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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Gender Neutral! Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warning: Slight description of Animal Violence. Nothing too graphic, but if the genre of stuff you see on Shark week isn’t for you, skip over the part denoted by the *******

Word Count: 3530 words

Summary: You learn more about Cruz and about yourself

Prologue

Chapter 1

“-and then he just leaves. What do I even do with that?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Your roommate hums, refilling up your glass of wine. “And you don’t have his number, so you can’t call or text him right?” You take a large sip, nodding and trying not to spill wine on your pajamas.

Well, kind of.

You hadn’t told anyone about Cruz, not even your family, because frankly you didn't know where to start. But when you walked into the apartment, sullen and dragging your feet, your roommate, Caitlyn, had offered wine, ice cream, and a willing ear. That's when the floodgates opened (with some modified details, of course).

“We’re meeting at our usual place in a couple days, I just…”Another sip of wine,”...hate sitting here, not knowing what he’s feeling, what I did, how I’m feeling.” You set down your glass and throw yourself back against the couch, sinking into the cushions. “I feel so stupid, like a fucking teenager, and I hate it.” Caitlyn sets her own wine glass down and nudges the half-empty ice cream carton towards you.

“It’s for the best your feeling all this now, then you can come at ‘im all composed and articulate. Really throw him off his game.” You grab a spoon and the carton, Caitlyn patting your shoulder as you take a pathetic bite.

“You’re right but I-I don’t even know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Sounds like this guy’s got you hooked. At least that’s a start right?” Caitlyn hums, pressing her chin into her palm. “To be completely honest, Sam took a couple days to warm up to me. And I never told her this, but she gave me hardcore pretentious vibes on our first date.”

Caitlyn gives a long spiel about her awkward first soulmate date (“Seriously, who brings up ‘the superiority of vinyl’ on the first date!”), and if you were in the mind to be a good roommate, or hadn’t heard this story before, you might’ve listened closer. But only one question was occupying your thoughts; Did Cruz like you?

--------

You arrive at the boardwalk an hour early. You don’t immediately go to the tidepool, instead choosing to take a long walk on the beach, taking a moment to calm your racing heart and collect your thoughts.

You like Cruz. You like him as much as two people who just met can, despite a less-than-romantic first impression. But does he like you?

You never thought you would have to ask your soulmate that.

There’s a small thwap as you slap your cheeks, heat simmering your skin even as the cold water laps at your feet.

This is ridiculous. You’ve talked twice. Caitlyn and Sam have a thriving relationship (You should know, you share a wall with Caitlyn) and even they got off to a rocky start.

The pit grows in your stomach, thinking of Cruz’s disinterested stare as he swims into the open ocean. The weight of it almost sinks to your toes.

You shake your head, slapping your cheeks once more.

Today is a new day. Just go through the motions _____.

You reach the tidepool, setting down your picnic blanket and bag. You grab one of your notebooks and prop it open as you bite into an apple. You’re 30 minutes early, might as well get some reading done.

The waves crash and pull against the rocks, pleasant studying ambience, but is interrupted by several clicks and abrupt, out of rhythm, splashes. You look up, immediately in awe of the sight.

About 50 feet away from the entrance to the tidepool is a pod of dolphins, breaching out of the water. You grab a pencil, your phone, and your notebook, tiptoeing through the tidepool to get a better look.

Good choice wearing water shoes today.

From closer up, you notice the distinct lack of dorsal fins and realize they must be Northern White Whale Dolphins. 60 of them have congregated in a group, most likely scouting for easy food or taking a rest.

Their pod is pretty small though. What are they doing so close to the shore?

The pod continues to play as you take shaky photos with your camera, trying to balance your notebook and pencil in the crook of your elbow. Through your viewfinder, you spot a familiar shape, not 30 feet from the pod, peeking his head out of the water. Cruz’s black eyes narrow into focus before he fully submerges. Your eyes widen as you lower your camera.

The water above Cruz rushes as he swims closer and closer to the pod. You tuck your phone back into your pocket as you finagle your way up to a nearby rock. You need a better view, and it might be best to be out of the water while this happens.

The dolphins haven’t noticed Cruz yet, still gliding along the waves. There's a quick flash of his strong back before he dives even deeper into the water. The rock slightly digs into your stomach as you lean over to get a better look.

What I wouldn’t give for a drone right now.

Before long, there is a burst of clicks, the largest dolphins quickly surrounding the group and issuing them away. They’ve spotted Cruz, but one is a little too slow.

Cruz’s dorsal fin cuts through the water, close enough to the surface that you can make out the details of his determined face. His eyes have latched onto the slowest dolphin and his speed increases exponentially. His long tail flicks back and forth as he gains on it.

*******

The dolphin flips into the air, trying to gain distance. But like a flash Cruz’s large hand shoots out of the water, getting a hold of the dolphin’s tail, and pulls. You see his shoulder and tricep bulge as the dolphin thrashes in his grip. His head once again breaches the water as he digs his other clawed hand into the dolphin’s side, raking into it as he pulls the dolphin closer to him. The two tussle and wrestle against each other, going in and out of the water as the dolphin tries to push Cruz away.

But Cruz is limber, keeping a tight grip on the dolphin as he maneuvers his body alongside it. His torso raises up as he pushes the dolphin down under the water and into submission. Cruz then yanks the dolphin’s front upwards and out of the water, grip still tight on it’s rear, before opening up his maw and tearing into the dolphin’s neck. He rips his head back and forth until the dolphin stills, a large pool of red slowly cascading around them.

*******

Your pencil hangs loosely in your fingers as you watch, eyes locked on Cruz. You think the struggle must’ve lasted only 20 seconds, but in the moment, it felt like hours. Cruz’s chest heaves as he takes another bite, serrated teeth easily ripping the flesh, as casual as the lobster roll from your last meeting.

Blood drips from his mouth and covers his claws. His cards his fingers back through his hair, leaving crimson streaks that shine against his black locks. Cruz bites off another mouthful before heaving the dolphin onto his shoulder.

As a large science nerd, you’ve always enjoyed watching nature in progress. But a new, exciting, vaguely uncomfortable feeling stirs in your gut as you watch Cruz suck in his fingers, picking out stray bits of meat from his large, sharp teeth. A feeling like a shiver rushing down your spine and heat in between your legs.

Oh my god. Why was that the hottest thing I’ve ever seen?

Cruz turns away and submerges himself, giving you a nice shot of his defined back muscles as he sums up his hunt. You can’t take your eyes off his form moving just below the water, even as your 5 PM alarm goes off.

You knew Cruz was larger, and far stronger, than you, but seeing him in his element reminds you just how easily he could tear you apart.

God, and I kind of want him to.

As he swims further away from the shore, you see two black dots in the distance. You take out your phone again and open up the camera to zoom in.

Speaking of huge. Holy shit.

The focus is a little blurry, but it’d be hard for you to miss the massive mermaids. With only their shoulders and up out of water, they still tower over Cruz by at least a head each. Both have long black hair, intertwined with what looks to be seaweed and various types of shells. The one on the right is holding two larger masses over her shoulders, positioned the way a lumberjack would hold a fallen tree. Cruz reemerges with his dolphin in tow, frighteningly small.

Cruz’s gestures indicate they’re having a conversation, mostly one-sided. The dolphin on Cruz’s back bounces as he talks animatedly, his hunt small when compared to the two weights the right mermaid carries. With your old phone you can only catch a glimpse of the left mermaid’s lips moving. Cruz’s energy dims as she continues and he seems to sink deeper into the water.

The left mermaid holds out her hand. Cruz hesitates, then throws his dolphin into her arms. She swings it over like it weighs nothing and then shakes her hand as if to shoo him away. The right one rumbles with laughter. Cruz nods, solemn as the two submerge and swim away.

Cruz stays there for a minute, looking out at the horizon. When he finally turns, his movements are lethargic as he swims towards the tidepool.

You scramble down from the rock and quickly tiptoe back to your blanket, fumbling to stuff your notebook and pencil back into your bag.

Cruz glides in, his eyes not meeting yours, locked in thought.

“Hey Cruz.” You wave, struggling to catch your breath from your impromptu rush.

Cruz slowly looks up at you, still slightly downcast.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” You shake your head furiously.

“It’s no problem! I got her kind of early, and then I saw you hunting and didn’t want to bother.” Cruz’s eyes widen a bit, before her recoils into himself and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, sorry. You probably didn’t want to see that….” You once again shake your hands and head back and forth.

“No! No I-, I actually thought it was super cool!” Cruz quirks his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Yeah! It was like my own personal Shark week. Like wow, you looked amazing out there.”

Cruz’s cheek tint a cerulean blue, the corners of his lips turning up at the sides as he fiddles with his fingers.

“And those dolphins are the fastest kind around here, but bam! You were on them like a firecracker, kind of wish I had a slow motion camera.” You laugh, before realizing Cruz probably didn’t understand half of your analogies. “You looked uh, you were really good at it.”

Well duh, you idiot. He’s a shark.

“Thank you.” Cruz shoots you a tiny smile, blush still running across his face and down his neck. The ensuing silence is only slightly uncomfortable, as Cruz’s blush stays strong and you're sure you develop one of your own. You try and focus on something else to calm down, but catch a glimpse of his biceps, and fail miserably.

“Oh, that’s right.” Cruz reaches over and sticks his hand in between two nearby rocks. His brow furrows before his eyes light up, and he pulls out a….handbag?

It’s loosely sewn together with kelp, made of some sort of seal skin and closed with a seashell button. Cruz pops it open and begins to rummage inside.

“Gotcha.” Cruz pulls something out of the bag, before turning and hiding it behind his back.

“Uh, whatcha got there?” Cruz smiles, his blue blush painting his face from top to tip.

“I found this thing and thought you um….might want to look at it?” Cruz pulls his arm in front, revealing a reflective white shell, just a bit longer than his palm.

“It’s not a crab, but I thought it was neat looking so….”

You slowly move towards him, gesturing to ask if you can hold the shell. Cruz nods, almost shoving it into your hand.

The color is completely white, sharp, almost polished-looking. It carves into several rings before sloping into a point. It’s empty, the inside free of any sand or tiny algae.

“Do you know what it’s called?”

You look back to Cruz and nearly brush your nose against his. You realize how hot his body heat is as he leans over you to look at the shell. Your shoulders just barely touch.

As if dipped into boiling water, your face alights into red and your body convulses to jerk away from the heat.

“Yeah-Yes! Actually I do, it’s-it looks like a Kellets W-Welk. Well, the remains of one’s shell anyway.”

Cruz stays close, letting out a small “Ohhh.” as he squints his eyes to get a closer look. It’s the most on-land you’ve seen him, with the water lapping at the base of his tail. Sitting down, your head only comes to his clavicle. The uncomfortable burning stirs in your gut.

“Is it a hermit crab?”

“Not, it’s a sea snail. They're not really on land like crabs.” You brush your thumbs over the shell’s ridges. “There are quite a few varieties of sea snails around here, lots of beautiful shells. Their babies look pretty cool too.”

Cruz nods, eyes intent, and it reminds you of the elementary kids you saw when working at the aquarium. Your heart skips as you futilely try to fight the smile on your face.

“Can you eat ‘em?”

You chuckle and Cruz’s face grows a darker shade of blue. “Yeah, you can. You’ve got a good eye for snacks huh?”

Cruz pouts playfully, blue still awash on his cheeks. “Maybe, but I’m not always thinking about food.” Just as he finishes, you hear his stomach rumble. You stifle your laugh with your hand and Cruz grabs his stomach angrily. “Sh-Shut up! It’s almost dinner!”

The two mermaids flash in your mind. You see Cruz handing over the dolphin as they swim away. Then you see Cruz, furiously cracking open crabs with a single-minded purpose. The smile drops from your chin.

How often does that happen?

Cruz was small for a Great White. You hadn’t even thought about why. You don’t even know if you want to.

“They’re pretty tasty, but their shells are a lot more fun.” Cruz furrows his brow again. “Here, let me show you.” You scoot yourself closer to him, putting the white shell against his ear. His eyes widen and he leans backwards a bit from your closeness, but the shell still lingers by his ear. “Do you hear it?”

Cruz stills, furrowing his brows even deeper, but then they rise in surprise. He leans back towards you, tentatively grabbing your wrist and pulling the shell closer.

“Its-”

“The ocean.”

The same childlike wonder from before flushes on his face as he looks at you, bringing your stomach a flutter. Cruz presses his head down closer to the shell, the bottom of his cheek now touching your palm. Cruz’s skin is cool against yours, slightly damp, and you feel the hint of roughness as his chin brushes against your wrist.

“How-How did you-”

“My mom showed me once. I mean, technically it’s the echo of the blood coursing through your ear, which reverberates and sounds like waves crashing. But it’s still a neat trick.”

“Oh, I see….”

From this close, you can see the small freckles which dapple Cruz’s cheeks, peppering across the bridge of his nose and up onto his forehead. Specks of dark blue, black, and green contrasts against his light gray skin, like the setting sun catching the pulling tides.

In the moment, you long to touch them.

So you do.

It’s so….soft.

As your thumb brushes up his jaw, the mottled colors are overwhelmed and overshadowed by Cruz’s furious blush. Cruz moves away so quickly that he unfurls his grip on a nearby rock and loses his balance. He braces himself and hisses as his thin skin nicks the corner of a rock.

“Oh my god, I’m so-so sorry! I just- oh my goodness are you okay?” You retract the shell closer to your chest, your other hand outstretched to steady Cruz. When he flinches away, you pull it back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your personal space like that.”

Cruz's chest heaves but he doesn’t move or say anything. From the corner of your eye you spot a tiny bit of blood leaking onto the rock.

“Oh shit, wait I-I should have something.” You whip around to your backpack, shuffling and pushing aside your notebook to find your emergency first aid kit. Water wells in the corner of your eyes as you frantically search. You desperately try to will the tears away.

Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid-

Your inner insults are interrupted when your fingers brush against the familiar plastic fabric pouch. Before turning back to Cruz, you hastily wipe your eyes.

“Here, this should help.” You hold out the small thing of gauze and an antiseptic wipe. Cruz slowly takes them, fiddling with the gauze until it's undone. He picks up the antiseptic package with the tips of his forefinger and thumb, eyes squinting as he tries to read the small text.

“That’s to clean the wound with, to get the gross stuff out.” Cruz’s eyes narrow even further, brushing his thumb over the paper wrapping. Tentatively, he plops the unwrapped wipe on his wound. He looks back, clearly confused. “You have to unwrap it first, then wipe it.” His blush returns as he jerks his eyes away from you, embarrassed with you watching.

“I could do-”

“I’ve got it.” Cruz snaps, finding the perforation and ripping it off quickly.

“Okay, but it’s gonna sting-”

“Ow, shit!” Cruz curses as he presses the wipe against the apex of his cut, whining and biting his lower lip.

“If it’s hurting that means it’s working.” Cruz nods, but he hastily wipes the wound and sighs as he crumples it up.Cruz wraps his cut with medical precision, reminding you of boxers right before a match. He cuts the gauze short with a snip of his teeth

“Wow, you're really good at that.” Cruz snorts.

“I don’t need any jackasses going into a frenzy anytime soon. That would be the perfect end to this shit day.”

Your heart freezes as your stomach drops, and you recoil into yourself. The nausea of guilt washes over you. And then that makes you feel even worse, and so the cycle continues.

Cruz notices your sheepish, downtrodden stare, and frantically waves his good hand.

“Wait, shit, no, thats-thats not what I meant. Uh…” He loses track of his sentence, mouth agape as he looks for words. “I mean….thank you.” He fiddles with his claws. “For the bandage, a-and the food a couple days ago. This is...nice.”

You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly his praise perks you up, rolling over your tense muscles like a masseuse.

“Thank you for the shell, it was very thoughtful of you.” Cruz sputters.

“I just passed by it on a swim, it wasn’t a big deal. The reefs got a ton of them, so, y’know.”

You don’t know, but it’s cute watching him fumble with his words. He’s so bashful for an apex predator you saw kill a dolphin not 20 minutes ago.

“I could even-well, it’s close that we- we could go sometime? You and me?” Cruz fiddles with his claws once more, and you wonder if it’s a nervous compulsion. “It’s a little ways away from the coast but with me carrying you, we could probably see a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Cruz’s nervous smile is much more lopsided than his regular one. It accentuates the dimple on his left cheek.

“I would love that.”

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You decide to meet up early on Saturday to get a head start on the sunlight. You leave the boardwalk giddy, your nerves tingling pleasantly with pre-plan jitters. All this energy means you might have to spill to Caitlyn once more, just to let it all out. You’ll most likely tell her you two are getting breakfast by the beach, maybe stop by an aquarium.

Looking at all the coral and the crustaceans. Just me, in Cruz’s arms-

You stop, your nerves bubbling up under your skin, like steam is blowing out of your ears as you think about what is in store for Saturday.

You’re still not sure how Cruz feels about you. But there isn’t a show of a doubt now; You have a crush on him.

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Cruz sits in the water, cracking open a leftover oyster he had left in his bag for emergencies. Emergencies like being so flustered he can't possibly go back to the pod, not without looking incredibly suspicious.

He brushes his thumb over his cheek, and it’s almost like you're there again.

So….soft.

#my writing #monster romance #monster x reader #reader insert #shark merman #merman #shark merman x reader

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insfiringyou · 3 years

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BTS - Somebody Else (V x Da-eun) & (Max x Cassandra)

Contains: Fluff, parenting, slight angst, smut, first date

Set a month after the fic ‘A Chance Meeting’ where V asks for Da-eun’s phone number. He agrees on a date with the stylist and Cassandra and Max spend some alone time together.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE

Taehyung smiled, opening his mouth in a playful gesture as the baby dropped the wrapper on the floor; the infant licked the dark substance from his tiny, sticky fingers with a grin. The man opposite reached for the pack of wet wipes on the table in front of him, slipping a few from the hole in the top and stretching to hand them to Taehyung who took them with a quiet thanks.

“No problem.” Max sat back down and leaned back in the chair, watching as Taehyung wiped the chocolate from the baby’s lips, trailing it across his cheeks and forehead, where a strand had managed to become lodged in the boy’s dark hair. “He loves that stuff but he gets it everywhere.”

Taehyung looked up briefly at the sound of the man’s voice, dismissing it with a lazy gesture. “Babies are supposed to be messy.”

“He’ll never sleep now…” Cassandra rolled her eyes with a sigh, shifting against the cushions of the small, two-person couch she shared with her boyfriend. She had spent all afternoon trying to get Gabriel prepared for his evening walk with Taehyung; making sure he was changed and fed, but the child had been restless, throwing his dinner on the floor in a tantrum before attempting to climb the stairs; pulling the safety gate from the wall in the process. Her limbs ached from chasing him, but his demeanor changed when his father showed up at the door. He climbed in the stroller without kicking up a fuss and, according to Taehyung, hadn’t made a sound on the mile-long trip to the park. It was times like this she jokingly wondered if Gabriel had been the right name to call him. Lucifer might be more apt.

Max had shown up shortly after the troublesome pair had left, and the cup of warm tea he made was most welcome. He helped her tidy the living room in anticipation of them coming back, and insisted she sit back and relax as he did the washing up. Her feet were sore and he kneaded them gently, resting them one by one in his lap until the sound of the door opening made her pull away. The thought of Taehyung seeing them made her uncomfortable, and her soles were feeling much better anyway.

“It’ll be fine.” Max murmured cheerfully, pulling her away from her thoughts. “I can go and sit with him if he wakes up.” Cassandra frowned at his casual taking of Taehyung’s side and he touched her thigh, giving it a little pat. “It’ll give you a chance to sleep.”

“I could stay if you need me to.” Taehyung offered, his gaze suddenly fixed on the couple.

She shook her head, frown fixed. “I thought you had a date?”

He opened his mouth to speak but Max cut in, interest peaked. “I didn’t know you were dating.”

Taehyung was silent for a moment before offering a small shrug. “We’ve only been texting.”

“How long?” The other man asked.

“A month or so.”

Cassandra turned to her boyfriend, sensing the other man’s discomfort at being questioned, she took over, elaborating for him. “She’s a stylist.”

Max grinned teasingly. “Your stylist?”

Taehyung shook his head. “No, a friend’s. We haven’t met yet.”

“Where are you taking her?” The older man asked.

There was a long pause and Cassandra suspected he wasn’t going to reply, realising that Max, who was an open book when it came to conversation, hadn’t yet sensed the other man’s uneasiness. Taehyung lowered Gabriel gently to the floor. The infant had started to wriggle in his grasp, as though sensing the change in atmosphere.

“Le Rouge, in Gangnam.” He murmured.

“Oh, it’s nice!” Max turned to his girlfriend with a warm smile. “We’ve been.”

“Make sure you try the Coq au vin.” She chipped in.

The younger man shrugged once more. “I’m not that hungry…I was thinking of just going for drinks.”

She looked at him, eyebrow cocked. “Have you told her that?”

“What do you mean?” He replied, voice slow.

She tried not to roll her eyes. “She might not have eaten.”

He sighed quietly, wanting to change the topic. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Cassandra fell quiet, eyes falling to her son who had started to whine under his breath, babbling incessantly as he clung to the dark fabric of the sofa, attempting to climb back onto his father’s lap. He was growing fussy and she checked her watch.

Max watched her do this and got slowly to his feet. “We should put him to bed now.”

“I’ll do it.” Taehyung interrupted.

Cassandra joined her boyfriend, shaking her head lightly as she stood, gently reminding the man opposite. “You’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Are you driving?” Max asked, stepping aside to allow Cassandra to edge past him.

The younger man shifted in his seat but accepted Cassandra’s offer. “Taking a cab.” His eyes followed as she bent down beside him, scooping the child in her arms easily as she had done thousands of times before. Their eyes met and she gave a soft smile, nodding towards his printed shirt. The colours were jeweled in tone; feathers decorating the crisp, white fabric. It was a wonder he had managed to stay clean with the baby around.

“You look nice.” She complimented.

“Thank you.” He murmured quietly.

She nodded, straightening her legs. “I hope it goes well.” Gabriel had finally grown quiet, his eyes closing sleepily and she lowered him towards his father who kissed his cheek softly, smoothing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Goodnight angel…”

He watched her walk towards the hallway and felt his chest swim simultaneously with warmth and sadness at the sight of them leaving. Max followed his gaze, sea-blue eyes observing, but not quite understanding what he was seeing. He sat back in his chair, sensing the tension the other man was feeling and wanting to alleviate it somehow.

“Do you want something to drink since you’re not driving?” He offered politely. “Something to settle your nerves?”

The younger man’s attention was drawn for a few more moments by Cassandra climbing the stairs to the second floor with Gabriel walking in front of her; his arms held up to stop him from falling, before turning back. “If you want.”

Max stood up, heading towards the kitchen. “Do you like craft ale? We got a batch from a local brewery.”

“Anything’s fine.” Taehyung murmured without interest, watching as the older man unclasped the safety gate which shielded the kitchen from young, adventurous hands. He heard the fridge door open and the gentle hiss of cap tops being popped, before the other man returned, clutching two bottles. He handed one across the table before settling back down in his previous position on the opposite sofa.

“Has it been a while?”

Taehyung frowned. “Since what?”

Max shrugged easily. “You dated.”

The younger man looked away, thinking. “I’ve been focused on other things lately.”

Max nodded with a smile, remembering tidbits of information from Cassandra. “I heard about your house renovation. Is it going well?”

“Almost finished. I just have the nursery to decorate.”

He gave a murmur of approval in reply, before falling silent, unsure what else to say. Max had met Taehyung on a handful of occasions, though their conversations were usually brief; it wasn’t him he was coming around to see after all. He hadn’t yet grasped a good sense of his personality, though he seemed to be shy, reserved even. Max wasn’t used to making small talk, but wanted to be friendly; the other man was Gabriel’s father after all, and it would help Cassandra if they got along. “It’s good that you’ve made it work.” He eventually said, approvingly. Taehyung looked at him with a blank expression and he quickly clarified. “You and Cassandra...most people can’t.”

“Me and Cass aren’t like ‘most people’.” He replied, making Max laugh. He held up his bottle in cheers.

“I’ll drink to that!” He grinned, pressing the bottle to his lips. Taehyung followed, mirroring his motion and taking a few small sips. Max put his bottle on the table, watching the other man drink quietly, musing over whether he should say what he had planned. The young man opposite seemed more relaxed, having grown used to his company, so he pressed ahead, a little cautiously, seeking approval.

“We were thinking of taking a little vacation this summer…”

“Where to?” Taehyung asked.

His voice seemed casual, uninterested, so Max continued. “Sweden.” He cleared his throat a little. “Lund, my home town.”

Brown eyes met blue across the space. “Will Gabriel be going with you?”

Max hesitated, brushing his fair hair from his eyes and touching the back of his neck. “Would you be okay with that?”

Taehyung was quiet for a second, before replying. “If Cassandra’s comfortable with it.” He looked towards the doorway automatically, towards the staircase. He could hear Gabriel whaling loudly upstairs, Cassandra’s frantic hushes just audible as she tried to get him to settle in his cot. Max followed his gaze, reading his thoughts, and shook his head knowingly.

“She might take a while.” He confirmed. “You don’t want to be late.”

Taehyung fell silent, as though wishing to protest, but finally stood up, collecting his phone from the coffee table and sliding it into his shoulder bag. He hadn’t quite finished the drink, but a quick glance at his watch told him he wouldn’t have time. He wasn’t that thirsty anyway.

Max trailed behind as they walked into the hallway, the older man sipping his beer along the way. “I hope you’ll come again soon.” He smiled. Taehyung paused by the stairs, considering whether he should go up and say goodnight.

“I’ll let her know you had to go.” Max said gently, and Taehyung looked back, nodding in acceptance.

“Thanks.” He murmured, reaching for the door handle.

PART TWO

She felt hot under her thick, woolen coat and hoped her foundation was staying put. The evening was unexpectedly warm, a contrast to the past few nights when she had taken the bus back from her company’s headquarters downtown, and she was beginning to regret her attire. There was no one behind the reception desk and she looked around the dim room frantically, checking the small face of her watch and hoping he hadn’t left already; that was if he had shown up at all. There were a few couples seated around the circular tables, along with a family on the long, bench-like table near the window, clearly celebrating a birthday. Golden balloons were strung along the backs of chairs, and the conversation among them was heated and familiar. She couldn’t see him there and reached into her handbag for her phone, wondering if she would be brave enough to text.

Her gaze was averted when an older man came out of a back room, closing the door quietly behind him and glancing across the desk. She hoped he couldn’t sense her embarrassment and wondered whether she should just leave, before he beckoned gently to her. She took a step closer to the desk and he leaned across to whisper.

“Could I take your name?”

She pulled away and looked at him. His expression was hard to read and she felt her cheeks turn red.

“Kang Da-eun.” She replied, wondering a second too late whether it had been a good idea to tell a stranger.

He nodded. “This way please…”

She looked around the room, noting the busy atmosphere, before following cautiously towards a beaded curtain at the end of the corridor.

“Can I take your coat?” The man asked, pulling the strings aside as she ducked beneath. It made a soft, musical sound as the beads shimmied back together and she looked around the small room, spotting the lone figure immediately. The walls were a deep, fleshy kind of burgundy and the soft, warm lighting only made the room seem smaller, more intimate. Her heart seemed to stop as the man seated at the far end looked up above the menu, straight at her. His hair was a medium brown, tousled a little above his dark, dark eyes and the expression he gave seemed intense, though she couldn’t quite read it. She still couldn’t believe she was meeting him in the flesh; though she recognised him immediately. She had been too preoccupied over the prospect of him not being there that she hadn’t quite worked out what she would do if he was. Da-eun became aware that the server was waiting patiently at her side, and she belatedly turned to him with a blush, smoothing her dark hair away from her perspiring forehead.

“Oh, thank you…” She slipped off the tweed coat, fumbling a little with the oversized buttons, before handing it to him. He hung it on the stand in the corner, before promptly disappearing back through the curtains. When she turned back her date was standing, pulling the wooden chair from the other side of the little table for her to sit down. She walked over shakily, hoping her feet wouldn’t give out from under her as she joined him. The chair squeaked as she sat on it and she felt herself cringe even further.

“I’m sorry to be late. The bus was delayed.” She blurted, eyes following as he sat back down and met her gaze.

“Which number did you get?” He asked, voice low and surprisingly soft. She felt the pulse in her hands and knitted them together in front of her on the table.

“The one from Hannam-dong.”

He nodded, though she wasn’t sure he really understood. She wondered how long it had been since he had taken public transport. She looked around nervously, observing the framed photographs which hung, clustered on the walls. They were placed a little chaotically in the small space, but she thought that might be the point. She recognised a few of the places shown, though she had never been there herself; the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. “It’s really nice here.” She smiled, tugging a little at the hem of her dress; wishing it wasn’t so warm or that she had chosen something less modest. “I feel under-dressed.”

His eyes flickered to the garment, lingering on the decorative pattern which adorned the thick, woolen dress. “Don’t worry.” He murmured.

“Have you been here before?” She asked with interest.

“No.” He said, making her fall silent. She touched her cheeks with the back of her hand, realising, as expected, they were warm to the touch. He noticed and leaned forward. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water.” She nodded and he pressed the call button at the side of the table.

“Still or sparkling?”

She blinked. “Still.”

The waiter was prompt, walking through the curtain a few moments later and Taehyung requested water for them both. She took advantage of the moment to fix her fringe again, which had started to cling unattractively to her forehead. She feathered the dark locks with her fingertips, making sure the older gentleman had once more retreated behind the doorway before she spoke again.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” She whispered honestly, a little ashamed of herself.

Taehyung looked at her. “Why?”

“I thought…” She shook her head to herself, a little smile playing on her lips. “It might be a prank.”

“I wouldn’t prank you.” He said smoothly.

“I know…It’s just…” She started, already feeling flustered. “I see people on T.V all the time, where people pretend to be someone they’re not.” She paused. “It’s usually for their credit card.”

The other man was quiet and she worried she might have offended him. She opened her mouth to clarify, but he changed the topic. “Did you like the flowers I sent?”

Sitting back in her chair, she nodded with a smile at the memory. The pale, delicate Baby’s Breath had arrived at her workplace the previous week, wrapped carefully in brown paper. It reminded her of something a child might pick in the spring and she had later wondered if he had done just that. “They were lovely. I didn’t think they were for me at first.”

“I wrote a card.” He affirmed.

She quickly nodded. “I know. I just didn’t see it until Ara pointed it out.”

“Do you like working with Ara?” He questioned.

“She’s really nice.” Da-eun confirmed. “She told me how you met.”

Taehyung sat back, threading his fingers together. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I heard.” She thought for a second, curious about something she had heard rumours of in the news. “Are you working on a comeback?”

“Not really.” He murmured dismissively, looking over her shoulder when the waiter returned with a jug and two glasses. “Thank you, you can set it there.” He gestured, pouring the drinks for them both without fuss. He continued speaking as he placed her glass carefully in front of her. “How did you become a stylist?”

She took a few mouthfuls, soothing her dry throat. “Well…” She gulped, setting it back down. “It’s a funny story.”

“I’m listening.” He said.

She looked up, observing that he was indeed watching her closely, before she continued the story. “I had a friend from school who worked with Mamamoo, and she had to pull out of a photoshoot because she broke her arm.”

“How did she break it?” He asked.

“What?” She looked up, eyes wide.

“Her arm. How did she break it?” He asked patiently.

“Oh…” She looked down, remembering. “She fell down the stairs before a business meeting. Her heel just snapped.”

“Sounds painful.” He commented nonchalantly.

“It was.” She confirmed, feeling more confident now she was making conversation and that he appeared to be interested in what she had to say. “Anyway, she couldn’t mix the colours with only one arm. So she asked if I could step in.”

“Did you go to beauty school?”

She nodded with a smile. “I’d just graduated. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“That’s very fortuitous...” He wandered off, taking a few sips of water as he thought to himself. She watched his eyes grow dark. “I would have liked to have spent more time at school.” He eventually said.

“You still can.” She replied softly. “What would you study?”

He was quiet for a second. “Art maybe…or Photography.”

Her smile widened. “I’ve seen your pictures online…they’re really good.”

“I’d like to be better.” He murmured.

She nodded sympathetically. “It must be hard to balance your time.”

He met her gaze, caught off guard. “Why?”

Da-eun frowned. “You have a son, don’t you?”

She saw his expression shift and immediately realised her mistake. “I’m sorry…” She backtracked, turning red with embarrassment and looking down at the table. “I saw it online.”

“So did most of Korea.” He said dryly.

She sensed a note of sadness in his voice she couldn’t quite place; regret perhaps? She knew why. She didn’t need Ara to tell her what the backlash had been like. Her own reaction as someone who had known his name for years was one of shock and slight disbelief. She knew for those who followed him more closely; the fans who attended his shows and bought his records, the news would have seemed like a bombshell. It had never occurred to her before how this must have affected him. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

He shifted slightly in his wooden chair, his demeanor relaxing. “Maybe another time.” He confirmed, surprising her. Da-eun watched as he reached slowly across the table, fingertips skimming the back of her hand briefly before pulling away. She felt her skin prickle at the touch. “I want to know you better first.” Taehyung whispered.

She moved her gaze from her hand, where his own had been only seconds before, to his face which seemed soft in the dim glow of the lamp. “I think I’ve told you it all…” She admitted, only just realising how open she had been with him during their messages.

“You still live with your parents and sister?” He asked, already knowing the answer but seeking confirmation.

She nodded. “When I’m home.”

His mouth twisted a little and she wondered if he was teasing her. “Do they know you’re on a date?”

She nodded again, trying this time to hide her blush by talking clearly, with an air of confidence. “I said I’d be back by ten…”

“I’ll make sure you’re home in time.” He said softly, sitting back in his chair.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, sensing a shift between them. Looking across at him, he suddenly seemed less defensive, as though he was finally starting to relax. She nodded towards the single menu that rested between them, noting the neat, spindly calligraphy on the front page. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

She felt her stomach grumble in reply and picked it up sheepishly. “Did you want to share something? I hear the chicken is good.”

“I heard the same.” He replied coolly, gesturing towards the laminated sheet. “We should get two. I don’t want you to go hungry.”

She glanced at him with a smile, belatedly feeling just how hungry she was. Her stomach had been uncomfortable all afternoon, churning with nerves, and she hadn’t been able to manage more than a few bites at lunch. She knew how much Idols had to watch their figure; having seen for herself what Ara and the girls were subjected to while preparing for their comebacks, but the fact he didn’t seem to mind her having an appetite came as a relief.

“Shall we get a starter too?” She asked hopefully.

He nodded easily. ��You should order as much as you want.”

“Maybe some onion soup?”

He smiled. “Sounds good. Do you drink?”

She blinked. “Alcohol?”

He nodded.

“A little bit.” She replied, though immediately realised that was an exaggeration. The last time she had alcohol had been two Christmases ago, and even then it had only been a taste.

“Do you want some wine?” He asked.

She hesitated. “I don’t know much about what’s good.” Da-eun answered honestly.

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll order. Is a Cabernet okay?”

She looked at him blankly, but agreed. “Okay.”

***

She had managed to finish her small glass of wine, but only just. It’s bitter taste had taken her by surprise and if she had felt the room warm before, it was now like an oven. Taehyung had taken her lead and made sure his own glass was small, though he had drunk two. He gestured towards the bottle, still more than half full.

“Do you want any more?” He offered, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

She shook her head with a smile. The room seemed to be lit with a soft, fuzzy glow; the man opposite cast in a halo of light. She had never been drunk before, though she had heard it was fun. She wasn’t sure tonight was the best night to find out. “I’d better not. I have to get the bus home.”

He looked at her, expression straight. “Are you driving it?”

Da-eun laughed loudly in response, his reply unexpected and funny. It was the first time he had attempted humour all evening, and it was welcome. “No…” She shook her head, eyes streaming a little as she calmed down.

He settled back in his chair comfortably and she suspected he might be feeling proud of himself for getting a response from her. She wondered how long it had been since he had made another woman laugh.

“It’s pretty strong.” He confirmed, noting her roughed cheeks and giddy demeanor. “You could take it home with you. For your parents.”

She looked at the drink, frowning. “I’m not sure they’ll let me on the bus with a bottle.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.” He offered. “I said I’d have you home by ten.”

His words were reassuring and she felt her heart skip in her chest. She hadn’t been sure earlier in the evening if meeting him had been such a good idea. While their messages had been friendly enough, she wasn’t certain he really liked her that much. But his offer to get her home safely was sweet and much appreciated; the prospect of riding the bus so late at night had been making her a little anxious as the evening drew to a close. Perhaps he was just as nervous about the date as she had been.

“I’ll get my coat.” She smiled, getting to her feet.

***

The cool air sobered her up and she tucked her coat tightly around her midriff. “It’s getting cold.” She commented, though felt it was welcome.

“Yes.” He murmured, walking side by side with her along the pavement until they reached the point where the curb dipped into the road. “The taxis stop here.”

She turned to him, only just noticing the clear height difference between them. It was strangely comforting. “Thank you for buying me dinner.” She smiled.

“Did you like it?” He asked.

“Yes.” She confirmed, quickly adding. “Thank you.”

Taehyung pointed to a black cab which indicated right at the end of the road in the distance before pulling into the side street. “This will be for you.” He confirmed. “I texted ahead.”

Da-eun looked up with a polite nod. “Thank you.” She wondered what came next; whether she should bring up the topic of a second date. The dinner had been nice, and she had warmed to him considerably during the course of the meal, but she couldn’t be sure whether he felt the same. Taehyung gave a little wave to the car which pulled into the taxi bay beside them.

“It was nice to meet you.” He said, watching her tuck the handbag beneath her arm a little more securely. She waited to see if he would say any more and when he didn’t, took a tentative step towards the cab, feeling awkward. He moved away and, noticing from the corner of her eye, she took it as a sign the date was over. Da-eun gently loosened her grasp against her purse and pulled open the zipper, knowing that while she hadn’t opened it during the date, she was strangely prone to losing things. Noting that her bank card and phone were accounted for, she allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Taehyung walking away, back in the direction of the restaurant. He looked a little cold in his thin shirt and black trousers, and she wondered if he had left the rest of his belongings inside. Disappointed, but unsure what else she had expected, she turned back to the car and gave a small wave to the driver who gave one back in reply. She considered whether she should get in the front seat, though knew she would be useless at making conversation during the trip. Instead, she reached for the handle to the back.

“Do you have everything?” The voice behind her took her by surprise and she jumped a little, almost dropping her purse in the process. She turned towards Taehyung, failing to hide her shock, but managed a nod.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good…” He murmured, breath turning to mist in the cold air. He fell silent before stepping forward. “Can I kiss you?”

Her mouth opened uselessly, though she knew she must have managed a nod because a moment later his lips were pressing against her cheek, his touch soft as he pecked her gently, the sound filling her ear. He was surprisingly warm despite the cold night, and she felt a tingle after he had pulled away; her nostrils briefly filled with his dark, woody scent. The fragrance was unfamiliar, though she hadn’t much experience with colognes, and it filled her stomach with butterflies.

“Goodnight…” He whispered, straightening up.

She blinked stupidly in reply. “Yes.”

“Text me when you get home.” He requested, reaching out to tuck untuck the collar of her thick coat, as though protecting her from the cold, before he turned to leave. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

She nodded, though her voice was suddenly quiet; she felt like a mouse. “I will.”

The driver seemed to be growing inpatient behind the wheel and she gave a final wave as Taehyung set off once more in the direction of the restaurant, briefly turning back to watch her get inside before the car pulled away from the edge of the curb.

PART THREE

Earlier that evening…

“That sounded difficult.” Max smiled, automatically switching to English now they were alone and the apartment was finally silent. The cries from upstairs had only begun to taper off during the past five minutes, and the relief was apparent on Cassandra’s face as she gave a knowing smirk in reply and sat on the sofa, leaning into his touch as he wrapped one arm casually around her shoulder, bundling her against him. “It was the bastard sugar.” She replied in the same language, making him chuckle.

“One won’t hurt him.” He protested lightly. She rolled her eyes dramatically, realising he was taking Taehyung’s side in this.

“As long as you’re the one to stay up with him when he inevitably wakes up at 3am bouncing off the walls…”

He looked at her, holding his palms out with an easy smile. “I offered, didn't I?”

Cassandra looked around the small room, only just noticing. “Is he gone?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I gave him a beer.”

“How chivalrous of you.” She quipped dryly, tucking herself closer, body heavy with exhaustion.

“He seemed stressed.” Max shrugged, mispronouncing the final syllable, drawing it out.

“Yeah…” She murmured, growing silent in thought. “For a second I didn’t think he’d go.” She admitted.

“First dates are scary.” He agreed.

Cassandra pulled back to look up at him, her cheek pressing against his lower chest as she grinned mischievously. “Was it scary dating me?”

He shrugged against her, matching her smile. “You are easy to talk to.” He thought for a moment. “And my Korean is not that good yet.” He added.

“Me neither…”

He grinned, whispering. “You lie.” She laughed softly in reply as he looked at her, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear and smoothing her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m very lucky.” He said soberly.

Her mouth twisted in a playful leer. “Oui.”

His smile remained. “Do you feel the same?” He asked.

“Oui.”

He sighed dramatically. “You know my French is no good.”

“Non?” She teased, voice heavily accented.

“Non…” He agreed, bending down to meet her lips in a gentle kiss. He cupped her jaw, opening his mouth against hers and meeting her tongue as it brushed his softly, before pulling away and welcoming the feel of her weight against her body.

“He seems like a good guy.” Max admitted and she shifted against him, eyebrow raised.

“Taehyung?”

He nodded. “He’s good with the baby.” He said, falling silent when she didn’t reply. A thought had been playing on his mind, though he had never asked. Now, the timing seemed right. “Were you ever worried how he would react?”

“To having a baby?” She questioned.

Max gave a sound in confirmation. “He’s young.” He explained.

“Honestly…” She said, shrugging. “Yes.”

“I mentioned us going to see my family in the summer.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

She looked up at him, voice turning stern in disbelief. “You didn’t…”

He moved his shoulders; his shrug shaking her against him. “He was okay with it.”

Cassandra frowned, a little shocked. “Really?”

“He said it was up to you.”

Another eye roll. “How kind of him…”

Max looked at her, observing her expression. “Did you think he’d stop you?” He asked, genuinely curious.

She grew quiet, before answering carefully. “I don’t see how he could.” She gave a small sigh. “We’re not together anymore.”

He couldn’t help but grin, gently touching her nose with his index finger. “Fortunate for me…” He smoothed it along her bridge lovingly before moving to her forehead, trailing it across her skin. “Shall we book the plane?”

She didn’t answer at first, and Max wondered if he should repeat the question, before she chimed in, a little tentatively. “I’m not sure Gabriel could handle the long flight.”

“I flew to Australia when I was his age.” He explained.

She shook her head against him. “I don’t want to put him through it yet.” Her hand reached for his and she held it lightly, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. “Maybe this time you could visit them yourself…until he’s older.”

“We can talk about it later.” He agreed, wrapping his fingers around hers and giving her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. The sweater she was wearing had ridden down her chest a little, and he eyed her cleavage for a moment, before dipping his spare hand lower to cup a breast. She had closed her eyes, but gave a murmur of approval as he closed his fingers around her flesh, massaging her a couple of times before slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater to brush the cup of her bra.

“Are you sure he’s asleep?” He whispered.

She nodded against him, grumbling sleepily. “For now.”

He dipped lower, sliding beneath the thick fabric to tease a nipple and welcoming her sigh as he brushed the sensitive bud. “Do you want to?” He asked, watching her eyes open.

“Can we do it here?” She asked, pulling away from his body to change position. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“Okay.” He agreed, taking her cue as she laid along the length of the sofa, facing away from him. He tucked himself behind her, already feeling himself stiffen beneath his trousers as she nestled her backside against the forming bulge. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable and he groaned in response, unfastening the button on his jeans and letting out an inpatient gasp as she reached behind with one hand to feel him through the fabric. She offered a long, slow squeeze which made him buckle into her grasp, untucking the edge of his boxer shorts as he pulled them down a little to free himself. Reaching around her body, he moved under her sweater, stroking her stomach gently before palming her breast once more through the fabric as she sought out his cock, wrapping her digits around his thickness and jerking him roughly against her covered backside.

“Is this good?” She whispered, keeping her voice low.

“Amazing…” He spluttered. “I’m not hurting you am I?”

“No…” She sighed, tightening her grasp.

“Your nipple is so hard.” He remarked, tweaking it a little through the padding as she unfastened her jeans with one hand, tugging the fabric along with her underwear down just enough to expose herself to him.

“Touch me…” She gasped, moving her hand to his and placing it between her thighs where he smoothed his fingers along the curved outline of her pubis, running through the dark mat of curled hair before dipping between her folds.

“I love your hair.” He whispered against her ear, panting at the sensation as she squeezed along with length.

“My cunt?” She moaned, moving her lower body against his fingers, encouraging him to explore further.

“Yes…” His breath was warm against her face and neck as he kissed the skin there sensually, tongue flicking against her.

“Say it.” She begged.

“I love your cunt.” He repeated back to her, moving his hips in time with her motions, pushing into her palm as the tip slipped across her fleshy backside, humping her.

“Do you want to fuck me?�� Cassandra asked, breath catching in her throat.

“Yes…” He pleaded.

“Put your cock in me?”

He groaned loudly in reply and she held him tighter.

“Fill me with your cum?”

His voice hitched as he tried to speak. “Fill you…” He wandered off, giving a final grunt as he spilled himself into her hand, trying to catch his breath as he stilled against her. She realised, too late, what had happened and slowed her motions, uncurling her digits from around him and pulling away.

“God…” Max cried, bending over to kiss her cheek. “You’re so hot.” His voice came in jagged as he murmured against her cheek. “I couldn’t help it.” His eyes moved to her hand and he shifted against her, sitting up on the sofa as she moved around to rest her feet on the floor. “Let me get that…” He quickly offered, reaching for the wet wipes on the coffee table and wiping her digits before she could protest. He bundled the tissue and dropped it absently in the garbage can beside the sofa, pressing his lips back to her face. “You look so sexy.” He mumbled against her cheek, hands moving to squeeze her bare arse cheeks.

Cassandra pulled away, a little sleepily. “So do you.” She reached for her jeans, meaning to pull them back up but he beat her to it, pushing her hand away gently.

“Let me do something for you…”

She watched silently as he knelt on the floor, fitting himself between the sofa and table and looking up at her with wide, blue eyes. His intent was obvious, and Cassandra passively sat back in the chair as he stroked along her thigh, fingering the edge of her clothes and sliding them down her legs. He discarded them on the floor and she placed both feet on the sofa, spreading herself wide for him and watching as he leaned forward. His lips were gentle as they kissed along her labia, holding her open with two fingers and licking her folds with the tip of his tongue. She closed her eyes, blindly reaching for him as he tucked himself closer and stroking the strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moaned in reply to her touch as she held him against her, letting out an approving groan as he kissed her clitoris lightly, peppering it with soft, sucky kisses before focusing on her inner thigh which he showered with equal affection. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and forced them open, wanting to watch and appreciate him as he moved back to her clitoris which he sucked between his lips.

“That’s nice…” She whispered, encouraging him nearer. He wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs, opening his mouth against her. The moans she gave in response were genuine, though she feared she lacked the energy to reach her peak. Giving a last attempt, she splayed her fingers across the back of his head, holding him to her as he licked across her clitoris in small, circular motions. He groaned once more against her body, clearly enjoying the act, and she hadn’t the heart to ask him to stop. Shifting on the sofa slightly, she let go of his head and ran her fingers lightly through the pale, blonde strands, increasing the sounds of her breathing steadily until she forced a series of raspy, throaty gasps and stilled against him. He pressed a lingering kiss against her inner labia, just above her cunt, and she eased him away gently. He looked up at her with a soft smile and she met it affectionately.

“Thank you.” She whispered, kissing him softly when he moved up her body and opened his lips against hers. “Is it too early for bed?” She asked when he pulled away, stroking his stubbled cheek with her index finger.

He shook his head. “No. Do you want a nightcap?”

She thought for a moment before getting to her feet, bending down for her discarded underwear. “I want to keep a clear head in case Gabriel wakes up.”

He reached for her spare hand and she took it as he pulled her into a loose embrace. “Okay.”

***

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the-obiwan-for-me · 3 years

Text

For those who are here for my "She Said the Word" AU and are anxiously awaiting the next chapter of "More Than Blood," it's going to be awhile because real life has my writing in the backseat until at least Thursday evening. But I miss sharing and so I thought I could offer up a little tiny treat to hold you all over.

So here is your tiny little thing. A short scene between Bo and Ursa, set in the months following the conclusion of "She Said the Word" (so don't read any further if you haven't finished and don't want spoilers).

This comes from a conversation we had over on the Obitine discord recently. What started as a bit of a cracky discussion on how certain people would feel about discussing their sex life or making sexual jokes, ended up morphing into an angst fest (because we are an angsty bunch) over what Satine, and then Ursa would think or do if they saw innocuous bruises left on Bo after.... intimate activities with Tol'ket. And then I had to write.

So, here it is. TW for allusions to a past abusive relationship.

Bruises

"Just give me fifteen minutes," Bo said, as Ursa trailed behind her through the tiny flat.

Bo had only lived in Tol'ket's Sundari flat a few, short months, but it was slowly showing signs of a comfortable lived-inness that hadn't been there the first time Ursa had visited, shortly after their release from Coruscant. Tol'ket admitted he rarely used the flat prior to saying the riduurok with Bo in the midst of nearly dying, mostly keeping it to store clean underpants and the few personal possessions he owned.

But now, with the temptation of a beautiful wife to share a bed with, the flat was far more appealing than the cot shoved into the corner of his office.

Ursa walked past a print of Lily's Resol'nare portrait- painted by her own husband, Alrich, and candid holos of the Kryze family. She stopped and admired one of Bo and Tol'ket, on a sunny beach on Scarif, Bo in some tiny bathing suit, grinning wildly at the camera in a wide brimmed hat, as Tol'ket looked at her adoringly.

"Stars, I always forget how sexy you are," Ursa teased. "And I am such a whale right now."

Bo's laugh echoed from the bedroom. "You're not a whale. You're weeks away from giving birth."

Ursa followed the sound of her voice and found her peeling off her beskar, stacking it neatly alongside Tol'ket's. "He's still on admin?" Ursa asked, gesturing at his beskar.

Bo sighed as she unfastened her shoulder bells. "His choice. He says he still doesn't feel strong enough to do it right. Load of bantha shit if you ask me. He exceeds all the Protector requirement standards except in flexibility."

"I'm sure you have ways to help that." Ursa caught Bo's eye in the vanity mirror and smiled cheekily.

"Oh, absolutely I do," Bo said with a wink. Ursa laughed as Bo went on. "Anyway, he's using his time off of duty to study. Prepare in case he wins the election. The man is brilliant but is completely convinced he knows nothing about government. Nothing about Mandalore."

She was laughing as she peeled off her flight suit, revealing an angry, purple bruise on her bicep, in the vague shape of a large hand. The sight made Ursa's blood run cold and the bottom drop out of her stomach. She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.

"I will kill him."

The laugh died on Bo's lips. "What?"

Ursa stalked closer to Bo, gently taking her arm in her hands. The all too familiar feeling made her dizzy with despair. "What did he do to you? I will kill him, Bo-Katan. I trusted him."

Bo looked down at her arm in Ursa's hand and the slow realization of what Ursa was talking about dawned on her. She turned to face her fully, pulling her arm free of her grip, her flight suit hanging loose around her hips.

“Oh, Ursa, no. No, it’s not like that.”

“You have said that before, Bo-Katan.” Ursa’s eyes stung with tears of rage and grief. How could she have judged a man so wrong? She had trusted Tol’ket with her dearest friend, the person she loved almost as much as she loved her own husband (Alrich would say she loved Bo more than him, and he probably wasn’t wrong). How could she have read that man so completely poorly? “You have said that before and I have seen these bruises before.” She looked her up and down, looking for more. She brushed her hair away from her neck, looking for purple fingerprints left by an angry hand.

“But this time I am not lying," Bo said, catching Ursa's hand with hers. "It’s not like that, Ursa. It is never like that. It could never be like that. He loves me. He would never hurt me.”

“Then why is there a fucking bruise the size and shape of Tol’ket’s hand on your arm, Bo? Tell me.”

Bo turned away in a huff, shimming out of her flight suit and pulling on a pair of soft leggings. “Oh for the love of our ancestors, Ursa. I tripped.”

Ursa scoffed. “Again. I’ve heard that before.”

“Shut up and listen to me. We went to some damn campaign event two nights ago, and I stepped and tripped on my karking dress. I was going down hard and fast, and he grabbed me, by my arm, to keep me from busting my fool head open on the duracreet.” Ursa’s skepticism must have been plainly written across her face because Bo growled in frustration. “Hold on.”

She marched to her side of the bed and grabbed a datapad up off the nightstand. A few strokes later, a holonews reel began to play. In it, Bo walked a pace ahead of Tol’ket, his hand on the small of her back as they entered some event hall in what looked like Keldabe. They were both elegantly dressed- they made for a very striking couple- with Bo in a long, dark blue gown. Bo looked out into the crowd surrounding the entrance, and, in her distraction, her high heel shoe snagged the hem of her gown, halting her momentum suddenly. She started to go down, just as Bo had said. Tol’ket, reflexes sharp as ever, grabbed for her, finding purchase on her bare arm. Within a fraction of a second he was righting her, and they were both laughing as he cupped her cheek. Even though there was no audio, save some news anchor’s obnoxious commentary, it was clear he was asking if she was alright. Then, he was taking her arm and leading her, both still laughing at her uncharacteristic clumsiness.

“See?”

“I swear I will still kill him if he ever hurts you, Bo.”

“I am very certain he knows that, Ursa, but you need not worry. He never will. He is good, Ursa. And kind. And gentle. You know that.”

Ursa sat down heavily on the foot of the bed, a hand falling to her very swollen belly. “I do,” she said softly. “I’ve seen too many bruises on you, Bo. I panicked. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

Bo stepped close, leaning down to place a kiss to her forehead. “I am both those things and more. Thank you, though, for caring so much. Thank you for being so protective. But, please, Ursa. Please don’t kill my husband. I rather like having him around.”

Ursa chuckled. “I make no guarantees, but he’s safe for now.” Then she spun Bo around and smacked her on the backside. “Now hurry up and finish changing. I am starving.”

#fan fic writing #fan fic #star wars fanfiction #she said the word #she said the word au #more than blood #bo katan kryze #ursa wren #edean tol'ket #tw past trauma #tw past abusive relationship

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alilbihh · 4 years

Text

spring leaves | | pjm

masterlist

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: You wonder if he’ll taste like the sun, even the second time. And you know that's impossible, know the sun isn't quite a tangible thing, that it doesn't have a taste or even a scent at all, but he does. He just does. (or: you’re absolutely screwed the moment you start crushing on your literal husband.)

genre: witch!jimin, witch!reader, arranged marriage au, fluff

words: 11.5k

The first time you meet your husband, you're holding his hand and standing in a rather itchy wedding dress.

The priest officiating you both is talking, you're sure; holy matrimony this and until death that-- rather dramatic, is what you'd say if you were listening-- but you're not. Listening, that is. You probably should be, but your now husband's hands are chubby and small and you're not quite sure who started sweating first, but. Well. Marriage isn't all that it's made up to be, you think.

Even if your husband is pretty.

The thought comes to you later, probably having lingered in the back of your subconscious and waited for the first chance to strike. It strikes when you're drinking juice in a champagne flute, watching the guests dance as if it's their own wedding day. Jimin's dancing with a little girl, couldn't be older than maybe seven or eight, twirling her around just for the dramatics of it as they both giggle, and it's probably the happiest you've seen him all night.

Seokjin says something beside you, and you refocus to catch wind of what he's saying but only catch something about deep sea fishing mid sentence. "That's great, Jinnie." You say just to have something to say.

He raises a brow, "I was literally talking about getting eaten alive by a whale."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He nods, solemnly, as if you hadn't just missed out the first five minutes of his rant. "Imagine. You sit there as he slowly digests you. A tragic fate." Someone passes by with a tray of wine, and Seokjin takes the offered glass with a mumbled thank you, then tosses his head back as if to take one big gulp. He only takes a sip, which you know because Jin's literally the biggest lightweight you know, but you pretend not to notice, anyway.

"Truly tragic."

"Truly." He nod nod nods, "I'd rather sink to the bottom of the sea. Let the algae take me in as one of their own."

The conversation drifts to something about the unspoken rules of common courtesy, and how much eye contact is too much eye contact?-- and you try to laugh and pretend you hadn't just been staring at Jimin.

Jimin, your husband, your mind supplies even though you don't want it to.

Your eyes drift to him, laughing in a group of people. You recognize only a few; Yoongi and his husband Taehyung, both from the winter district. A boy you think is from the autumn district, with doe eyes and chubby cheeks. He grins rather shyly at something and Jimin throws his head back in a laugh.

"Hey," Seokjin says, and your eyes drift to meet his. "I'm happy for you two. I know you'll treat him well." A hand clasps over your shoulder, and you know it's meant to be reassuring, meant to be comforting, but it's like the seventh hand of the night and you feel tired, suddenly. Like your legs are too small to hold up your weight. Like they might buckle at any moment and make you tumble.

But Seokjin can't know that, so you smile and thank him and there's nothing more to say. Because you'd just gotten married to a man you know nothing about, and you're meant to stay married to him for the rest of your life, and you try not to feel too overwhelmed at the thought. Try to save that for tonight, when you're alone.

That time never comes, because as it turns out, you're not alone.

When you walk into your room for the night you see Jimin already there, duvet up to his chest. He scrambles to sit when he hears you walk in, and you look and then really look, and he smiles something a bit crooked. A bit sloppy at the edges.

"Hello." Is the first thing he says, a bit rushed and a bit breathless, and you can't help it. You snort.

"Hello," you greet, shutting the door behind you. "Um." You breathe, "Am I in the wrong room?"

Your husband seems to come to at that, and he flings himself off the bed but doesn't walk any closer. "No, no," He gulps, you think, "It's just. They told me to, uh, let us share. The room, that is. To-- bond. Or something."

You breathe out a laugh but feel equally flustered, "Oh. Okay." You breathe in for five long seconds, hold it for three, and let it out in eight, the way Namjoon taught you to. "Cool, yeah, that's fine."

Except it's-- not fine, not really, but-- but.

It takes a second, but then you're marching forward and crawling under the duvet and then feel Jimin hesitate before doing the same. Your back is facing his, and it's a little weird and a lot awkward but you feel as if there's nothing you can do about it.

It's still your wedding night. Well, not technically, since it's past midnight, but-- you'd gotten married less than 24 hours ago.

You're a kitchen witch and Jimin's a green witch, and his district was in need of a kitchen witch, and it was a marriage of convenience. Politics, or whatever. You don't like the thought of getting bound to someone for the sake of convenience, but it's too late now, so. So.

Right as the silence starts to become too much and you're about to start ascending from the mortal plane, you speak. "You still awake, husband?"

He flinches with his whole body. Something about the casual husband, probably. Definitely. Too soon.

For a second you think he won't say anything but then he does, curled in small on the bed, "Yeah."

"Hm." You hum. Silence. "So what's your favorite... color?"

You think you hear a little laugh, and it makes you crack a smile. "Really?" He says, just the tiniest bit amused.

"It's all I got, sorry." You drawl out a hum, as if to think, then say, "Okay, so, uh.. your favorite animal? Favorite food? Your M&M color of choice?"

He smiles a little. "They all taste the same, though."

"Nonsense. Red is superior." He doesn't answer but doesn't seem to be debating about it, either, so you say, "Just say any color."

"Yellow, then."

"Okay no, anything but that."

"What's wrong with the yellow M&M?"

"Everything! It looks like it's hiding something."

Jimin snorts. You take it as victory enough.

It takes a second and then the silence is loud again. What would a green witch like? Think, think, think-- "Oh! Favorite flower!"

When you turn around, your nose brushes over his. You hadn't felt him turn around.

Jimin shuffles back, and you don't take it to heart. "I like camellias." He says after a moment, as if to just throw something out, then reconsiders and says, "Snowdrops. I like snowdrops. They're stubborn little flowers."

He doesn't elaborate for one second, then two, then when it seems like the silence dragged on for too long he says, "Even in harsh weather, they always bloom."

You don’t know much.

You don't know much, but you know this-- Jimin's left ear is pierced three times along the lobe, and when his nose scrunches, his eyes curve into half moons. There's a little bump on his nose. He's a green witch and, like most green witches do, seems to love flowers. Might actually prefer the yellow M&M.

He holds people's hands gently, like someone who has a lot of love in his heart.

"That's nice," you say when the silence drags on for half a second too long, "That's really nice, Jimin."

He smiles, and it's something you'd seen him do before, but it seems different this time. Less rough around the edges. Like the tension in his muscles relaxed just the slightest bit, so small you hadn't even noticed it until it wasn't there. It's not a lot, but it's something.

"Okay, so. Pisces."

He blinks, then-- "Libra."

You gasp, "What! That doesn't make sense! You're too," you say, but pause. Give him a once-over. "Well actually, maybe."

"I didn't ask to be born in october!" He says, indignant, almost, and things seem just a little more okay.

Things are not okay.

Because when you wake up that morning, the bed is empty and you hear barely muffled cries from the bathroom.

Now, the polite thing would be to ignore it, maybe. But you're a firm believer that people that are crying shouldn't be alone unless they ask for it. That maybe just someone being in the room helps.

You hover by the door, make enough noise to make your presence known, and hear when Jimin gasps and says, "Shit, sorry, come in-- ah, shit."

When you push open the door, you find Jimin slumped over the toilet seat lid. He's quick to look away, brush away his tears, continue to mutter a mantra of curse words. His eyes are red rimmed and kind of puffy.

You step in closer, sit on the floor next to him.

You don't push, but he looks at you like he expects you to. You hum after a second, just to remind him you're there, you're listening, you want to know more, if he's willing to tell.

A sniffle, then-- "I couldn't figure out the shower."

You don't say anything. The floor is cold and probably gross but you keep sitting there anyway. You're not here for your comfort.

"I'm sorry." Jimin murmurs.

"Don't be sorry."

"No, it's just," he laughs hoarsely. "Everything is weird right now, but you're--" You hear him breathe out shakily, "You're nice. And everyone has.. mostly nice things to say about you."

"Who did you talk to? It was Jin, wasn't it?" You continue at Jimin's silence, "I knew it! Whatever he said please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"It wasn't Seokjin-ssi!" He says but it sounds hesitant. At your looks he continues guiltily, "I swore an oath, you have to pretend you believe me."

You laugh quietly. His lips wobble like he's holding back either a laugh or maybe a strangled sob.

There's a wad of toilet paper on the bathroom counter you think looks snotty and Jimin looks so impossibly lost. You want to give him a hug but that's weird so you don't.

"Do you want to talk about it more?"

He's frowning. "It’s nothing, everything just feels like, like a lot," Jimin exhales, "Like, I've never been in a relationship, a-and now I'm married? It just feels,"

"Different." You nod.

"Different!" He agrees and turns to you, and it's just then you realize it's the first time he's really looked at you.

"I get it. If there's one person that gets it, it's me." You chuckle but it comes out awkwardly. Jimin stares.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I hadn't even considered that." He's frowning, but he's not crying and you take that as a good sign. That maybe things won’t be as bad.

"It's fine," you say offhandedly.

"It's not though! I was being unfair to you."

You shake your head, "S'okay. There's a lot going on. You're forgiven." You stand up, brush off your pants, and say, "Let's figure out this shower."

There's faded eye liner over his eyes and cheeks. After you both manage the shower, you grab some make up removers from your bag and place it on the bathroom counter, just where he can see it, and can only hope he does.

It's only a little while later that you're both picked up.

You'd dressed up a little nicer; a nice sweater that bunches up at the shoulders, fixed your hair in the mirror, coordinated your socks. You probably look more put together than you actually are.

Jimin's mother is all smiles and bunched up cheeks and laughter lines. Her hand is warm when she places it over yours, says please take care of my Jiminie, shortly followed by a wink and a cheeky no canoodling in the backseat!

Except there's-- there's no conversation, (much less canoodling), even as you're both sitting next to each other in the car. The only time you see Jimin really move is when he coos at a herd of cows and occasionally shuffles as if uncomfortable. You don't think he likes driving, but you're too scared to ask.

When you arrive you're left to stand and gape at your new home, gape at the vines crawling over the building, the walls made of untrimmed bushes and the dandelions growing between the cracks in the concrete. You're left to stare and gape and ache at the change, at how much you miss home already.

Jimin recovers more quickly, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks inside. You watch from the sidelines as he greets and hugs each staff member that comes into view, as if they're long lost friends, as though they won't leave you two alone just after you both get settled in.

A staff member finds you admiring a painting that stretches out long, brushing a hand over the ridges of the long dried paint. They say their apologies quick, of not having seen you before and whatnot-- but you can't blame them. You would have been entranced with Jimin, too.

Then your bags are being whisked away and you're left standing alone in the middle of the living room-- your living room. You're left wondering and standing and struck with the thought of wowowow-- this is your home. This is your home for possibly the rest of your life.

You want to ask Jimin what he thinks of all this.

If he's just as overwhelmed as you are.

But when you walk inside your shared bedroom, his suitcase is sitting in the corner and everything seems untouched. Not a trace of comfort or familiarity.

Then, on the nearby desk, sits your make up remover, a post-it note underneath in pretty handwriting that says a simple thank you.

When Seokjin visits, it's with a Kim Namjoon blinking owlishly from behind him.

"I brought a little friend," Seokjin gestures to the giant, who's still very much looking at you as if you're a ghost. "I had to climb the mountain and all! Totally not worth it, let me tell you!"

Namjoon ignores Seokjin in favor of clasping both your shoulders and shaking you aggressively, "You got married?"

Then you're nearly knocked off your feet when another voice emerges with a booming, "The little shit really got married!"

You try to look at Seokjin in mock betrayal, but your breath is being cut off short and the life is being squeezed out of you, so it's practically impossible.

"Get off me you heathens, I can't breathe." Namjoon releases you, but Hoseok's arms stay wrapped around you from behind, and you sigh. Pat his arm fondly.

Hoseok lets you go in favor of handing you a self proclaimed marriage gift basket. There are some essential oils and neroli bath bombs and soaps he probably made himself. You dig deeper and find an apple and a single grape.

"The grape was Seokjin's idea." Namjoon clarifies.

You flick the grape over Seokjin's head just as he starts saying I would do no such thing--!

It's only later that they bring it up again, Namjoon resting his head on a tree from the garden as Hoseok stays cross legged across from him, sipping his tea. Namjoon's patting the tree, saying something soft to it, and you think you hear the wind sigh almost wistfully. Hoseok likes to call it the Namjoon Effect.

"So. Park Y/n, huh?" Hoseok says cheekily.

"Shut up," you say but there's no bite to it.

"Can't believe you got married. They grow up so fast," Namjoon pretends to wipe away a tear, and you slap lightly at his shoulder with a strangled cry.

"You weren't even at the wedding, you don't get to say that!"

"They sent us to the mountains, how were we supposed to know?"

"Well if you really loved me, you'd find a way to be there," you pretend to sniffle, catch Hoseok taking a long and rather dramatic drag of his tea.

"Stop acting like Jin-hyung, we only need one of him." Hoseok says. You can almost hear Seokjin's indignant screech from somewhere inside, even though it's physically impossible for him to have heard you.

Then Namjoon asks when you'll introduce them to your husband and it then begins a mantra of a series of drawn out do it, do it, do it's that sound more like a demonic summoning than anything convincing, but you get up and try to look for Jimin anyway.

You find your husband in question tucked in small on the desk of your shared bedroom, cheek pressed to a book about flower anatomy but all his post-it notes have are scrawled words and doodles of opossums.

You smile lightly to yourself and drape a blanket over his shoulders, run a hand through his fringe and watch it flop back down with a little laugh. Brush a loose eyelash off his cheek softly.

When you walk out, the three that had invaded your home are sprawled over the couch and Hoseok is looking at you too knowingly for your liking. Seokjin offers you the wine he'd been drinking despite it being 1 in the afternoon, and shrugs when you turn him down quickly.

"Where is he? How’d it go?" Hoseok asks, and when you reply with a shut up, it's too weak for your liking and he laughs. You feel heat rush to your cheeks.

Then when Jimin surfaces not twenty minutes later, you think he looks flustered, too.

The next few weeks go by in a blur.

Every day goes by the same as the last: you go to sleep with your back pressed to Jimin's, and wake up alone. Sometimes his side is cold and sometimes it's not. Sometimes you catch Jimin baking bread in the morning, trimming the bushes and cutting the stems of the roses.

And that would be fine if not for the fact that Jimin has been doing pretty much the same things as you except for the potion-making, but he always seems to be doing them in a different time and in a different place and honestly, you just want to go back to the time you'd talked about your favorite M&M colors.

The only time you truly talk to him are the polite hellos he offers in the morning, when it still feels like you're walking through murky water, eyes still droopy with sleep.

Today you wake up with the sun, roughly 7 AM, maybe. You turn and Jimin's side is empty and you decide that's the last straw.

When you get up, shuffle, shuffle, shuffling because no one deserves to be awake at this hour, you catch him in the garden.

"Hello?" you say, and it comes out as more of a question. The man is hunched over a rosebush, as if to tend to the roses, but they look to be halfway dead and you think you'd heard him talking to them before you arrived.

The thought that you're intruding tugs at your subconscious, and maybe it's a silly thought since he was talking to a rosebush, but-- but. You can't help but feel like maybe the roses make better conversation than you do.

Jimin cranes his neck to look at you, and his cheeks are flushed. There's a streak of dirt on his cheek, somehow, and when he peels off his gloves, there's dirt stuck under his nails, too. You try not to let the fondness show on your face, because it's weird to feel endeared by a stranger, no matter how cute the stranger might be. No matter if that stranger is your husband.

"Hello," he blinks. "What're you doing here?" He says, not cruelly. You tug at your shirt anyway, suddenly nervous.

Not everyone feels nervous to talk to their husband. Not everyone has a husband that avoids them, either, but-- well. Maybe it's time you change that.

You get stuck between saying a too-casual hey and a too-formal hello and end up with a too-eager "Heyo!" and a piece of you kinda dies on the spot. "I was just, like, passing by, you know? I was going through the garden and all." Looking for you is what you don't say, and you can only hope it doesn't show on your face.

"Right," he says, clearing his throat.

There's silence until you crouch beside him, piping up quietly, "So what're we doing?"

"We?" He smiles lightly, then turns back to the roses, "We're cutting off the stems."

"What for?" You frown, "For them to die even more?"

"Y/n!" He says, scandalized, almost, "Don't say that, you'll offend them."

"Why would plants be offended." You deadpan but feel a vine tickle your ankle, as if to curl around your leg and tug you down to the floor.

"Great, now the roses won't like me," he glares halfheartedly before turning back to the roses in question, murmuring softly, "Don't listen, I'm not associated with this person."

"What!" You yell, thoroughly offended, but then he does something incredible. Something so mind boggling your tongue suddenly feels ten times too heavy in your mouth as you watch, stunned.

He does a full body giggle. Oh no.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until Jimin smiles at you and your chest rearranges itself into something that actually resembles the human anatomy. You tug absently at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"Do you have any mugwort around?" You find yourself asking.

His eyes widen with something akin to curiosity, but he doesn't ask what you'd need it for. "I think I saw some over by the hyacinths," Jimin says as if you'd possibly know where those are, and he smiles when the confusion doesn’t leave your eyes. "I'll take you there."

He stands, then, and he's-- quite small. Strangely, you hadn't noticed this before, mostly because he doesn't really seem like a small man. Even now, he looks larger than life.

(In truth, mugwort helps you sleep a bit better. Doesn't quite make a concoction, it's not nearly strong enough for that, but just a little bit of it stuffed under your pillow is enough. Some bundles of hyssop stashed between the sofa cushions. A few water-based sigils drawn into the corners of the room.)

(The room that doesn't quite feel like yours, but-- Maybe it will be.)

When you wake up that day, it's to Seokjin waving a spatula around in your kitchen.

You think he sees the question in your eyes, because he huffs as if you've personally offended him. "What! What's wrong with visiting my dear friends?"

And you'd accept it at just that, if Seokjin weren't the Head Councilor for your district. For all the districts, actually.

He flips a pancake flawlessly and you watch it sizzle in silence. He doesn't ask how you've been doing, because he must already see it-- the plants are still halfway dead; the greenhouse still adjusting to Jimin, maybe. You haven't been making any real potions, and while spring might be six months away, there's been no progress. No progress at all.

And it aches a bit, because before Seokjin became the Head Councilor, he was your friend, and you really don't want to disappoint him.

(Don't really want to disappoint Jimin, either, but-- But.)

"Have you two seen the town yet?" Seokjin asks, squeezing what could only be considered too much syrup onto his pancake. He's sitting at the head of the table because "only those elder and wise deserve the position," apparently, and you and Jimin are sitting opposite each other. You don't think of how this is the first time you're having breakfast with your husband.

"No," Jimin answers for you, and you most definitely do not think of how the syrup made his too big lips look sticky and pretty. "We've been, uh. Busy."

"Yeah, busy." You nod nod nod, and you think Seokjin looks at you questioningly but you're shoving the equivalent of three forkfuls of pancake into your mouth to avoid speaking any more.

Jimin drinks tea with his pancakes, with three sugars and too much milk and some crushed sage. You raise a brow when he mixes the leaves in, and he hides behind the rim of the cup when he raises it to his lips, tips of his ears a bit pink.

"It's a dietary supplement for digestion!" Jimin says defensively when you don't stop staring at him. "Don't look at me like that!"

You keep looking at him just to tease but find that you can't look away. You need to stare at something that's not him because every time you make eye contact you feel a bit twitchy.

Seokjin suddenly speaks through a mouthful of pancakes, "So I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here," He says, ignores your muttered not really, then continues with, "I wanted you to hear it in person. The rumors are true. I am to be wed on summer's eve. Hudreds of guests, of whom I will know three."

"Truly tragic for your partner, then." You sip and ignore Seokjin's indignant squawk.

"Jimin-ssi!" A clatter resounds where Seokjin slams his fork on the table, "I am having a passionate love affair with your partner. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but it's my only regret. What have you offered me, Y/n? Nothing. I barely remember our time together."

For a second you're kind of appalled that he'd say this in front of your actual husband, then in another you wonder when Jin will mature past the point of sticking his tongue out at people as an insult. Then realize it's your favorite thing about him, and hope it isn't any time soon.

"Revolting," you say as you attempt to pull off your most disgusted face and find that it's not that difficult, given the situation, "I'm sorry, Jimin-ah. I just couldn't resist Seokjin's sexy goblin bod."

"Slander!" Seokjin goes on a tangent and says something about how Helen of Troy doesn't have shit on me, and Jimin is giggling so hard he nearly catapults off his chair and you are. Not endeared. No. Definitely not endeared for your husband.

You never do find out why Seokjin spontaneously visits again. But you sit there and watch as he fills the silence before the silence even begins, see how he tries to make you and Jimin talk and you think you know why.

You're suddenly so immensely grateful for your friends that your heart swells and turns to mush and you feel so much less alone than when you'd first gotten married.

Then Seokjin bails when it's time to do the dishes and you take it all back.

You talk to Jimin again when you're supposed to be sleeping and he's writing a letter in the dark. A candle you think smells like vanilla floats just above him, dripping wax onto the floor but it's okay. They wouldn't burn anything, you trust them.

"Do you like it here?" You ask before he jumps in his seat, and you try not to laugh.

You watch, cheek pressed to the duvet, as Jimin stands and delicately places the envelope on the windowsill, as if he's writing a love letter to the moon.

You think he won't reply. He does.

"Yeah." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Moonlight trickles through the glass, makes his skin shine pale pink and honey gold. The candle floats down to eye level, and the thought that he's beautiful comes to you seconds before he blows the fire out. "I think I do."

The last part is whispered, makes you wonder what he sounds like when he sings.

You dream of your wedding, that night.

The priest officiating you is talking, saying something in a low voice, and you think the crowd is straining to hear. You don't know what he's saying until Jimin says a quiet "I do" that stuns you down to your bones.

You don't know what you were expecting. Maybe a part of you thought he'd say no and run down the aisle. Maybe a sudden slam of a door and a loud "I object!" with an accusatory finger pointed your direction.

(None of that happens of course, and when Jimin kisses you it's chaste and sweet, tastes a lot like chapstick. Like new beginnings.

Maybe faintly, even, of the sun.)

It takes another week for you to actually take Seokjin's advice and visit the town, and it only really happens after Jimin had been making halfhearted comments over breakfast that there's barely any sugar to mix into his tea.

So you visit the town. It's surreal, almost; the thought that this is someone's hometown, that this someone knows every back road and every street vendor and every stray cat, but you're just someone passing by.

You pass by screaming children and laughing couples and when a granny who sells silks by the riverside sees Jimin, she greets him like she'd known him her whole life. When she sees you, she smiles almost knowingly, and you don't know what to make of that.

It's oddly welcoming. You like this, these tightly knit communities where everyone is simultaneously a stranger yet knows everything about each other. Makes you wonder if you can be a part of it, too.

"Do you like walking?" Jimin asks you just when you realize that everything smells like baked bread. Just to make conversation, probably, but you appreciate it anyway.

"Not really," you grimace exaggeratedly, "I prefer driving. You get places faster."

"Obviously." He snorts. This conversation is getting nowhere fast.

"And if you're driving for a really long time, you can just pull over somewhere whenever you want and get, like, ice cream or something, and the world becomes a better place," you continue.

"But you just sit still for so long," he frowns.

"Ice cream, though."

It's only when he finally turns to look at you that you realize he's barely looked at you at all. "Ice cream doesn't help my ass." He deadpans.

Jimin sticks his tongue out. His tongue. Out! At you. How unkind.

"I want a divorce." You say, flabbergasted.

Jimin punches your shoulder lightly as you laugh, then says, "Too bad, you're stuck with me forever." His voice barely even wobbles.

"I'm glad." You smile. You're joking but you're not, want him to know you're serious. "I'm glad it's you I'm stuck with, then."

He looks away, but you think his ears are pink.

When you get home, it's to the moon peeking through the clouds, bags of bread in your and Jimin's hands. Banana bread, pumpkin bread, blueberry bread, pink and red breads that are apparently edible and magical and leave you feeling cloudy and floaty.

Jimin leaves a bowl of sugar water on the windowsill to surprise the butterflies in the morning, says they've been warming up to him. The hyacinths, too. Even the poppies have started flirting with him and everything.

It feels like everything is slotting into place, you think. Like you've been handed a new puzzle with a thousand pieces too many, and you know they all fit somewhere and you're in the process of figuring it out.

(Maybe you and Jimin are those pieces.)

It's quiet in breakfast. It's not an unwelcome quiet, not like in the beginning, when Jimin could barely look you in the eye. Now you talk about the weather and the appropriate amount of sugar to mix into coffee and the old man from the coffee shop in town that said his name so quickly Jimin didn't catch it and had to pretend he knew it for the rest of the conversation.

Now you know things beyond what's superficial. Now you know he loves strawberry tarts but doesn't like strawberries. Now you know he's Team Jacob. Now you know he had thick square glasses around his junior year of training that made him look so much like a nerd that you busted a lung and laughed for six straight minutes.

You think that's enough for you to approach him and say, "Wanna walk through the forest with me?"

Jimin looks surprised. Maybe not in a bad way. Maybe his smile just might be genuine when he replies with a resolute absolutely not.

Apparently the forest is cold and dark and scary, but Jimin goes with you anyway.

The woods are nice. When you strain your ears you think you can hear something call for you, and if you stand very still you can feel your heart beat in sync with something, something alive.

Okay, so maybe the woods are a bit cold and dark and scary, but you know better than to be afraid. If you are, it'll turn against you.

"Don't step on beetles, that's bad luck. That and you'll never get rid of them." You warn, watch as Jimin instantly jumps in place and stares at the ground warily.

"Okay, yeah, that makes me feel better," he says with a grimace, and you laugh.

There's no real reason for you to want to walk through the woods besides sudden curiosity, but Jimin indulges you. Lets you trail a hand down the bark of a tree and try to befriend the rabbits and pick some blueberries from the bushes.

There's a sharp gasp when you promptly shove one in your mouth.

"Y/n! That's-- unsanitary! You don't know where that's been!"

Blueberry juice trails down your chin. You don't even want to imagine what you look like, but for whatever reason you can't seem to bring yourself to care. Think of how it's just Jimin you're with. Maybe that means something. Maybe it means he's never made you feel unwanted for being yourself.

"S'fine, what's the worst that could happen?" You pick another one, halfheartedly clean it with your shirt, then throw it in the air with an attempt to catch it. It bounces off your nose, and Jimin laughs so hard he snorts twice through his nose.

When you walk back home, it's with a smile and a blue stain on your shirt and dirty shorts, and when you look over you think you catch Jimin smiling, too.

The first time you meet Taehyung, it's two months after the wedding.

He's a big friend of Jimin's, and apparently Taehyung likes to call himself Jimin's soulmate. Jimin just laughs and never corrects him and it makes you feel soft all over.

So Taehyung's visiting again today. When you walk through the door, placing your muddy sneakers by the shoe rack, Taehyung is already there, reading something on the couch. You think it's poetry.

You've only spoken to him a handful of times, maybe, but when he sees you he grins and casts an invisible fishing rod and pretends to reel you in. You indulge him and pretend to be reeled. It's all very dramatic.

You're maybe too far to begin genuine conversation but Taehyung starts speaking anyway, "Y/n, hello! It's been so long!" It's been two days. You don't correct him.

"Hi, Taehyung." He deems you've been reeled close enough and nods to himself. His skin is tanned honey and gold, his cheeks and nose a bit red, like he's been in the sun a lot. If you didn't already know that he's a green witch from Jimin, you think you'd know by this alone.

"Hello, hello," The man's already standing up, patting your head like you hadn't just met him all of two days ago, "C'mon, I got some strawberries from the forest. I thought the forest would be scary but it looks like it warmed up to you and Jimin already so it let me in nicely."

In truth, it took various compass potions for you to not get lost, and then several days for you to have warmed up to the woods around your house, but it's fine. Jimin goes through it in his morning runs now. Sometimes the light shines through the trees just right to guide you through, and sometimes you get a bad feeling about a certain path, like something is trying to steer you away from what's waiting in the end of it.

But the woods are safe. A comfort.

"That's good! That's good. Especially since you'll probably be visiting a lot," you chuckle.

"Definitely! I'm sorry to say this, but where Jiminie goes, I follow. I'm the physical manifestation of his own inner demons."

"An interesting way to phrase it."

"Indeed." Taehyung hums, cutting up the strawberries neatly. He's swaying his hips to the silence. Sway, sway, sway.

Taehyung sets the strawberries aside and there's a sudden clatter of bowls and pans, the man picking apart your fridge as he hums something soft under his breath. The silence feels heavy in a pleasant way, like the walls are straining to hear his gentle singing.

"How long have you known him?" You ask curiously as he hands you a potato. You're not explicitly told what to do with it, but you start peeling it when he keeps looking at you expectantly. He hums, satisfied.

"Since diapers!" He grins, boyish and boxy, chops up the onions in messy bits and pieces. "There's no one that knows him better than me, his mom and maybe the government."

You laugh and Taehyung continues making his mysterious concoction.

Jimin walks in around an hour later to a mess in the kitchen, and he promptly screeches in impressive falsetto when he sees you and Taehyung, and Taehyung laughs for three solid minutes.

(The mysterious concoction, you learn, is soup, judging by the way Taehyung hands Jimin a bowl and promptly says, "Soup!"

Jimin looks at it for four solid seconds and says, "Well this is certainly something to wake up to."

"Me and Y/n made it just the way you taught me to!" Taehyung grins and takes a hold of your hand despite only having met you properly around three days ago.

"I just cut some potatoes," you frown. You're promptly ignored by Taehyung, but Jimin pats your head in gratitude. You're warm.

"I bet it's shit," Jimin says, but he's smiling so hard that you don't think he means it.

Taehyung smiles back. "I bet it's shit, too."

When Taehyung leaves, he ruffles your hair and slaps Jimin's butt even as Jimin laughs and shoos him off, and you decide that you're happy. Happy that Jimin's happy, too.)

You dream of your wedding night again, except this time, you dream beyond just the chapstick and the new beginnings. You dream again of his hand curving around your waist to pull you closer, the delicate way he says I do, a song made of only two words.

He tastes like the sun even the second time, and you know that's impossible, know the sun isn't quite a tangible thing, that it doesn't have a taste or even a scent at all-- but he does. He just does.

You wake up with your stomach lurching down down down until it's a melted puddle by your feet, a new ache of longing so deep it melts you down to your bones.

The clock blinks 4:37 am. It's early enough for Jimin to not have left the bed for his morning run yet, and when you turn, his face is so close you can see each individual eyelash and trace every blemish until it forms a constellation.

You peel yourself off of bed and head for the gardens, pass by the dream catcher hanging by the door and give it a little dangle. Pass by the birdhouse draped over the ledge of a tree and wonder if it was always painted pink.

You head for the middle of the greenhouse, see remnants of Jimin in every flower and every tree and every potted lemon lime dracaena draped over the ceiling. You lie down, sprawled over the dirt, the nearby snowdrops leaning over as if to comfort, and you think--

You don't know much. You don't know much, but you know this: people may reject you, but if you lie on the floor for long enough, the moss and the fungi will accept you as one of their own.

(You sit there for so long that when you wake it's to the morning sun and wind chimes and a worried Jimin ushering you up, up, all worried and sullen. But there's this: the birds are singing in their pink birdhouses and there's a natural breeze as the man laces your fingers together and drags you home, as if the world is telling you to breathe.

It almost smells like spring.)

When you walk to the greenhouse the next day, a tray of tea and orange slices in both your hands, Jimin's planting strawberries by a corner, gently patting at the humid soil.

His hair is a little loose and windblown, and there are daisies and twigs in the knots. There are bruises and scratches all over his legs, as if he'd been on wild adventures and has no concept of his own physicality.

Jimin grins when he sees you, openly and unabashedly, slipping off his gloves as he stands with grass stains on his clothes, and you ache down to your bones. You say he looks like a child gremlin, and he laughs.

You're a witch, practically made of magic, but you think there's a certain magic in the mundane, too. Vibrant greenery and sunlight and orange slices and honeyed tea.

"Should we visit the town again?" Jimin says through a mouthful of his slice, his lips tinted orange, almost.

"Yeah," you mutter softly, "that would be nice."

So you promise to visit the town again, maybe grab some fresh linen sheets and warm lattes and walk through the river bank, dip your toes in the water.

It's raining outside, you notice. Just a bit, just a drizzle, more witch weather than anything. Where everything is a little foggy and makes you feel a little floaty, like you're longing for something that doesn't exist.

The thought that you need some rainwater crosses your mind, maybe for a non visibility spell of some sort.

Jimin finds you like that, head tipped to the sky, mason jar raised in the air like an offering of some sort, steadily filling with rainwater. He says something but you don't hear it, like your head is dipped halfway underwater.

You feel a warmth on your wrist, look up to see Jimin already looking down at you, both of you soaked to the bone. "You're an idiot, you know that?" You think he's supposed to sound angry but he looks too happy. Too fond.

Jimin leads you back inside and struggles with the door for a bit, laughs when the water drips from his shoes onto the wooden floor. The boy pulls you deeper into the house. You don't remember when he'd taken your hand.

"Stay here, I'll go get us a towel." Then he leaves you to stand in the middle of the living room floor. He seems to notice this, because it doesn't take him three steps for him to turn back around to stand there with you.

"Um." You say just to have something to say. "This is awkward." It's not. It's actually very nice, wet socks and all. Maybe it's the way he's staring at you, cheeks crinkled at the edges. Makes you feel very seen. Makes you wonder when he'd started staring at you like this.

"Yeah." He agrees mindlessly, a hand trailing from your shoulder down to your wrist. He hesitates on taking your hand. Takes it anyway, laces your fingers. You feel warm down to your bones, even when he quickly lets go. "I'll, uh-- I'll go, now."

Then when he comes back with maybe three towels too many, you're sticking a post-it note to your mason jar and writing rainwater in sharpie for you to not mix it with, say, neroli bath water. Moon water. A love potion.

A towel is dumped over your head, and when you turn Jimin's already ruffling his own towel through his hair. It's disheveled when he stops, fluffed up like a baby chick. He's wearing sweatpants now, with a band shirt that looks to be three sizes too big on him.

"Can I dry your hair?" Jimin says then sounds surprised that he's said it, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

So Jimin dries your hair after you change into clothes you hadn't just walked into the rain with, and he continues even as you pour your rainwater into the cauldron, drizzle some crushed acorns inside. Your husband watches you work, hands you the jars you point at whenever you ask.

"What's this?" Jimin asks as he hands you the mason jar on the top shelf. It only has PN+ML written in sharpie which, in retrospect, can actually be confusing for whoever didn't write it.

"It's just a mixture of pine needles and maple leaves. Actually, maybe some adder's fork will be better.." You trail off, then shrug and add some maple leaves anyway. You stir counter-clockwise and Jimin just blinks when bubbles start popping sluggishly in the cauldron.

"I'm glad I'm not a kitchen witch." Jimin says, grimaces at a jar that says wool of bat. Which are really just holly leaves, but you're not about to tell him that.

Jimin's humming softly behind you as he brushes a hand over a flower on the table centerpiece, then starts picking at a sticker of one of the oranges.

You spend the drawn-out afternoon doing nothing and everything. Jimin finds a box of crayons in a drawer somewhere and draws frogs on post-it notes that he sticks to the fridge, along with reminders to buy more bread. He puts on a movie with the weirdest plot he can find that ends up not being too bad.

You fall asleep with your head pressed to Jimin's chest, the man running a hand through your hair, murmuring something soft that you don't catch. You drift off to the thought that this is probably the closest you've ever been.

You pat at the bedsheets out of habit. It's empty but still warm, still messy, and it's too dark outside for Jimin to have left already.

When you peel yourself out of bed, Jimin's sitting on the couch knitting a scarf. He keeps saying it's for Taehyung even though the scarf is actually close to being seven feet long and there's no way anyone will be able to wear it. It's a tangle of greens and pinks, two of Taehyung's favorite colors that aren't complementary at all but you think he'd make it work.

The look in Jimin's eyes and the window outside is enough to tell you it's roughly 3AM. It's 3AM and Jimin is knitting a seven feet long ugly scarf and there's an empty box of ramen on the coffee table.

A notebook is open on his lap with stick figures and plant doodles on the corners. There's a coffee ring stain on the paper but he doesn't look too upset about it, looks to be drawing a sun out of it.

He looks up at you, smiles something a bit too soft. Too early for that. "Good morning."

A hum. "Good morning?" You say with a bit of an edge. You both stare at each other in a moment of silent understanding.

You stand there for a moment too long until he pats the spot next to him on the couch. You take that as invitation enough and plop yourself down next to him.

You're not close to each other enough for your legs to touch, but when he slumps his shoulder brushes over yours. "What're you doing?" You ask, because you're already here and it's 3AM and you think you can afford to be straightforward.

Jimin looks up at you. Looks back down at his knitted monstrosity. "My best."

You snort. "You okay?"

Your husband grimaces and looks like he wants to say something and is debating on whether he should say it or not. Ends up saying-- "No."

"Did something happen?" You're swinging your legs so far they touch the edge of the couch. You probably look like a child but when Jimin looks down he smiles something that looks a little less like he's tipping over an edge.

"Rough day, rough week. Rough-- couple of weeks." He shrugs, "It's just a thing on my mind. S'dumb."

"I'm sure it's not dumb," you lay a hand on his knee and it's supposed to be comforting but you think you feel goosebumps on his skin. You pull back quick and he doesn't stop you. "Your feelings aren't dumb."

He doesn't say anything for a bit. He's frowning and you think it's a bit unfair to think of how cute he looks while doing it.

You swallow. "Can I stay?"

"Yes," he says too quickly, backtracks with pink cheeks, "I mean-- yes, please. I don't like being alone when I'm sad."

"You're sad?" You didn't need to ask but you do anyway.

"M'not, but I am. Is that weird? It sounds weird. I'm not making sense right now."

"That's fine, you're fine." You rifle through everything you know about Jimin and try to decide whether you should push or not. Decide that maybe it's okay. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe one day." Jimin smiles and you don't know what he means by that but you smile back anyway.

Silence again. Jimin reaches for his abandoned noodles, takes a halfhearted bite and grimaces, then promptly sets it back down. You snort.

"Do you wanna go back to sleep?" You murmur. You think you can feel the exhaustion become something a little less tiring and a little more soft.

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"I can hold your hand." You say but it feels like you've stepped on maybe ten red lines too many, so you backtrack and say, "Or something. If you want. Forget it."

You feel your heart contort into something ugly, but when you look up at him through your lashes, he's smiling. Says, "I accept, then. Cuddles for companionship."

"No four syllable words until the sun's up." You say, and he giggles.

Jimin is singing when you drag him back to bed, his voice fading softly into sleep. There are weird breaks in his voice and you can't place the tune nor can you make sense of what he's saying, but he keeps going with a yawn and a Busan drawl.

(Jimin's voice is pretty and his sleepy blinks are pretty and the boy is just pretty, pretty, pretty.)

Everything feels sleepy and tender and it's probably too early to have revelations, but you feel as it happens anyway. It feels less like something squeezing at your heart and more like it's cradling it.

Is it really a revelation? It feels softer. Less like something new and more like something old.

Jimin's song trails into nothing. You peer up at Jimin just as his eyes twitch with dreams, and it's-- a bad angle.

He's beautiful.

"I think I love you." You whisper.

You sleep.

When you wake, there's a hand fisted in your shirt and Jimin's muttering something in his sleep that you don't catch. The sheets aren't empty, and there's a streak of gold through the blinds and onto his cheek. You wonder what it would feel like to kiss Jimin a second time. You wonder if he smiles into his kisses.

"Okay, tell me what's happening." Seokjin says, lightly patting your head where it's pressed to his shoulder. You sigh for the umpteenth time today.

The glass vials are clinking around in your bag, and you'd wanted to give them to Jimin to test on the camellias, but-- you can't do that anymore, not really.

You sigh again. "If you sigh one more time I'm calling my lawyer."

"You don't have a lawyer though?" You say, and it comes out as more of a question.

Seokjin pulls you closer so that he's smothering your face with his chest. "I said what I said."

You jam your fingers into his armpit until he screams and rolls away and you can breathe again.

"Seriously, though," Seokjin says as he makes himself comfortable on the couch. His head's on the armrest and he swings his legs so they're resting over your lap. You threaten to push them away and he ignores you. "Do I need to give you the Self Love Speech?"

"No." You deadpan. Seokjin gives you a second, as if to reconsider, and sighs when you don't.

"You never visit me though, and you look mopey."

"I do not." You say but you probably kind of do. You try to make yourself look more relaxed but it's too late.

"Don't give me sass, I'm serious here!" He says but his hands are gentle when he links your fingers together. Makes you feel very seen. "Did something happen with Jimin?"

Nothing new, you think but don't say. Nothing new, because it doesn't feel new, feels more like something that's left forgotten until it's time to be remembered. You think of the times when Jimin adjusts your shirt collar for you, when he's mumbling in the morning all slurred and heavy with dialect because he's tired, when he's back from the gardens all dirty and sweaty but grinning as he says Y/n look what I found, Y/n look what I did, Y/n come see, come look, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

Little moments that make you think shit, I love him, and the universe tries to compensate for the acknowledgement, for the slip, spins a half-beat faster. You tuck those moments away, hidden in your veins and in the empty spaces of your heart.

“S’nothing.” You say, then grab Seokjin’s hand and place it on your head, “Now pat my head until the nothing goes away.”

So Seokjin pats your head and doesn’t pry and if you let how sad you feel slip and show on your expression he doesn’t comment on it, and you’re grateful.

You're halfway through a love potion when Jimin walks inside, swinging a bag around to catch your attention. You nearly drop the dragon feather you'd been trying to dissolve when the man whoops loudly in your ear.

"I brought you food! The halmeoni from the store gave me a discount," he giggles as he sets the bag onto the kitchen island, turns towards you expectantly.

You sigh, pressing a hand to your heart, "Jimin-ah, marry me," you implore dramatically, already making grabby hands in his direction.

He snorts, "We're literally already married," he hums, lets himself be pulled towards you with a laugh, then says, "What're you making?"

You're about to explain, but he's already leaning towards your bottled concoction and taking a whiff. You almost laugh, but then he's scrunching his nose and sniffing again and then says, incredibly--

"Are you brewing your own perfume?"

And really, it's-- not that far fetched of a theory. The bottles scattered around your cauldron look a bit like perfume bottles, maybe. Except, except--

Except you're making a love potion. It's not an actual love potion, not the love potion one would imagine when the term came up, because love can't really be manipulated, only artificially. But every witch, kitchen witch or not, knows that a love potion just serves to make you feel a bit fuzzy, a bit lighter on your feet.

And that it smells like the one you love the most.

"Huh?" is all you manage to say.

"Yeah. Like-- burning embers and forest air and an underlying tone of like, rosemary or something."

When you don't say anything, only staring at him wide eyed with a muttered holy shit, he chuckles almost nervously, "You'd think I told you that you smell bad or something, what is it?"

You don't say anything for a few more moments, and when you look down at your potion, it's clear and transparent and almost looks like water, if not for the way it were bubbling sluggishly. When you breathe in, it smells like freshly picked daisies and sun warmed oranges and something boyish, something that just might be Jimin.

"Yeah," you breathe, "Perfume. That's, uh, exactly what I'm doing."

"No reason to be embarrassed, it's kinda endearing." He claps you on the back encouragingly, and his hand doesn't linger. It feels like it might linger. It hovers a bit, as if he caught himself before it could linger.

"Uh. Yeah." You say, then mutter another holy shit, while you're at it.

You kind of wish you were a weather witch to summon a lightning bolt to strike you where you're standing.

He’s about to walk away and you grab his hand. He turns.

Your tongue feels tied in a knot, just like your stomach. For something that seems so simple and straight-forward, it still feels like if you take one wrong step everything will be ruined.

You're in the process of counting his eyelashes when he says, "Yes?"

You breathe breathe breathe and try to say something but nothing comes out. Jimin waits, patient, always so patient. He hums and tap, tap, taps your palm, a gentle waltz of one, two, three. Your heartbeat settles.

"I love it when you sing." You sigh. Jimin laughs and keeps humming, his head settling over your shoulder. "I love it when you put your head on my shoulder."

Jimin laughs again. "What's this about?"

You ignore him. "I love it when you leave your shit all over the bathroom counter, and when you take so long to get ready you make us both late for things."

"This got significantly less flattering."

"I love it when--" Your head swims. "When I wake up to the breakfast you made. And when you're happy. And your stupid taste in romcoms."

You feel more than see the way his lips wobble like he's holding back a cry.

A part of you wants to stop this, say something to break the tension, but the other part, the bigger part, wants to keep telling Jimin pretty things while sitting in this pretty dream. Tell him how pretty he is. Tell him how much you ache ache ache with even the smallest touch.

"Y/n?" Jimin says, then, tentatively, when no more words seem forthcoming from you.

Everything is falling. You want to curl over Jimin's chest and listen to the thrum of his heart and counsel your own that way, there, like that, beat like that.

When you look at Jimin, he's frowning and you feel like you should lie. Any lie would be good right now, any lie would work, maybe help you escape towards the greenhouse. Then you wonder miserably what it would be like to be honest, for once.

"I love you." It's not you that says it. It's him. It's Jimin.

The world stops.

You shudder, let out a shaky breath, feel the way the walls expand and contract like you're trying to make sense of things.

"A horrible decision, really." You settle on saying, your hands settling over Jimin's shoulders shaking softly with laughter, then say, "Are you sure?"

You blink blink blink, need a second to put yourself back inside the lines. Feel the exact moment he presses a kiss to your shoulder softly, so softly you ache all over. You let out a shaky breath and feel him shiver.

"I've never been so sure of something," Jimin says-- breathless, almost-- pulling back to cup your jaw and lean even closer. He breathes against your lips and he's pretty, so pretty, so pretty you can barely breathe.

You don't say anything because you don't trust your voice and the world is spinning all funny and off-kilter.

"I want," Jimin starts, swallows, shivers. He doesn't say what he wants. Just kisses your jaw like it would be able to divine an answer, like it's answer enough. Your whole body throbs with fondness.

"Jimin-ah," you say but trail off, don't know where to go from there, either.

Jimin's thumb presses to the corner of your mouth, traces your bottom lip line. The pad of his thumb drags back higher, then tugs your lip down, and you can't stop the quiet noise you make. He stops. His eyes flick to yours.

The Earth, you think, is spinning wrong. Trying to compensate for what you've done. The tides will crash at odd times, the moon with be wrong. You're ruining the entire world with your hands.

Jimin's fingers dance on your cheeks.

You've already crossed so many lines you drew for yourself that it doesn't matter anymore. You reach out, cup the back of his head and tug, and then you're kissing.

Everything sizzles against your skin. You want to tell him that, that you feel like you're floating, that he's the only thing holding you down, the gentle press of his lips and his hands skimming over your arms, your neck, the dip in your back.

Jimin sighs against your lips and you feel it down to your bones. You don't know what to do or where to touch, feel yourself hover until Jimin takes your hands and guides them towards him. Your skin feels so hot you think it could catch fire.

"W-wait," You mumble and Jimin pulls back at that, watches you struggle to breathe, his hands hovering like he wants to touch but is holding himself back. "Shouldn't-- shouldn't we take it slow?"

And Jimin laughs, breathy and low. "We've been married for almost six months, but okay." He leans forward, kisses you right under the eye, a lingering press. It's so unexpected and intimate that you feel yourself gasp, is sure the spot is seared, that everyone will look at it and know.

When you open your eyes Jimin is there watching, waiting, looking so unbelievably fond, and says, "There you are, my pretty Y/n." He strokes the under of your eyes so so tenderly.

"I love you," you say this time, feel it tumble out without much hassle, feel the world crumble and disappear, sink like Atlantis.

And Jimin smiles so wonderfully wide and his shoulders sag with something like relief, and it's unbelievable, that he thought you wouldn't want this, that you wouldn't love him.

You tug at his shirt and when he kisses you again you're both grinning, all teeth and something sweet. It feels unhurried and earnest like he'd been wanting to do it forever. You get lost in it, in the sweetness, in Jimin whispering against your lips, letting you how good you are, how pretty you are, how very very much he loves you.

"What're you smiling about?" You ask, your hands linked together and swinging gently.

It's later. Night, even. The garden feels different at night, feels more like a fairy tale, something tender and familiar.

"I don't know," he says, shrugs, "You're just. Really great."

He tips his head up to the sky, says it to the stars, but you feel it anyway-- feel when your heart squeezes in your chest, turns to mush, human fondue.

"You're pretty cool, too." You say, laugh when he pushes you playfully, laugh even more when he pulls you back.

Then he's pulling you in closer and tilting your head just so, trailing a hand down the dip in your back. You think about small candles and nameless birds, about writing love letters to the moon. Think about how it's Jimin you're kissing. Kiss him harder.

Jimin melting, all warm and pliant. Jimin's hand sliding up the back of your sleep shirt, fingertips skimming the wings of your shoulder blades. It all feels inevitable, almost, but it also feels like a choice.

When you pull away you hear a gentle buzz of cicadas, a small connection back to the real world, and you breathe breathe breathe.

It all smells like spring.

a/n: this isn’t in my wips!! idk how it happened!!! next is my ot7 au i think. i’m excited fufufu :^) ty for reading, i really hope the pacing is ok, it’s what i struggled with while writing this,.,. take it or leave it ig djakdsj

#bts x reader #jimin x reader #witch bts #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts ff #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts hoseok #bts namjoon #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts jimin x reader #arranged marriage au

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woah-were-halfway-there · 4 years

Note

Can you do one where Mia gets a bad cold or something and you freak out and take her to the emergency room because Auston is away on a road trip or something but everything is obviously ok with her.

A/N: Yesssss of course, here you are my dear!

Word Count: 2k

The chances of you sleeping at all that night were slim to none.

Mia had come down with some sort of cold, and it was taking a lot out of her. What started as the sniffles just the day before, soon turned into a nasty cough and an all-around uncomfortableness that really showed.

Gone was your bubbly toddler who was so amazed by the world around her and replaced by a way less upbeat version of herself that refused to leave your side. Not like you wanted to be away from her either, though.

It wasn’t the first time Mia had gotten sick and surely wouldn’t be the last, but you weren’t expecting it to be as bad as it was. You felt terrible, but what made it even worse was how Auston knew nothing about his daughter’s state.

He was in New York for an away game against the Islanders and wasn’t expected to return home until the following day. When the two of you Facetimed earlier that afternoon, he witnessed just how clingy Mia was with you. She kept quiet, not being as chatty as she usually was with her dad while she leaned against your shoulder and cuddled her stuffed whale. Auston knew it was because she wasn’t feeling well, you made sure to tell him that, but because of how busy he was with having to go to practice and play hockey, you weren’t able to give him any updates on Mia’s condition. Which, unfortunately, had only gotten worse.

Whenever she coughed, you could tell it wasn’t comfortable with how she’d look at you with teary eyes before hiding her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart was breaking just watching her, so you immediately called your doctor for some guidance. When you called, the office was due to close in less than half an hour, and you knew there was no way you’d make it through Downtown Toronto traffic in time to get there. Calling was your best option at the time and did help temporarily.

Your doctor told you that honey should help with Mia’s cough and how it was safer than ordinary cough medicines for a child her age. After giving Mia some honey, she then said for you just to watch and see if your daughter got worse or developed any more symptoms. If she did, you were advised to take her to the hospital’s emergency room to get the proper care she may need. You absolutely hated the thought of a hospital trip being a possible outcome but still did as you were told and waited to see what would happen.

The honey helped. After giving it to Mia and explaining how it would help make her better, her cough became less aggressive and seemingly less painful, putting your daughter in a much better mood. She was still very clingy with you for the rest of the evening, which was fine because you knew she still didn’t feel great.

When it came to bedtime, she did not want to sleep in her room at all.

“No, mommy,” she pouted and clung on to you harder when you went to set her in her crib for the night.

“Oh, baby girl, you want to stay with me until you fall asleep?”

She nodded in response, and there was no way you could argue. You and Auston developed a bedtime routine for Mia that she had done really well sticking too. It was still a bit early for her to transition from a crib to an actual toddler bed. However, she had gotten used to going to bed in her own room at the same time each night without you or Auston being nearby until she fell asleep. However, this night was very different, and there was no way you were going to force her routine. So, you settled on taking her back downstairs to watch a Disney movie, knowing the songs would probably put her to sleep like they usually did, but even that didn’t happen.

Throughout the film, you would glance down at your daughter as she stayed curled up beside her and see how she was fighting to keep her eyes open. She was utterly exhausted, but whatever it was she was feeling kept her awake, and you hated it. Even Frank seemed to know something was up with how he laid on the couch near Mia and was always nearby wherever you took her.

As the movie came to an end, she looked up at you with sleepy eyes, and it felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces.

“My sweet girl, I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” you said as you went to rub your hand through the mop of dark hair, she had grown but paused when your fingers brushed her forehead and felt how hot she was. “Oh, no.”

You were immediately standing up off the couch and carrying your daughter into the kitchen to grab the ear thermometer you knew resided in one of the drawers. Once you located it, you sat her on the counter and took her temperature. She didn’t fight, just sat there and rubbed at her eyes tiredly until the device beeped a moment later with the answer you were looking for.

“Oh no, no, no,” you whispered when you read the tiny 104F that flashed on the screen. “Crap, ok. Mia, we’re going to go see a doctor, alright?”

“Tired, mommy,” was all she said while cuddling into you again as soon as you picked her up.

“I know, baby, but we have to make sure you feel better soon.”

“Frank come?” She asked as you put on her coat and boots before setting her down briefly so you could put on your own.

“No honey, Frank has to stay here,” you replied and leant down to pet the Goldendoodle that waited nearby. “We’ll be back soon, buddy.” And with that, you picked Mia back up, grabbed your keys and wallet, and headed out the front door.

It wasn’t until you climbed into the driver’s seat of your car after buckling Mia into her car seat, that you realized how much of a hot mess you looked like. Your hair was in a messy bun, and the baggy hoodie of Auston’s that you stole did not match the track pants you wore, but you didn’t care. There were more important things to deal with, so after a quick text to your husband telling him to call you as soon as possible, you put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and headed to the nearest emergency room.

It was around 11 p.m. that you finished talking with a nurse and finally received a call from Auston.

“Hey, is everything alright?” His voice sounded through your phone as soon as you answered. “I got your text, are you at home?”

“No, uh, we’re at the hospital,” you sniffled, trying to recompose yourself after all the crying you did while sitting in the waiting room with your sick daughter.

“Wait. What?”

“Mia got worse,” you explained. “Her cough went away for a bit, but it came back, and she now has a fever.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, and you could only imagine him stressfully pushing his hand through his hair like he always did in similar situations. “Is she ok? Have you talked with a doctor?”

“Not yet, just a nurse as she took us to a room. The doctor should be here soon. Mia is passed out in my arms right now, she couldn’t sleep earlier even though she was exhausted, and I feel awful because she’s going to get woken up again once the doctor comes in.”

“I see, so she’s not doing great, huh? And how are you, babe?”

“Not good,” you blubbered, feeling as though you were on the brink of tears again. “I’ve cried a bit tonight. I called your mom and sobbed, and she told me to stop thinking I was a terrible mother because I’m not. I swear she’s a mind reader sometimes.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled. “But she’s right. You need to stop beating yourself up over this.”

“But Aus-.”

“No, buts,” he cut you off. “You’re doing the best you can, babe. I wish I were there right now, but I know Mia is going to be perfectly ok with you watching out for her.”

At that, you smiled.

“She misses you,” you told him, not to make him feel bad for not being there, but to let him know how even in her sick state, Mia still very much so wanted her dad. “Was asking about you when we first got here.”

“God, I want to be there so I can give her the biggest hug.”

“I know, Auston, I’m giving her one for you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he responded, before falling silent for a moment. “Do you mind if I stay on the phone until the doctor comes?”

“Not at all.”

The two of you caught up and talked about each other’s days. Auston told you all about the game you missed due to these unforeseen circumstances, and you shared the details of your exciting day at home with Mia and Frank. About ten minutes later, someone knocked on the door before it opened, and a woman popped her head inside.

“Hello, I’m here to check up on an Amelia Matthews,” she greeted as you stood up from your seat.

“Yes, this is her.”

“And you’re her mother?”

“I am.”

“Perfect,” she smiled while writing on her clipboard. “If you don’t mind, please bring her over to the examination table and we can see what’s bugging your little girl.”

You did as you were asked, and stood back to let the doctor do her job. However, after you set her down, Mia woke up and wasn’t long before reaching out towards you as she started crying.

Not missing a beat, Auston immediately ended the call before Facetiming just a second later to see his daughter. At the sight of her dad, Mia relaxed. The stress of waking up in a foreign place seemingly vanished as she sat there, leant against you listening to Auston speak.

As that unfolded, the doctor could retake Mia’s temperature and check everything else without interruption. Once she was done, it was determined that Mia had the flu.

She then explained to you (and Auston, virtually) how the flu was common in toddlers and that Mia should be much better in 24-48 hours. You were given tips on how to treat the flu but were mainly advised to let your daughter rest. That’s all she’d be wanting to do for the next day or so anyway.

The doctor then told you that you had nothing to worry about, and how you did the right thing by taking Mia to see someone, before eventually leaving the room and saying you were good to go and that she’d contact your family doctor about what happened.

“Well, I guess it could have been a lot worse,” you said to Auston as you buckled Mia into her car seat again.

“I know, still sucks a lot, though.”

“You’re telling me, but at least we can go home to bed and not stress too much.”

“True,” he replied. “I can’t wait to give her all the cuddles once I’m back tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’ll love that,” you stated. “Anyways, babe, I’m gonna have to let you go so I can drive back to the house.”

“Ok, sounds good. Call me as soon as you’re back, please.”

“I will. Love you.”

“And I love you,” he responded. “Bye, babe.”

After that, you hung up the phone and drove home. Once you put Mia to bed, you called Auston again, and he reminded you of how much he loved you, and that the two of you were doing fine as parents. You couldn’t help but agree, knowing that Mia was always going to be ok because you or Auston would make sure of it and not too much later, you were finally able to fall asleep without any more stress.

#auston matthews imagines #auston matthews fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl headcanon #hockey rpf #hockey fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #aftr

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 15

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

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

His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven.

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again.

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon?

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part.

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows.

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his.

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling.

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes.

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

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

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight.

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress.

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination. The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests.

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans.

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on.

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I’m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior; a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…”

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?”

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

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

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place.

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye.

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this.

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters.

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of.

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.”

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts.

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue.

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement.

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share.

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans.

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

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

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily.

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms.

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain.

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief.

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them.

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth.

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail.

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

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him.

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life.

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space.

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory.

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him.

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say.

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

#this got tender as hell #truly a labor of love <3 #thank you for reading as always #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #mine

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taexual · 4 years

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HOLIC - 50 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: fluff

words: 3.1k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

the final chapter is up, let’s get it!

prev / next

To say that it was raining cats and dogs would have been akin to saying nothing at all because the precipitation that night resembled a whole downpour of whales much more accurately. You have, of course, experienced rain before and you never really appreciated it much, but as you exited the car outside of the building, you welcomed every drop with a smile on your face. It seemed as though there used to be so many things in life that you’d hated, but tonight, as you texted Jaebum, announcing your arrival at the party, each of those silent moments of hatred seemed to lose all meaning.

The waiter took your coat after you entered the empty loft that you and Jackson had picked out for tonight’s event. Giving him a grateful nod and brushing the wet hair away from your face, you grabbed a glass of champagne by the door and headed for the party. With each step that you took inside of the packed venue – full of people, waiting to hear and to congratulate Jaebum on his debut EP – you watched the white walls of the building come alive with the pictures you’ve taken of Jaebum in Jackson’s studio that very first time you were there.

You wanted to take partial credit for the planning of this event, but really, it had been Jackson’s idea. As soon as you and him started to work together, he didn’t see a point to host your exhibition on a separate night from Jaebum’s release party because the two instances were connected so closely to one another. Jaebum had used you for inspiration when he worked on the songs he’ll be putting out for the world to hear and, similarly, the only pictures you wanted to exhibit for all to see were the ones that featured Jaebum.

Now, smiling as your eyes searched for the live-version of the man in the pictures on the walls, you welcomed the warm memories of all the days leading up to this moment. All the fights and the make-ups. All the kisses and inside jokes. All your shared friends – who were all here, eager to congratulate you and Jaebum both – and all of your shared nights.

The title piece for both, your exhibition and Jaebum’s EP, greeted you in the center of the room, reading in bold letters, “HOLIC. indicating a person’s abnormal desire for something.” Another memory sparked in your mind – you’ve only settled on the title a few nights ago, lying awake next to Jaebum who was tracing symbols on the sensitive skin of your neck—symbols, that were only visible to him—with the tip of his finger.

“I’ve never needed anyone this much before,” he had whispered to you then, “so much that it feels like an illness without a cure.”

You had responded to him with endless confessions of love, lasting all throughout the night and well into the morning, and all was decided.

Admittedly, out of all the memories that the pictures on the walls brought back, the memories of the last few nights before this party were your most favorite ones. Even if thinking about them made you much dizzier – and hotter – than the champagne that was being served here.

“Hey!” Jackson’s shrill voice distracted you and you turned your head to see him and a group of executives you thought you’ve seen around his studio a few times before. “Where’s the boyfriend? We should get some pictures taken of you two together.”

“Oh,” you looked around again. “I thought you were with him. Isn’t he in the back?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson glanced towards the hallway at the end of the room – it lead to a storage room that Jaebum had planned to use to rehearse, “he was waiting for you to arrive.”

“I’ll go find him,” you said and, with a quick nod at the people in Jackson’s entourage, excused yourself.

You didn’t even reach the hallway before you saw the door open at the far end as Jaebum stepped out of the storage room, his shoulders hunched and chest heavy with anxiety. He closed the door, stopping short as soon as he saw you.

“You’re here,” he said and, even though it was too dark to see him, you could hear the smile in his voice. “You look beautiful. Maybe you shouldn’t come closer or else we might miss the entire event.”

You laughed, crossing the hallway anyway, because you haven’t seen him today yet – he’d left early for a soundcheck and refused to bring you along with him, not wanting you to hear his songs early – and that was too long of a time. Jaebum, feeling exactly the same way, had his arms wrapped around you as soon as you stopped close enough for him to reach.

Every kiss you’ve shared since reuniting that night in the lounge room felt so important and special that you both refused to pull away first as if this was the last kiss you’d ever share and neither of you wanted to be responsible for its ending. You didn’t mind losing yourself in him completely whenever your lips touched but, this time, you two were about to start the biggest night of your lives to date and, despite everything, you had to pull away.

“Jackson is looking for us,” you said, reluctantly breaking the kiss—and then regretting it right away because of how alluring he looked from up close. “He said something about getting our picture taken.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Jaebum groaned. He’d already talked about how little wish he had to participate in the promotional aspect of making music – he just wanted to create and to sing – but he knew he wouldn’t get out of it. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t look so sad,” you said, taking his hand into yours as the two of you headed towards the party. “It’s your big night.”

“It’s our big night,” he corrected, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek just as the two of you emerged from the hallway. The few photographers Jackson had hired for tonight immediately found the two of you, their flashes going off so suddenly and with such vehemence that nearly everyone at the party turned to look. “God, I feel awkward.”

Smiling, you turned to look at him and – not daring to kiss him now that there were cameras on you – chose to fix his tie for him instead. “Don’t. You look great.”

Jaebum watched you as you tightened his tie, his eyes providing the much-needed warmth on this rainy day – the photographers were having a field day and they didn’t even have to try – and then leaned in to whisper into your ear, “I’m so grateful to have you next to me tonight.”

“I love you,” you replied, his hand clutching yours tighter. “I never thought we’d make it this far.”

“I love you,” he echoed, “I never had doubts about this.”

Thankfully, Jackson proved to be not just a great friend and a talented artist – or perhaps a producer? A photographer? A model? The man clearly hated labels – but also a fantastic party host. Another few moments later, when you and Jaebum were already risking permanent eye damage from the camera flashes, Jackson shuffled closer to you, waving his hand around in a manner so authoritative, the photographers ceased their rapid flash fire immediately.

“Let’s get started, yeah?” Jackson asked and, after getting affirmative nods from both of you, he proceeded to walk Jaebum to the platform in the far corner of the room.

A microphone and a stool was already prepared for Jaebum on the platform, the audio engineers giving him a thumbs-up from across the room. Slowly, the background music that had played through the speakers since the party started faded out, and the room prepared to finally hear what they’d come here to hear.

“Thank you for coming,” Jaebum said into the microphone as soon as he climbed on the platform. His voice sounded so sheepish, you could tell that the few elderly ladies behind you had started to giggle because they were falling in love with him, too. “It’s a very special night tonight and I’m happy to get to share it with all of you.”

You wished for nothing more than to stand silently in the opposite corner of the room where you could hear Jaebum’s clear voice but, as soon as he finished his thank-you speech and introduced the first song, you learned that that was absolutely not going to happen.

Your friends were the first ones who approached you, trying to keep their excitement to a minimum but still distracting you from Jaebum’s music. You didn’t mind – it felt so touching to hear their words of support – and you didn’t really mind the people from Jaebum’s agency who approached you next, either, because, for one, you felt like you had to leave a good impression on them, but also, they were unexpectedly supportive as well. Apparently, this was the first acoustic-showcase-turned-photography-exhibition for any artist signed with their label and that was, according to them, a great start for any career.

You got to hear Jaebum finish the first song – and saw how lost in the music he seemed to be on that platform; he looked like he was exploring a different world, far away from the party and the people here – and applauded as loud as every other person in the room before, just as he started to introduce the next song, you were forced to return to the position of co-host and carry on with your own performance.

Apparently, the people who had come tonight weren’t just friends and acquaintances, but complete strangers as well. They had simply gotten curious about an event in their neighborhood and decided to show up. You learned of this when Jaebum’s second song of the night unleashed a chain of people you’ve never met – all of them were curious about purchasing the artwork. Your artwork.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even planned on selling any of your pictures, so, flushed and disheveled, you left them waiting while you scanned the party for Jackson.

“I got this,” he reassured you as soon as you found him – he was chatting up the three elderly ladies from before – and explained the situation. “You go to the front, yeah? He needs to see you.”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, overwhelmed by so many things happening at the same time. “Thank you!”

Jackson nodded and headed in the direction you had pointed in, while you made your way closer to Jaebum’s platform. For the first few moments, you couldn’t concentrate on the sound of his voice for too long. You kept turning around to check on Jackson who was showing your pictures and bargaining with anyone who was interested. But, before long, Jaebum’s songs ended up captivating you after all. It was simply impossible not to feel yourself wander into the realms he’d created with his soulful music.

Watching him was an all-consuming experience. Jaebum kept his eyes closed for most of the songs but whenever he did allow himself to look at the audience, his eyes always found you by default. That alone was enough to make your heart race but every time he smiled when he looked at you – as if he wasn’t expecting to see you standing at the front, completely transfixed by him – sent you right into a dizzy spell and you were worried you’d conclude this night by passing out before hearing his entire set.

“The last song,” Jaebum announced right when your cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much, “is easily the most meaningful one in the EP. It’s about someone who’s really important to me. The most important, actually. Uh, we met under unusual circumstances, to be honest. I caused a lot of damage in this person’s life – I broke furniture, even,” he had to pause until the audience stopped laughing, “I was generally a very big asshole. But this person and I went through a lot a-and I hope we go through a lot more together.”

When Jaebum looked at you before the first chords started to play, you were afraid you looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Your heart was struggling to keep beating as the time around you seemed to come to a stop.

“You and I, who met by accident,” he started the song, the richness of his voice so much more prominent when he was singing live than it was on the record, “you never even thought about us, but my head is completely filled with thoughts of you. I think about you every moment of the day.”

You tried to focus on your breathing because focusing on the words he was singing – the words he might have written about you – was making your hands shake and your eyes water. This could have been the very song Jackson had mentioned when he confronted you at the exhibition you’d attended with Jiho.

“Without missing a single day, no matter where I am, I want to be with you,” he sang and you perked up, recognizing the last line. This was the same song—the same melody, the similar lyrics!—that you’d overheard Jaebum sing to himself in the shower at the motel all of those weeks ago. “I don’t want to be apart, not for one moment. Let’s make a promise, the two of us.”

You’d have promised him anything in that moment—and any moment that followed—as you listened to him sing, your entire body coming alive with each chord. You could feel your pulse throb in your veins, your temples, and your throat all at the same time.

“Each gesture of yours is picturesque. Even when you wake up in the morning, you sparkle,” Jaebum’s voice continued, his eyes catching yours in a loving—and absolutely unyielding—gaze. “It wouldn’t matter if you were shabby, you’re already inside of my heart. Even if someone else comes along, no one compares to you.”

Your throat was dry but your eyes were the complete opposite. You felt the first tears slip out of your control and slide down your cheeks -- just like the raindrops had, outside of the loft -- as soon as Jaebum gripped the mic stand tighter, starting the chorus of the song.

“I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you,” he harmonised, his eyes closing but his heart remaining open as words spilled out from the deepest cavities of his chest, “I am spiraling out of control. All I wanna do is love you, the spot next to me naturally belongs to you.”

You flinched, startled by an unexpected hand that had landed on your shoulder just as the chorus drew to a close. Tearing your eyes away from Jaebum, you saw Jackson next to you – a proud, almost fatherly, smile on his face. He didn’t say anything but the nod of his head confirmed what little doubts you may have had left – this was the song for you. The song about you.

“When I think about it now, it still makes no sense,” Jaebum continued, the feeling of you finally hearing these words so relieving, he couldn’t help the small smile that had crept up to his lips as he asked, “how did I fall for you in such a short time? Even when I close my eyes, I’m thinking about you. I can’t fall asleep, what’s the matter?”

You knew you were going through the most powerful whirlpool of emotions of your life as you felt the tears on your cheeks but couldn’t resist mirroring Jaebum’s smile.

“I don’t know if I’m me, sometimes I get surprised. My image, even if it’s the same, is a little awkward,” he sang, each and every word full of the feelings he’d grasped and pulled out of his heart to put them into the song. “But I think it’s okay – this isn’t so bad, either. As long as I’m next to you, whoever I am, it’s all good.”

You felt so much love for him, you thought you were going to explode. And, in spite of finding the song simply mesmerizing and utterly unforgettable, you suddenly couldn’t wait for it to end because even though he was singing it on a platform a mere few feet away from you, he still felt too far.

“I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you,” he admitted again in the second chorus. When asked later, you’d never be able to tell if he was singing this song at his release party in front of dozens of people, or if he had pulled you away from the crowd to sing to you about all the things he’d insisted he was so bad at saying out loud.

Bowing to deafening applause when the song ended, Jaebum thanked everyone once again, his speech directed at those who came and those who didn’t. He thanked his friends individually. He thanked his label and everyone involved in the creation process. He thanked his family. And he thanked you – but you were already crying too much to make sense of anything he was saying.

As soon as he was finished, he wasted no time before climbing off the platform and, with a smile brighter than the brightest star in the night sky, he made his way towards you. The people were still applauding him when he reached you but he was now focused on something else entirely.

“You didn’t like the song?” he asked with a smile as his hands carefully wiped the tears away from your face.

You laughed at the absurd question, wrapping your arms around him and leaning your head against his shoulder as you whispered, “I loved it. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said and the room erupted into a yet another round of applause as he hugged you back, laughing in the same ethereal way that made your heart dance and the rain outside stop, so the whole world could listen.

With the people around you still on a high brought on by Jaebum’s music and with the applause still ringing in your ears, Jaebum took you back into the world he’d created for you and him only -- a world that seemed to be miles away from anyone else and lightyears away from real life. No one wanted to approach you and interrupt. No one dared.

Kissing your temple, Jaebum pulled away slightly to push a stray strand of your hair away from your face and ask, “do you still have doubts if we’ll make it?”

“No,” you answered, your eyes glittering with life and with love. “I think we’ve already made it.”

chapter directory

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heartbreak-human · 3 years

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Chapters: 15/15 Fandom: Hunter X Hunter Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs & Kaito | Kite, Alluka Zoldyck & Killua Zoldyck, Illumi Zoldyck & Killua Zoldyck Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Kaito | Kite Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Aged-Up Character(s), Swan Lake - Freeform, Mystery, Curses, more tags to come, Don't copy to another site, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Crushes, Mutual Pining, Kissing, Angst, Torture, Abuse Summary:

“Did you hear what I said?” the silver-haired stranger asked sharply. “What are you doing here? Swimming in the lake at night is forbidden.”

“Oh—oh, no! You have it all wrong, I’m not here to swim—” Gon scrambled to stand as his mind raced. Who was this guy? Why had Kite told him not to visit the lake at night if other people were allowed to do it? “—I work with Kite at the research facility!”

“The research facility is closed at this hour. And Kite definitely knows better than to hang around here after sunset. Are you new or something?”

Gon accepts a job with Kite for the chance to leave Whale Island for the first time in his life. But Gon's employment at Lake Kukuroo comes with rules - don’t explore the lake alone, and don’t visit the lake at night.

And even though Gon enjoys working alongside Kite, learning about the lake and the strange blue-eyed swan that inhabits it, he is also curious. Gon wants to know why Kite is so strict with his rules. And he needs to know more about Killua Zoldyck, the only person Gon has ever seen on the lake at night and who may be the reason why Kite has rules in the first place.

~Killugon Swan Lake au~

i havent shared stuff in a while, the past like, 40 fics i’ve read weren’t really worth it, so here’s the only good one i’ve seen in a while.

#killugon #swan lake

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this-is-a-podcast-fanblog · 4 years

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Happy Birthday @rudzik-art!

As many of you know, Robin (@rudzik-art) is turning 20 today. As a surprise gift for them, I took an AU we talked about and turned it into a fic! (So, today is not only a celebration of Robin’s birthday, it’s officially my return from fic hiatus.)

But that’s not enough to mark an occasion as important as a 20th birthday, so I got some of our favorite artists involved as well! Read it on AO3 to see it with the art.

Fic Summary: Juno Steel, pirate of the ship Carte Blanche, did not expect to net a mermaid today.

I give you: Juno Steel and the Brine of Deception

The day seemed ordinary when Juno woke up. He lay in his hammock, watching the square of light on the floor waver as the Carte Blanche rocked in the waves. Or maybe just because he was still really hungover. The crew had stayed up late making toasts and singing shanties last night, and that had involved quite a lot of rum.

“Ughh.” Juno sat up and began to unwrap his hair.

"Mornin', Mate Steel!" His roommatey, the exceptionally clever Rita, beamed at him from her hammock. "How are ya feeling?"

"Sick," Juno grumbled. He climbed out of his hammock and padded over to the washstand. "I've got to get off this rum."

"Yeah, Mate Steel, I told ya that swill Ms. Vespa brewed ain't good for ya."

"I know." He glanced at her in their broken mirror as he lit a candle, which hung from the ceiling in a glass bottle. "Did Buddy say if we're docking today?"

"Nah, she said last night that we’re just doin’ chores again." Rita watched Juno adjust his eyepatch in the mirror and rocked forward in her hammock. "Why? Did you wanna go ashore?"

"Eh, not especially." Juno tied his eyepatch on and started towards the door. "It's not like I mind being on this stinking ship where my legs feel like jelly and…." He sighed. "You know what, Rita, let's talk about this later. I've got a busy day to start on."

“See ya, Mate Steel.”

Juno stepped out into the hallway of the ship. He stuck his head into the galley to grab an orange from a bowl on the counter and plucked away the curling peel with his rough, uneven nails as he creaked into the hall. Down the hardwood floors and the few puddles from leaks, he bounded towards the staircase that led from the ship's quarters to the main dock.

“Captain’s waiting for you,” snarled Vespa as soon as Juno’s head appeared above decks.

“Morning to you too, Vespa.”

Vespa frowned and went back to twisting a knife around in her teeth. A briny sea breeze rustled the bandana tied around her forehead. “Good morning,” she muttered, like it was a concession. Then abruptly she crossed her tattooed arms and cleared her throat. “Now get a move on. The captain doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Duly noted.” Juno ducked past the first mate’s glare and strode down the deck. He tossed his orange peel overboard, but a breeze caught it, and spun it back onto the deck, where it was pinned abruptly under a heeled leather boot.

Captain Aurinko’s dark eye studied Juno from under her hat. In her broad-shouldered coat, criss-crossed with belts that dangled swords and pistols, she was intimidating with a streak of devilish intrigue, and she smirked as she lifted the orange peel from the deck. “You ought to clean up your trash, Juno.”

“Captain A.” Juno rubbed the back of his neck and sheepishly plucked the peel back from the captain. “Sorry about that.”

“Not to worry, darling. Shall we sit down?” Captain Aurinko neatly unfolded a scroll from her belt and spread it over one of the barrels nearby. She and Juno perched on surrounding barrels. “Our schedule is fairly lowkey today.” Her leather-gloved fingers traced Juno’s name, written in ink on a list. “I want you to check the nets and get some fishing done. Don’t complain,” she added, as Juno rolled his eye. “You’re the best at it, darling. After that, go over the stores with Jet, and then I’m sure Rita would appreciate it if you tied up your shared room a bit.”

“Seems like a slow day,” Juno observed. “What happened to ‘high adventure’ and all that?”

“That’s taking a back seat at the moment.” Captain Aurinko pursed her lips. “To be honest, darling, I worry that our current crew isn’t… properly equipped to handle missions of the capacity I have planned.” She rolled the map shut. “But that’s no concern of yours. On your way, darling. Come find me if you need anything.” The captain stood, dusted off her coat, and glided away to take her place at the ship’s wheel.

This job is somehow way more than I expected and not what I expected at all. Juno sloshed through the inch of water in the cargo hold. The nets lay all tangled together, and it took a few long minutes of blistering his fingers on their ropes to untangle them. Hell, I probably should have just stayed on the Mars continent.

And yet the Mars continent had never been home to him, not really. Not since the constables and the law had seen to condemn him over a few childhood tavern brawls and turn him into a wanted lady. As a child, Juno had always promised his brother (may his soul rest in peace) that he’d leave and be an explorer one day. That just ended up looking different than he imagined.

Still, Juno reflected as he dragged a net up the stairs. It felt like something was missing from his life. Some final adventure he needed to conquer, or maybe some event that would set a grand adventure in order. Right now he just existed, drinking rum in the mornings and evenings and sloshing about on the sea with all the rats and the treasures and people he didn’t know if he could trust. Rita aside, of course.

The net rigged into the pulleys, Juno cast it over into the ocean. Within a few seconds, it vanished beneath the rolling blue waves. Juno rested his arms on the railing and sighed. What he needed, once he finished his tasks today, was a good long nap, and maybe a cup of coffee instead of rum, assuming they still had coffee in the stores. Then he should mend the patch in his work breeches, and afterwards -

The weight in the net shifted abruptly. Juno frowned and stood up from his slouch. Sure enough, when he tested the rope, there was an uncommon weight to it that hadn’t been there a moment ago. A large school of fish? A small whale? Maybe an octopus. They’d caught an octopus last week, and Captain Aurinko still wrote with the ink they’d extracted from it. Whale oil could be useful too, plus good for trade too. Juno eagerly tightened the opening of the net and began to pull it up. It was heavy, but Juno was a strong lady. He ground his feet firmly to the deck and pulled again, harder, heave-to heave-to against the struggling of his catch. Finally, a splash confirmed that the net had risen above the surface of the water. With a few more final pulls, Juno hefted the net alongside the ship. He quickly tied the rope around a wooden post nearby, to secure it taut, and ran over to see what he’d netted; and there, lying in a tangle of rope of seaweed, was the most supremely beautiful man Juno had ever seen.

No, not a man, or at least, not a human one. Because, Juno realized upon closer inspection, humans didn’t have a silver-blue tail where legs should be, or gently pulsing slits along their throats, or webbed ears, and they certainly didn’t have nails as long and sharp as knives. The mermaid turned his head. His ink-black hair sat plastered to his face with dripping seawater, and when he opened his eyes, Juno saw that they were the same ink color all the way through. Blue scales glimmered along his cheekbones. His face and body sparkled with droplets of seawater, like small diamonds, and here and there wet strands of seaweed clung to his bare chest and arms. He was utterly terrifying, and yet, Juno had never seen anything so exquisite.

“Well?” hissed the mermaid.

Juno blinked. “Well, what?”

“Oh, honestly.” It was hard to tell with no irises, but Juno thought the mermaid might be rolling his eyes. “You pulled me out, you quite clearly wanted me for something. I suppose you’re one of those humans that eats mermaids, aren’t you?”

“Huh? What the hell, of course not.”

“Hmmm.” The mermaid plucked a lock of seaweed from his neck and flicked it back into the sea. “Now you’ll say you’ve grabbed me by accident.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He imitated Juno’s tone and smirked, slightly. His teeth were just as sharp as his nails. “You’ve never seen a mer before, have you?”

“‘Course I have,” Juno scoffed, suddenly on the defensive. “In… storybooks and stuff.” The mermaid lifted his eyebrows. “Listen, I’m new to this whole pirate thing, okay? I just wanted to grab some fish for my crew’s larder. You weren’t exactly part of the plan.”

“Ah.” The mermaid shuffled forwards and wrapped his hands around the ropes above his head. “So you’re not going to eat me.”

“I’ll chuck you back in, if you want.”

The mermaid giggled. He leaned forward and reached one of his hands through the net to grab Juno’s chin. Juno jolted and, with instinct, brought up his knife and pressed it to the mer’s sternum. “So defensive,” the mermaid purred. His thumb swiped over Juno’s jawline. “You have a shaving nick right there.” The very tip of his nail pressed into Juno’s skin for a minute, and then he retreated. “Well,” he said. “I’m afraid you can’t chuck me back in, love. You see, in your eagerness to haul me up onto this rowboat of yours, you tightened your net quite fiercely. Now my poor tail is injured. I can’t possibly swim.”

“What?”

“So you may as well cut me down. It looks like you’ll be stuck with me for a while.”

Juno narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Oh yes, because I would lie so I could spend several days hanging around with a crew of pirates? You’re not that cute, love.” He reached out his hand again. “But, if you’re so determined, I’ll tell you my name. You may call me Glass.”

“Glass. Hi, I’m Juno Steel.” Juno sighed heavily. The Captain’s gonna love this. He pulled the net over the railing and lowered it carefully to the deck. Glass smiled up at him as Juno freed him. Juno stepped back and rubbed his forehead. “Great,” he sighed. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?”

“That depends, how adventurous are you?”

“God damn it.” Juno tossed the net aside. “It’s too early in the morning for me to have a mermaid hitting on me. You just - stay there while I go get the Captain.”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Glass called after him, but Juno pretended not to hear.

II.

“So,” said Buddy delicately. “This is quite a predicament.”

“I’ll say,” Vespa snarled, smacking her fist into her palm. “We have a crowded crew already, and then Steel goes and lands us with an injured fish to take care of.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this.” Juno raised his hands innocently as Vespa shot a glare in his direction. “Listen, I’m not the one responsible for this. It was this guy who swam right into my net.”

“Oh sure, the fish is to blame for your stupidity.”

“The fish can hear you,” Glass trilled.

The crew stood in their spare hold, positioned awkwardly around a basin of seawater. Glass lay primping in the water, finger-curling his hair and watching the five pirates from under his long lashes. Juno couldn’t help but notice that the mermaid’s gaze seemed mostly to be fixed on him. Rita, who watched countless plays about mermaids, hung star-struck at Juno’s elbow, clutching her face in her hands.

“Ain’t he so preeeeeetty, Mate Steel?” she whispered into Juno’s ear as the captain and the first mate deliberated amongst themselves. “He’s just like one of them old paintings, or like, like something right out of a play, ya know? He’s kinda scary too, though, but in a really nifty way, don’tcha think! It just - just -” She scrunched her forehead as if searching for the words.

Frannie, the parrot perched on Rita’s shoulder, squawked, “Shiver me timbers!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Rita beamed. “It shivers me timbers! Shivers ‘em real good, don’t you think he’s pretty, Mate Steel?”

Glass lolled in his basin, running his sharp nails over the fine webbing at the end of his tail. He winked at Juno. Somehow, the lady got the sense that Glass could hear everything Rita was saying; but more than that, it was as if he could hear everything Juno was thinking. Like those solid black eyes could see things normal eyes couldn’t.

“He’s something, alright,” Juno murmured.

“What I do not understand is how he came to be injured.” The quartermaster, Jet, stood by Rita’s other side with his arms crossed. Jet always wore the same thing - baggy brown breeches, a ragged white shirt, and a brown jacket so enormous that it could probably serve as a backup sail if the Carte Blanche ever needed one. He wore his long silver hair tied up in a ponytail. Despite their difference in personality, pirating ability, and three feet of height, Jet and Rita were close friends, second only to Rita’s bond with Juno. “I do not believe our simple fishing net would be strong enough to damage a mermaid’s tail.”

“Well, you’d have to ask him about it.”

“There is no need to be defensive, Juno.”

“Whatever, you’re all on my case, and I’m getting pretty tired of it, big guy.”

Across the room, Vespa and Buddy drew away from each other and turned to face the rest of the group. “Alright, darlings,” said the captain. “We’ve thought this over -”

“More like we’ve argued it,” Vespa muttered.

“Peace, love.” The captain laid her hand on Vespa’s arm. “After some deliberation, Vespa and I have decided that we cannot abandon the mermaid back to the sea with an injury. We may be pirates, but we are not monsters. He will stay here until he recovers from his injuries.”

Glass giggled and slid his tail back into the water. “So generous of you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” Captain Aurinko smoothed back a stray lock of her hair. “Additionally, since Juno was the one that injured him, Juno can be the one to attend to him.”

“What.”

“You heard me, dear. You’ll bring him his food, refill the water in his basin, and see to any medical needs he may have before he’s recovered. Any questions?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got a question, how come I’ve got to -”

“Then if there are no questions, the meeting is dismissed.” Buddy smiled and took Vespa’s

arm. “We’ll see you all later. First we have some things to... attend to.” Vespa shot one last glare in the others’ direction before following the captain away to their cabin.

“Well,” said Jet. “If that is all, I will return to my repairs of the Ruby 7 lifeboat.”

“Hang on, you can’t all just -”

“I’ll go with ya!” Rita said, ignoring Juno’s protests. “Bye-bye, Mate Steel and Mistah Mermaid!” And she skipped after Jet, Frannie flapping behind them both.

Juno sighed heavily and turned back to Glass. The mermaid had his arms folded on the rim of the basin, and his head cocked at an inquisitive and seductive angle. He smiled. “Well,” he said. “It seems that it’s just you and me.”

“Don’t get too used to it, I’ve got lots of chores to do.”

“Oh, but the Captain said you needed to look after me,” Glass beamed. “Doesn’t that mean I’m at the top of your chores list?”

Juno glared down at the mermaid. “Fine. Tell me what you want and make it quick.”

“Oh, it’s quite simple. I just want someone to talk to.”

The pirate blinked. “Are you kidding? You want me to hang around here and talk to you?”

For a moment, the mermaid’s flirtatious smile vanished. His inky eyes narrowed, and he glanced away from Juno before speaking again. “I’m not trying to force you if you don’t wish, Juno, I simply… hoped to get to know you better.” He glanced back at Juno quickly, and Juno started.

He’s not… no. He can’t be. Not me.

So he shrugged and grabbed a nearby stool. “Sure,” he said. “Great.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’d like to hear more about you, of course.” Glass lifted his eyebrows. “Juno Steel. Juno. A goddess on the high seas. Although - pardon me - you don’t seem entirely suited to this profession.”

“Yeah.” Juno fiddled with a spare thread on his blouse. “Didn’t plan to be a pirate, originally. I wanted to go into law, but then I found myself on the other side of it. With my brother.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’d always planned to leave the Mars continent together, but then...” The pirate sighed deeply. “He… he’s not around anymore.”

Glass watched Juno quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Juno cleared his throat. “Anyway, Rita and I have been friends for decades. Business partners. She’s a locksmith, and I’m an informant, so sometimes we worked together.”

“I see.” Glass leaned forward on his elbows, and his smile sharpened a degree. “Not such an upright lady, are you?”

“Hey, careful. I still have my morals.” Juno crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. “Anyway, she did a job for Captain Aurinko and put two and two together that she’d been hired by a pirate. Suggested that I could give the Captain any information she needed, and together Rita and I got her out of a tricky spot. So, the Cap offered us spots on her crew.”

To Juno’s surprise, as he narrated to the mermaid, he found himself enjoying the conversation. Glass was a good listener, and seemed interested in Juno’s life in a way that few people had been for a long time. Every lady needed to feel special every now and then, and Juno was no exception.

“So,” he said eventually. “Mermaid. What’s your life story?”

The mermaid still smiled, but something about his demeanor had changed. “Oh, Juno,” he said. “I don’t have a story, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t tell it to anyone.”

“Huh.”

Glass sighed and leaned back in the water, lounging with his arms on either side of the basin. “I’ll leave you be,” he said theatrically. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“Yeah.” Juno got up, feeling strangely regretful. “No problem.”

Juno finished up his chores and took a nap to sleep off what remained of his hangover. Afterwards, it was time for dinner, and for the first time since joining the crew, he didn’t eat with everyone else. Instead, he brought two plates to Glass’s room and they ate together, chatting about things they’d seen on the sea.

“I swear, it looked like an underwater city. Whole thing, made of coral.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. It’s not a very long swim from here.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. Pretty place.”

And Juno kept thinking about the mermaid that night, as he lay in his hammock. The ship’s rocking and Rita’s snoring usually lulled him to sleep, but tonight felt different. Every time he tried to doze off, he was struck by the thought that Glass lay just down the hall, with his dark eyes and his sharp smile. Maybe the mermaid was lonely. Maybe he was having trouble sleeping, too, and would want company.

Finally Juno’s curiousity overpowered him, and he got out of bed. Rita and Frannie were both deep asleep, but he put on his slippers to be extra quiet, then lit a candle. He was about to slip out the door when he heard a loud thud. But not from the direction of Glass’s room. It sounded like it came from the ship’s treasury.

What the hell?

He snatched his pistol and slipped out of the door. Juno crept along the hall, keeping close to the wall with his candle outstretched before him and his pistol at his side. He moved along the right-hand side, so that nothing could creep into his blind spot, but still the creaking of the ship and the uneven sway of it unnerved him. Again, the clinking noise sounded from the treasury. He could see the doorway. Juno took a deep breath, counted to five, and whipped around the corner.

Glass looked up from the chest he was elbow-deep reaching into and frowned. “Ah,” he said. “Well, hello.”

It was Glass, but… human. As far as Juno could tell. He had legs, normal ears; his eyes were regular eyes, with gorgeous dark brown irises. He wore a short white dress belted with a corset, as well as a knife strapped to one of his distractingly gorgeous thighs.

The pistol trembled in Juno’s hands. “What,” he breathed, “the hell.”

“Careful, now, there’s no need to wave that thing around.” Glass raised his hands, both of which clutched long ropes of pearls. His teeth were less prominent, but still looked thrillingly sharp. “I can explain everything.”

“Yeah?” Juno stepped closer and pointed his gun at the mer’s - the human’s - heart. “Start talking.”

“I understand this is confusing, Juno. In some ways, I’m glad you’re the one who caught me. It means we get to have a secret.” Glass stepped closer to the pirate. “Just for the two of us.”

“You were a mer,” Juno sputtered. “You were injured.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Glass covered the quivering barrel of Juno’s pistol and pointed it away from himself. “Juno, listen to me. Whatever you think I am, you’re wrong. But I can tell you. I will tell you. I’ll tell you everything, if you want to know, but you must promise me you won’t alert your captain.”

“Why not?” Juno snapped. “You’re robbing us. You lied your way onto our ship and - and just so you could get our shit while we slept?”

“Well, it’s not really yours, now is it?” He was so close now. Juno could feel Glass’s warm breath on his cheek, followed a few seconds later by his knuckles. A shiver ran through him involuntarily. Glass chuckled. “I trust you, Juno, and I can’t have you giving me away now. Please.” He leaned down and whispered in Juno's ear, “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The words drifted into the pirate’s mind and melted over his senses like slow honey. He shivered in the brine-aired night, and in the warmth radiating from Glass’s presence. It was a sensation so strong, so all-encompassing, that for a second Juno didn’t even notice that warmth had retreated. He snapped to his senses just in time to watch Glass disappear out the door.

“Hey - HEY!” he shouted. “Get back here!” Juno sprinted after Glass as the long-limbed thief bounded up the stairs towards the deck, and into the open air. The deck’s rocking motions were more obvious here, swaying Juno back and forth on his own feet as he fired a warning shot into the night air. “Glass, you bastard -! get back here!”

Glass paid him no heed. Dripping pearls and laughing, he crossed the deck in a burst of speed. Juno stumbled after him. He can’t get away, the pirate thought, he has nowhere to go - and as soon as the thought entered his mind, Glass leapt over the edge of the railing and out into the open night.

“NO!” Juno shouted. His momentum carried him the rest of the way, and he ran right into the banister, wrapping his arms around it. Below, he saw a flash of silver scales as Glass disappeared beneath the rolling waves. Juno stared, dumbfounded. He had no time to process, or to call for the captain, before suddenly the ship lurched again beneath his feet and sent him tumbling headfirst into the waves.

III.

The water crashed into him. Juno gasped as the cold ensnared him, but the gasp let in a rush of frigid water into his lungs, making him sputter. His arms struggled weakly. His fists clutched handfuls of seawater as the weight of his clothes and the tossing of the waves dragged him under. For a singular moment his head parted the surface of the waves, but before he could even taste oxygen, the water closed over him again. Juno couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned. All he could feel was that burning and the numbing coldness. And then, suddenly, he felt something wrap around his waist.

Juno looked down and gave a garbled yelp of surprise. Glass was at his side, holding him close. He wore the strings of pearls around his neck, and he wrapped one of them gently around Juno, holding them together in the tumult of the water. Juno fell still. Black dots swam before his vision, and the cold seemed to sting his bones, but the mer’s arms were warm, and Juno instinctively drew closer to him.

“Juno?” Glass murmured. His voice sounded distant. “Juno, stay awake. I can help you breathe, but you have to stay awake -” His hands clutched Juno’s shoulders, but the detective could barely feel them. Glass’s face moved closer to his. “No, stay awake - I can only help you if I breathe for you, and I can’t do that if you’re not awake to say so - no no no, keep your eyes open for me! Please, Juno -” His grip tightened in almost frenzy. The black dots blurred the edges of Juno’s vision. His entire body felt made up of this pain intensifying in his lungs. “Juno, I can save you, just give me a yes, please don’t black out, please don’t -”

Juno could barely feel, but with what little strength he had left he tried to nod. His forehead tipped against the mer’s shoulder. Glass drew back and cradled Juno’s face in his hands, and then, strongly, he pressed his warm lips onto Juno’s mouth. Oxygen entered his body slowly, like warmth dripping slowly down his throat. Juno felt something like life beating in his chest, and he almost tasted sea salt, but before he could reflect on anything he was feeling, the black dots swelled to cover his vision, and everything faded away.

When Juno came to, he found himself lying on a cool stone. The world above him slowly came into vision: a cool, dark cave, striped with damp vines that dangled from the ceiling. He felt cold water lapping at his ankles, and heard soft singing in the air in a haunting language he didn’t recognize. Weakly, he lifted his heavy head and looked around to get his bearings. Through the mouth of the cave, Juno could see the sun rising on the horizon, and the golden glow bled into the cave as if it were paint spilled across the water’s surface. Glass lounged on another rock, drawing ripples in the water with his fingertips, still in his mer form and glistening with pearls. After a few seconds all of Juno’s senses fell into place, and he realized the mermaid was the source of the music.

“Glass?” he called weakly.

Glass stopped singing and looked over. His shining face lit into a smile. “You’re awake.” He rolled off of the rock and vanished with a faint splash into the water, and then a moment later emerged dripping wet by Juno’s side. The hand shifted and a moment later Glass’s face appeared above him.

“Juno,” he sighed. “Here, let me help you sit up. How are you feeling?”

“Unghh.” Juno rubbed his head as the mer helped him into a sitting position. “What the hell happened?”

“You blacked out.” Glass shifted back a few inches to give Juno breathing room. “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Juno sat up higher on the rock. Glass leaned on the side, with his arms folded and his head tipped to one side. His scales shimmered. “You saved my life,” Juno said. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you die, Juno.”

“You kissed me.”

Glass stirred his fingertips through the foam brushing up against the rock.

“You kissed me. You stole from my crew, and then you saved my life. Why the hell would you do that?” The water lapped quietly at the edges of the cave.

The air misted before Glass’s lips while he breathed, and his gills pulsed. A drop of water slid down the slope of his forehead.. “I had a very straightforward plan,” he murmured eventually. “I’d been tracking your ship for a while now, you see. I saw that big fellow rowing above me one morning, so I swam to the surface to see what was going on. When I noticed that chest he was loading onto your ship, I decided to track you all. I knew you must have some kind of treasure, and I wanted it. I hid under your prow, or swam near you. Then one morning, a net dropped, so I seized my chance and swam into it, and then….” He turned his head and fixed his black eyes on Juno. “Well, then you messed up my whole plan.”

Juno started to speak, but Glass talked right over him.

“You, all fascinating and charming, with your fed-up attitude and your adorable pout.” He smiled. “I don’t meet people very often. I’m usually on the move, either on land or in the water, and I never have time to… to chat with someone I find attractive. And then,” he chuckled, “I decided to forget you and go through with my plan anyway - and you came to stop me! Leaving me to save you, in the end.” He shrugged delicately. “What can I say, darling? You are beautiful. I want to know everything about you.”

Glass closed his eyes and rested his head on his folded arms. Juno watched him, with his heart drum beating in his chest. Around them the water was turning golden. Juno watched him, and thought, He thinks I’m beautiful.

“What are you, exactly?”

The mermaid lifted his head. “Hmm?”

“I mean, you’re a mermaid, right? But then when I saw you in the night, you had legs, your eyes were normal -”

“Ah. Weren’t you listening?” Glass smirked. “Shapeshifter, love. I can be a mer or a human as it suits me, but I’m never just one for very long.”

“Huh.” Juno thought about that for a moment. He could feel his pulse in his throat. “And you’re a thief, apparently.”

“You can have your pearls back if it bothers you that badly.”

“Honestly?” Juno took Glass’s hand in his. “Right now I kind of just want to pay you back for saving me.”

Glass looked up. He met Juno’s eyes and let the pirate draw him up onto the rock, and as the golden light spilled far enough across the water to light them up, they kissed.

It was like oxygen-giving, but better. Glass’s lips were soft and sweet, and he tasted like the ocean. Juno felt the sunlight falling across their shoulders, and both of Glass’s hands twisted gently in the front of Juno’s shirt. He dragged him closer and their kiss grew deeper, with Glass’s tongue slipping into Juno’s open mouth, and Juno wrapped his legs around the mer’s waist. They didn’t break apart until it was physically hard to breathe, and even then, only far enough for the mermaid to press his forehead to the pirate’s.

“Glass isn’t my real name,” he said, breathless.

“Yeah, no shit,” Juno gasped. “Christ, you’re a good kisser. Okay. What is your real name?”

“It’s in Mer. You won’t be able to pronounce it.”

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

“Nąuhréyęvhve.”

“What the fuck kind of name is that.”

The mermaid with the unpronounceable name laughed and dropped a quick kiss onto Juno’s cheek. “It means dancer.”

“Yeah, I still can’t pronounce it. I’m just gonna say Nureyev.”

“Nureyev.” The mermaid tried it, head tipped to the side. “Nureyev” He turned to face Juno again and smiled. “Hmm. That does have a nice ring to it.”

And they kissed again while the sunlight grew around them.

IV.

Captain Aurinko liked to think of herself as a level-headed person, but right now, Juno Steel had her worried. “It’s no big deal,” Vespa had told her. “He vanishes at the same time as the mermaid, so what? The mermaid guy probably talked his ear off, and Steel just got annoyed and chucked him overboard.”

“Then where is Juno?”

“It is possible we overlooked some part of the ship when we checked,” Jet suggested.

Vespa smirked. “Or he’s screwing the mermaid somewhere.”

“How would that -” Rita had begun, but Buddy decided that Rita should go check the stores, and Vespa should go check the crow’s nest, before they could have that conversation.

Now, she stood on the deck by the ship’s wheel and watched the horizon through her telescope. All she saw were the unchanging waves. Buddy sighed and lowered the telescope from her eye. “Come on, Juno,” she murmured. “This crew won’t work without you.”

Behind her, the deck creaked under footsteps. “We checked the crow’s nest,” said Vespa. “Didn’t see anything.”

“Us, either,” called Rita as she and Jet emerged from the lower stairs. “Mate Steel just ain’t here at all.”

“Rraw! Mate Steel ain’t here!” squaked Frannie.

Jet furrowed his brows. “I think,” he began heavily, “that perhaps we must consider -”

“No,” said Buddy. “We’re not giving up yet.”

“Buddy.” Vespa laid a hand on her arm. “Listen, we don’t know what this mer guy might have done, okay? We should start makin’ the assumption - Rita? Are you okay?”

Rita had begun to cry, holding the end of Buddy’s long coat and using it to dab her eyes. “I-I’m sorry, matey,” she sniffled. “It’s just, I’m rememberin’ that in plays mermaids eat people sometimes, and I don’t want Mate Steel to get e-eaten, ya know? An’ that mer-guy had such really sharp teeth an’ I don’t wan Mate Steel to di-i-i-ieeeee.” She sobbed loudly and blew her nose on Buddy’s lace trim.

At that moment, a loud splash sounded from the ocean. The four turned around in time to watch the Juno and the mermaid course up on a jet of seawater and collapse onto the deck, where they lay sputtering in a puddle. Juno’s clothes clung to him, soaking wet, and the mer wore a tattered white dress. “Hey, guys,” Juno coughed.

“What the hell?!” exclaimed Vespa.

“MATE STEEL!” Rita ran across the deck and threw her arms around Juno’s shoulders. “You’re alive! Oh, Mate Steel, we was so WORRIED, I thought somethin’ terrible’d happened to ya, where’ve you BEEN Mate Steel? Did he kidnap ya? Did he hurtcha?” She glared at the mermaid and fumbled for her little dagger. “I swear, if you hurt one curl on my Mate Steel’s head, I’m gonna -”

“I’m fine, Rita.” Juno sat up and helped the mermaid to his feet. Buddy blinked, sure she was seeing something wrong - perhaps the rum had gone to her head. The mermaid had legs now. “Guys,” said Juno. “Nureyev’s here to return some stuff he took.”

“Oh.” The mermaid laughed nervously. “I thought I was just dropping you off.”

“Nureyev.”

“Fine, fine.” He reached into his pockets and pulled out all the strings of pearls that should have been in the Carte Blanche’s treasure stores. Buddy raised an eyebrow as the mer-turned-human - Nureyev - held them out to her. She took them from his hands and eyed him.

“I was under the impression that mer usually only have tails,” she said lightly.

“I’m a shapeshifter.”

Vespa and Jet said, “a what?”

“A SHAPESHIFTER?!” Rita exclaimed. “Wow!!! That’s so COOL, Mistah Nureyev! Like, like in that really great play that came out last month, Squares and Triangles and Also Sirens? Wow, that play is so GOOD! Can you turn into anythin’ you want, or just a mer and a human?”

“More importantly,” said Buddy, “how long were you planning to use your abilities to rob us?”

Rita fell silent. Nureyev smirked. “Quite a while,” he admitted. “Juno simply… altered my initial plan when he spotted me last night.”

“Ah. So that’s where you’ve been.” Buddy smiled as Juno blushed and ducked his head. “Well, it seems there’s simply one way to resolve this whole mix-up.”

“Yeah!” Vespa drew her scimitar and pointed it at Nureyev. “I say we tie him up and make him walk the plank!”

“Rraw! Walk the plank!” agreed Frannie.

“That is impractical,” said Jet. “If he walks the plank, he will simply transform underwater and swim away. I propose that we throw him in the brig until we reach port. We can decide from there.”

“Hey, c’mon, none of this is making sense,” snapped Juno. “He gave all the pearls back.”

“You’ve certainly had a change of attitude.”

“Yeah, well you could use one, Vespa, and here’s another thing -”

“Enough, darlings!” Buddy held up her hands. “That’s enough. I have an alternative proposition.” She marched across the deck and stopped before Nureyev. “You possess interesting skills, Nureyev. Skills that I think our team would find very useful. And, since I’m sure Juno will vouch for your character, judging from the fact that he’s wearing your lipstick -”

“Hey-”

“- you have an in.” She held out her hand. “If you want it, darling, there’s a place for you here aboard the Carte Blanche.”

Nureyev glanced over at Juno, who stood watching him with hopeful eyes. A smile grew across his face. “Well,” he said. “I must say, it’s nice to finally be appreciated.” And he shook Buddy’s hand.

~~~~

“...aaaand that’s my idea for a stream about us!” Rita set down her stack of papers and beamed around at the rest of the crew. “Whaddaya think? It’s good, ain’t it?”

“It is exceptional,” said Jet in a grave tone. “I am moved to tears.”

“I dunno, I think it’s a little unrealistic in a few parts.” Juno gestured to the portion marked as chapter five. “I don’t really see why I’d let a mermaid kiss me while I’m drowning.”

“You totally would, Mistah Steel!” Rita clutched her story defensively. “You’re just horny for death!”

“I’m what?”

“In my case,” said Nureyev, over the laughter of the rest of the crew, “I don’t see why I’ve been characterized as a mermaid.”

“Every pirate stream has to have a mermaid, Mistah Nureyev? Ain’t you ever seen High Seas of Saturn? The Ghost Ship that Also Has Zombies? Pirates of the Carribean 207: Oh My

God When Will This Franchise End?”

“Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid.” Nureyev shifted Juno’s position on his lap and rubbed the lady’s thigh. “My introduction scene was on point, though. After all, Juno does love me in fishnets.”

“Shut up,” Juno mumbled, blushing. Nureyev chuckled and kissed his neck.

Buddy took another sip of her tea. “You’ve created quite an interesting story, darling. I’m glad it’s kept you entertained. I know our long periods between heists can get tedious, but I’d say this has been fun for all of us.”

“Oh yeah, this part.” Vespa waved a section of Rita’s script. She’d been writing notes on Rita’s finished pages throughout the reading process. “Where it says my arms are covered in tattoos. I’ve only got twenty tattoos and only six of them are on my arms, so I thought that was kind of unrealistic, kid.”

“I’m taking artistic license, Miz Vespa!”

Vespa narrowed her eyes and grabbed her knife. “Are you saying my tattoos aren’t already artistic?”

“N-no! Fine, I’ll change it!” Rita snatched the page back and began to doodle furiously on it. Jet leaned close.

“Do not listen to the haters,” he whispered. “You have created a masterpiece of television.”

“Thanks, Mistah Big Guy.”

“You are welcome.”

“Well, this has been entertaining.” Nureyev tapped his fingertips on Juno’s knee. “If there’s nothing else that you require, the two of us will probably go to bed…”

“No, you can’t go to bed!” Rita frowned. “Whaddaya mean? We’re just gettin’ started!”

“Rita, you’ve read us your entire story,” said Juno. “What else is there.”

“I’ve read you the pilot episode.” Rita reached behind her and grabbed an enormous stack of blank notepads. “But now, you’ve all got to help me plot the rest of the first season!”

The rest of the crew looked at each other. Juno sighed and got up from Nureyev’s lap.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get some coffee started. Looks like we’re gonna be here a while.”

The End

Big thanks to @in-consist, @awalkingparadox11, @scintillart, @hemaris, and @acadieum for all the incredible work they did!

#happy birthday @rudzik-art!#love you #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #rita penumbra #jet siquliak #buddy aurinko #mermaid AU #the art in this is incredible #do yourself a favor and go see it on AO3 #or see if the artists have posted it here on their personal blogs

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decembercamiecherries · 4 years

Text

intensely beautiful

IT’S KILLUGON DAYYYYYYYYYYY :D and who would I be if I didn’t have a fic to post on the day of my best and most wonderful otp~?

I actually wrote this like two months ago lol. It was inspired by this lovely killugon kiss by @cazzart over on her twitter! It’s a college au ^-^ Pls enjoy!

(title is inspired by the word ceraunophilia which is defined as a deep love of thunder and lightning. It also connotes the idea of finding both intensely beautiful)

-o0o-

Gon had never seen snow before.

Not this much, at least, and it had never snowed for this long. He watched with quiet awe as layers upon layers of snow fell from the sky, coating the campus in a light coating of powdery white. It had never really been cold enough to snow back at his hometown in Whale Island. The first and last time it happened was when he was only three, wide eyed and enchanted at witnessing something he’d only seen in books or movies.

“It’s snow,” Aunt Mito had told him kindly, standing beside him as he gazed out the window early that morning. “It’s pretty, don’t you think?”

It had been pretty, in a surreal way. Gon had been fascinated with how the snowflakes melted in his palm but stuck hard to the stone walkway leading to their small hut. He’d even tried to keep some, carrying a handful of snow inside only to cry when it started melting.

And that was the problem with Whale Island and snow. It couldn’t last. By the next day the blinding sun has returned, bringing with it the heat and humidity that was much more familiar to Gon than the cold and grey skies. Within hours, all the snow had gone.

But it was different here.

“It’s really coming down hard, huh?” Killua asked and Gon glanced up at him. Killua’s nose was scrunched up, a light dusting of pink spread across the sharp angles his cheeks and the tips of ears. He had complained and whined when Gon had first asked him if he wanted to go outside—Killua had never exactly liked the cold, exactly.

But Gon had asked him anyway, because even if the snow meant it was cold outside, it was still beautiful. And if Gon was going to experience something amazing, he wanted to do it with his best friend at his side.

“Hmm,” Gon hummed, holding on tighter to Killua’s arm and resting his head on Killua’s shoulder. His head was jostled slightly with every step, but he didn’t let it bother him. “Yeah, it is. But I like it.”

Killua scoffed. “You would like it. Everything is gross and wet and slippery…” He frowned down at Gon. “Have you ever even seen snow before?”

“A while ago. It snowed once back on Whale Island when I was really little.”

Killua quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I would’ve thought it was too hot for that. Whale Island is way further south than here, right?”

“Yeah, well, it only happened once.”

Gon let his gaze wander from Killua’s pale face to the snow covered grounds. Hunter College looked nearly unrecognizable after the gift from Mother Nature. Silvery white had hidden the dead grass, the bare branches of the trees were decorated with puffs of white that almost looked like clouds. It was even devoid of the students that usually mulled across the lawn between classes, with no one in sight but him and Killua.

Most of the other students had gone home for winter break. But Killua didn’t want that—he didn’t like his family’s empty mansion, or equally empty family members. There was a history there, a reason why Killua had chosen to attend college so far away from everything he had ever known. Gon had never pushed him on it—Killua was Killua, no matter what shadows lurked in his past—and he wasn’t about to now.

So when Killua has told him he planned on staying for the month-long break, Gon had stubbornly decided to stay, too. Killua didn’t deserve to be alone for so long, and besides, Gon didn’t want to leave Killua alone.

It didn’t matter how tempting the memory of Aunt Mito’s warm pies or his familiar bed. If Killua was here, that’s where Gon wanted to be.

“Did it ever snow back at your house?” Gon asked curiously, still staring at the blinding whiteness around them.

He didn’t have to look up to hear the scowl in Killua’s answer. “Ugh, yeah. It snowed a little too much for my liking.”

Gon laughed quietly and squeezed Killua’s arm. “You really, really don’t like the cold, huh?”

“Gee, I wonder what gave you that idea?”

Gon grinned. “I dunno, it’s just a feeling I had.”

Killua snorted and Gon’s grin grew even wider. “You’re so stupid,” Killua said, but the insult had no bite. His tone was warm, so full of soft fondness, that Gon had to look up. Even Killua’s eyes—bright as the sky or a bluejay’s wing, deep as a sapphire or the ocean, blue as Gon’s favorite color—grew tender as they gazed back at Gon.

Gon’s heart squeezed. Killua’s eyes were one of Gon’s favorite things about him, and there were lots of things that Gon liked about Killua. But today his eyes looked especially pretty against the dull grey backdrop of the sky and the empty whiteness surrounding them.

“You didn’t have to come out here, you know,” Gon said softly. The snow crunched under their boots with every step, creating a strange but steady thump-ing sound. “You don’t like the cold but you came out here anyway.”

You came out here for me, he added silently as he watched Killua squirm under his gaze.

“Yeah, well…” Killua huffed, his breath fogging up into a cloud. “Don’t let it get to your head, okay. I know what you’re thinking and if I get sick, I’m blaming you.”

“You won’t get sick from being cold, Killua. That’s just silly.”

“You would be surprised how many times I’ve gotten sick from just ‘being cold’, Gon. And who are you to know, anyway? You’re not a science major!”

Gon laughed again and the sound was boisterous enough to echo across the clearing and bounce off the nearby trees. It shattered the peaceful silence created by the snow and gon heard Killua grumble something about being too loud, but he couldn’t help himself. Killua made him laugh so easily, almost as easily as breathing.

“M-Maybe not,” Gon admitted, still giggling. “But if you do—do get sick, I promise nurse you back to health and everything!”

“You better,” Killua grumbled as his cheeks pinkened. “This is all your fault.”

“You said that already, Ki-llu-a.”

“That d-doesn’t make it not t-true!”

Killua shivered violently, teeth chattering. Gon frowned and rubbed his arm. It wasn’t enough to warm Killua up much—the heavy winter jacket and hat atop his head should already be doing that—but Gon hoped the action was comforting to his best fried all the same.

“Do you really want to go back?” he asked, concerned. He’d wanted to see the snow, to breathe in the fresh air and feel the snowflakes melting on his cheeks. Despite all their teasing, he didn’t really want Killua freeze badly enough to get sick. He just wanted to share this special moment with the most special person he knew.

To his surprise, Killua shook his head. “N-No...I’m just not used to it. I usually try to stay inside when it’s snowing like this.”

Gon slowed down, a suggestive but very fun idea hitting him. “Maybe you just need to warm up a little?” he asked slyly.

Killua slowed to match his pace, giving Gon a suspicious look. Gon didn’t blame him—Killua knew him extremely well after four years of being best friend college buddies and two years of being...well, of being more. Killua knew him better than Gon himself some days. And he definitely knew that tone of Gon’s meant trouble.

“What are you saying?” Killua asked with narrowed blue eyes. Gon hummed thoughtfully before releasing Killua’s arm. He twisted around swiftly to plant himself in front of Killua’s path, forcing the Zoldyck to stop in his tracks.

“I’m saying...you need something to warm you up,” Gon said simply and Killua’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yeah?” Killua shoved his hands into his pockets, looking amused. “And you think you have that something?”

“I might,” Gon admits casually. “But I dunno if you’ll like my idea…”

“Why don’t you try me, and I’ll let you know?”

“Hmm. Well, it might involve me getting in your personal space.”

“Might?” Killua echoed. He was giving Gon all of his attention now, all one-hundred percent of that intense blue gaze was locked onto Gon’s face, and a shiver raced down Gon’s spine—a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “When have you ever respected personal space before?”

Gon grinned. “You never seemed to mind it,” he whispered as he leaned in ever so slowly. He could see his reflection in Killua’s eyes, the way his pupils grew large and his breath stuttered as Gon grew near.

“Hard to mind something you get used to,” Killua whispered back and Gon’s toes curled in his boots.

“You saying I grew on you?” he asked quietly. He let his hands drift forward to carefully graze Killua’s gloved fingers. Killua bit his lip at the contact—a sight that caused a thrill of satisfaction to rush through Gon. It wasn’t hard to see the struggle in Killua’s face, how he was forcing himself not to grab Gon’s hand and tangle their fingers together as they had so many times before.

“Yeah,” Killua breathed. “You did. Like a wart.”

The answer was so unexpected—so, so Killua—that Gon threw his head back and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed until he was gasping for air, eyes watering and cheeks aching from being stretched too far.

“Ki-Killua,” he wheezed. “You’re—You’re funny.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “I’m not funny. You’re just stupid.”

Gon snickered, not at all minding the insult. Killua’s insults were more like terms of endearment when applied to Gon. He never really meant them.

“You like me anyway,” he reminded Killua in a teasing tone, finally taking Killua’s hands in his and squeezing them. Killua flushed darkly, a pretty blush that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold coloring his normally pale features.

“I unfortunately do,” he muttered and Gon’s heart fluttered. Killua looked so cute just then, pouting with pink cheeks and looking anywhere but at the person of his affection.

“No need to look so embarrassed, Ki-llu-a,” Gon said with a bright grin. “I like you, too.”

Killua down bit his lip. “You do?”

“You know I do.”

“...you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Gon’s smile widened. “Maybe just a little. But I can’t help it! You look so cute when you get all flustered.”

Killua opened his mouth, looking like he was about to argue, and that’s when Gon moved. He rushed forward and pressed his lips to Killua’s, still smiling as their mouths touched.

For a moment, Killua didn’t move. He stayed stiff as wood against Gon—out of surprise more than anything, Gon was sure—but then he melted into Gon’s embrace, leaning against the shorter student as he kissed Gon soundly back.

Killua’s lips were warm, Gon noted. They were warm and soft and tasted faintly of the hot chocolate Gon had made for him just hours earlier. They were familiar and good and Gon hummed happily before tilting his head to get an even deeper kiss. Killua responded by winding his arms around Gon’s middle, squeezing his waist hard enough as if he could keep Gon here in this moment with just his strength alone.

Which, he really didn’t need to do. Because Gon wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world than here with Killua, sharing this moment with him as the snowflakes collected on their shoulders and in their hair.

Gon didn’t know how or why, but everything felt right when he was with Killua. Killua had a way of making the world brighter, his problems lighter, his challenges easier. Even when the world was already so beautiful with the snow falling from the sky and the icicles decorating the trees, nothing could ever really compare to the beauty that was Killua.

Gon pulled back and Killua’s eyelashes fluttered. Hazy blue eyes gazed back at him and something hot twisted in Gon’s gut.

“Feeling warmer?” Gon asked, voice hoarse, and Killua sucked in a shuddering breath.

“A little,” he said, cheeks stained red. “But I don’t think I’m entirely warmed up yet.”

Gon tilted his head as he tried to hold back the smile fighting its way onto his face. “Really?”

Killua nodded. “Really.”

Gon grinned. He threw his arms around Killua’s shoulders and pulled Killua in for another kiss, this time holding Killua to him as his boyfriend once more melted into his embrace.

#dc writes #killugon #hunterxhunter #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #kissing #modern au #college au #aged up au #winter #snow

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badchoicesposts · 5 years

Text

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 16

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar)

DISCLAIMER: I’ve changed up the timeline of the social season a bit to fit my story better. I’ve based it off of some research I did on the British Social Season. Some of the dialogue was taken directly from Book 1 of The Royal Romance but was changed a bit to fit my fic.

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @ao719, @kingliam2019, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog, @liamxs-world, @drakesensworld, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @lauradowning29, @texaskitten30, @senseofduties, @indiacater, @alexintheskyy, @jared2612

A/N: This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Catch Up: Masterlist

Olivia’s party itself wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Ali made casual conversation with Penelope and Kiara, and her conversation with Olivia seemed to be pleasant enough. She just wished she could have done it on solid ground.

The smell of the salty sea water overtook her senses and her shoulders relaxed as she and Maxwell made their way over to where Hana and Lizzie stood at the beach party’s buffet table.

“Wow, these appetizers seem kind of fishy,” Ali said, recoiling at the pungent smell.

She had never liked seafood and had to keep herself from gagging as she watched Maxwell take a bite of something that appeared to still be moving.

“I’m going to go stand over there before I throw up again,” she said taking a few steps back, before noticing that Drake was waving her over to another picnic area.

“Is that barbecue?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over the loaded table.

“Liam thought you would appreciate it. A little taste of home,” he said as the others walked over to them.

Ali smiled while her stomach grumbled loudly. Now that she was away from all of the seafood she was suddenly starving.

“I love a good barbecue,” Drake said, happier than Ali had seen him in a while. “Reminds me of cookouts on the lawn and summers with family.”

“That’s sweet Drake,” she said.

“It is not. Now, would you rather talk or would you rather eat.”

Ali rolled her eyes as each of them began to fill up their plates. They devoured their food, Maxwell covered completely in sauce, all excited about the menu changes.

“That was so good,” Maxwell moaned out after they had finished eating.

Ali felt completely relaxed as they all hummed in agreement. She was currently away from the press and surrounded by people she was comfortable with.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to enjoy the water,” Drake said, standing up and peeling his shirt off.

Ali looked over to Maxwell, who had been trying to wipe his face clean, and grabbed a napkin to get the spot that he continued to miss.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit. You guys go ahead,” she said, turning his face in her hand so she could wipe his cheek.

She caught sight of Liam standing a little way from them speaking with Regina and Madeleine. He smiled at the sight of her and Maxwell, and returned to his conversation.

“Good as new,” she said, finally pulling the napkin away from his face, and admiring her handiwork.

The two of them took a seat on the sand, and Ali kicked off her shoes, burying her toes in its warmth.

“You don’t want to go swim with the others?” she asked him, motioning to where Drake, Hana, and Lizzie were playing in the water.

“After a meal like that I just want to stretch out like a beached whale,” he said, leaning back onto his elbows and allowing the sun to warm his face.

“I’ve never really be a beach person, but I have to admit that this is kind of nice,” she said, leaning back as well.

“How are you not a beach person?” Maxwell asked, sitting up quickly with his jaw hanging open.

“I don’t know how to swim.”

“You don’t know how to swim!” he repeated.

“I love the feeling of being in the water, but I’ve always been terrified of learning how to swim.”

“I believe I’ve tried to teach you several times, but I remember you refusing to let go of me,” Liam said, taking a seat next to them and handing her a glass of mint lemonade.

She shoved him playfully and took a few sips of the cold liquid, allowing it to cool her down before handing the glass to Maxwell and letting him do the same.

~~~

Ali tugged self consciously at the high-waisted, two piece bathing suit that Emma had forced her to get. It was getting hotter and hotter every day, and when Liam learned that she didn’t know how to swim, he decided to make it his life's mission to teach her. The building that he lived in had its own private pool, and as she watched him swim a few laps across it under the moonlight, she couldn’t help but think of how romantic this would have been if she wasn’t so terrified of drowning.

“Come in with me,” Liam said, swimming up to where she was dangling her legs into the water and wrapping his hands gently around her ankles.

“I have no problem coming in with you as long as I can stay in the shallow end,” she said was a sweet smile, lowering herself into the pool.

She sighed as she sunk into the cool water, her feet touching the floor of the pool and the water coming up to her chest. She had always loved the feeling of being in the water. It was oddly liberating considering she was afraid to swim, but she couldn’t deny that just standing in the pool made her muscles relax in a satisfying way.

“Come in a little further,” Liam coaxed, grabbing her hands and trying to pull her closer to the middle of the pool.

Ali took a deep breath and allowed her body to flow through the water, guided by his movements. Her breath hitched as the ground began to fall away under her, but Liam instinctively pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist so that she knew she was secure.

“Lean back. I’ll help you balance so you can float,” he said, gently pushing her back.

Ali hesitated.

“You know, I’m okay with not knowing how to swim,” she said, resisting his movements.

“You should learn. What if something happens and you need to swim to survive?” he asked, with an amused smile.

“That’s why I have you,” she responded sarcastically.

“And what if I’m not there?”

“Then I guess I’ll just die,” she said.

Liam rolled his eyes in response.

“Besides, I can think of something we could do instead,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

She pulled him into a soft lingering kiss.

“That’s not going to work,” he said, pulling away with a clear amount of difficulty.

“Oh, fine,” she gave in, leaning back into the water.

“You need to relax your body,” he said, his hands on her back under the water, holding her up.

She attempted to follow his instructions several times, but she never succeeded. The position she was in felt unnatural.

“I can’t do this,” she said, getting increasingly agitated and stiffening her body even more.

“Just close your eyes,” Liam instructed.

“Liam, I don’t want to close my eyes.”

“Please, just do it,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

He originally thought that this was going to be a much easier task. He had underestimated his girlfriend’s stubbornness and unwillingness to learn something she was afraid of.

Ali rolled her eyes in annoyance before closing them.

“Good, now just relax and listen to the sound of my voice,” he said. “Just focus on me.”

He proceeded to speak in a soft soothing voice about whatever came to his mind, and before Ali knew it her body had relaxed.

“I think I did it!” she said excitedly, opening her eyes only to find Liam standing in the water a few feet away from her.

The proud smile that he was wearing was quickly replaced by a look of fear as her body stiffened again, and her arms and legs began flailing as her head fell below the surface.

“Why did you let go of me!” she yelled, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly as he pulled her back to his body.

“You were doing so well! I thought you would be okay,” Liam said, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I would kill you if I didn’t need your help getting out of here.”

The man threw his head back and laughed.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She narrowed her eyes at the amused expression that he still wore on his face but decided against addressing it.

“You better.”

~~~

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve come to steal you away for a few moments. There’s a place nearby that I would like to share with you,” he said hopefully.

“Of course,” she said, standing up, “I’ll see you later, Maxwell.”

Maxwell saluted the two of them and laid back with his arms behind his head.

Liam took Ali’s hand and lead her through some brush. After a short hike they arrived at a picturesque waterfall.

“Wow,” she said, taking in the sight before her.

Liam wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her back into his chest.

“Forgotten Falls. I used to come here when I was a child. It’s one of my favorite places,” he said.

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the rush of the water, before he took her hand and led her over to the edge of the pool that the waterfall flowed into.

“Come in with me,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear.

A shiver went down her spine as she leaned into his body.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” she breathed out.

“You don’t need one,” he whispered, pulling her into a heated kiss.

As their lips moved together, Ali felt Liam’s hands grasp the bottom of the shirt she was wearing. They separated long enough for him to pull it off her body before he reattached his lips to hers. He reached around her back and unhooked the clasp of her bra. Ali gasped against his lips as it fell away from her, and the cool air hit her skin. Liam finally broke the kiss and removed his own clothing as she stripped her bottom half. He carefully pulled her glasses from her face and placed it down near their clothes, before grabbing her hand in his and leading her into the water.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let go this time,” he said, as she clutched his hand tighter, the double meaning of the phrase evident in the way he said it.

He moved out into deeper water while she struggled to calm her rapidly beating heart. They stopped at the base of the waterfall and Liam helped her wrap her legs around his waist, their chests pressed together. He spun her underneath the falling water, and she threw her head back allowing her face to get wet. A euphoric feeling washed over her as she wrapped her arms around Liam’s neck and leaned her forehead against his, water dripping down their bare skin.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispered.

The two of them stayed under the falling water for a while longer wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, mostly because Ali refused to let go of him when her feet couldn’t touch the bottom, before returning back to the edge of the pool and getting out.

“I hate to ruin the moment, but I think we need to continue our conversation from earlier,” she said, as they sat letting the sun dry their skin.

Liam sighed and his shoulders sagged.

“My father has always drilled the importance of finding a suitable wife into me. It wasn’t nearly as bad when Leo was still Crown Prince, but now that the social season has begun and I am to become King, he has gotten more insistent. In the past few weeks he’s repeatedly mentioned that the country can only thrive with proper leaders, and that I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgement when it comes to picking the future queen,” he said the last part quietly.

“I assume he’s referring to our relationship,” she said, prompting him to continue.

“He’s been pushing me to choose one of the other suitors. Someone who was born and raised in this life. I didn’t understand why he was being so forceful until his announcement today.”

“You know, for a second after the race today it seemed like he actually liked me. I thought that maybe I was just being paranoid for originally thinking that he didn’t. He seemed so genuinely happy. But, I guess he just needed to pretend for the cameras,” she said, twiddling her thumbs.

“He was happy. I think he understands how we feel for each other, but at the same time, he believes that it could be a risk to have someone new to this life take the throne. He mentioned something to me in passing,” he trailed off.

“What?” she asked.

Liam was suddenly focusing extremely hard on a blade of grass nearby. He stared intently at it, not speaking.

“Tell me,” she persisted.

“He said that the best way to keep you in my life and make sure Cordonia had a proper queen would be to choose one of the other ladies to be my wife and… to keep you as my mistress,” Liam said, looking completely ashamed.

Ali suddenly felt too exposed. She grabbed her clothes from where they were sitting nearby and hastily redressed. The fabric immediately began sticking to her still damp skin, but she pushed the feeling of discomfort out of her mind. She felt as if she were going to be sick again at any moment.

“He wants me to choose Madeleine,” Liam said, as she sat down beside him again.

“I- um, I’m not sure what to say,” she fumbled with her words. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t say anything. It had caught me off guard when he mentioned it, and I was unsure of how to respond,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

“You’re not seriously considering it are you?” she asked, her voice hardening now.

She loved Liam, and she would do just about anything to be with him, but becoming his mistress was where she drew the line. She would never be the other woman.

“No, of course not!” Liam said quickly, as he took in her angry features. “I would never ask you to do that.”

Ali calmed down a little, but her body refused to relax completely. The weight of his words still weighed her down. The word “mistress” echoed loudly in her mind. She kept clenching and unclenching her fist, and Liam could feel the anger still radiating off of her body.

“My love, I respect you too much to ever reduce you to that. You must know that,” he said.

Ali stayed silent, not wanting her anger to make her say something she didn’t mean.

“Ali? You know that right?”

“I do. It’s just the fact that he suggested it in the first place,” she said.

“It’s not uncommon for relationships like that to happen to court. Most nobles enter into political marriages, and then seek out extramarital affairs in attempts to find happiness.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Liam took her hand in his but made sure to leave enough distance between the two of them in case she didn’t want him too close.

“Did he tell you why he’s stepping down so soon?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“He refused. Every time I’ve mentioned it today he said we should enjoy the festivities and that we would speak later.”

A heavy silence fell over them.

“What does this mean for us?” Ali finally asked.

“My father can push me as much as he likes, but he can not make my decision for me. He can not force me to marry Madeleine or anyone else,” Liam said firmly.

They both looked out at the water in front of them, neither wanting to speak.

“Would you be able to do it?” he murmured, finally breaking the silence.

“What?” Ali asked, having just barely heard him.

“Would you be able to do it? Go straight from being a suitor to being a queen. I had assumed that you would have more of an adjustment period after we got married to get situated in your role at court, but now you’ll be thrown straight into the position of a ruler. Do you think you would be able to do it? Did you really mean it earlier when you said you wanted to lead Cordonia into the future?”

Ali took a deep breath and lifted her head. That was something she had been wondering since Constantine had made his announcement earlier.

“Honestly, I’m kind of terrified,” she admitted, and she watched as Liam’s shoulders sank further.

She rested one hand on his shoulder and used the other to turn his face towards her, moving to sit closer to him.

“But, just because I’m scared doesn’t mean that I can’t do it. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve let that fear hold me back before, but I’m not going to this time. I’m scared of this, but I also want it more than I’ve wanted anything else. I want you. I want a relationship with you. I want a life with you, and I want a life in Cordonia. I’ve only been here for a few months and already I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else. I can’t imagine going back to New York and leaving this place or the people here behind.”

“I know that if I become queen it’ll probably be the most difficult job in the world, but I want it anyway because it’ll give me the power to make a difference. I can relate to the people of Cordonia in a way that none of the other noble ladies can. I’ve been doing some research and even though Cordonia’s monarchy is wealthy, the country itself is made up of primarily working class citizens, and I’ve been in their place while none of the other ladies have. I know what it’s like to have to work for everything you have, to have to fight to put food on the table. I can relate to the people, and I can help them, Liam. I can do this. I know I can,” she said, in a strong voice.

Liam looked both relieved as a few happy tears welled up in his eyes. He reached over and pulled her into a passionate kiss, tangling his fingers in her wet hair. She rested her forehead against his shoulder after he broke the kiss. Some of the tension seemed to disappear, but there was still a heaviness hanging in the air.

“I wish this was easier,” Ali mumbled, tossing him his clothes and standing back up. “You should get dressed. We need to head back.”

Ali felt unsettled as she walked back to the beach with Liam holding tightly onto her hand.

“I love you,” Liam said as they stepped back onto the beach.

“I know you do,” she whispered.

The sun was just now beginning to set, and the sky behind the ocean was slowly beginning to turn orange. It was a beautiful night, but Ali couldn’t seem to turn her mind off long enough to enjoy it.

“Hey, where have you guys been?” Maxwell asked, as they approached the spot where he sat staring out at the water.

“We just went for a walk,” Ali said, dropping down onto the sand next to him.

“Why’s your hair wet? I thought you didn’t bring a bathing suit,�� he whispered in her ear.

Ali’s jaw dropped, and she pulled away to see a smirk on his face.

“Where is everyone else?” she asked, trying to hide the blush that rose onto her cheeks by looking around. She quickly noticed that they were some of the only people still on the beach.

“Almost everyone’s already headed back to the palace. I was just waiting for you.”

Maxwell rose to his feet and held out his arm to help pull her up as well. The two of them said goodnight to Liam and got in the limo that was waiting to take them back to the palace.

Ali watched the trees fly past the car window throughout the drive, and her mind wandered back on her time in Cordonia. She and the Beaumonts had only attended a few personal dinners since the beginning of the social season, and they all seemed to have gone over well. The larger full court events had been a success too. There was always someone new to talk to, and Liam almost always ended up at her side during the gatherings drawing the attention of everyone around them. Even though there were so many more people in attendance at the fuller scale events, they somehow seemed less intimidating. There had been a small snag after the story about her and Drake had broken. Well, it was more than a small snag. There were some people that outright seemed to hate her for it. People were harsh, saying the nastiest things behind their phone and computer screens. But, the buzz of that seemed to die down, except for the spare question here or the quiet whispering there, as people noticed how much time she was spending with Liam. Overall, she felt as if she had done a good job at fitting in. She just wished that it had been enough to convince Constantine that she was capable of being a good queen.

It was hard for her to believe that it had only been about two months since the night of Liam’s bachelor party. That night truly changed her life in a way she had never expected. She smiled to herself as she remembered how everything had happened. However, the smile was gone as soon as it came. The more she thought about it the more it made sense.

The limo pulled up to the palace, and Ali jumped out as soon as it stopped moving.

“Hey, do you want to watch a movie tonight?” Maxwell asked her as he scrolled through something on his phone.

Ali could feel her hands starting to shake as she walked ahead of him. She had heard his voice, but she didn’t comprehend his words.

“Ali?” he called after her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Ali stopped walking and put a smile on her face.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

“I asked if you wanted to watch a movie tonight? Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that movie. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said before hurrying through the palace halls to her room.

She allowed her door to slam shut behind her, barely registering the noise. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves, but found that instead of helping, this seemed to make it harder to breathe. The tears that were falling down her cheeks were wiped away frantically as she made her way back out into the hallway.

Ali took another deep breath and knocked rapidly on the door of the room right next to hers. It felt like a million years had passed by while she waited for it to open. The only thing that she could focus on was how loudly her heart seemed to be hammering in her chest.

Drake finally appeared on the other side dressed only in a pair of plaid pajama pants, obviously ready for bed.

“What happened?” he asked, taking in her red-rimmed eyes and tear streaked face.

“Can I come in?” she asked, voice shaking.

Drake moved out of the way to let her through and watched as she began pacing the length of floor in front of his bed.

“I’m really sorry to do this, but I don’t know who else to go to. You’re the only one I can trust with this,” she said, still walking back and forth.

“What’s going on?” he asked, getting increasingly concerned.

“I need a favor. Not a big favor. Well, it’s kind of a big favor. I just can’t do it myself because if anyone sees it would be bad. Like really bad,” she rambled, the words spewing out of her mouth quicker than she intended.

“Ali, you’re scaring me. What favor?” Drake asked, stepping towards her and grabbing her arm to stop her pacing.

Ali took a deep breath and looked into his concerned eyes, knowing that everything was going to change once she finally said the words.

“I need you to get me a pregnancy test.”

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