t the same person you fell in love with over the BAU partition either. I wasn’t the chirpy girl helping you jump start your car anymore. I wasn’t the same girl who bought your mother’s favorite book just to try and impress her. I wasn’t me. You weren’t you. So how could we possibly be us?”

Hotch had called Spencer into his office that morning to tell him you would be coming back.

“Is this going to be an issue?” He said, Spencer fiddling with his thumbs in an attempt to hide from Hotch’s stare.

“No, no problem.”

Hotch knew he was lying, and Spencer knew Hotch knew he was lying, but he was nice enough to let it go.

He sat at his desk and opened that book on epicureanism with the full intention of reading it. He was going to immerse himself in that in an attempt to avoid you. But when he opened the cover, the letters all jumbled together like alphabet soup on the page. Then he heard the familiar clack of your heels, and he looked up, just for a second. He noticed how beautiful you looked, but he recognized the sadness in your body. It was the same sadness he saw in his own every morning as he struggled to find the will to move from his position in bed.

He hadn’t gone to a counselor and learned coping mechanisms, the only one he knew was avoidance, but how could he avoid you? How could he avoid the way your smell lingered even after you dropped your bag and bolted to the bathroom? How could he avoid staring at the way Derek wrapped his arms around you, wishing they were his instead? How could he avoid the persistent, twisted, aching heart in his chest? How had he managed to avoid you for so long? He saw you up close, in the place you fell in love, for just a moment and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss you. 

“When I got back from the bathroom, I knew you could see me. You could see the real me, the me you didn’t want. 

I decided I wasn’t going to make this as painful for everyone else as it was for us, so I grabbed my bag, took the mug out and handed it to you. 

“I, uh, I found this in the cabinet,” I said weakly, and you grabbed it, our fingertips just brushing each other, an action that usually sent lightning down my spine, “I know it’s your favorite one so I wanted you to have it back.”

“T-Thanks,” You cleared your throat, “I’ll go fill it up with coffee. Want one?”

I smiled through the pain, proud of myself that our first interaction went well, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You brought me a coffee, made correctly. Cream and one sugar. I took it from you with a fake smile, trying to force back the pain in my chest.

Derek watched that entire painfully awkward interaction, and he pulled me into his office after.

”You good? That was a lot back there.”

 I whined, “No. I’m not good. I’m actually very bad.”

He sighed and pulled me in for a hug, “You’ve got this. You and Reid can handle it. We all know you still love each other.”

I started to cry into his chest, just softly. I didn’t need anyone else seeing how broken I was.

“Why did I think I could do it? I should just transfer.”

That was the first time I considered it out loud. The thought had been rattling around in my head for a bit, but saying it made it real.

Derek argued, “No, you don’t need to transfer.”

“Yes I do! Hotch said as much three years ago.”

“Just focus on getting through today, okay?”

I nodded, taking three deep breaths with Derek’s arms on my shoulders, keeping me grounded.

That’s when Penelope opened the door, poking her head in and telling us it was wheels up in twenty.

“You can stay here with me,” She said, coming over to hug me.

I shook my head, wiping away my last few stray tears, “No, I’ve been gone for far too long. I’m coming back.”

She smiled, “I’m so glad you are.”

We all went on the jet, Hotch insisting he’d brief us in the air. I sat at a window seat, next to Derek and across from Hotch and Rossi. You, Alex, and JJ sat opposite from us. I could feel the tension, the passing glances, the sides being chosen, the hushed voice you spoke in so I wouldn’t hear you or even look at you. I felt like an outcast in a plane full of my favorite people.

The case was in Las Vegas. Of course my first case back had to be in your hometown. Of course it had to be in a place that felt like a second home for me. 

“Morgan, Y/N, take the latest crime scene,” Hotch ordered me, and I let out a nervous sigh that was much louder than I intended. You all turned to look at me, expressions varied from pity from Hotch to annoyance from you.

Hotch looked me up and down, “Actually, Y/N come with me to the precinct.”

“I-uh-okay?” I said, feeling embarrassed and small and useless and worthless. Because while you got to look at the bodies, I got to look at sweaty Vegas cops.

He didn’t think I could handle it. No one did. None of you thought I could, and guess what? You were right.

I fell apart. That entire case I was a wreck. My brain didn’t work right. I couldn’t profile, crime scene photos made me want to cry, I could barely even look at the family members.

I was actually useless there. I was useless because of you. Because the way the files smelled reminded me of you and I had to watch you talk to Alex and JJ and not talk to me and I had to watch the way you scrunch up your nose and the way your hair falls in your eyes and you brush it away. Because you had all the answers and I had none. Because you were always everything, and I merely accompanied you. Because you’re more of an asset to them than five of me would be.

And that’s why I left.

I left because after that case you stayed back for a day and saw your mom, and usually I would’ve been there with you. I left because that flight home was empty without you, even though you weren’t even looking at me. I left because I don’t know what’d I’d do if you ever got hurt and I wasn't the one sleeping in your hospital bed with you. I left because I cannot live in a life that I shared with you anymore. I left because I love you too much to stay.

When we landed in Quantico that day, I went to the bathroom again to cry. Derek followed me but I shoved him off. I locked myself in a stall and screamed one of those silent screams when you’re too angry and frustrated to even make a noise.

I stared at myself in the mirror again. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t accepted that part yet. I’d accepted everything else except for the fact that I was broken, and no amount of hugs from Penelope or stolen glances at you were going to fix it. The only thing that would fix it was going as far away from you as possible.

I got my transfer papers from Hotch the next day.

He argued, told me to rethink, told me to take more days off, told me that it would all get better with time.

“Reid’s reasonable,” He said, “And if it’s time–”

“No, I know that I want to transfer. You said so yourself. If it got too hard, I’d have to go. Well it’s too hard, Aaron. I have to go.”

He sighed, “What unit? I can get you a place almost anywhere. Sex crimes? Back in organized?”

I twiddled my thumbs and sighed, “LA?”

“LA?,” He shook his head and gestured for me to sit down, “Sit Y/N. We need to talk about this.”

He went on a very convincing lecture then. He almost got me to stay, but the only person who actually could’ve gotten me to stay was you. At the end he reluctantly gave me the paperwork and told me, “I hope you don’t regret this.”

I really, really, hope I don’t.

The papers sat in a file folder on my desk for three weeks, taunting me. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to fill them out yet. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. I think maybe I was waiting for you, or maybe I was waiting for it to get better. Waiting for it to not hurt every time I looked over at you or heard you laugh with JJ. But after three weeks, I realized that was never going to happen. It was never going to stop hurting me or stop hurting you, so I filled out the papers last  Thursday, and five days later Hotch told me about Seattle. I immediately accepted, and packed up my desk.

Except for this, your item for this letter, my name plate. “Y/N Y/L/N Supervisory Special Agent- Behavioral Analysis Unit” doesn’t really belong on my new desk. The nameplate reminds me of pining over you across the round table and Emily poking my shoulder and telling me ‘just go for it!’ It reminds me of sneaking into your hotel room on cases and double-cheek kisses from Rossi. It reminds me of filling out paperwork to declare our relationship, and filling out paperwork to get away from it. It reminds me of us, all of us. It reminds me of my old life. The life I’d like to leave behind, so it’s yours.”

Spencer’s fingers traced the engraved letters of your name, one by one, his mind far away recalling that case and the few days when he stayed back in Las Vegas. He saw his mom for the first time since everything happened. 

The first day he visited and the nurses told him it was a good day, one of her best days in recent history. He smiled sadly, knowing that what he was about to share would make it one of the worst.

He walked into her room, every muscle tensed. Diana smiled, wrapped her arms around him warmly and the first thing she did was ask for you. 

“When I heard I was getting a visit I was thrilled! Where’s Y/N? Gosh she must be big by now.”

He avoided her gaze, as if he was a child avoiding being scolded, “Y/N isn’t coming.”

“She’s not?” She asked, and Spencer immediately regretted not telling her about the last two months sooner. He kept putting it off, not quite knowing how to break his mother's heart while dealing with his own. 

“No, mom, and I think you should sit down.”

“Sit? Spencer, sweetheart, what is it? You’re worrying me.”

He sat down, knee bouncing and hands fidgeting just to release some of the pent up energy inside of him, “Y/N and I, we–we broke up.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, just as his always did, lips pressed into a line, “Spencer Reid you left a pregnant girl? I raised you better than that!”

He bit his lips, not knowing exactly how to say the words that came next, “Mom, Y/N, she–“ He stopped himself, correcting himself for once, “We lost her.”

Diana’s mouth fell open slightly, “Lost the baby?”

Spencer couldn’t do much but nod, the tears he had been forcing back for weeks flooding his eyes and running over like a waterfall. His eyes were shut, the shame of it all overcoming him. 

The next thing he felt were her arms around him, pulling him close as he fell apart. 

“Th-there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do,” he choked out between ragged breaths, “I-I should’ve been able to do something! I should’ve been able to protect her and I didn’t and now—”

She cut him off, her cold hands rubbing the tears off his hot cheeks, “Sometimes things just, well they just happen.”

He nodded, “And then Y/N…”

“Spencer, how’d you let her go?”

He shrugged, wiping at his nose, “I-I don’t know. I can’t believe I left. I just—“

His voice was getting rushed and his breath was getting quick, like he was drowning in tears and regret. 

“Shh, stop,” She said, hands running through his hair the same way they did when he was a boy, “You’ve already lost so much, don’t lose her too.”

When he left his mother that day he took her words to heart. He wasn’t going to lose you too, he was going to make up for those two months. When he arrived back in DC, his first stop was your house. He knocked on the door, go-bag on his shoulder. There was no answer. He knocked again. And again. And again. 

You never opened up.

He was expecting you to open the door and smile at him and invite him inside, but the door stayed locked, his key to it being inside. That night he stayed on the step until one in the morning, when he begrudgingly got in his car and drove away. The next night he came back, and the next, and the next, and the next, the door always staying shut. He left each time feeling more and more defeated.

He knew you were in there, he could see your shadow appear and disappear, and every night he’d stay until the January air became too much to bear. He swore he could hear you slide down the door a few times, sitting as close back to back with him as possible. 

He went every night until one day, when he was laying against the cold door, half asleep and frostbitten, Derek appeared in front of him.

“Reid,” He whispered, voice sympathetic but also stern, “You gotta stop doing this. This isn’t healthy.”

Spencer stood up, his breath visible as he spoke, “I know.”

“She isn’t going to let you in.”

“I know,” he mumbled, fixing his wool coat and starting to walk away. Derek watched him as he made his way across the snow-covered yard. He turned around and called to him.

“Morgan! Just, just tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I miss her.”

Derek nodded, opening your front door and entering the place Spencer wished he could be: with you. 

“I don’t know what happened to you in Vegas, but when you came back, you were different. At work you still avoided me like I was a rat with the plague, but then every night I’d hear you knocking on my door, begging to be let in.

“I love you,” you’d say, “I take it all back.” As if you ever could. 

I’d sit on the stairs that face the door, head in my hands, trying to find the willpower to keep the door closed. Then I’d see your key, sitting in the dish you put it in, and it was easy to keep the door closed, because you’re the one who shut it.

You came almost nightly for a week. I’d always look through the peephole. I’d sit with my back to the door the same way yours was. I’d wrap myself in a blanket and sleep there, as close to you as I could, but I kept the door shut.

I know it’s terrible, but part of me wishes that we never met. That instead I stayed making espresso shots in Connecticut and never went back to this life. In this wish, Dave never called me. I never saw your dopey smile and immediately fell in love. Maybe then you wouldn’t be all I think about. Maybe then you’d get out of my head, because as long as I know you, I’ll never love anyone else.

But that way of thinking is behind me. Now, I see you as a lesson I had to be taught. I learned how to love, and how I deserve to be loved. I learned how to smile and laugh and really care about someone other than myself. I learned how to grieve and appreciate my life and I learned what real, true love is. I learned about soulmates and science and how to smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I learned how to let go.

But I learned hard lessons too; like that the Beatles were wrong, love isn’t all you need. You need passion and commitment and happiness and compromise. I learned that sadness can be a greater emotion than love. I learned that heartbreak is real and sometimes the people you love more than anything in this world can hurt you. And I’m grateful to you, for every lesson you ever taught me. I’m grateful for every single second I spent with you. I’m grateful for you, Spencer Reid.

Thank you.”

“Thank you”

He could practically hear you whisper it to him.

He found it funny that you were thanking him for breaking your heart, time and time again, because all he felt was regret.

He glanced up at the clock, realizing that he needed to leave now if he had any chance of making the flight to you. He haphazardly collected the letters and all the objects you gave him from where he placed them around the apartment. He grabbed a duffle bag, stuffing it with clothes and whatever things he thought he may need. He grabbed the ring box, debating for a moment whether or not it was too much, too soon. He decided to throw caution to the wind.

What is it Morgan says? Go big or go home?

Spencer was going big, and you were coming home. 

He kicked the front door closed as he left, box overflowing with papers and the ring box burning in his back pocket.

Letter fifteen would have to wait.

Part 15!

 —————————

Taglist

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[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

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[golchaworld]

Free Me, Free Us | C. SB

➳ pairing: king!soobin x royal aid!reader (fem!reader)

➳ genre: royalty!au, angst, slight fluff

➳ word count: 4.8k

➳ warnings: cursing, mentions of blood/bloodshed, mentions of war, non-graphic depiction of injury, implications of possession/ownership of a person, non-linear narrative, non-explicit sex

➳ summary: Some of the King’s requests are easier to refuse than others. But not falling in love, that is the hardest challenge yet.

➳ A/N: After a while, I’m back! Sorry that it’s been so long; school has really been kicking my ass. Either way, I hope you all enjoy this!

The lacquered wall in front of you is grandiose, opulent, and stained with deep red blood. You sigh upon inspecting it, suspecting that an aid must have stepped out of line. His majesty is rarely cruel enough to act so murderously, but rarely isn’t never. 

You huff out a sigh, turning your back on the blood-stained wall. The various maids that scurry around the palace will be sure to take care of the mess. You assume a few have already disposed of the offender's body. 

Your heeled slippers clack elegantly along the marble floors as you walk down the large hallways. As you enter into the atrium of the palace, the sound is made dull by the buzz of servants fluttering around. It’s calming, how busy the palace is on a Thursday afternoon. It means that things are getting done. And each thing that gets done is one less thing you have to do yourself. 

The golden clock that sits high along the wall of the atrium reads five minutes to four thirty, reminding you that his majesty is soon to be released from his military meeting. He expects for you to greet him at the door, as he always does when he completes his last schedule of the day. 

And who are you to refuse the requests of royalty?

It’s exactly four thirty on the dot when the young King is dismissed from the military meeting. The doors are opened for him, as usual, and he exits with his usual gracefulness. The only hint of anger in his demeanor is the way the corner of his lips is crinkled up in annoyance, showcasing the boyish dimple in his left cheek. Even throughout the hints of anger, King Soobin is as breathtaking as ever. 

You greet his majesty with a small bow, which the young man just scoffs at before turning and making his way down the hallway. You roll your eyes, instantly knowing that today will be one of those days. 

His anger is clear in the way he walks, his quick footsteps and long legs allowing him to speed through the lavish marble hallways. You trail behind him, as expected, trying your hardest to match his pace. It’s difficult, but you manage to trail him into his chambers. The first thing the young King does is place his crown atop its wooden stand. He then turns to you with ice in his eyes. 

“We may be under siege soon,” he says softer than you expect. “We’ll have to prepare the troops for battle.”

You nod. “Yes, your majesty.”

The young man sighs, unclipping his purple velvet cape from where it is secured around his shoulders. The minute the offending fabric falls, so do the man’s shoulders. He takes a large hand and rakes it through his ebony tresses, causing the strands to stand up at odd ends. At last, the man sits on his large canopy bed, kicking off his heavy slippers. When he meets your eyes again, his majesty is gone. Only Soobin remains. 

“I had to kill a man today.”

“I saw the bloodstains in the East Wing,” you move to sit in an armchair in the corner of the room as you speak, finally relaxing into familiarity. “What did he do?”

“He questioned me. He doubted my ability to protect us from the Kang Kingdom.”

“Soobin,” your tone drips with fondness, with familiarity. “Killing men because they doubt you is unlike you. Normally, you just prove them wrong. Your parents would not condone—“

“My parents are not here!” Soobin snaps. “I am not my father, and he is no longer with us. He didn’t die for my men to question my every move!”

Redness blooms atop Soobin’s cheeks, wetness pooling at the corners of his eyes. You cross the lavish room in an instant, coming to sit beside the young King. Your arm attempts to encase his broad shoulders, brushing against his silk robes. As you pull him closer, you hear Soobin’s soft sniffle. Your heart mourns for him. 

“I miss them so much. Surely, my father would know what to do when we are under siege, but I’m lost. How am I supposed to protect the kingdom?”

You place a soft kiss on the crown of Soobin’s head, hoping to placate the man who has started to weep. His broad frame shakes with the force of his sobs. Once again, you mourn, but only momentarily. A young king has no time to mourn. He only has time to protect and rule his people. 

“Bin,” you take his round face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You are the King, an amazing king, at that. You are the leader of this kingdom, by God’s grace. There are people out there counting on you. You can do this. The spirits of your mother and father are guiding you every step of the way. They are here with you.”

Soobin sniffles again, eyes still wet with unshed tears. 

“I’m here with you, Bin. Don’t ever forget that.”

.        .       .

At seven years old you are forced into your finest dress and shoes. Your mother fusses over your unruly hair, attempting to make it fit for royalty. 

After a long carriage ride spent looking out the window, you are grabbed by the hand, pulled into the throne room of the royal palace and placed in front of a chubby cheeked boy. Your mother nudges your shoulder uncharacteristically hard, serving as a reminder of your manners. 

“I am Y/N of the outer ring. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The young boy smiles in return, dimples indenting his chubby, tanned cheeks. “I am Prince Soobin of the royal family. It is a pleasure to rule over you.”

You vaguely remember the fear that trembles your parents’ voices as they speak to the couple that are sat in their respective thrones. Soobin just looks at you, wide-eyed and friendly as the adults talk, as if used to this sort of formal gathering. His cheeks are captivating, overly round in a way that you have never seen before. You suspect that he comes from a family that has access to lots of rice. Your family has never been afforded that luxury. 

Your father falls to his knees very suddenly, voice wavering as he speaks. 

“Our daughter is all we have to give you, Your Majesty. We pledge her to thee. She may serve you and the kingdom however you may see fit. However, please spare her life. This is our debt to repay, not hers.”

There is sudden applause from the man sitting in the throne, the woman next to him sitting stoic as ever. She, too, has plump cheeks. You salivate at the thought of plentiful rice. 

“Your daughter will serve Prince Soobin from this day forward. She is his property now, and will act however he see fit. Is that clear?”

Both of your parents nod profusely, now both kneeling. 

“Oh thank you, Your Majesty,” your mother blubbers. “Thank you for sparing our daughter’s life.”

There is only a chorus of tears and yelling as your parents are removed from the throne room, calling out various goodbyes and declarations of love. Tears are staining your hollow cheeks now, although you didn’t know why at the time. The chubby cheeked boy reaches out to wipe away a fallen tear on your face. 

“Soobin-ah!” The woman in the throne booms. “Go bathe, now. We do not touch the commoners.”

.        .        .

The Choi Kingdom is held together by a few core principles: balance, honor, and integrity. Without those three principles, it is believed that the spirits above would no longer protect the people of the kingdom. You believe that the kingdom has long lost those principles, and that the spirits have since packed their bags. 

The outer ring of the kingdom is plagued with poverty, disease, and crime, its lack of proximity to the palace making it a low priority in the distribution of food and resources. What they are rich in, however, is manpower. With the way Soobin enters the throne room on a Thursday afternoon, you suspect you’ll need a lot of it. 

“Have there been any updates, Your Majesty?” Your voice is calm and soft, as if trying to refrain from scaring the young King. 

Soobin sighs, relaxing into the plush feathers that compose the cushions of his throne. “Yeonjun thinks that an attack will be planned for the next new moon, so the Kangs can be fully bathed in darkness.”

“And what does that mean for the kingdom?”

Soobin throws his head back in exasperation, making the precious metals of his crown clang as they come in contact with the marble floors behind the throne. “It means we have twenty one days to recruit more men and train. A trip to the outer circle may be in order.”

You nod once. “I’ll make arrangements to send Yeonjun off at sunrise.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“And why not, Your Majesty?”

“Because I will attend in his place.”

Your heart sinks instantly. Never in your lifetime had a king visited the outer ring of the kingdom, and you never imagined that you would live to see the day one did. The act was unthinkable, and yet, by the determined look on the young King’s face, you knew he was serious about attending.

“Your Majesty,” you begin. “I mean this with all due respect, but a king cannot simply go to the outer circle.  Yeonjun’s job as a military advisor is to--”

Soobin slams a hand against the armrest of his throne, the resulting boom echoing around the otherwise empty throne room.  “Yesterday I killed a man who doubted me.  And now you are daring to do the same?”

It’s well known that Soobin’s threat is an empty one.  As his longest-standing aid, you know deep down that you would be one of the last to be excused from his assistance.  That knowledge, however, does little to ease the fear rising in the pit of your stomach.  Soobin, a natural born leader, was notably stubborn, and always followed through on his remarks.

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”  You avert your eyes from his intimidating gaze begrudgingly.

Soobin tips his chin up, as he often does when he gets what he wants.  He has won this battle, and he knows it.  However, the reason why he considers this a battle worth fighting is still lost on you.

Later that night, when the King retires to his chambers, you trail him inside as usual.  You take your normal perch in the armchair in the corner, even going as far to toe off your heeled slippers.  Soobin chuckles as the wooden heels meet the carpeted floor with a loud thump.

“Long day?”

Although you know the King’s words are sarcastic, you choose to answer truthfully.  “It always is when I’m looking after you.”

“I never said you had to.  We’ve had this conversation ages ago.”

“We have,” you agree, cocking an eyebrow.  “So I do not know what purpose that bringing it up now will serve.”

Soobin lets his cotton undershirt fall to the ground, exposing an expanse of smooth, pale skin.  No matter how many times you are graced with the sight of the man’s body, you find yourself stunned every time.  Everything about him is utter perfection, regal in its nature.

“Maybe you should take the day off while I’m gone.”

You scoff, relaxing further into the armchair.  “If you think I’m not to accompany you to the outer circle, you must be delusional.  I’ll call the medicine man in the morning.”

Soobin chuckles as he steps out of his pants, leaving him in only his undergarments.  His legs seem to stretch on for miles until they converge on strong hips.  There is a scar on the back of his left knee from a childhood accident.  You wonder if your kiss could heal the mark.  A birthmark lay on his right thigh; you imagine temptation takes the same shape.

“If you think I’ll allow your accompaniment to the outer circle, then you must be the one who needs the medicine man.”

“Your father pledged me to you,” you object.  “That means that I must protect--”

Soobin turns to you, shrugging on his night dressings.  “What it means is that you must do what I say.  As far as I remember, you are mine.”  You curse the shiver that crawls up your spine at the word.  “So if I order you to take the day off tomorrow, then you must do so.”

“But Bin--”

“I am requesting to sleep now.  You will return to my bedside approximately one hour after sunrise, understood?  You are dismissed.”

“Soobin…” Soobin whispers one final goodnight before blowing out the candle at his bedside, swathing the room in darkness.

.        .        .

Soobin refuses to touch you until he is ten years old. Every attempt before that age resulted in a scolding and a long bath, so at some point he was forced to stop trying. He treated you as if you were a shadow, something intangible, but ever present. 

It’s a warm day in May when his hand gently grazes the bare skin of your forearms. His fingers are soft and smooth, not a trace of a callous or scar, much unlike your own fingers. Your hands are worn down from three years of housework and making sure that Soobin’s hands remain pristine. 

The boy looks into your eyes as he touches, showing that his actions are purposeful, defiant. 

“Your Highness, you should not be touching a commoner,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. 

Soobin smiles until his dimples indent his round cheeks. “Your skin is a lot smoother than I thought it would be.”

You shake your head, an attempt to deny the prince’s compliment. 

“We are friends, aren’t we, Y/N?”

Once again, you shake your head in disagreement. “No, Your Highness. You are a prince, and I am merely your servant.”

“But if you are my servant, then you have to do what I say, correct?”

“That is correct, Your Highness.”

“Then, be my friend. That is an order. Let me hug you. That is also an order. And, when it is just the two of us,” Soobin grins. “You must call me by my first name, Soobin.”

“But, Your Highness—“

“That is an order.”

.         .         .

At seventeen years of age, Soobin presses his lips to yours for the first time. There are tears drying on his cheeks, his black robe crinkled from the earlier funeral procession. He has just lost his only family in this world, and yet he looks to you for comfort. 

The kiss is merely an act of frustration, the young prince (who would be crowned king in three days) having no other outlet to express his desperation. Soobin needs comfort, needs affection, and this is the way he seeks it. 

When he pulls away from the lip lock, he stares down at the hands he has kept in his lap the entire time. They shake relentlessly. When he finally makes eye contact with you again, you melt, finding yourself getting lost in the oceans that swim in his eyes. Never in your life had you been so jealous of tears. 

“Your Highness, it is illegal for a commoner to have relations with royalty. I am undeserving of your affection.”

Soobin sniffles. “When I am King, that will be the first law I repeal.”

.        .        .

You pace the marble floors of the palace’s front foyer relentlessly, heeled slippers mindlessly clicking against the flooring. Even on a supposed day off, you find it impossible to occupy your mind with anything other than thoughts of the King. The rest of the palace keeps moving, yet you remain stagnant in your thoughts of Soobin. 

The people of the outer ring have been raised to despise the royals, always blaming the palace for a lack of food and resources. Whenever someone gets sick in the outer circle, it is said that only the royals can save them, and every single time, they don’t. It’s only natural for a divide to form between the idealistic royals and the real royals. 

In theory, the royals look after their entire kingdom. In practice, they leave the outer circle to rot. 

Your stomach swims with a mixture of frustration and anxiety. Soobin is not built to see the tragedies of the outer circle. The people there will only hate him more, lashing out as he arrives on his pristine white stallion, decked out in precious gems and jewels. He is the biggest target for robbery or injury, even with his knights accompanying him. 

If only he had let you attend with him, or better yet, in his place, then all of your worries would evaporate into thin air. But stubborn as he was, the King was a smart one. He left you by your lonesome for a reason, you conclude. But for what reason?

The sun is beginning to cast a hazy glow over the hilltops when you hear the steady thump of horseshoes approaching the palace. It must be the royal army returning from their recruitment. It must be Soobin. Finally. 

There are faint voices that accompany the sounds of the horses. They sound like warnings, like requests...like screams for help. 

Soobin needs your help. 

You leave your heeled slippers stationed on the marbled floors of the foyers as you burst through the palace doors, running straight towards the sounds of the incoming horses. They begin as little black dots on the hilltops, but as you approach, you can see the familiar armor and kingdom insignias. 

The white stallion eventually comes into view. Soobin is not on it. 

A slew of vivid colors flash in front of your eyes.  There is the golden sunlight reflecting off of the slick coats of the horses as they speed down the hill.  There is the lush green grasses and the purple of the royal insignias as they wave in the wind.  And then there’s the red that stains the pristine white fur of Soobin’s horse.  Your heart drops to your feet.

You are frozen in place, letting the horses approach you.  They all race past you, thundering towards the palace.  You catch a glimpse of the King on the back of another stallion, clutching his lower abdomen.  His hands are stained red.

As quickly as he comes into view, you lose sight of him.  All of the horses seem to continue to pass you, except for one.  You find yourself looking up at the familiar man atop a sleek black stallion.  Emotion swims in his eyes.

“He has been hit with an arrow,”  Yeonjun explains.  “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

At those words, you find yourself turning on your heels, running as fast as you can towards the palace.  The rough earth stings your bare feet, and the hem of your skirt bites at your ankles, but you can’t find it within yourself to pay the sensations any mind.  

Soobin needs you.

.        .        .

The whole castle is abuzz with news that the new King refuses to be wed.  Before his parents passed, they explicitly expressed that they wanted their son to be married as soon as possible.  Even on their deathbed, they commanded that Prince Soobin be wed.

But the King simply said no.  He said that he was King now, and that any orders that his parents had before they passed were now void.  

Soobin sits tall and mighty in his throne, face stoic and void of emotion.  Even as his aids buzz around him with pleas to marry, he refuses to budge.  It is only when you come into view that he decides to speak.

“I won’t do it, Y/N.”

You sigh, taking a hand to your forehead in exasperation.  “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Being King is not about what you want to do, it’s about what you must do.  This is something you must do!”

“And why is that?”  Soobin cocks a defiant eyebrow.

“Because it is what your parents want.”

“My parents are dead now,” Soobin scoffs.  “They can’t want anything.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, beginning to pace the sturdy floors of the throne room. Soobin has always been notably stubborn. As a child, it was cute, the way he stuck to his word and always saw things through. At the age of eighteen, however, it’s not nearly as charming. 

With the absence of other aids, you try a different approach. 

“Bin, be honest. Why don’t you want to marry?”

Soobin’s gaze is suddenly turned to the windows, the ceiling, anywhere but your own. “I want to marry for love, not for duty.”

“We can find someone who you will learn to—,”

“I do not wish to learn to love. I already love another.”

Already. 

The word rings in your ears. How has the young King defied the rights of passage? Has he already courted another? Is there a mistress that you know nothing of? Where has he found the time to love? To love already?

“You...you have already found love?”

Soobin nods, still avoiding your eyes. “I have been in love for a long while now, yes.”

“Is she royal?”

At this, Soobin finally returns your gaze. “She is not.”

“Then it cannot be,” you mutter. 

“I never once thought it could.”

.         .        .

You’re sat by the King’s side as he wakes. It must be the wee hours of the morning, no later than three hours past midnight. The rest of the palace is silent, still. The only light in the room comes from the candle you have lit at the King’s bedside. 

His stirring is soft at first, plush bottom lip just faintly quivering. His rounded nose twitches once, twice, before the King finally takes in a deep breath. As he exhales, his eyes slowly open. 

He’s quite obviously disoriented at first, dark eyes scanning the room sluggishly. His blinks are lethargic and long as he takes in his scenery. When his eyes land on you, his brows furrow in confusion. 

“The outer circle…?”

You chuckle, placing a hand on his majesty’s shoulder. “The outer circle can wait, Bin. For now, just rest.”

The next time Soobin stirs, the sun is up, approaching its highest point in the sky. His black locks are splayed messily across his forehead, slightly damp with the prior day’s sweat.  His eyes flutter open slowly, his dark lashes casting gentle shadows atop his rounded cheeks.

You smile fondly as the King releases a soft groan, reaching forward to brush his hair away from his face.  It’s rare to see Soobin so mellow, so soft as he returns to the real world from dreamland.  When his eyes meet yours, confusion crosses his handsome face.

“What happened?” He asks, voice gruff from lack of use.

“You got shot with an arrow.”

Soobin rushes to sit up, only to be stopped by a pang of pain in his lower abdomen.  He looks down to his robe-covered torso, rushing to untie the red silk strings holding it together.  It gives way to expose a pristine pale chest and stomach, the latter wrapped in red stained bandages.

You force yourself to look away from the King’s nakedness, both out of respect and pain.  You’ve never had to witness Soobin with such an injury, even after years of servitude.  To think that someone would want to harm the precious King is blasphemous, yet you understand.  If you lived in the outer circle, you too would blame the royals for your misfortune.

As Soobin eyes his own injury, he releases a soft groan.

“Was this the doings of the Kang Clan?”

You shake your head softly.  “Yeonjun said it was the work of a struggling commoner.  He was executed on the spot.”

Soobin simply looks confused.  “Why did he wish to hurt me?”

“Because you are royal.”

.        .        .

The possible attack from the Kang Kingdom has anxiety filling the air of the palace.  The entire royal army is on edge, anticipating their attack on the new moon.  With an injured King, the palace is more secure than usual.  Several guards surround the King’s chambers throughout the entirety of the night.

They are under strict instruction that the only ones allowed in the King’s chambers are the King himself, and, of course, you.

“Prince Taehyun will use this as a perfect opportunity to show off his strength before he takes the crown,”  Soobin chuckles bitterly. “Always a show-off, that one.”

“So be it. Our military is more than ready.”

Soobin scoffs. “Yeonjun claims they lack preparedness.”

“So be it.”

“How can you be so calm when the kingdom may soon be under attack?”

The fire in Soobin’s eyes is reminiscent of his late father’s. They both had the same passion for their people, stopping at nothing to keep the kingdom safe and secure. Soobin would rather die than let his people die at the hands of another. 

Like this, with a jaw set in stone and a protective hand placed over his bandaged wound, Soobin is most attractive. Like this, Soobin is a king. Like this, Soobin is a man you love, a man you wish to serve, in more ways than one. Like this, Soobin is your entirety, a whole world that you cannot fathom letting go of. 

“As long as you are safe, Your Majesty, I have no worries.” You attempt to keep your voice as gentle and steady as possible, fighting the urge to let emotion thicken your words. “The kingdom can rebuild, but not without a king to lead them.”

Soobin scoffs. “What kind of king am I to be sitting under the utmost protection while my men must fight for me?”

“A smart one.”

“I feel like a selfish one,” Soobin mutters, a pout taking hold on his face. 

With his rounded cheeks and his jutting bottom lip, Soobin is reduced back to a mere prince, looking much like the child you were introduced to all those years ago. 

It’s encapsulating, the way Soobin’s demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. In one moment, he is the strongest, most stubborn man on earth, practically oozing determination and overzealous machismo. In the next moment, however, he is soft and insecure, reduced to childishness. 

“Bin,” you warn. “We can’t risk you getting hurt again. This isn’t a selfish move, it’s a generous one.”

“It’s cowardly and selfish,” he responds, still sporting his pout. “My kingdom may soon be at war, and instead of preparing with them, I’m laying upon silk sheets doing nothing.”

“Do you know how selfish you sound right now?”

Soobin’s eyes narrow. “Do you know how irrational you sound right now?”

You scoff, standing up from your seat in the armchair. There’s a flame lit in your abdomen, causing your entire body to heat up with anger. It fuels you enough to cross the room, stopping once you reach the King’s bedside. You meet Soobin’s eyes with a glare. 

“And what would we do if you go out there, your majesty?” Your tone drips with sarcasm. “Would we just watch you as you stumble around in pain and get yourself killed? Who would take care of the people then?”

“The people need a warrior,” Soobin argues. 

“The people need a king! The people need you here, alive and well. Soobin, I need you here! You can’t just run around and get yourself killed. What would I do then?”

“Y/N…”

“How could you be so daft? I don’t want you to go out there! I can’t let you go out there. I can’t lose you again, Soobin. I can’t.”

There’s a warm palm against your cheek, a thumb wiping away tears that you did not notice had fallen. Each swipe of the thumb is tender, caressing the slope of your cheekbone tenderly. You breathe slowly, in and out. When you meet Soobin’s gaze, you notice a familiar wetness there. 

“You won’t lose me, Y/N. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

.        .       .

Soobin deflowers you at age twenty. 

It’s heady and intense, the way that all forbidden actions are. Out of wedlock, but very much in love, the two of you throw tradition to the wind. 

You sink down on him with great care, trying your hardest to be mindful of Soobin’s wound. Soobin is out of breath, eyes glassy and cheeks flush as he enters you. He’s leant back against his plush feather pillows, black hair splayed out messily. 

His warm hands reach out to caress your hips, guiding you as you rock down on him slowly. There’s pleasure in the pain, in the difficulty you have in finding a rhythm, in the awkward tangle of limbs and silk sheets. There’s pleasure in the way Soobin gasps out your name, tells you he’s close. 

After the pleasure climaxes, and the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon, the world is still. The attack from the Kang Dynasty never comes. 

You are left with your own internal war. 

[doctor-reid]

You and Me Chapter Six

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy

A/N: This is the last official chapter of You and Me. I’m going to try and branch out and write some different things, so be on the lookout for that! Go see my post about it here. For now, enjoy the last full chapter.

Word Count:  1.4k

----------

“Babe, I’m home!” Spencer shouted as he closed the door behind him. I could hear him moving around looking for me, but I couldn’t move. There I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, with a positive pregnancy test in my hand. This cannot be happening. 

As overjoyed as I am, Spencer can’t know about this. I just got him back a few weeks ago, we didn’t need this right now. I should probably tell him. Maybe I will a little later, I’m barely pregnant, there’s time. I quickly hid the test in the cabinet underneath the sink and walked out of the bathroom.

“Hey Spence,” I pecked his lips as he walked into the bedroom, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” he smiled as he took off his tie, “I could use a good chocolate cake though.”

“Should we go to Bruschetta’s for dinner then?”

“Sounds better than cooking. But if we’re going to go, we are going to do it right. Fancy clothes for a fancy date night.”

“That sounds so wonderful. Make sure to use my name on the reservation, we will get better service that way.” I pressed another kiss to his lips and made my way to my vanity. I looked like a hot mess and I needed to look hot, no mess. I could hear Spencer making the reservation in the other room, but I was too focused on my makeup to hear what he was saying.

He walked back into the room and told me that our reservation was in 2 hours. That gave me the perfect amount of time to transform myself into the most beautiful version of me. 

With just 15 minutes left until we needed to leave, I was finally trying to pick out an outfit. I sat there and looked at the tight little dresses I had that I wouldn’t be able to wear for much longer. I had so many to choose from.I  finally decided on the purple one, only because it was going to match Spencer’s tie.

----------

Bruschetta’s was so romantic. Candlelit tables and soft jazz music. It also helped that the most beautiful man in the world was sitting across from me. Though, going out did have its drawbacks.

“I can feel people looking at me.” Spencer’s voice was quiet so he wouldn’t attract attention.

“Yeah, I figured this would happen.” I chuckled as I looked over the menu. “You just have to block it out, most people won’t do anything but take a picture from afar.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“A little, but I know I have you by my side.” I lightly tapped his leg under the table with my foot.

That’s when the waiter came over to take out order, so the conversation ended.

The dinner was overall peaceful.I ate way more than I should have, but the food was so good I couldn’t help myself.  Nobody came up to us, which I enjoyed. But at the same time, I knew that by now there were going to be quite a few photos on instagram.  

We were leaving the restaurant when Spencer stopped me. 

“We should go do something else. We’re all dressed up and I think we should show off our fancy clothes.” I could tell he was excited and already had a plan.

“What would we go do?”

“Dancing?”

“Spence, you can’t dance,” I pointed out.

“No, but Rosamond park is having a night under the stars dance and I would love to take you.” 

“Just promise to try not to step on my toes.”

“Deal.” He led me to the car and drove us to the park. 

The park was decorated so beautifully. There were string lights and flowers. The gazebo was cleared out and it just looked like a dream. There was no other way to describe it. But there was nobody there. Spencer said this was a public event, so where was everybody? There wasn’t even a DJ or live music. Maybe we were in the wrong place. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I looked a thim, but he just smiled.

“I’m sure, come on.” He got out of the car and walked over to my side of the car to open my door. He was a true gentleman. 

We walked to the gazebo together. There was no music, but he still pulled me in to dance with him. We were just swaying to the beat of our hearts. The whole world seemed to melt away. It was just me and Spencer and this empty park. 

I mumbled into his shirt, “I wish we could just stay like this forever.” I could feel his smile even though I couldn’t see it.

“I know, me too.” His voice was soft and reassuring.

This was it. This is when I should tell him about the baby. It just feels right

“But, “ I pulled away from him slightly, “There’s something I need to tell you. I don’t really know how else so I’m just going to say it.” I took a deep breath in, steadying myself. “I’m pregnant”

The wind seemed to stop. I couldn’t hear anything but my own heartbeat that was growing louder each second. Why wasn’t Spencer saying anything? Maybe I shouldn’t have told him. He finally spoke.

“I know”

“What?”  Now it was my turn to freak out. How did he know when I didn’t until this morning? 

“I may have found the test when I was looking for this.” He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. He moved to his knee and opened the box.

“Is this real?” I asked in misbelief.

“Yeah Y/N. I had a whole plan for when you came home from the tour, but that didn’t work as expected. Despite that, I know that you are the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. So, will you marry me?”

I was nodding my head violently, unable to form words. I grabbed his hand and moved it towards mine so he could put the ring on my finger. He brought me in for a kiss.

We’ve kissed a lot, but this was different. This was a ‘I will never kiss another person again’ kind of kiss. This was unspoken promises and years of laughs.This was happiness in a kiss.

We finally parted and I just had to crack a joke to try an keep me from crying any more happy tears.

“I guess we need to find better hiding places, huh?” I was still sniffling

“We do.” 

----------

Our announcements didn’t stay quiet for long. Between my fans and Penelope, I couldn’t go one minute without a notification on my phone for almost a week. 

I am happy that Spencer is a part of my public life now, just as I was always part of his. Sure, we had to deal with some crazy people sometimes, but who didn’t?

We are happy. Spencer told me he is going to take a leave of absence for a year. Just to help me through the pregnancy and adjusting to a newborn. He is already planning the nursery and what books will go in it.

“You know babies can’t read right?” I asked him as he was looking through one of the bookcases.

“I know, but I can read to them. Did you know babies hear their first sounds at 18 weeks into the pregnancy? So, I will start reading to them that very day. They are going to know their dad’s voice so well.” His face was lit up as he talked about what books he was going to read.

“Just nothing too scary or dark, I still have to listen too.” He didn’t find my joke as funny as I found it.

He came and sat down next to me and lightly kissed my belly. There wasn’t even a bump there yet.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be a family.”

“We’re going to be the best family.” I smiled at him and laid my head on his shoulder, turning my attention to the movie that was playing on the TV. Maybe we were a normal couple after all.

Epilouge???

Also can you tell how much of a hopeless romantic I am. I think several of my fics have now ended in proposals or pregnancy. oops

Taglist: @101donuts @thatsonezesty13

[uwua3]

request: “Hello!! Just found your blog and I'm excited to see what you got installed for us. On that note, can I request Azuma x Reader who was Azuma's former client but they developed into a serious relationship? Thank you so much and looking forward to the rest of your writing!! 😊😊😊” — @sakura-1819

summary: azuma always left before morning came, but all you wanted him to do was stay

warnings: slut–shaming, derogatory “cat calling/wolf whistle” culture, violence, arguments

author’s note: i want to apologize for the long delay on this TT i hope you’re not too mad~ but you have every right to yell at me for taking so long !!!

word count: 3,357

music: high class women – jet black alley cat, lie – bts (jimin)

in your bed.

❄️🍶 yukishiro azuma

azuma knew all the red flags that came with spending the night with someone

if they asked to stay for breakfast? leave quickly, act like it’s against the contract (it’s not). didn’t let go in the morning? pretend to go to the bathroom and never come back. wanted to see him again during the daytime? azuma wouldn’t have them as his client anymore

azuma was the perfect cuddler—if you ignored his ability to trick anyone. he would lie and tell you sweet compliments that didn’t mean anything, he’d touch you the way you want but didn’t let you linger for too long, he would promise all these things with no intent to carry them out

he knew how to draw the line between romance and professionalism; azuma wasn’t going to deal with someone’s accidental developing feelings because he let someone fall in love with him

azuma was smooth like a snake and if you got too close, he wouldn’t hesitate to bite

he expected you to be another normal client. when he arrived to meet you in a nearby outdoor bar with an easy, practiced smile and natural ethereal appearance that made the whole room have their eyes on him, you were just like everyone else

your jaw nearly dropped, your eyes wide and skin flushed just from seeing him. he must have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, you almost spilled your drink over the bar countertop (how innocent, azuma just wanted to take you to bed right away)

when azuma walked in your direction with a charming wink, you seemed to have made the connection as you instantly looked away, staring down at your hands with an expression of embarrassment. of course you were caught admiring the one person who you’d go home with that night

“is this seat open?” azuma hummed, his footsteps silent like a cat. you wondered how stealthy someone could really be, he even sat down elegantly without making any noise. before you could contemplate the ethereal man’s unusual trait, azuma spoke with the same effect as the gods

“azuma, here at your service for tonight.” azuma said, his voice like velvet as he lightly laughed at the blush on your face. you stammered out your name in response. he repeated it, it sounded even better coming from him

as you looked back up, you took in the sight of azuma being absolutely radiant in the purple neon sign just behind him. the yellow fairy lights decorating the roof illuminated his sharp eyes in the same hue. he leaned his cheek on his hand, his thin fingers tapping on his face as a small smile graced his lips. in a way, his silver hair almost glowed purple in the night life and you were afraid if you blinked, he would disappear

(azuma really was too much to be real, or mortal, to be honest)

“my dear, i believe we will have the best night.” azuma giggled, gratefully taking an order from the bartender (he didn’t have to look to know someone bought it for him) as he winked over the rim of his drink

he didn’t know what it was, maybe it was the influx of alcohol in his system or the thrill of being in power, but you were a delight. you responded to his every word with a honest reaction, keeping light conversation easily as you slowly opened up to him. azuma liked you, perhaps you could hire him again and become one of his regulars

after hours of getting to know one another over drinks, it was time for azuma to escort you home as he offered his arm, a pretty smile on his face when you shyly took it. you were borderline drunk, but azuma’s high tolerance kept you safe as he helped you stand up like a gentleman would

before azuma could ask for your permission to take you home (even though he had it in your client details form), a heavy hand rested on his shoulder as his back went rigid. of course he knew where this was going to go, it didn’t mean the confrontation was desirable

azuma turned his head and forced a thin–lipped smile, an expression only a person tired of shameless cat calls and wolf whistles could make. the man must’ve been a regular with how much he reeked of alcohol, azuma almost scrunched his nose at the way the predator was staring at him like he was a piece of meat

“how much for a—” the sleazy man started and before azuma could even tell him to leave, the bastard stumbled back with a thud as he held his bleeding nose

oh my god, did you just punch that guy?

you were suddenly much taller, standing with andrenaline–rushed anger as you clenched your fists, ignoring the pain in your knuckles. you stood between the man and azuma, glaring up at the jerk like he wasn’t a foot taller than you

“what the hell is wrong with you?! he didn’t let you touch him!” you called him out, pushing him back even more as you stretched your arm out, keeping azuma behind you. you were staring down the guy, who cursed and knew he couldn’t hit you without getting kicked out

“whatever, not like you’re worth a fight anyways, whore.” the deadbeat swore before he lazily left, stumbling over his own feet as azuma rolled his eyes at the comment, boredly looking at his own nails with distaste. wolves really acted like they were the alpha

“fuck you!” you yelled after him in your drunken rage, about to chase after him before azuma held onto your wrist, acting neutral for the most part but he had a warning look in his eye, like it truly wasn’t worth it (like azuma wasn’t worth the drama that would come from the bar fight)

“you poor thing, your hand must be hurt.” azuma said, slipping his hand into yours as he lifted your knuckles to his lips. you paused amidst your frustration, letting out a sound of surprise as you became flustered under the sudden attention

(it was working, you were distracted enough to forget. thank god for that, azuma wouldn’t know what to do if you had gotten into a fight)

“let’s get you home.” azuma hailed a taxi like it was second nature, letting you in as he said the address (you didn’t ask why he already knew it), buckling you in safely and running his thumb over your tight fist

as azuma watched the city pass by his window in a blur of lights, he felt you lean your head on his shoulder. he tried not to, but azuma knew his whole body was tense when he felt your breath on his exposed neck (this was a little too close, but maybe you deserved it after the night you had)

“azuma...” you whispered and the way you said his name made him think you’ve known him for years, your chapped lips ghosted over his collarbone as azuma gulped, looking down to see your tired yet determined eyes. you weakly pointed at him, furrowing your eyebrows as you nodded like what you were about to say was fact

“you—you’re not a whore. you’re not, no one should—” you hiccuped and shook your head, continuing, “no one should, treat you like that. i’m sorry.” azuma hoped you didn’t notice his slightly shaky fingers as he pushed a loose strand behind your ear, you smiled despite the redness in your face

“it’s not your fault.” azuma reassured, running his hand through your hair as you hummed against him, not noticing how hard his heart was beating against his chest. was that a blush on his cheeks? there was no possible way, azuma ignored the heat in his face and blamed it on the drinks

“stay with me tonight.” you mumbled sleepily, moving closer to him. you were crossing so many lines and boundaries that azuma had every right to reprimand you right now, but for some reason, he didn’t. azuma lifted his arm so you’d lay under it, and he did so willingly

“of course, that’s what i’m here for.” the words left a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought, only for tonight

azuma helped you up the stairs to your apartment, patiently listening to you ramble about anything that crossed your mind. he unlocked your door with your keys you had fumbled with for a minute or so, took off your shoes at the foyer, and assisted you to your own bed

(you had to go change and he gave you your privacy by facing the wall, waiting for your confirmation to turn around and help you get into bed)

“you have a lovely apartment, thank you for inviting me into your home.” azuma said and you barely acknowledged him, muttering something about city rent as you climbed under your blankets. azuma tsked, gently sitting next to you as he lifted the pillow off your face with a soft smile (you looked especially angelic in this light)

“darling, i simply cannot let you sleep with your make up still on.” azuma insisted to which you ignored. you tried going back to sleep but azuma had already somehow found your make up remover

you didn’t react when azuma began doing it for you, lecturing you about the importance of skincare as he patted your cheek, saying you were too young to have wrinkles

azuma leaned in closer to carefully remove your lipstick, your sheets pooled around your hips as your eyes landed on his lips, tracing the shape of them and committing them to memory

was it too much to say drunk thoughts were honest thoughts? because you grabbed azuma’s wrist, unaware of your proximity to him as you breathed out what was on your mind in that moment

“you’re so beautiful.”

azuma’s breath stuttered in his throat, his hand freezing mid–air as he noticed the adoring look in your eyes. there were so many red flags already—the intense sincerity, you really did mean it

(maybe, that’s why he wanted to stay)

azuma was about to stand up and leave you to your own means, hoping your drunken state would forget him long in the morning. this was too much, you weren’t like his previous clients who were so superficial with their meticulously placed flattery. you were very much real and so unbearably honest it made him uncomfortable

yet, you had kept your grip on his arm, staring at him with confusion as you whined. “i thought you were staying?” you asked, and something in your expression made azuma stop as he looked out the window. the glass reflected his uncertainty, as the cars below raced on the empty streets

“azuma?” you asked again, about to get up before azuma joined you in bed, taking you in his arms regardless of the warning bells going off in his head

“go to sleep, my dear. it’s quite late.” azuma murmured, letting you rest your head against his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist, hiding into him. azuma made sure the blanket covered your frame as he pushed your hair from your face, positioning it in a way so you wouldn’t have to brush the knots out tomorrow

typically, he wouldn’t sleep for a majority of the night. his mind was like the city that never slept, overthinking every little thing he did earlier that meeting as he stared up at the ceiling, knowing it would be the last time he saw it. he would think about what time to leave, which mask he should put on tomorrow, who he was going to pretend to be

but with you, azuma didn’t even have time to overthink that night. when you dozed off, he had followed suit without another word

for the first time in his entire career, azuma woke up to an empty bed

azuma sat up, about to escape without anyone noticing before you entered the bedroom, stopping at the door frame with a sleepy smile and a wave of your spatula

“hi, azuma. care for some breakfast?” you inquired, the smell of something homemade wafting in from the kitchen as you leaned against the frame, your baggy tee shirt hanging past your shorts. your hair was tied up and azuma noticed you had smile lines around your eyes (he didn’t)

azuma knew this was his turn to leave, to politely decline and refuse to let anything happen between them. he did this every time, and it was never hard to say no. yet, azuma watched the sunlight stream in through your bedroom window, the dust floating in the air as a blue sky welcomed him to today

it almost felt like a dream, maybe he was still sleeping. if he was, azuma would let himself have this, just this once

you were glowing in the morning light and azuma couldn’t help but agree, getting out of bed to come eat with you in the dining area

your living space looked different during the day. it was lived–in, from what he could tell. of course your home felt like you, it was welcoming and open. azuma rested against the chair after he helped you bring the items to the table, insisting on setting up after all the hard work you’ve done

the pancakes weren’t perfect by any means, the circular shape irregular and had an unbalanced amount of chocolate chips & blueberries. the orange juice was nearly overflowing at the brim, the utensils slanted near the plate, the fruit overabundant and a mismatch of flavors. yet, azuma loved it, and you blushed when he told you that

“i–it’s no big deal. i wanted to thank you for the night before, it was the first time in a while i slept that well.” you laughed, brushing him off with a wave of your hand as you sat across from him. azuma bit his tongue to refrain from saying “me too” before he did something he never thought he would do: eat breakfast with someone

like last night, it was surprisingly easy. for some reason, it felt like azuma had met you before. like you guys were friends in a past life and already knew everything about each other, azuma found himself telling you things he hadn’t told others he’d known for years

it was like all the red flags were just flags now

when he thanked you for the meal, you invited him over again for another night. azuma agreed, going against every single one of his rules as he promised to see you again (he meant it this time)

azuma began seeing you in the daylight, staying past dawn and watching the sunrise

he complimented you but it was heartfelt, genuine, honest, like you deserved. he let you place your fingerprints upon his skin without warning, slowly becoming used to your presence around him. although he made few promises, azuma carried it out every single time

during nights when he couldn’t see you, when he was with another client, azuma would leave sooner just to see you the next day

it was one of those nights again. he didn’t know what time it was, but azuma was making his way towards his scheduled appointment as planned

his phone buzzed in his pocket, which he casually was about to reject before he noticed your contact blink up at him. azuma stopped, glancing around before answering, unsure why you were dialing him in the first place

“you know i have a—” azuma teased, about to hang up before a sniffle came from the other line. were you crying? azuma picked up on the sound of glass in the back, the stillness of your apartment apparent through the phone

“azuma, i want you here.” you slurred, clearly drunk like the first night he had with you. azuma continued towards the bar that was minutes away, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out why you were drinking in the first place

“like i said, i have a client right now.” azuma reasoned. wrong move. you huffed, gulping something before slamming the cup down on your counter. you must’ve been in your kitchen, probably leaning against your table with your phone against your ear. it was so like you, azuma knew where you were just based on the background noises

“why? am i not enough?” you asked and azuma paused, unsure of how much he could admit. he walked faster, letting the wind carry through your speaker for a moment before he spoke warily

“of course you are, angel, what makes you say that?”

silence. then another drink being poured. ah, liquid courage

“you go to every other person’s bed, when you should be with me.” you ranted, your syllables mixing together and enunciation unintelligible but he heard you perfectly clear. azuma was afraid of what was coming next, but before he could’ve stopped you, you kept going

“why do you go to them when you have me?” you asked, your voice cracking towards the end. azuma wanted to say something that would’ve made you feel better, but the bar was right there and his client waved from across the street

“you know it’s the same.” azuma said and the message was clear. you were a client to him, that was all (at least, that’s what he tried telling himself)

“it doesn’t have to be.” you weakly argued and azuma lowered his hand, signalling his guest to wait a moment as he forced a pleasant smile

“call me back when you’re done and tell me if things are going to change, azuma.”

a click. you had hung up. azuma swallowed the hitch in his throat as he walked over to his guest, at the same bar he met you before

everything reminded him of you. azuma could recall every detail: the way you were speechless and taken away the first time you met him, your foolish bravery and need to make things right as you stood off with a man that cat called him, your brutal honesty about your feelings and holding nothing back. azuma ordered the same drink you had that night, and felt his fingers pass your contact one too many times

azuma could barely remember the client’s name, even as he entered their apartment and laid in bed with them. the moonlight seemed to spotlight his phone on the nightstand beside him as he stared at the ceiling. the shadows outside crept into the room, reminding him how much time had passed

when azuma had slipped out of the room much earlier than he had anticipated, it didn’t take long for him to start heading towards your apartment not too far from where he was, in the midst of putting his blazer back on as he held his phone to his ear

your phone rang but you didn’t pick up

by the time he was at your door, he was about to knock before he hesitated. azuma rested his forehead against the surface as he closed his eyes. the light in the corridor flickered

was he about to do this? to go against everything he’s ever established for himself? but, how many nights had he spent with you? he stayed for breakfast and kept coming back for more, he even helped you make it and clean up because he wanted more time with you. he let you cling onto him in the mornings and encouraged you to do so. azuma met with you during the daytime because he loved the way the light made you seem ethereal

the line between romance and professionalism was long gone between you two, and he wanted it that way

he let you fall in love with him because he wanted it, too

before azuma could knock, you called him. his ringtone echoed in the hallway. a rustle and suddenly you opened the door, your phone screen illuminating the dark apartment

azumxa answered anyways, bringing the phone to his ear as he smiled at you

“can i sleep in your bed tonight?”