#Silvertongued Fics

[freuleinanna]

Mama loves you.

Marisa - harder than most mothers, it's safe to say - often heard the words spoken with unbearable softness. Not in her family, but the words danced in the streets, touching her ears like a melody. Mama loves you. Everything's alright, child. Mama loves you.

She remembers wanting to say the magic words more than anything in the world. The golden daemon never blinked, never moved, just sat beside her. Mesmerized, he never, not even for a moment, looked away from little Lyra and her soul companion as though if he did, they might have disappeared. As though his eyes were the only thing keeping them in existance. He knew then, Marisa thinks. He knew she wouldn't say it. She wouldn't dare.

She remembers words dissolving quicker than a thin layer of ice on a tongue. She remembers being hopelessly, cruelly mute.

Some things should live in minds only, is appears. In beautiful what-ifs, and never on the lips. They give the vow of silence, and Marisa's soul never utters another words as if none would be good enough. Fine, she decides. Silence it is.

Until.

Until.

Twelve years pass before Marisa sees her child. She is armed to the teeth, oozing danger with a metal-scented touch, stunning in a way nobody dares to confront, fully prepared - and the girl, the girl wears raggedy clothes and hardly knows what soap is. She bites nails. She stuffs food in her mouth. She's got a scar on her forehead and exactly three random, unevenly placed moles on her left cheek. That little monster attacks Marisa's heart like a bloodthirsty Tartar. She's got hugs instead of rifles. Marisa would have preferred the rifles. Blades. Anything. Lyra is running about with a string tied around her mother's throat. She's a wind-borne kite. Every time the girl throughtlessly gets too far, Marisa feels her lungs being yanked out of the chest.

Words return. Words seize her, rattle through her to the point where she cannot bear silence any longer, and the only thing stopping Marisa from saying them is not having enough breath. That, and the impossible task of saying words you never learned to say.

So she finds other words.

Blue is quite your color.

Mama loves you.

I think you can be extraordinary.

Mama loves you.

I'm only trying to protect you.

It starts spilling in every conversation. It's everything she's able to say after twelve years of silence. My place is with her. I want her with everything I have. If you find her, please keep her safe.

Mama loves you, loves you.

Lyra grows up having never, ever heard those words.

Her mother is hopelessly, cruelly late for saying them. It doesn't stop her from living them till the last breath.

[nostalgia-tblr]

I am a month late with it but this is for @sifkiweek, and if we all pretend it's still July then it's for Day 5: Injure / Indulge, because I put both of those words in this fic, one of them was even in it before I had missed the deadline!

It's an AU where Loki is king of Asgard and Sif agrees to be his queen, except that might imply some sort of happy romantic thing but no it's angsty (because angst is my jam) and a bit filthy (because why not?) and once again I have indulged (hah!) my own interest in the ways and woes of consort queens (and I stole a line from Elizabeth Woodville so thanks to her and RIP too I suppose).

Thor is not in this fic, but that's sort of the problem so if it was possible or usual to tag for a character whose absence is itself a character then I would do that. Probably.

Title: Bitter/Sweet (AO3) Fandom: Thor (Movies) Rating: Explicit Pairing: Loki/Sif Wordcount: ~3700 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), POV Sif (Marvel), Loki is King AU, Queen Sif, I Can Fix Him! (Spoiler: She Can’t), Consort Queens, Sex, Sifki Week 2023 (Marvel), Angst, this went darker and more depressing than i expected it to - oh well! Summary/Snippet: “I may be too low to be your queen,” she tells him, offended by his presumption, “but I was born too high to be willing to make do as your mistress.”

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Fandom: His Dark Materials

Title: You're On My Heart Just Like a Tattoo

Pairings/Relationships: Will Parry/Lyra Silvertongue

Summary:

On his eighteenth birthday, Will gets his one true love's name tattooed over his heart.

Hello, loves! This idea wouldn't leave me alone, so there you have it. Title taken from the song "Tattoo" by Jordin Sparks, this fic actually came to me while listening to it. Enjoy!

@nooowestayandgetcaught @jillcfan @therepublicofeden @kirjavasblade @ambeauty

[smolvenger]

Hi Guys, I am writing a Loki fic where our Boi gets to become King of Asgard soo...

[queenofnabooty]

The Same Deep Water As You (Marisa&Lyra)

One-Shot 6K

“Her mother fell asleep completely unburdened. She had years of practice in that. The ability to shrug off the despicable, even from others had become second nature. Or was it her nature? Born with a heart turned inside out or a perfectly functionally one that with time, circumstance, and practice became the engine driving the woman Lyra saw now. And what of Lyra’s heart?"

Marisa and Lyra in the cave, with a twist.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Sanchez & Scoresby Chapter Two: Ma

Fandom: His Dark Materials Wordcount: 4.5k Warnings: Canon-typical violence, funeral

The Gyptians travel across the North in search of their missing children

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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“I’m cold, Lee.” Kit bites out, her shoulders shuddering.

“Hell, Kit, I can’t control the weather.” Lee replies, and Kit pulls a hand out of a pocket to hit his arm with. She sidesteps so that she bumps into Lee and stays there as she walks, hoping to leech some of his body heat. Eli, sitting on the balloon as it’s dragged along, curls into a tighter ball as Hester shuffles closer to him.

“I’m not cold.” Lyra interjects.

“We’re from Texas, kiddo, we ain’t made for the cold.”

“Isn’t the wind cold up in the sky?”

“That’s a dry cold, the wind. Down here, it’s damp cold.”

“Why aren’t you up in the balloon now?”

“Savin’ it for when it’s needed.” Lee answers.

“Wouldn’t it be useful to have a view of what’s ahead?” Lyra asks. Pan hops up onto the folded-up balloon to nose around Eli’s head.

“We have.” Lee points upwards. Serafina Pekkela’s daemon, Kaisa, has been following them since they left Trollesund. Lee’s free fingers close around Kit’s wrist, “A witch’s daemon is a better eye in the sky than I’ll ever be. A witch would be even better.”

“Drop it, Lee.” Kit mutters.

“Mr Scoresby-” Lyra starts.

“Call me Lee.”

“We’re going to win this one, aren’t we? We’re going to get those children back?”

“Well, if I was a bettin’ man, I’d say no. And I am a bettin’ man. If I was Kit, I’d say yes because she’s stubborn. And I can tell by your face that you want me to say yes, so...yes.”

“You’re not an easy man to like, you know that, Lee?”

“So people tell me. But Hester likes me, Kit likes me. That’s something.”

“Hester don’t count, she don’t have a choice.” Eli mumbles, earning a hard stare from the hare.

“Why do you travel together, Miss Sanchez?” Lyra asks.

“Kit.” Kit corrects her.

“Kit.”

“We grew up together, kiddo. We were next-door-neighbours and our fathers were friends. Either we got on or we’d end up murdering each other, and he isn’t dead yet.”

“Hell, Kit, you’re makin’ me blush.” Lee says, in the hope it’ll make Kit smile, and it does.

“We left home together, been flyin’ ever since.”

“Why did you leave?” Lyra asks, and in a second she knows this was the wrong question to ask. They stop smiling and they break apart. Kit shoves her hands back into her pockets and Eli jumps down from the balloon’s sled.

“I’m going to go see if there’s any bread floatin’ around.” She announces before marching forward, her daemon bounding after her. Lee shakes his head.

“You ask a lotta questions, Lyra. They’re not always good ones.” It’s all he says before he takes off after Kit. She hears Lyra call an apology before Lee catches up with her.

***

Lee, of course and exactly as Kit expects, disappears the moment he’s needed to help put tents up, leaving Kit with a contraption neither she nor her daemon have ever understood. She’s trying to palm the task off to someone else, reaching Ma Costa and her elder son at the same moment Lyra does. Ma’s younger son, Billy, is one of the children taken by the Gobblers.

“Tony, look after the food.” Ma tells her son so she can turn her full attention to Lyra.

“I’ll burn it.” Tony tells her.

“I don’t care.”

“I’ll watch it.” Kit offers, crouching beside Tony and shoving the tent pack at him, “If you put up my tent. Food for shelter.” She takes cooking utensils from Ma and pokes at whatever stew is in the pot while Tony, grumbling to his daemon, marches away with the tent. Seal stew, probably, Kit thinks. Iorek had caught one earlier that day to use the blubber for armour polish and the Gyptians are not a wasteful people. Another advantage of helping Ma now is that Kit will be able to hear what Lyra’s saying to her, what she’s planning. Too many things in the world are revolving around this little girl for Kit to ignore.

“What do you think might be in this village?” Ma Costa asks the young girl.

“I’m not sure, but it might be some sort of ghost, I think. Something awful has happened there.” Lyra’s trying to explain as best she can. How she knows this, Kit has no idea...she’ll have to ask Farder Coram. He’s more likely to answer than John Faa.

“Why’s this ghost important?” Ma asks.

“I don’t know, but it might be a vital clue. It might help me find Roger and Billy.” Billy, Ma’s son. Roger, a kitchen boy from Oxford Lyra had known all her life. She’d told Kit and Lee all about Roger before she’d started asking questions.

“You’re asking me to trust you over-”

“No. No, I’m not. I’m asking you to trust this.” Lyra pulls out an odd, flat box that looks like it might be made of gold. The glint of it catches Kit’s attention, and Eli’s eyes follow it. Kit can understand what Ma Costa is saying. Lyra’s asking her to go against the person she trusts most, her leader. How this little box would sway her…

“You ask a lot. I need to think.”

***

Night falls quickly in the North. Tony, bless him, had done a good job with the tent, setting it next to where Ma and Lyra would be sleeping. Kit and Lee lean against their tent, a donated blanket around their shoulders as they pass a tin bowl of stew to each other between spoonfuls. Eli is curled up on the snow between Kit’s feet, and she can feel the chill of it on her back. Ma Costa and Lyra are lying on their stomachs in the mouth of their tent, talking to Serafina Pekkela’s daemon Kaisa.

“D’you know what an alethiometer is, Lee?” Kit speaks slowly, watching the fire crackling between the tents.

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Lyra’s got one. She talks about it, it’s what makes Coram and Faa trust her.” Kit explains. “Must be that little gold box she’s got…” Her voice trails off and her head tilts back a little.

“You’re thinkin’ too much, Kit. We’re here to get the kids, get paid and fly away.”

“I dunno, Lee. I gotta feelin’ about her. Lyra.”

“Like a premonition?”

“I don’t get premonitions, Lee.”

“Well, what kinda feeling?”

“There’s something about her. The Gyptians think she’s important. I think the witches do too.”

“The witches?” Lee asks as a weight tips onto his shoulder. Kit’s head.

“A witch wouldn’t send her daemon to tail us for days if we didn’t have something she wanted.”

“And you think that thing is Lyra?” Lee asks. He doesn’t get an answer. “Kit?” Her legs fall to the side, bumping into his. She’s fallen asleep. He lifts his hat off his head and places it over Kit’s face to prevent the light of the fire from waking her up and takes the empty tin bowl from her hand. When the aeronaut next looks at the fire, Ma Costa and Lyra have wriggled into their tent, as have many of the other Gyptians. Kaisa is still perched in the same place, his eyes fixed on the sleeping Kit.

***

The next day, as the Gyptians make their way up a snowless hill, the sky is a beautifully clear blue. Perfect flying weather. Lee and Kit are shouldering the balloon sled up the hill.

“Authority above, when are we gonna get a lunch?” Lee asks the clouds.

“You just had breakfast, Scoresby. Or did Lyra nick it again?”

“You’re a real comedian, you know that, Sanchez?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” Kit tells him.

“I’m just going to-”

“You’re just going to keep pushing the damn balloon, Lee Scoresby, you ain’t leavin’ me with it like you did yesterday.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“I knew your ma, that is a compliment.” Kit laughs. She watches Lyra, Lord Faa and Iorek talking as she and Lee pass with the balloon, but her gaze drifts past them to another well-respected Gyptian. “Eli, go and talk to Farder Coram, tell him I wanna speak with him when we make camp.”

“About that feeling?” Lee asks.

“Something like that.”

***

Kit takes perhaps a little too much pleasure in dropping the tent in Lee’s arms and marching towards Farder Coram. He smiles a little when he sees her, though there’s sadness in his eyes.

“What is it you wish to ask, child?”

“Lyra talks about an alethiometer. She says it’s what told her about this ghost in the fishing village. Thing is, Farder, I don’t rightly know what an alethiometer is and I’d like to find out.”

“I expected this. There were only ever six alethiometers made. The Magesterium has one, Lyra another. The whereabouts of the other four are unknown. An alethiometer is a truth-teller. There are...symbols around its circumference. You ask it a question and it answers using those symbols.”

“Then why is it so special that Lyra can understand it?”

“Alethiometers take a long time to understand, Miss Sanchez. Only a certain few can read them, and it takes years of study and isolation for the device to talk to them. Even then, hours are usually spent trying to decipher what the symbols mean. Lyra is special because she hasn’t done any of that study and she has no guide to it, but she can communicate with it perfectly.”

“I’m guessin’ no one’s ever done that before.” Kit pushes her hands into her pockets as her fingers grow icy again.

“You would be right to guess that.” Farder Coram nods.

“And that’s why y’all trust her so much.” Kit decides, “Why you’re letting her go to the village.”

“We can’t afford to turn all of the Gyptians around.”

“I understand, but she can’t go alone.”

“Iorek Byrnison is going with her.” Fard Coram is watching Kit expectantly, waiting for her judgement on this.

“Iorek’s the best protection she could have.” Kit nods, “We can hold until they return.”

“They’ll be leaving soon, I advise you say your goodbyes.” Farder Coram tells her, tapping his hat in farewell as he stamps through the snow away from her. From what Serafina Pekkela had told him the night before, Kit Sanchez was the next best thing to the armoured bear, though she hadn’t told him why.

Kit reaches Lyra and Iorek at the same time Lee does.

“What happened to the tent?” She asks, noting the ceramic mug in his hand.

“Tony’s doing it.”

“Tony did it yesterday!”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna miss this. Iorek’s first ride!” If Iorek could roll his eyes like a human, he would.

“I’m not heavy.” Lyra assures the bear.

“I’m not a horse.” Iorek counters. Lee is trying to disguise a laugh with his mug, but Iorek sees it.

“Kid, promise me this alethiometer thingy isn’t lying to you.” Lee says.

“It can’t. Tells the truth, don’t it, Lyra?” Kit cuts in, and Lyra nods.

“I trust it too.” Iorek agrees, outnumbering Lee’s doubts.

“Ghosts, I heard. You’re going to find a ghost?” He asks.

“Think so.” Lyra answers.

“Is that a sensible thing to do, look for ghosts?”

“I’ve never heard Lee Scoresby talk about being sensible before.” Iorek remarks, and this time it’s Kit that laughs. Lee laughs, but sarcastically, elbowing Kit.

“Kit?” Lyra asks, pulling the woman’s attention to her, “I’m sorry for asking questions.”

“Kiddo, you did nothing wrong, hear me? Ask as many questions as you like.” Kit pulls a yellow scarf from around her neck, “Now, you’re going to a fishing village. Be careful on the ice, I don’t want you fallin’ through.” Kit’s voice has hardened now. This isn’t just a suggestion. “And take this,” Kit hands her scarf to the girl, “Wrap it around your head. You’ll be able to see through it, but it’ll keep the cold and ice and stones out.”

“And don’t leave Iorek.” Lee adds, aiming a finger at Lyra, “There’s Tartars out there.”

“I will bring her back.” Iorek assures them, lifting a paw to help Lyra climb aboard. “I won’t be gentle.” He warns her.

“You two be good to each other, alright? Be careful.” Lee calls after them as Iorek pads away. Neither of them take their eyes off the bear. “You do like her, that was your favourite scarf. I got you that.”

“I’m not the only one going soft, Lee.” Kit points out quietly. Eli’s tail wraps around her ankle. Kit shakes her head. “Now, where is that sweater? I’ve been wearing it for three days but this morning it was gone…” Lee’s hand goes up to the back of his neck to try and hide the high neck of the jumper he’s wearing under his jacket, but Kit catches it, “Lee Scoresby, you-”

***

Kit pulls the sleeve of her newly-retrieved jumper over her hand to take a pot off the fire. It’s been a long, long time since she’s had eggs of any kind, and she’s rather looking forward to it.

“They’re just eggs, Kit. Boiled eggs.” Eli reminds her.

“Oh shush, you’re excited too.”

“Excited? Over eggs?”

“Yes, Eli, over eggs.” Kit tells him, pushing herself up to scoop the pair of eggs out of the pan. She drops them in the snow and rolls them around for a moment until they’re cool enough for her to pick up and chip away at. “I’m happy, I can be excited. I’m happy here. With Lee and Iorek and the Gyptians. And Lyra.” It sounds like she’s trying to justify something. There’s a niggling, familiar voice in the back of her head.

“It feels nice, don’t it? Having more than just Lee?”

“But that’s selfish…” The end of Kit’s sentence trails off. Eli lets the silence hang for a moment before he stretches out on the snow, wriggling contentedly.

“I like it here too, Kit. Ma is a good person. They’re all good people. Good pay, good food, a good cause and good people. You don’t have to feel bad for enjoying that.” Eli rolls over onto his back to stare up at the stars, but Kit has all but forgotten her boiled egg. The odd little fizzy feeling of excitement has dissipated. She feels guilty and Eli is trying to counteract that. Eli rolls back over, rubs his head into Kit’s hand. “Eat your eggs, Kit. Eggs are good too.”

Kit starts peeling at the shell of her egg again, her breath steaming in the cold air. Her nose feels like a marble of ice, and she shifts so that she sits on top of her feet. Around her, all the other Gyptians have settled down to their own dinners. She doesn’t know where Lee’s gone, and Lyra and Iorek are still gone. Kit is alone with her soul. Neither she or her daemon speak as Kit eats her hard-boiled eggs, but her eyes are burning with unshed tears.

Maybe an hour after Kit is finished eating, she’s still sitting in the same spot, her eyes still hot and stingy. Her eyes have been fixed on a distant tent for half an hour or more, but she doesn’t realise it. One of her feet has fallen asleep. The stumps where her right pinkie and left index fingers should be ache more than the rest of her, but she takes no notice. Takes no notice of anything until a new feeling washes over her. Something not unlike dread. 

“Ma!” Kit is on her feet in a moment, stumbling towards where Ma Costa and Tony are huddled around their fire.

“Kit? Kit, have you been-”

“Is Lyra back yet?” Kit blurts.

“No, no, she-”

“Where’s Lord Faa? Where’s Kaisa?”

“Kit?” Hester’s voice. Hester. Relief for a brief moment, “Kit, what’s happened?” Hester asks, hopping closer to Eli. His ears are flat, his tail bushed out.

“Something’s wrong. I need to speak to Kaisa!” Kit yells the last part into the night, knowing that wherever the witch’s daemon is, he’ll hear her.

“Kit, what the hell-” Lee’s caught up with Hester.

“Something’s wrong. I don’t know, I don’t…” She can’t form the words. She hears the flap of wings. “Kaisa, tell me-”

“I feel it too, child.”

“Feel what, for star’s sake?” Lee demands as Ma rises to her feet.

“Something’s wrong, and it’s coming this way.”

A bird call pierces through the heavy, uncomfortable silence that had fallen, and all heads turn. Iorek is back. Lyra is back. And…

“Billy? Is that my Billy!” Ma’s already crying as a little boy who can’t be more than seven is helped down from Iorek’s back. “Where’s Ratter, where’s his daemon? Is that my Billy?” The boy wobbles when he’s set onto his feet. “Billy, where’s Ratter?” The boy falls as Kit’s heart drops. Billy Costa has no daemon.

Deafening silence fills Kit’s ears as Ma lifts her younger son, carries him into a tent. Her sobs are the only sound to be heard. Everyone else has been stuck dumb by the shock of it. Everyone but Lee. Lyra had tried to go after Ma and Tony, but he’d stopped her. Kit doesn’t hear what he says, doesn’t hear anything until Lyra speaks,

“He was...he was without his daemon. Like a ghost.” Lyra’s voice is brittle, as if she’s already been crying, “The alethiometer was right. It was like...like he wasn’t there. Like he couldn’t even hear me.” Lyra. Lyra is too young for this.

“This must be what they do, this is what they take.” Lee says. His voice is level, but Hester’s ears are quivering. Eli is standing stock-still, like his human.

“It’s horrible.” Lyra croaks out.

“It’s worse than death.” Kit says the words without thinking.

“Why would they take someone’s daemon?”

“It’s about control, isn’t it? Because if you can remove someone’s soul, you can do anything.” Lee explains, still calm while Kit’s shoulders are inching their way up to her ears, her hands balling into fists. That burning feeling behind her eyes is back. She doesn’t ever register Iorek shuffling away. “Hey. You did a brave thing, kid. A good thing. I am proud of you.” Lee tells her. This is what makes Kit turn. She crouches in front of Lyra, holding onto her hands.

“You did the right thing, Lyra. You found Billy. You will find Roger. Lee’s right to be proud of you. I am too. You did good. Now we’re going to get you into the tent and get you warmed up, alright?” Kit sniffs loudly, waits for Lyra to nod before she stands again. Kit keeps her hands on Lyra’s shoulder as she guides her away.

***

Lee doesn’t want to wake either of them up. Wishes he didn’t have to. Eli lies at Lyra’s feet, curled around stoat-formed Pan. He can’t see Lyra’s face, but Kit always looks at her most peaceful asleep. He knows that there are tear tracks on both of their faces. Kit had been near tears before Lyra had come back, but when Lee had asked why, all she’d said was, “Eggs.”

“Kit. Kit. C’mon, Kit.”

“I don’t want to.” Kit replies, her face screwing up.

“You gotta.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.”

Kit has never experienced a Gyptian funeral before, and she wishes she didn’t have to experience this one. Billy Costa had been seven years old. He didn’t stand a chance out there on his own. Lee and Kit stand, watching, waiting, as Lyra steps towards the pyre Billy’s little body has been laid on. Ma Costa watches the girl as she lifts the blanket, looks at the little boy’s face. Both of them stand as John Faa and Farder Coram approach them, Lyra turning to Ma to be held. Kit is close enough to hear the words exchanged between Lord Faa and Ma Costa.

“Now we know what terrible wickedness these people are capable of. Now we can see our duty plainer than ever. We have to fight.”

“We have to kill.”

Ma lets go of Lyra, who turns and shuffles slowly away from the pyre. When she reaches Kit and Lee, Kit’s arms are already open, pulling the girl close to her. At the touch, Lyra’s face crumples and everything she’d been holding onto since she had returned spills out in tears. Kit can’t remember the last time a child had hugged her, cried in front of her. Lyra can’t remember the last time she’d turned to an adult for this kind of comfort, this kind of release. Kit pulls her closer, her head bent over Lyra’s. She can feel her own scarf beneath her fingers, knows Eli is pushing himself against Lyra’s legs to support them.

“Ma’s right. Kill the buggers. They deserve it.” Kit’s words are harsh, her tone hard as her chin wobbles and tears spill over. Lee’s head rests against hers as his own arm goes around Lyra, a familiar gesture of comfort usually shared between himself and his daemon. The Gyptians have formed a semi-circle around the pyre, a semi-circle of solemn faces most likely holding back tears. Billy wasn’t just Ma’s son. He was a son to all of them.

After several minutes, Lyra breaks the little huddle to wipe angrily at her tears, as if she’s ashamed of them. She sandwiches herself in between Lee and Kit to watch Ma light the pyre as everyone pulls their hats off, the universal symbol of respect at a funeral. Ma breaks down into sobs, has to lean on Tony as all the Gyptians around Lee, Lyra and Kit start to hum the same tune. None of them know the words, so the three of them stand in silence. This is not how funerals are done in Texas. Lyra is as stiff as the snow around them, refusing to show the weakness she sees crying to be. Unbeknownst to her, the adults either side of her are doing the same thing.

No one moves until the fire dies. Lyra is almost dropping from exhausting, but she’s fighting sleep. Eli picks up stoat-formed Pan as gently as if he were his own kitten as Lee wraps an arm around Kit, resting a hand on Lyra’s shoulder. In the tent, Lyra sits between them. Hester hops to the mouth of the tent to keep some kind of watch. Lyra’s head falls onto Lee’s shoulder, and Kit’s hand goes to the girl’s hair. There’s silence for what feels like too long.

“Once upon a time, there was a man who lived on the moon.” Kit blurts. Lee frowns at her, confused, but Lyra doesn’t move. Kit repeats herself, “Once upon a time, there was a man who lived on the moon.”

“He didn’t always live on the moon. He used to live on Earth, but on Earth he had no family, no friends. He was lonely. And every night he would look up at the moon and think to himself, If I’m lonely down here, there must be people lonely up there. The man worked and worked and built a special blimp that he could sail through the clouds and past the stars to land on the moon…”

By the time Kit is halfway through the story, Lyra has slid down onto the floor, asleep. Kit keeps going, but falters at a certain point and looks to Lee, who had been watching her since Lyra fell asleep.

“Man on the moon. Not quite how Ma used to tell it.” He says after a moment.

“I couldn’t remember all the words.”

“You didn’t give it an ending.”

“We never stayed awake long enough for an ending.”

“True.” Lee hesitates before asking, “Since when did you like kids enough to tell ‘em bedtime stories?”

“Since when did you?” Kit counters pointedly, but then she takes her hand away from Lyra’s hair. “I know. This is just another job worth far more than the gold they’re givin’ us. It’s not like I’m getting attached or anything-”

“No. No, Kit, I don’t think it is.” Lee interrupts, and Kit frowns at him. “Whatever this is...it is so much bigger than us. I know we like to tease the Magesterium, but this...this is fightin’ ‘em head-on.”

“They deserve it, Lee. What they’re doin’,” Kit doesn’t want to have to say it again, “it ain’t right.”

“That’s true too.” Is all Lee says. Words aren’t really needed beyond that point. They’re thinking with the same mind. This is a fight they’ll see through to the end.

***

Lyra wakes up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Her eyes open to see Kit’s face. For the first time since she’d met her, Kit’s brow isn’t furrowed. She looks at peace, one of her hands reaching out over Lyra’s head. Lyra turns her head to see Lee still asleep too, though he’s wriggled halfway out of his blanket.

“I heard something, Lyra.” Pan reminds her. Whatever it was, it’s got him worked up. Lyra crawls out of the tent and pulls her hat on. She wanders towards where a tin teapot still dangles over a dead fire, but she doesn’t see anything. Pulling her gloves on, Lyra turns in a circle. At least, she starts to turn. She stops when she notices a man lying on the ground, and in an instant knows he’s dead. She registers some kind of noise behind her, but she can’t move. Something heavy slams into her head, and Lyra doesn’t know anything anymore.

A few hours later, the breeze through the still-open flap of the tent gets too cold for Kit to ignore anymore. Lee had pulled off her blanket and covered his head with it a while ago, and she’s been getting colder and colder since. She registers that Lyra is no longer lying in the space between herself and her friend, and mutters.

“Gee, Lyra, thanks for closin’ door after yourself.” Kit’s words come out fluffy, not fully formed. She reaches out, pulls the flap shut and tugs her blanket off Lee, shuffling closer to him in an effort to find more warmth. She’s in that odd limbo where her eyes are too heavy to keep open but she isn’t fully asleep when Eli sticks his head out under the now-closed flap of the tent.

“Kit!”

“Wha? Eli, ‘s too early.”

“There’re bodies.”

“Bodies?!” Kit sits up as she asks the question, but Eli’s already wiggled out of the tent. Kit can feel the cold of the snow on her feet. She pokes Lee’s shoulder. Eli comes back, a red glove in his mouth. Lyra’s glove. “No. Lee. Lee!”

“‘M asleep.”

“Lyra’s gone.”

“Huh?”

“Lyra’s gone. Eli says there are bodies outside.”

“Kit, what’re you-” Kit huffs and rips the tent open, crawling out into the snow without her outerlayers. Eli’s right. Directly across from their tent is a dead Gyptian man. Some other Gyptians are awake, crowding around the body. His wife is crying. The words Tartar and Gobbler are being thrown around. Kit reaches back and pulls at Lee’s foot.

“Lee, the Tartars found us.” She tells him. He uses her shoulder to pull himself upright, his face sticking out of the tent next to hers. A Gyptian sees them then, calls out to them,

“Where’s the girl?”

Kit knows the answer. It’s a terrible answer. But if the Tartars have been here...

“Bolvanger.”

[zomeszone]

This is a random His Dark Materials fic I quickly wrote. I have written fanfiction in the past but this is my first His Dark Materials fic. It's a small moment where Lyra's and Will's futures are connected

This is on AO3 with a few edits

As they entered the theatre, Lyra made sure Pan had his seat. It was in contrast with everyone else in the theatre. They had their daemons touching them, some even curled into their sides. Lyra was more dressed up for the occasion, in a white blouse with a light tan skirt which had a small petticoat built-in with ankle boots, her favourite bag over her shoulder.

Films were invented a year before but it was the first time a cinema had opened and was open to the public. Lyra was eager to see the first film they showed to see how similar it was to that one time, years before with Will. Looking around, people were more dressed up than she was. Lyra knew that moving pictures could happen and it was common to go in Will's world. To everyone else in her world, it was a brand-new thing and they were known as 'moving photograms' but Lyra chose to always call them 'films'

The only other seemingly open seat was on Lyra's right side. She wished Will was occupying that seat and sat with snacks she would steal. Pan and Kirjava on the other side of them, watching the film like their owners, and their tails entwined.

As it started, Lyra expectantly looked to her right, hoping that Will had somehow figured out a way to get there. Instead, there was a llama daemon sitting there. If Will was in the land of the daemons, they would've been buzzing that they could watch movies in Lyra's world!

In his world, Will had sat down on a first date with a girl named Imogen. They met when the guy Will had briefly dated had introduced them on a night out. They'd agreed to it after Will had broken up with James. Will and Imogen had a horrendous Pizza Express dinner, in which they didn't seem to get along. He hoped that "Back to Black" would distract him from her.

Imogen was the polar opposite of Will in every way. She wanted to be in the middle of everything when he was more comfortable blending in. He knew that opposites could complement each other, but he and Imogen just clashed. She was a bit on the taller side with short ginger hair, wearing a black dress with a yellow overshirt and yellow high tops. He was in his go-too random t-shirt with dark jeans and fleece combo with his old faithful trainers.

He sat in his seat with Imogen on his right and an empty seat on his left. As the sound of Amy Winehouse's voice filled the theatre, he looked at the empty seat, thinking to himself, "Lyra, look at this!"

A lesbian couple was sitting on the other side of that seat. One of them had bleach-blonde hair and was sitting where he envisioned Pan and Kirjava being. He liked the idea of their tails being tangled together.

[strang3lov3]

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[bossbtch1]

Forbidden Reunion

Summary : You managed to escape from Loki after discovering his lies. Aware that both he and the TVA would be searching for you, you prayed they wouldn't succeed. However, now Loki stood in front of you and he had no intentions of letting you go.

Pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

General tags : SMUT, 18+, Dark Fic, Obsessive, Yandere

Trigger Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Stalking, Non-con, Dubious Consent, Forced Blowjob, Forced Orgasm, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Breeding, Overstimulation (let me know if I missed any lol)

Word Count: 10k

A/N : Sorry it took me too long to post this, juggling this alongside my other story took some time. But as promised, I'm releasing this one first.

Before you continue, please read TW again. This is a dark!fic and explicit, strictly for readers 18+. Please, DO NOT PROCEED if these themes disturb you. I've warned you, this fic isn't for the faint-hearted.

This took in Loki season 2 based on that shadow play.

If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here

Exhausted from years of evading both Loki and the TVA. Tonight, you found yourself in a bar, a moment to escape the chaos for years and hoping for a chance encounter. Despite your past with Loki, you were eager to move forward and explore new relationships, you have your own needs, and the more time went on, you knew they could not be sated by yourself anymore.

You could use your power to manipulate them into sleeping with you, but you knew it was wrong, you were sure there was a natural progression you just needed to be patient, and maybe your powers were going to waste being used to keep you hidden from the TVA.

Your mind drifted back to Loki, the god of Mischief and how he lied to you, manipulated you.

Flashback

"I'm sorry to say this, but you have been deceived by him," the TVA agent asserted. You turned your back on her as you attempted to escape, your eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Loki. You had become separated during the chaotic chase within the TVA headquarters.

"No, I'm not. Loki wouldn't lie to me," you defended him, your voice laced with unwavering belief.

"Is he? Tell me, what did he say to you, the reason he got caught?" the agent probed, her tone challenging.

"He tried to rule Earth and failed," you replied, recalling the events that had led to his capture.

She seemed surprised that you knew. "Yes, and whose fault was that?" she pressed further.

“Yes, I know it was his.” You admitted, frustration seeping into your words, “But it stemmed from his deep-seated need for approval and love, especially from a father who resented him for being adopted." Despite the firmness in your tone, a flicker of doubt shadowed your eyes, making you question whether you were convincing the agent or merely grappling with your own uncertainties.

"Is that the whole story? Or just a part he wants you to believe?" Her words hung heavy in the air.

"He's the trickster god, the silvertongue," she continued, her voice steady, unwavering. "Manipulation is in his nature. Don't fall for his lies."

"Hello? Hey?" You heard a voice bringing you back from your daydream. "Can I buy you a drink?"

You looked up, it was a handsome man who had sat down beside you. You smiled, not wanting to appear rude. "Yes, please," you said.

He smiled, "I'm Mark."

"Y/N," you said.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," he smiled.

You returned his smile. You enjoyed his company as you chatted and laughed, his eyes sparkled as he listened to you talk, you knew you were making him blush when you teased him, he was sweet, and you knew he liked you.

Conversation flowed easily between you two. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so at ease with a stranger, the feeling was new and exciting. He seemed so genuinely interested in what you had to say and you felt as if he actually understood what was going on in your life.

"Do you want to come to my place? I've got a bottle of whiskey that needs drinking," he smiled.

"Sure, why not?" you said, downing the rest of your drink. This was your chance to get what you've been craving, and what better way to start than with a handsome man inviting you to his place?

Then someone spilled his drink onto Mark, ruining his white shirt.

"What the hell? Are you kidding me?!" he yelled at the man. "Watch where you're going, asshole." He shouted in frustration.

"Oh, I am so sorry, man, I tripped," the other man said, his voice calmed.

You recognize the voice.

It was Mobius.

Your heart raced, and you couldn't believe that he had managed to track you down. Paralyzed with fear, you sat there, feeling the color drain from your face as you stared at him in disbelief. If Mobius was here then that meant that Loki wasn't far behind.

Mark was fuming, he stormed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone, and you wanted desperately to call out, to warn him not to leave you by yourself, but fear kept your words trapped in your throat.

"Hello, Y/N."

Your name was like poison on his lips.

"Loki," you hissed back, turning around to face him.

He looked exactly the same as the last time you'd seen him, his black hair was neatly styled, his green eyes were piercing, and his face was pale. His expression was serious, his jaw set and his eyes cold, he looked so different from the Loki you had known and fallen in love with.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms sweaty with anxiety, and you were suddenly very aware of how alone you were in the bar.

"I missed you, pet. I have been worried," his tone was mocking and his smirk didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't lie, Loki," you shot back, glaring at him.

"You know, you've always been so difficult."

"And you're an asshole."

Loki didn't say anything, instead he reached for your wrist and held it tight. "Let me go! You fucking liar, I trusted you, I loved you, and you betrayed me," you shouted, struggling against his grip.

"Little one, don't make a scene." he growled in your ear.

Your eyes pleaded with Mobius, who stood caught between the two of you. "Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?" you implored, your voice cracking with desperation.

Mobius sighed, a mixture of resignation and sadness in his eyes. "I'll leave you be for now then," he said, his tone heavy with regret. "I'll see you later." With that, he turned away, leaving you to face Loki's wrath alone.

"How about I give you a choice," he said, a sinister glint in his eyes. "Either you can come home willingly, or I can use my magic to knock you out and bring you home. Which do you prefer?" The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving you trapped in a lose-lose situation.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Loki!" you hissed, your voice laced with defiance as you struggled against his grip. Every fiber of your being screamed resistance, but you knew the sheer force of his magic could easily overpower you.

"Very well then," he purred, his lips twisted into a sadistic smile as he waived his hand, ready to use his magic.

"Wait!" You blurted, holding up your hands to stop him, your voice trembled as the weight of your decision bore down upon you.

"Yes, little one?" he asked, his tone condescending and smug.

"I'll come willingly," you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It was a lie, a desperate attempt to buy some time.

"But can I go to the bathroom first?" You clung to the hope that a brief moment alone might offer a chance, your mind racing for an escape plan.

"Alright," Loki agreed, his tone oddly accommodating. "Go on, pet." He nodded towards the restroom.

You hurried into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, your heart pounding in your chest. Your frantic eyes searched for your tempad, only to realize it was gone. "Asshole!" you muttered under your breath, realizing that Loki must have taken it when he grabbed your arm.

You had no escape plan, and Loki was waiting for you. You looked for a way out, but the windows were too small for you to climb through, so you thought it would be best to just run through the door and run far away from the bar.

Gathering your courage, you unlocked the door and burst out, your footsteps echoing in the corridor. Behind you, you could hear Loki's enraged shout, "Y/N!" His voice boomed, fueling your determination to run as far and as fast as you could from the bar.

"Y/N! Y/N!" you could hear him getting closer and closer. His voice cut through the air like a sharp blade. "Y/N, stop now!"

"FUCK OFF!" you screamed, frustration and fear fueling your voice. You cast a desperate glance behind you and saw Loki hot on your heels. "Fuck!" you whispered under your breath.

You could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and the fear of being caught was overwhelming. "Fuck, no! Not again!" you thought.

You were annoyed by the people "Move! Move! Please!" You screamed at the people that were blocking the road, but they wouldn't move.

"Fuck you!" One guy shouted back at you after you pushed him away.

You couldn't run anymore. You were too slow, and he was gaining on you, and you knew that you couldn't escape him. But you need to keep trying, you couldn't give up. You were running, and running, and running.

The pain was too much, your muscles ached, and your lungs burned. Your vision was blurred, and you couldn't focus. You were tired of running and out of breath, you leaned against a wall and rested, hoping Loki wouldn't see you.

However, your respite was short-lived. In a blink, Loki teleported right in front of you, his expression oddly calm. "Pet, we have been searching for you for a long time, you hid well." He said, his tone icy.

"You can't be fucking serious!" you hissed, "Why did you look for me? I left for a reason, you betrayed my trust. You used me, and I hate you."

"Little one, why are you angry at me?"

"Are you really asking that, you lying snake?" Pushing him away, you shouted, and sprinted away from him once more, your determination fueling your escape.

You didn't make it far, though, before you felt a familiar, freezing hand grasp your arm, tugging you backward and pulling you against a cold, solid form.

"I don't appreciate it you calling me that."

You gasped, and tried to pull away from him, but his grip was like steel, and no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn't free yourself from him. "I don't care! Let me go!"

He ignored your pleas, then you pulled out a knife from your pocket. You knew he could've easily taken the knife, but instead he let you go, "You think you can hurt me, little one? How adorable." he cooed, his voice silky smooth.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

He laughed again mocking you, "Do you want to try? Do you think you can stab me with that knife, pet?"

You didn't answer, instead you held the knife up, threatening him, "Loki, you don't want to make me angry." You knew that was stupid of you saying that.

He smirked, he wasn't afraid of you, and he wasn't intimidated by you. "You are so cute when you are mad," he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and his eyes were dark.

"Put the knife down, and we can go home, pet" he offered.

"Fuck you, Loki," you spat, your voice dripping with venom as you stood your ground, the knife still clutched tightly in your hand.

He grinned, "Oh, you will soon enough, pet."  He let out a low chuckle and he snapped his finger and the knife flew from your hand to the wall. You watched in horror, you didn’t have anything else on you to defend yourself from him.

He began to advance toward you, a predator toying with his prey. Panic surged through you, urging you to flee. Yet, no matter how fast you ran, Loki always reappeared before you.

His voice dripped with amusement, "Come on, pet. Do you really think you can outrun me?" His grin widened, relishing the chase as if it were sort of a game to him.

"You won't ever escape me, pet. Even if you manage to get away from me, I will always find you again and again. You will be mine, whether you want to or not." He declared, his tone possessive and chilling. He stood before you, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud.

"I won't stop fighting you," you vowed, your voice filled with defiance, glaring at him as he advanced toward you. Desperation fueled your steps as you ran, but he always caught up to you, teleporting right in front of you, a relentless pursuit that seemed endless.

"You can't run forever, pet," he taunted, his eyes dark and menacing, his voice deep and husky. “Eventually, I’ll catch up to you.”

You were getting tired of running. "Come on, pet. Are we playing a game?" He chuckled, the sound echoing eerily through the empty street. The bastard was enjoying this twisted cat-and-mouse chase.

"Just stop!" you cried out, your frustration boiling over.

"Why would I stop? This is the most fun I've had in years, darling. I enjoy seeing you run, it's quite entertaining."

"Shut up." You tried to run away again, your breaths ragged. "Quit your magic, and fight fair!" Deep down, you knew if you were in a one-on-one combat with him, without his magic, you could win. "If you win, I'll come willingly."

"That's not how this works, little one," he chided, his tone laced with amusement.

You felt the anger boiling inside of you, but you continued to run. Each step echoed in the empty alley as you tried to escape his relentless pursuit. "Leave me alone then!" you shouted, desperation lacing your voice.

To your horror, your movements came to an abrupt stop. Loki stood in front of you, his mischievous grin sending shivers down your spine. Frantically, you turned around, only to find him there again, mocking your attempts to escape. Panic set in as you attempted to flee in the opposite direction, but there he was once more, his presence haunting you like a nightmare.

"What the fuck is going on?" you muttered, disbelief coloring your voice. How was he everywhere? How was he doing this? Your mind raced with questions as you stepped back, trying to distance yourself from the three identical Loki that surrounded you.

Were you tripping, or is there really three of them?

Loki's chuckle reverberated around you, a haunting sound that sent chills down your spine. Frustration boiled within you, and you screamed in exasperation, "How are you doing that?" Your voice wavered, trembling with a mixture of frustration and fear as you desperately demanded answers.

His grin widened as he continued to toy with your sanity. "Oh, come now, surely you know a trick or two, you being a witch and all," he taunted, the words laced with mocking arrogance.

You took slow steps backward as the three Loki remained in front of you, your resolve mingling with confusion and growing fear. "I'm not a witch, you... asshole," you retorted.

Suddenly, you felt his warm breath near your ear, and his voice sent a shiver down your spine. "It's called an illusion, little one," he whispered, the hot air tickling your earlobe. You jolted away from him, only to find another Loki standing in front of you, and you jumped yet again.

Fear gripped you, not of him, but of the overwhelming confusion and frustration that clouded your senses. The relentless onslaught of illusions left you feeling disoriented, unable to discern reality from the intricate tricks he was playing.

"Please stop," you pleaded.

"Stop what?" he asked, feigning innocence, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Your tricks. I'm not stupid, stop," you demanded, your voice growing firmer despite the fear gripping your heart.

The three Loki slowly closed in on you, each step they took making your heart race faster. You retreated, trying to create distance, but soon your back met the unyielding wall. There was no escape. Your mind raced, your heart pounded, and you breathed heavily, trapped in a nightmare of your own making.

Suddenly, you felt an invisible force restraining your hands, pinning them against the wall. You looked around frantically, searching for the source, but there was no one in sight. Panic clawed at your throat as you realized you were immobilized.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go."

"I don't think I will, my little pet," Loki said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Suddenly, Mobius reappeared beside Loki, seemingly out of thin air. "A little over the top, don’t you think, all the shadow play?" he commented, his tone disapproving.

Loki smirked, unrepentant. "I thought it was spot on."

Mobius turned his attention to you, his expression filled with concern. "What are you trying to do to the poor girl?" he asked.

"I'm merely making a point," Loki replied casually, as if discussing the weather and your distress was nothing more than a game.

Mobius shook his head and lightly chuckled, "Oh, I'm sure you are. That's why she looks like a frightened rabbit."

"I'm still here? Hello?” They were casually talking like you were invincible, despite being bound to a wall. Their attention shifted to you, and you erupted, "Mobius, what the hell? Arrest him! What are you doing!" Panic and anger laced your words, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I can't do that. I made a deal with Loki," Mobius responded, his tone regretful yet resolute.

You felt a chill run down your spine. "What fucking deal?" You asked, your voice trembling. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm not going to do anything. But Loki, on the other hand..." he chuckled darkly. "Well, the deal is, we only need you alive. That's all I'm saying. My lips are sealed," Mobius replied with a cryptic smile.

You didn't have a chance to process his words before the Loki closest to you began circling you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Your heartbeat wildly, fear coursing through your veins as he trailed his finger along your arm, his touch light and teasing in suspense.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, let me go!" you shrieked, your panic and anger rising. "Mobius you fucking bitch, you are nothing but a- MMM" abruptly, as the shadow silenced you, turning your pleas into incoherent whispers.

Mobius sighed, shaking his head. "Now you're just showing off," he admonished.

"I can't help it, you bring out the worst in me."

Loki stepped in front of you and leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Now, where were we?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. His fingers trailed along your jaw, his touch feather-light and tantalizing. You were struggling to break free from his hold, but your body remained paralyzed, at his mercy.

Loki, leaning casually against the wall, let out a low, amused chuckle at your futile struggles. "Oh, little one," he purred, his tone mocking and condescending. "There's no use in fighting. You won't be able to break free. Trust me."

"Now, be a good girl and remain still," Loki said, his smile cruel and unsettling as he locked eyes with you, a twisted affection glinting in his gaze.

"Loki, take it easy on her. She's just a young girl, after all." Mobius interjected, his voice laced with a hint of compassion, though his eyes conveyed a different story. "Make sure to control your pet, Loki.” Mobius emphasized before vanishing into thin air.

You screamed was incoherent since your mouth was being covered by the shadow, you tried to say "Help!" and "No" but nothing came out.

Loki grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. "Oh, darling. Don't try to speak, or scream, or fight. You can't escape, and no one is going to save you. No one will hear you, the only sound you will make is your moans."

Fear gripped you, the uncertainty of Loki's intentions leaving you paralyzed and vulnerable.

He advanced toward you, his steps deliberate and predatory. "Now," he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic anticipation, "let the fun begin, pet."

With a snap of his fingers, Loki dispelled the shadow covering your mouth, granting you the ability to speak again. "Get off me, Laufeyson!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with defiance. You strained against your restraints, desperate to escape his grasp. "This is wrong. You're crazy psychopath."

"Oh, pet," he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "We've done far worse together."

Frustration and fear gripped you as you struggled against your bindings, pleading, " Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A dark chuckle escaped Loki's lips as he replied, "You know why."

"Please, just let me go." You pleaded, desperation creeping into your voice.

Loki's smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with possessiveness. "I'm afraid I can't do that, love. You belong to me."

"No, I don't! I'm not yours," you protested vehemently. You writhed against the magical restraints, a mixture of anger and fear fueling your struggles. His control over you felt like a violation, and you despised him for it, for using his magic against you in such a cruel manner.

"Oh, pet," Loki purred, his voice dripping with both mockery and desire. "You can fight all you want, but you'll never win, not when it comes to me." He leaned in, his lips grazing your neck in a chilling caress. You whimpered as he sucked on your skin, his teeth scraping lightly.

"Stop. Please," you begged, your voice trembling.

"But why would I stop," he replied, his tone silkier than ever, "when I'm having so much fun?" His words hung in the air, laden with sadistic pleasure.

"I hate you. I will never stop hating you," you spat out, your words laced with a fierce determination, even in the face of your vulnerability.

Loki's lips curled into a sly smile, "You don't truly hate me, little one. You merely pretend to. I see through the façade. I know what lies beneath."

"What the hell are you talking about, Loki?" you shot back.

"Stop being such a brat," he sneered. The shadow binding both your wrists kept you firmly against the wall, his control unyielding. "Do you like being restrained, hmm? Enjoy the feeling of someone else in control, knowing you can't escape, and no one will help you?" His face hovered dangerously close to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“No! Stop that nonsense!” You lied, you were scared, and angry, but you also secretly enjoyed being under his control whether you wanted to admit it or not.

He hummed and kissed your neck and whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your ear and you felt shivers down your spine. “Fuck, how I miss you.” His voice was deep and commanding, sending tingles of pleasure throughout your body.

"Please, stop. Just leave me alone. Don't do this to me, please."

"Oh, little one. You know I can't do that." He said as his hands roamed all over your body, caressing every inch of you, making you feel so vulnerable. You felt the heat rise between your legs and your heart raced faster.

"I can smell your arousal, pet.” He lightly bit your neck. “Your body betrays you. It craves my touch, just as much as you do," he said, his voice laced with a sinister confidence. "You want me, even if you refuse to admit it."

You met his gaze with defiance, attempting to deny the truth he claimed. "You're delusional," you retorted, your words aimed at rejecting his manipulative influence.

"Am I?" Loki's eyes bore into yours, a predatory glint flickering in their depths. "Your heart, your mind, your body—they all long for me, even if you deny it. You can't escape this, no matter how hard you try. I will always find you, even if I have to tear the universe apart to get you back."

Loki was right. Your body was betraying you. The wetness was getting more intense by the minute, you could feel the pleasure building up, but you couldn't let yourself fall into temptation, he had hurt you, lied to you, manipulated you, used you, and now he was going to take you against your will.

You had to fight him.

You had to escape him.

You couldn't let him take you.

Not like this.

But you wanted more, and you knew that Loki would give you everything you wanted and more. You could feel the pleasure building up. You moaned softly as his hands roamed over your breasts. You felt a rush of anger, "What are you doing? You're using your magic to seduce me, aren't you?"

He met your accusation with a knowing grin. "I don't need magic to seduce you.” He countered, “Your body responds to me naturally, so beautifully. It's like a drug, and once I've had a taste, I'm hooked. I can't get enough of you."

You felt his lips on your neck. His kisses were soft and tender. You gasped as his tongue licked your neck, trailing down your collarbone. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips as his fingers pinched your nipple.

You felt he smirked and you tried not to moan, biting your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was affecting you. But he could read your mind, and he could hear your thoughts, and he knew what you were feeling. He was inside your head.

"Just stop."

"Not until I'm finished with you. Not until you're begging for more. Begging for my cock inside of you. Begging for me." He slammed your back against the wall, and you yelped as you hit it hard.

He had you caged, and your legs were starting to tremble. You didn't know if it was from the force or the intensity of his words. You tried to push him away but he was stronger than you. His body was pressed against yours. He then kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel his body against yours.

He was a good kisser, and he knew what he was doing. You were moaning into the kiss, and you were fighting to keep control. Then you felt his cock growing hard. You gasped and that was when you realized what was going on. In a desperate act of defiance, you bit down hard, drawing blood. You tasted it.

He pulled back momentarily caught off guard. He looked like a maniac, and you had to remind yourself not to be afraid of him. His lips curled into a sinister grin as he wiped the blood away with his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours. "I like that," he said, his voice low and dark, his grin widening.

You stared at him, and you felt your eyes widen in shock. You felt your heart race. You were still struggling against him, and you tried to pull your hand free from his restraints, but it was useless.

"Oh, pet," he sneered, his tone laced with malice. "I'll make you pay for that defiance."

"What are you planning? Torture me?" you challenged back.

"Torture is such a crude term," he replied, his words dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I prefer 'punish'. After all, you've been a naughty girl. And naughty girls must be disciplined."

Your eyes narrowed, a fierce glare aimed his way. "You can't do anything to break me. You can't force me to feel anything. You have no control over me."

He laughed, "Is that so? You know nothing about me, love. Nothing. If I had my way, I would've taken you to my bed, and kept you there, tied up, blindfolded, gagged, naked, helpless, at my mercy. But I can't do that, yet. However, that doesn't mean I can't have fun."

"You're insane. I despise you," you retorted, your words heavy with hatred.

"That's fine," he replied, his tone oddly calm. "I'm used to people hating me. It's just a matter of time before they change their minds. And I'll have you. One way or another, you're mine."

"Go to hell."

"Only if you come with me."

You felt a chill run down your spine, and you couldn't help but shiver. You couldn't stop thinking about the things he had said. About how you were his. You tried to shake the thoughts away, but they were persistent.

You accidentally clenched your pussy at his words, you hoped he didn't notice.

He chuckled, the sound sending chills down your spine. "Oh, pet, that's adorable," he taunted, his grin widening with malicious amusement. "Do you like the thought of that, pet?" Loki's eyes glittered with dark intent, sensing the conflict within you, and it only served to fuel his sadistic amusement.

"No!" You denied.

"Then why did you clench your pussy, hmm? Was it because you were imagining me taking you?"

"It was just a reflex," you stammered, attempting to deny the undeniable truth.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice a dark, taunting whisper. His smirk widened, and he moved his face closer to yours until there were mere inches between your lips. "You're lying, love."

"I won't let you slip away again," he whispered, his fingers tightening around your throat, making each breath a struggle. His eyes bore into yours. "I will make you mine."

He tightened his grip around your throat and slammed your back against the wall, your head hit the wall with a loud thud. You couldn't breathe. The pain was unbearable. Tears began streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe.

But this was making you turned on, despite how much you hated Loki, you couldn't deny that he was hot and the way he was being rough with you was making your pussy throb.

"You'll see. It's time to begin your training, pet." He whispered as his hands travelled lower, caressing your inner thigh. "Please, Loki."

"Shhh, shh." He pressed his finger against your lips, "Save your begging."

“Fuck you!”

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, "I would love to do that right now, but I think we should save it for later."

"You bastard!" you spat, your anger seething.

"Watch your language, pet," he sneered, his grip tightening as he grabbed your chin, his fingers digging into your jaw. "Now, be a good girl and open your mouth." He took a piece of cloth out of his pocket. It was green.

"Hell No! I won't do it. I won't cooperate." You retorted, like who in the world would agree to that?

He sighed. "You know, you really are a stubborn little thing. It's adorable. But, it won't get you anywhere. In fact, it'll just make things worse."

You stared at him. You couldn't believe what was happening. How could he be so cruel? So evil? He chuckled. "I told you. You're not in control here. I am. Now, open your mouth."

“Never.”

"Fine. Then I'll do it for you." He used his magic to force open your mouth, his magic was painful, and it burned. You could barely move. He put the cloth in your mouth and tied it around your head. You tried to scream but couldn't.

"So pretty," he said as he stroked your cheek. "You should be grateful that I'm even letting you use this, instead of forcing you to be silent. And remember, the gag stays on unless I say otherwise. Understand?"

You shook your head mumbling, "Mmff, no."

"That's too bad," he mused, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "Because if you try to remove the gag, I'll have to punish you. And you don't want that, do you?"

"Nnooo, I don't," you mumbled, your voice barely audible through the gag.

"Good girl," he purred. "You'll get used to it."

With a swift motion, he removed the shadow restraints from your arms, and you immediately attempted to fight back, you tried to hit him, but he easily dodged your blow. His grip iron-strong when he caught your hand. "Careful, pet," he cautioned, his voice a dangerous whisper. "My patience wears thin."

Using his powers, he summoned the shadow to immobilize you once more, pinning you against the wall, this time including your legs. You were rendered utterly helpless, trapped in his web of darkness.

"Now, let's begin," he said, his voice oozing with menace. You remained tied up, gagged, and entirely at his merciless mercy.

He took out a dagger from his belt and cut through your shirt and bra, leaving you exposed. "Oh my, that's a nice sight."

You let out a muffled scream, "You don't need clothes. They will only get in the way."

He began kissing your neck and sucking on your skin. "Mmf," You moaned softly as his lips trailed down your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. He cupped your breast and teased your nipple.

"Mmff No..."

He ignored your protests and continued to play with your nipples.

"You like that, don't you? I can feel how wet you are, darling." He whispered into your ear.

"Mmmff." You tried to deny, but he could hear your thoughts.

He smirked. "I bet if I put my fingers inside you right now, they'd slide right in. I bet you're dripping wet for me, aren't you, my sweet?"

"Mmf."

"You don't need to speak, little one," he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Just relax. I know what you want."

His hand glided down your thigh, his touch sending electric sparks through your skin, until he slipped his fingers under the hem of your dress and traced the edge of your panties. "And it seems that your body agrees with me," he continued, "It's telling me that it's ready to submit to me."

You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he could hear your thoughts, and he knew what you were thinking.

"Come on, pet. Open your eyes and look at me. I want to see your beautiful eyes."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes and found him staring at you, his gaze darkened with hunger and desire.

"There you go. Such a good girl." He praised you.

He slid your panties to the side and his fingers found your pussy, already dripping wet. "Oh, you're so wet, pet. Do you want me that much? Do you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

He slid your panties to the side and cupped your pussy. "Fuck," he muttered as his fingers slipped between your folds, "You're already dripping for me."

You blushed furiously as he rubbed your clit in slow, gentle circles.

"Yes," he said, his voice deepening, "Your body wants me. It wants me to take you and make you mine."

His finger pressed against your entrance and then pushed into you, making you gasp. He curled it and began to massage your G-spot. You bit your lip and moaned, trying not to make too much noise. You tried to squirm away from him, but it was no use.

You clenched your fists, struggling to hold back the moan threatening to escape your lips. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and the Loki behind you laughed softly. "No. You're not getting away from me."

You whimpered as he thrust another finger into you, stretching you even further. He began pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, making you gasp and moan under the gagged cloth. His fingers worked their magic, sliding in and out of you, rubbing your G-spot with each stroke. He kept a steady rhythm, keeping you on the edge.

You could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, the sensation driving you mad. The Loki in front of you watched intently as he continued to pleasure you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and amusement as you struggled to keep control. "Oh, little one," he said, "I love seeing you like this. So desperate. So needy. So fucking sexy." His other hand gripped your hips, keeping you in place.

"You're so wet," he murmured, "You're practically begging me to fuck you."

"Mmfff." You tried to ignore him, but he curled his fingers and stroked you just right, and your hips bucked involuntarily. You were quickly approaching your orgasm, and it was impossible to stop yourself from moaning loudly.

Loki leaned in and nipped at your neck, and you shivered as his breath caressed your skin. "But I won't. Not yet. First, I want to watch you come. I want to see your face when you orgasm. I want to hear the sounds you make when you come."

His fingers thrusting into your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit. You were so close, and you knew that he could sense it. "Ah, yes. That's it. You're doing so well. Now, tell me... do you want to cum?" He pumped them faster, deeper.

You shook your head. You didn't want to come, you tried to resist, but you were too far gone. You felt the pressure building in your core, the pleasure was too much.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Then let's see how long you can last."

He pumped his fingers faster and harder, making you moan and cry out. He thrust a third finger into your pussy and continued his assault on your clit. He was fucking you with his fingers, and you were so close. You could feel the heat rising in your belly, and you knew you couldn't hold it back any longer. You shook your head at him begging him not to make you come.

"Come on pet, don't fight it, just let it happen. Give into the pleasure. Come for me."

He pumped his fingers faster and harder, making you moan and cry out. "Yes, that's it," he whispered, "Just a little bit longer, you're so close."

He was relentless, his fingers working your pussy expertly. "Nnnn." You tried to tell him that you weren't going to let him win, but you couldn't speak.

You could feel the pleasure building and you knew that he could sense it. He kept pumping his fingers and rubbing your clit, and you couldn't hold back any longer. Your pussy was so wet, his fingers were sliding in and out so easily. You felt the orgasm approaching, the pressure was building, and you knew you couldn't hold it back any longer.

"You're going to come, whether you want to or not. So, don't fight it, just let it happen."

"Mmmmmm"

"Yes. You can't stop it. I'm going to make you come."

He continued to thrust his fingers, his thumb circling your clit, the pressure building until you could take it no more. He removed the gagged from your mouth, "Let me hear your moans, pet."

You let out a loud cry, unable to contain it. "That's it. You're so close, I can feel it.” Your back arched and you cried out, his fingers and thumb pushing you over the edge. "Come for me, my sweet. Come for me. Now." He curled his fingers inside you and bit your neck.

You screamed and bucked as the orgasm took you, and he didn't let up. He continued to pump his fingers and rub your clit, pushing you further and further until you couldn't take it anymore. You thrashed about as the pleasure was too much, your orgasm overwhelming your senses.

Your body writhing against his fingers. Your release was so intense that it made your whole body shudder. He held you tightly, his fingers still moving in and out of your pussy, drawing out your orgasm.

"There we go," he said, smiling down at you. "Such a good girl. You're such a good girl for me, pet."

You were a panting, sweating, mess, and you were exhausted.

He kissed your forehead and pulled his fingers out of you. You were glad the shadow was there restraining you or you would collapse.

After you came down from your high, you realized what just happened. You spat at him, "Fuck you, Loki. You're disgusting."

"Disgusting?" He raised his eyebrows. "Now, why would you say that, little one? Was it not good for you? You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Get the fuck away from me." you spat, your voice filled with venom.

He laughed, "You don't get to tell me what to do, little one. I'm not done with you yet."

"You fucking monster," you screamed, "I'm not going to let you touch me."

He grinned and grabbed your hair, pulling you towards him. "Watch your mouth, pet. I don't like hearing you use foul language. Now, since I was so kind to give you such a nice orgasm, will you be a good girl and obey me without any fuss?"

You rolled your eyes. "Like hell I will!"

He smirked in response. "Since I've been rather kind to you," Loki began, his eyes roaming over your body, "I have a proposition for you."

Though you had little desire to hear anything he had to say, your curiosity got the best of you, compelling you to reluctantly listen.

"Do you want me to fuck you here, right now in this alley, or in our room where we will be alone, and no one will interrupt us." He said with a smirk.

Your throat tightened, both options he presented were equally horrifying. But, the last thing you wanted was for someone to find you two here, like this. "Neither.” you choked out.

"That wasn't an option, my sweet."

You glared at him, "You're vile," you hissed

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by your words. "You say the most hurtful things, pet."

"I'm not going to choose," you declared, "I'm not choosing anything. I'd rather die than have sex with you."

He looked amused. "Fine, then I will choose. You have a few seconds to think about it." He said as he took his jacket off, and dropped it to the ground.

"You're going to take me right here? You're an animal."

"It's your fault for refusing. If you choose the other option, I was going to be nice. I'll be rough if you insist."

"If you touch me, I'll kill you." You growled.

He laughed. "Oh, little one. It's not me you have to worry about."

Ignoring your warning, he reached forward, his touch cold against your skin, and ran his thumb along your lower lip. "Shame that I have to punish you. I'm sure you'll be a good girl after today."

You gritted your teeth and move your face away from his touch, "Don't touch me."

He ignored your demand, and began undoing his pants. He pulled his cock out, and started stroking it. You stared at his member and he was already rock hard. You hesitated, not wanting to touch him.

"Are you afraid, my sweet?"

You remained silent, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

He laughed, “There's no need to be scared. I won't hurt you. Unless you disobey me."

He moved closer, his proximity suffocating. With a swift, unwelcome touch, he reached out and stroked your cheek. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but flinch away from his caress.

"Relax, darling. This will be pleasurable for the both of us." He said as he grabbed his cock and ran it against your slit.

You felt your wetness seep onto his cock.

"STOP!" you screamed, your voice breaking the tense atmosphere, forcing him to halt his actions and look up at you.

He smiled at you. "Do you want me to stop, pet?"

You nodded frantically, desperation clouding your eyes. "Yes, I do."

"Tell me," he purred, his tone dripping with cruelty, "why should I stop?"

You scrambled for an excuse, your mind racing. "Let's do it in your place then," you stammered, your words rushed. "Please? I don't want anyone to see." Desperation clung to your voice as you pleaded, hoping against hope that he would agree to your request.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, pet. You know that won't work."

He pressed his cock against your pussy again.

You felt his tip slip inside you. "PLEASE! I'll be good, just please stop."

He smiled. "I like the sound of that."

He sighed, "Very well, little one." He swiftly pulled up his pants, adjusted his shirt, and retrieved his jacket, freeing you in the process. You winced as you flexed your arms, the restraints having taken their toll.

With a snap of a finger, he put your clothes back on, and you felt like a weight has been lifted off your chest. You couldn't believe he stopped. He looked at you. "Remember what I said, pet. You don't speak about this to anyone. I'll know if you do. Understand?"

You nodded.

"Good girl," he affirmed.

"Come," he motioned for you to follow him, and for a moment, you considered fleeing again, knowing full well that it branded you a coward. But the terror of Loki's power held you in check.

You didn't get far before he seized you once more. "Enough!" he bellowed, sending you crashing to the ground. Your body felt numb, the pain overwhelming. You begged through the agony, "Please."

"You brought this on yourself, pet," Loki's tone was icy, disappointment etched in his features. "I was going to take care of you, give everything you desired, and all I asked in return was your love and trust. And you broke it."

"Please, Loki. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

He shook his head, "No, pet. There is no going back. You have to pay the price for what you've done," he stated firmly, his grip unyielding.

Loki wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him, "Sweet dreams my pet."

And then, everything faded into darkness.

When you woke up, you were on the bed, naked. The room was dark, and there was no sign of Loki. At least right now your arms and legs weren’t bounded. But still he had kidnapped you. "Fucking asshole!" You cursed inside your head.

Then you heard footsteps approaching outside, you pretended to fall asleep, hoping that he'd leave. "I know you're awake, my sweet." He chuckled, "Did you really think you could trick me, darling? You're such a naughty girl, aren't you? Tsk tsk. Such a bad girl."

You tried to fool the god of mischief, what an idiot you were. You opened your eyes and saw him staring at you. He sat down next to you and began caressing your body. He ran his hand up and down your legs.

You slapped his hand away, you hated him. How dare he touch you like that! Loki grabbed your wrist, "Don't try to stop me, little one." He threatened, his grip was tight. It hurt. "No, stop." You whimpered. You tried to struggle free, but he was too strong.

"Oh no, no, no, you're not going anywhere." He said as he pinned you down on the bed. "Are you ready to behave now, my sweet?"

You refused to respond, instead, you glared at him.

Loki shook his head and chuckled. "You are so beautiful, my sweet.”

You were getting tired of him calling you sweet and darling. "Shut up, Loki. Don’t fucking call me that, you bastard!"

He gave you a stern look. "Behave."

"Or what?" You challenged.

Loki leaned down and pressed his lips to your ear. "If you don't stop that right now, I'm going to have to punish you."

You glared up at him. "What, like you haven't already done that?"

Loki smirked, "Don't be a smartass, darling. I can make this a lot worse."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Loki gripped your hair tightly and tugged your head back. "Are you sure you want to challenge me?"

You looked up at him defiantly. "Do your worst." You then saw him grinned, you realized you had made a big mistake.

"As you wish, little one." Loki said with a wicked grin. He got off the bed and started taking his clothes off. You knew what he was going to do, and it scared you.

He took off his shirt and threw it aside. You were confused at first, until Loki lifted his other hand and started waving it.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure you don't try to resist."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, I don't want you getting away." Loki smirked. He then started moving his hand up and down your body.

You squirmed and tried to push his hand away, but they felt frozen. "Let me go, you sick bastard!"

Loki gave you a wicked grin. "No, I don't think I will"

Loki forced his lips against yours, you tried to resist, but it was useless. You couldn't move. You tried to turn your head, but it was no use.

Loki forced his tongue into your mouth. He explored every inch of your mouth, tasting you. You could taste his breath. It was sweet, with a hint of mint. You tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you.

"Stop!" You yelled, "Please stop, Loki! I don't want to do this!

Loki ignored you. He kept kissing you, forcing his tongue down your throat. "I know you like it, darling."

You shook your head. Loki broke the kiss and smiled. "You're such a stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"Fuck you." You spat.

“Why are you so impatient, my little pet?” Loki laughed. "Don’t worry, I’ll do it in a moment. Right now, I'm more concerned with teaching you a lesson."

You glared at him, you were so pissed off. He laughed again, “Such a pretty face, too.” He traced his finger along your jawline.

Then you watched Loki removed his pants, revealing his fully erect cock. He stroked himself slowly. You felt your body heat up. You couldn't believe it. He was making you hot.

"See something you like?" He grinned.

You blushed. You looked away. It had been awhile since you had sex with him or anyone else. You missed being fucked by him. You needed to feel his cock deep inside of you. But you knew this was wrong, you looked away from him.

"Look at me." He ordered.

You turned and looked at him. You watched as he continued to stroke his cock. "You betrayed me, Y/N." He climbed over you and straddled your hips, trapping your wrists with his hands, and pinned them above your head. "You hurt me. You have to be punished."

“You are hurting me too.”

“I don’t think so, pet. Deep down, you want this. You want me to force myself to you, you don’t think I know? I know your deepest darkest desire. The desire you try to deny. The desire for me to make you mine again. You want to be my pet again, don't you?"

He was right. You were afraid to admit it but you missed Loki. But you didn't want to admit it. You shook your head, “No! I don’t have such thing.” You knew it was a lie, deep down you wanted him to use you and force himself on you, forced you into submission, make you his again, like he had done many times before.

"Keep lying to yourself, pet. I know you more than you know yourself. Now, open your mouth and let me fuck it.”  He smirked and moved closer to you. His cock was inches away from your face. You moved your head away, but he grabbed your hair and pulled it. You winced in pain.

"Open up. Open wide and say ahh."

You refused to obey. "Don't be stubborn." You clenched your teeth together. "If you don't open your mouth, I'll fuck your throat. I'll make you gag and choke."

"You're sick."

"Maybe, but so are you, darling."

He grabbed your face, forced your mouth open. You kept them close together, "I'll fucking bite your dick off, I swear."

He was having none of it, he used his magic to make you couldn't move your jaw. Then he shoved his cock inside your mouth and forced his way in. He started to pump his hips and his cock went deep down your throat, hitting the back of your throat. He moaned, enjoying the feeling.

He pushed his cock deep into your throat, making you gag. You could feel his hard length against your tongue. His precum leaked onto your taste buds, sending shivers down your spine. He kept thrusting in and out of your mouth, deeper and deeper. Your eyes watered.

 You coughed, trying to catch your breath, but he was relentless. His hands gripped your hair tightly, his hips moved faster and harder, his cock sliding in and out of your throat.

You felt your body relax, your heart rate quickened, and your clit throbbed. You were getting turned on by this. You whimpered and felt a surge of excitement flow through your body. You couldn't believe it. You were excited at the thought of him taking you, forcing you, fucking you.

You were sick.

"This is all your fault." He said as he looked at you, enjoying the way your throat was stretched around him. "Such a good pet. Take it all, pet."

He grabbed your hair and forced his cock deeper into your mouth. You were struggling to breathe. He moaned louder as he felt his cock going deeper into your throat. He held his cock in your throat, watching you struggle to breathe. "Such a pretty face. I wonder how many people you've sucked off.”

You whimpered, feeling your body reacting to his words.

"Did you plan to suck that guy you were flirting with?" He thrusted his hips. You gagged and tears filled your eyes. "He could never make you feel this good." He moaned. His thrust became harder and deeper. You choked and gagged on his cock.

You cried, your body trembled. You were about to pass out, when he suddenly pulled his cock out and allowed you to breathe. You gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. You couldn't move, you were frozen. He then proceed to grab his cock and stroke it.

"Such a pretty sight, you are. And the view of your lips wrapped around my cock." He said, grinning. "Don't worry, my pet. I'm almost there. You're doing a great job. You're going to be rewarded for being so good for me. I'm going to give you what you want. What you need."

He grabbed your hair and slammed his cock deep again into your throat. Then his hand reached to your pussy. He put his finger in your pussy, you moaned as he touched your pussy. He smirked.  "That's a good girl, you are learning. Now, suck my cock."

You started sucking his cock. He started thrusting his cock deeper and harder into your throat. He moaned as you sucked his cock. He loved feeling your mouth on his cock.

"Mmmphh… stwop.” You tried to beg, but his cock was down your throat.

"Do not talk with your mouth full, darling. That is not polite."

You felt him tighten around your neck. His grip was firm.

"I am going to cum. Do not spit. Swallow every drop, and maybe I will reward you. But only if you're a good girl. Do you understand?"

"Mmmph." You tried to protest, but the god didn't listen. You couldn't do anything except suck his cock. Loki kept fucking your mouth until his seed spilled into your throat, you felt the warm liquid slide down your throat making you choke. Your eyes rolled back as you swallowed his seed. He pulled out and released your hands.

You coughed, and gasped for air. "Good girl. Very good girl." Loki patted your head.

You glared at him. You wanted him dead.

"Don't be like that, Y/N. You're supposed to be happy. This is what you wanted, remember? We're together again. Just like old times."

You looked away. "That was a long time ago."

Loki grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. "But it's not too late. We can have it again. We can have everything. We just have to work together."

"Work together?" You scoffed, "How can we work together? You lied to me!”

“We can talk later, my love. Right now, I need to be inside you.” He stroked his cock, he was still hard even after he came earlier. He spread your legs apart and grabbed a hold of his cock, aiming it towards your wet pussy.

"Now I'm going to fuck you so hard until you pass out. Until I cum deep inside of you and make you mine again. Then when you wake up, I'll fuck you again, and again, and again."

You felt him press his cock against your pussy, his head slid between your folds and penetrated you. "No, Loki, please, I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."  He stroked down his hard cock even after he just came, he was hard again. He then forced himself inside of you. You screamed in agony. He was too big.

"Oh, stop your whining." Loki chuckled. "You're such a baby. It doesn't hurt that much."

His cock was big that it stretched your open, he didn’t give you time to adjust. You screamed, "You fucking asshole!"

"Watch your mouth, darling. I'm not a fan of that language." Loki slapped your pussy, it was red and swollen from his previous assault. He kept thrusting his hips, his cock pounded you over and over. Your whole body ached from him.

He was holding your waist down with one hand and pumping his hips in and out of your pussy. He continued to thrust in and out of you. He took his time and made sure he hit the spot that would make you scream and beg for more. He knew what you wanted, he knew your body and what made you tick.

You were biting your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan for him.

"Why don't you let me hear those beautiful moans, pet?" Loki purred, leaning his face in close to yours. "Don't hold back, you know you want to enjoy this."

"No..."

Loki grinned and snapped his hips hard against yours. "I know what you like, and I know you like this. It's why I keep doing this." He smiled wickedly. Loki picked up the pace. His cock hit the spot inside of you. "It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed, just let it all out."

You bit your lip and gripped his sheets, trying not to make a sound. "Darling, you're so stubborn, you're going to hurt yourself." Loki grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked on it, causing you to moan and look up at him.

"You're fucking psycho!"

Loki began pounding into you even harder. His hand gripped your throat, and you felt yourself grow weaker. fast. "Loki, please..." Your vision began to fade, and you started gasping for air.  “Stop…” Loki's fingers wrapped around your neck, he choked you.

He squeezed them together and pounding his cock into you. You screamed and he slapped your pussy again. He fucked you harder than you'd ever been fucked before. You were sobbing, begging him to stop. Tears ran down your face but he didn't slow down. He kept fucking you harder than before. Your breasts were bouncing wildly as he pounded into you.

You felt him hit a spot inside of you that caused a surge of pleasure to flow through your body.  "That's it, darling." Loki moaned, slamming his hips harder against yours. "Come on, you know you want to."

You felt your orgasm building. You tried to fight the urge, but you couldn't help yourself. He kept pounding into you, his cock rubbing against your g-spot.

"Don’t fight it. You can't resist, so just give in." Loki said thrusting harder and harder, until you were both a moaning, writhing mess. Your walls clenched around his cock, and you arched your back. You moaned loudly as he fucked you harder and faster.

You couldn't fight it anymore, you screamed in pleasure, feeling yourself reaching your peak.

"Fuck, yes! Come for me! Milk my cock, pet"

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you. Loki didn't stop, he continued thrusting in and out of your pussy. Your body shook uncontrollably. You cried out again, screaming.

"Please, stop." You pleaded, panting.

Loki ignored you, he fucked you harder and harder, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you. "I'm going to fill you with my seed. You'll be leaking it out for days. Every time you sit down or move, you'll feel it dripping down your thighs. You'll be mine."

"Please, Loki! No! Pull out!" You begged, trying to push him off of you. But he was too strong. "Why are you doing this to me?" You cried.

"I'm not going to pull out." Loki's fingers wrapped around your neck, he choked you. "After you betrayed me, this is the least you deserve. I'm going to make you pregnant. You'll have a little monster running around. You won’t ever leave me again.”

"No! Loki, stop!" You sobbed, crying out. "I'll do anything! Please don't cum in me."

"It's too late, pet." Loki ignored your pleas, he continued thrusting hard. He rubbed your clit, "Cum with me, my sweet." He was rubbing it harder, making it hard for you to keep up with his thrusts.

You shook your head. Loki growled. "Now."

You gasped, "No! No!" You cried out, trying to pull away. You couldn't fight it anymore. You moaned loudly. Your whole body spasmed with your orgasm, your walls clenching tightly around him.

Loki groaned. You felt him got bigger inside you. He let out a long moan. "Take my cum."  He spilled his hot seed inside you. It filled you, filling you up, some of it spilling out. You could feel it filling your womb, stretching your belly. It was so warm.

He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, pushing more of his cum into you. "No! Please stop!"

Loki laughed, his cock was still hard and pushed his cock back into your pussy. "Oh, but we're not done yet. I'm not finished with you yet." He pushed himself deeper inside you. He was still coming. "This is just the beginning."

"You're fucking insane."

"Yes, I know." Loki was still pumping his cock in and out of you. "I'm going to train your body. You're going to crave me, my cock, and my cum. And every time you see me, you're going to want me to fuck you. You'll need me."

"No!" You cried.

"Yes, yes, you will. Because I'm the only one who can satisfy you." He was thrusting harder, deeper, his pace increasing.

You were afraid he might never stop. And he never did.

It had felt like hours. You lost count on how many times you had orgasmed. It was too much. The room was spinning, the pain and pleasure becoming too much. You were so sensitive, every touch sending you over the edge.

“Loki, please stop. I’m begging you.” You were exhausted, spent, and sore. You couldn’t take it anymore. But you couldn’t stop him, he was too strong and too weak. He kept fucking you over and over again until you were almost at the point of passing out. But he made sure you never did by using his magic to keep you awake.

"Look at your beautiful, stretched pussy. My seed is already filling you."

You whimpered, you could feel it. You could feel the weight of his cum inside you. He never pull out. He kept coming, and his cock kept spurting more and more. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to have so much cum. He was fucking you again and again.

"You'll learn to love me. You'll learn to beg for me. You'll learn to come on command. You'll learn to obey me. You'll learn to pleasure me. You'll learn to worship me. Because that is how we are, my sweet."

It seemed like an eternity, but finally, he was done. He collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His cock remained buried inside your pussy, and you felt him softening inside you. Your pussy ached from the rough pounding he had given you.

"You are mine, my sweet. Now and forever." He said, giving you a possessive look.

You felt his cum slowly trickle out of you. Your belly was still swollen from the amount he had pumped into you. You had never felt so full. It was like you were a water balloon, and he had been filling you with water.

Loki kissed you deeply. You could barely fight him back, you were too weak. He smiled and ran his hand through your hair. "Now get some sleep, I'll be back to check on you later." Loki got up from the bed and walked away.

The door shut. You laid there, stunned and exhausted. You were still trying to process what had happened, but there was one thing you knew for sure. You were trapped. You were his prisoner.

He was not going to let you go. Ever.

"I hate you, Loki." You whispered.

And you knew he heard it.

E/N : I intentionally made her emotion sway back and forth, torn between desiring him yet hating his actions. They're both twisted in their own ways, perhaps that's why they complement each other.

Honestly, I'm not entirely content with how the story is going; I might rewrite or delete it later, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, thank you for reading!

Let me know if you enjoy dark fics too! I adore them and plan to write more.

[serinesaccade]

Les mis Enjoltaire ficrec list part 1

Hi all, I decided I'd do a scan of my extensive bookmarks list to bring together basically everything I've consumed of enjoltaire. I have not been publishing much but I can still share what brought me joy. These are not in a reasonable order (just by my reading history chronologically) and I'll be limiting them on a one-fic-per-author basis so I don't just recommend you my fave authors 100 times. See below the readmooore for the first part of this effort (page 1-5 of my bookmarks)

dressing apollo by Tegami

Model Enjolras and hot mess designer Grantaire on a reality TV show, handled brilliantly. What else do I need to say.  how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame is also essential reading.

With My Feelings On Fire (Guess I'm a Bad Liar) by pumpkinspiceprouvaire

Enjolras and Grantaire enter the stupidest and pining-est arrangement of all time. This list is going to make it very obvious that I have trope preferences and frankly, I don’t care. This is Delicious and so is basically everything else by this author

Walk Me Home by kjack89 for serinesaccade

It is impossible to pick a good fic by kjack89 out of their infinite library of good fic so I cheated and picked the one written for me

no more cyanide kisses (i’m methylene blue) by Mousetrap

Hurts so good

send you my love on a wire by blairs

Hilarious fics, gotta love blairs

i looked to you instead by Anonymous

suckerpunch by televisionbodies

say my name a million times (and i still haven’t heard you say it enough) by dyhtps

the road not taken by Petr1chor

Another heavy debate over which fic to pick out of many greats

Revolution Barbie by StrangeOccurrence

Lesbiabs but like weirdly serious and sexual

It's You And It's Been From the Start by stellatundra

Screaming

best practices in seasonal dessert distribution: a primer by twofrontteethstillcrooked for stardust_and_sunlight

Brownie sweet

Beautiful & Good by Riotstar

Emotionally difficult for me to read like I am not sure I can continue but? Important?

in momentum. by AnnaBolena for ShitpostingfromtheBarricade

how long it's gonna be (before we get on the bus and cause no fuss) by samarskite 

The Finer Points of Communication by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade

God I love this author

And Pages To Go by femmebingley

here i am leaving you clues, by moonswinger

you can’t kill me after this fic bc I am already dead

Ho, Ho, Oh No by catstrophysics

stuck together by whooves

fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings by sarahyyy

Classic bigtime writer with big big list

the first time we met we hated each other by mariuscourf

I get so excited when they post

Silvertongue by resnovae

Compromise by Akigriffin

I am a sucker for acespec

What’s it like to date someone? by Wildrivver

Patron Saint of Silent Restraint by vivalataire for emmettcadrian

If It Ain't Baroque, Don't Fix It by vivalataire

Lost in Translation by ellevaire

It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster

Insanely cute and deeply real, I read it over and over

Witchboy by tothewillofthepeople

Ughh how does one write so good

[freuleinanna]

three-sentence fics: yes i'm still on my bs

i'm trying to sort dozens of prompts i didn't get to write, so maybe a three sentence fic is a good form for this one. the official prompt is time passage, i guess

Light brightens the room;

Marisa walks in furious, ready to verbally annihilate the smuggest, sorriest, untouchable scientist lord, whose eyes flicker devils in the sun, for shamelessly using her for access to the Magisterium library, but she suddenly hesitates and muses quietly, 'Didn't there use to be a vase here?';

Lyra is all grown-up and, discovering a new passion and a new love, she sometimes thinks about her parents and wonders if she understands them now.

Light brightens the room;

little things tend to get eaten by it, softened into nothingness with golden shining: a book they quarreled over, a painting she can't quite remember, rooms, colors, somebody's face, the roof where Asriel showed her the stars - what building was it? - but his face remains, and their twined hands too;

Mary Malone opens the door to see a handsome young man, whose mother just died recently, and brings him into a long, affectionate hug while a gorgeous-looking cat brushes against his jeans.

Light brightens the room;

they don't recall much of anything anymore; they can't produce new words – just relieve the ones they've already said, and they've said a lot of harsh ones; they repeat them now softly as love confessions because words don't matter in oblivion, feelings do; walls of their first meeting have long crumbled to reveal endless fall;

Will and Lyra have both been dead for years and told their stories to Gracious Wings together before making good on their promise to never part, even in atoms;

somewhere, Lyra's parents are making good on all their young, naive promises too, and as golden flecks of Dust swirl and dance in the darkness, resembling sometimes the silhouettes of a long-perished monkey and a snow leopard chasing each other playfully,

light brightens the room,

and they find each other living, loving, all over again.

[kabira]

when the devil drives.

pairing — jeonghan x fem!reader ft. bestie!joshua

word count — 23.7k

genres — road trip au, exes to friends with benefits to lovers, fighting as flirting, angst, fluff, smut (fingering, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, slight praise, cunnilingus)

warnings — toxic relationships, swearing and threatening language, explicit sexual content, they're both infuriating (yes that needs a warning, trust me)

summary — when your best friend breaks his leg and cancels your summer getaway, jeonghan turns up in his place to take you home from college on what was supposed to be a five hour car ride. except he has other plans, and you end up with more than you bargained for on a week-long road trip to nowhere with the cynical, silvertongued ex-boyfriend whom you're still kinda sorta in love with.

note — it's finally done. the bane of my existence. please enjoy the fic that made me so stressed that it delayed my period by like a week. on a lighter note, there's a playlist. enjoy <3

go to main masterlist | svt masterlist

THREE YEARS EARLIER.

The person in the mirror is not you.

The person in the mirror is beautiful when you’ve only ever felt pretty, mature even though you still feel like an overgrown child, and confident despite the fact that your heart is beating right out of your chest. Despite her makeover skills being limited to being practiced only on fortnightly dates, your mom has actually done an incredible job with you. Long hours of youtube video-watching and swatting you to remind you to sit still have finally paid off.

You trail your lilac-coated fingertips over your bare collar, marveling at the way your skin throws off light. It probably wouldn’t take much to convince your friends that it’s actually makeup instead of sweat doing the job, but it probably isn’t worth it. You stand up, looking down at the ruffled skirt of the purple dress you picked out at the mall weeks ago. Then, glancing back up at the mirror, you lift a hand to your arm, giving it a light pinch.

The yelp leaves your lips right as your mother opens the door to your bedroom, gesturing frantically with a makeup brush. “Honey, he’s here,” she informs you in a rapid hiss, looking as giddy as if it were her final prom night. “Get downstairs, quickly.”

“But my phone, and my purse—”

“They’re downstairs. First drawer of the credenza.” She slams the door shut before you can get a word in, leaving you standing in the middle of the room feeling even more alone than before.

You begin chewing on your bottom lip, and stop when you remember her specific instructions against ruining the lipstick. Smoothing down the ruffles with fluttering hands, you cast one last, yearning glance at the full-length mirror before going to the door, unlocking it gently and stepping outside.

The walk to the edge of the staircase is short, but it feels like more than an hour has passed by the time you get to it. You take a deep breath, clutching the balustrade with trembling fingers, and pause.

The noise had gone unnoticed by you earlier, owing to the anxious clamoring of overlapping thoughts in your head, but now if you pay attention you can hear your father’s stern tones, no doubt questioning your date at the front door. Anxious once more, you take a step back, wringing your hands. You carefully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, running your hands over your skirt again, letting the texture of the ruffles calm you down. Okay, okay, I can do this, you think, placing the ball of your thumb between your teeth. It’s no big deal.

No big deal at all.

“Dad, quit grilling him,” you call out, and finally step into view. Your father looks up, and so does the poor boy he’s been cross-examining for who knows how long. You feel your face heat up at suddenly being brought into the spotlight, but manage a small smile.

You think you see your dad’s eyes misting over, but then your eyes automatically stray over to the person whose reaction you’ve been anticipating more. Your date is standing there slack-jawed, the top of his slightly-loosened tie visible as the bouquet of roses in his hands droops from inattentiveness. 

“Hi,” you say shyly, pleased at his reaction. Then, raising your hands above your dress, you give him a slow twirl. “So,” you say breathlessly, “how do I look?”

Jeonghan’s eyes are bright with fervor, the grip on the plastic cover around the flowers tighter than before, which you can tell by the way the blood has receded from his knuckles.

And he doesn’t say anything at all.

NOW.

“And done,” you say, slapping the end of the packing tape on the side of what you hope is the last carton. Then, still squatting, you place a hand on the side and lean back to examine your handiwork. To your dismay, the end of the tape has already begun to curl. "You think that’ll keep?"

"Absolutely," your roommate, Mina, hums in a way that tells you she isn’t listening. You glance back at her exasperatedly, and she gives you an apologetic grin. “Listen, I’m beyond caring at this point. That was the last of them, right?”

“Checklist.” You point at her, and she sighs, her acrylic nails tapping against the glitzy pink clipboard in her hands. 

“Yes, mother.”

Straightening, you place your hands on your hips and survey the area like the captain of a ship sailing into unknown waters. Your shared room, which had once been a safe haven strewn with comforters and fluffy rugs, is now overrun by corrugated cardboard boxes, some bulging and some rattling, almost all sealed unevenly with old dried-up tape. You rub your creased forehead. “I feel like we should’ve gotten professionals to do this work for us. The RA even recommended someone who gives out discounts for people who move before summer.”

“Are you kidding? We did a pretty bang-up job, considering this was all last-minute, and for free too,” Mina exclaims. “Plus, I would never trust a stranger with my ceramic dolls.” 

“You wouldn’t trust me with them, and I’ve been holding your hair up while you vomited in the toilet for months,” you complain. “Did we pack everything?”

She hums under her breath again, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes roll down over the checklist. “I think so. Did you finish packing?”

“Yep.”

Mina looks sideways at one corner of the room, where your lone olive-green suitcase sits flush against the wall. “I still don’t understand how you’re going to survive a whole summer on just that.”

“It’s not a whole summer,” you correct. The thought of leaving fills you with a buzzing excitement, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile from unfurling like a banner over your face. “Just a couple of weeks out in nature. And maybe a few motels. Neither place really requires much clothing.”

She makes a face, but dismisses the line of conversation with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you say,” she says. "Now, help me push these out into the hallway?"

You groan, but oblige. It’s mostly your fault that the two of you had to pack everything yourselves, since you picked the last possible day to move out before you’d have been thrown out of the dorms. Most of your stuff is already gone, but as a dutiful roommate, you’d promised Mina that you’d help her out before leaving for the summer. So, here you are, running on less than three hours of sleep, having spent most of this morning and the night before squeezing piles of clothes into boxes and folding bubble wrap like splints.

When you’re done, Mina takes the elevator down with you, and the sole suitcase you’re carrying feels even lighter than it is after all the boxes you'd been lugging around. When the metal doors slide open at the ground floor, you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Mina pats your hand. Her clipboard is still tucked under her arm. “Don’t be so worried.”

You let out an uncertain laugh that fades quickly into a grimace, fingers clenched tight around the handle of your suitcase. “Why would I be worried?”

She pries your fingers out of their vice-like grip. “Exactly,” she says, grabbing the handle in your stead and pulling the suitcase out of the elevator, leaving you to awkwardly follow along, not quite knowing what to do with your hands. “After all your unfounded confidence in your packing and planning skills, it would be a shame if you lost faith in them now.” You can’t help but smile a bit at that, but for some reason, you still feel squeamish. “We’re not late, are we?”

Pushing your irrational anxiety aside, you hurriedly check your watch. “Well, um, a little,” you say with a shrug, “but Josh makes it a point never to show up until it’s fifteen minutes past our appointment.”

“So it’s all dandy then,” she says, her voice a bit further away, and when you look up you realize that she’s more than just a few steps ahead of you despite the heels and the suitcase, and you hasten your step. “Just make sure to check your pockets for condoms—”

“Mina.”

“—and your phone and wallet, and pepper spray.” She catches the stern look on your face. “You know, just in case.” She stops suddenly, and you almost trip over your own luggage. You look up at her in exasperation, but stop short upon noting the confusion on her face. “Is that Joshua?”

You follow her gaze across the parking lot, and spot the unmistakable blue Corolla parked a couple spots over. There’s a figure leaning against the side, his stark blonde hair makes the heated air shimmer like a halo over his head. Your first thought is oh, he dyed his hair. Your second is that’s not Joshua.

“What?” Mina looks confused, even as she falls into step beside you as you begin to stalk your way through the lot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” you mutter as you reach the car. The blonde looks up, and your heart jumps into your throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy who is not Joshua tilts his head questioningly. “Why the cold reception?” Jeonghan asks. 

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, and are just about to open your mouth to elaborate on just why he’s getting a cold reception when Mina places a placating hand on your arm. “Hi, I’m Mina,” she says, putting on a bright smile, no doubt to outweigh the dark glare you’ve directed at his face. “The roommate.”

“Jeonghan.” He inclines his head with a neutral yet pleasant smile of his own, glancing at you. His smile falls almost comically upon seeing the expression on your face. “The…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” you interject, relentless. Mina is looking more and more discomfited by the second, but you scarcely notice. 

“The ex,” Jeonghan completes. He then turns to you, raising a cool eyebrow. “I thought you knew,” he says.

“Knew what?” You demand. 

He straightens, slowly drawing his hands out of his pockets, and you almost regret asking the question. Always the dramatics, you think bitingly. “That there’s been a slight change of plans.”

There was a time you thought you could trust Joshua Hong.

For the major part of your life, he had been the one person you could rely on for (mostly) everything, even when that something involved needing someone to catch you when you snuck out your window at 2 a.m., or knowing you’d always have a clean band-aid to use if you scraped your knee biking through a junkyard.

That time was approximately a minute and twenty seconds ago, when you hadn’t pulled out your phone with its unrepaired crack and checked the unread messages—the most recent of which were from him. It says sorry, and that he’s broken his leg and won’t be able to drive you from your dorm for the planned road trip. The crack lands right over the word sorry.

You know it’s been a minute and twenty seconds because you’ve been counting.

It’s like a bubble has burst inside your chest. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mumble softly, clenching your fingers tighter around your poor phone, which might end up with another crack if you squeeze it any further. “And he couldn’t tell me this before.”

“So you’ve been saying,” says the unwelcome replacement Joshua sent in his place. Jeonghan doesn’t have a trace of sympathy on his face as he folds his arms across his chest and checks the time on his watch. “Not to sound like an asshole, but it’s already three o’clock. We were supposed to be in town before dark, and it’s at least five hours from here.”

His voice is flat, utterly unsympathetic to your frustration. You’re still reeling, which is the only reason you don’t snap back immediately. It’s bad enough that your best friend isn’t here after all the work that went into planning and budgeting your trip, but Yoon Jeonghan’s presence is like salt on the wound. 

Maybe you’d say something snarky if it hadn’t been eight full months since you’d last talked to him. If the anger from your last conversation hadn’t faded over the long months and turned into something more…malleable. Manageable, as if you could ever have associated the word with him, with the feeling that you were swallowing hot coals every time you looked at him. You still remember the last time you talked to him in painstaking detail, and as you realize that fact, the memory comes rushing back, alongside the feeling that you’re going to throw up.

“So...that’s it?” You don’t know if you’re supposed to be nice to him. Exes have never before been an issue for you because you’ve never really had one before. “Joshua breaks his leg, so he sends you over.” Like nothing ever happened between us, you want to say, but your tongue seems to curl up when you try. “As a stand-in?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you can tell he’s holding back some words of his own. “Call it what you want, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face.

Part of you knows that he’s just trying to rile you up, but unfortunately, he’s had a lot of practice at it, so it’s working. You find yourself wishing that you hadn’t sent Mina away with nothing more than a short hug and a few words, but ever since you spotted Jeonghan across the parking lot you’ve been feeling about as steady as a salt shaker. Some support right now would’ve been nice.

Your fingers unclench from around the phone. There’s two ways this could go—the good way, in which both of you pretend that nothing ever happened, or the bad way, and you don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be. Jeonghan has never been a patient person, but right now, even as you stand silently in front of him after months of no contact, he seems unresponsive. Something hurt and hungry rears its head inside you at his hollow indifference, and you taste a familiar venom at the back of your tongue.

But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask instead.

Jeonghan shrugs. You’re not sure if you just imagined the tension going out of his shoulders. “I owed Joshua a favor.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that?”

His lips thin. “Would you believe me if I said it was a big favor?” he asks casually, but his shoulders are tense again.

You’re aware of the intensity with which you’re watching him, and the fervence with which he’s avoiding your gaze. “No.”

“Figured.” He looks away right before you manage to catch the look in his eyes. “Is that all you’re carrying, or…?”

You look back at your olive green suitcase, the handle still pulled out, lying forgotten a couple of steps away from you. You don’t remember having moved towards Jeonghan during the course of your conversation, and you’re surprised enough by the realization that your chest tightens for a second. “That’s all,” you say numbly, and Jeonghan turns to pull open the car door.

“Well, then, we don’t have all day,” he says, gesturing to the seat. You feel a twinge of irritation again, but say nothing, roughly grabbing the suitcase handle and yanking a door open. Asshole, asshole, asshole, you chant in your head. This is going to be the worst drive of your life.

Even worse, you find it impossible to fall asleep.

Somehow, it’s not the noise. Jeonghan doesn’t whistle, and he doesn’t turn on the radio, or try to make small talk that would make you want to tear your hair out. He remains perfectly silent, not saying a single word to you after starting the car, not even an offer to stop by a corner store or for a drink of water. It’s been some time since the loud city faded into empty, expansive grasslands on either side of the highway, but you’re still wide awake.

Maybe it’s the silence that keeps you up, or whatever it is that it implies. You’re on edge, and your mind is churning, struggling between being mad at Joshua or being mad at Jeonghan or being mad at yourself for giving a shit. You’re still so shaken by Jeonghan’s sudden reappearance that you haven’t even begun to process anything else.

I’m going home, you think numbly, but even that thought evokes only a dull response in you. You think about the weeks building up to the summer, the calls with your dad. Your not-so-meticulously packed suitcase lies in the car’s boot, probably collecting dust if you know anything about the state of Joshua’s car. Much like all your dreams of summer. No beers, and no swimming pools, and certainly no Joshua.

You look over at Jeonghan again, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You must be in a daze, because for a moment, you think about leaning over and nudging him.

What makes seeing him so much worse is that he looks almost exactly the same as he used to. The same hands, the same eyes, even his hair is still bleached the same silvery-white. The first button of his white shirt is opened, revealing a sliver of tanned skin inside. He always wore pressed shirts and sweater vests—and here a venomous thought enters your mind—when he really should be wearing a straightjacket instead.

When you knew him a year ago, he had been beautiful, but it was a beauty that was yours to possess, to kiss and to touch and to hold. He’s still beautiful, but now it’s the kind of beauty that makes him untouchable. The kind that belongs behind a glass pane, like a fragile display made out of cards or glass or papyrus in a museum exhibit that you would stare at with wonder in your eyes, yearning to reach out but holding yourself back knowing that a single touch could send it crashing to the floor. No, you can’t allow yourself to touch him now.

So you cross your arms, tuck your fingers under your biceps, and turn to glare out the window instead.

You switch with him after the first stop at a gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” Jeonghan had told you before heading in, and you’d taken the opportunity to get out and stretch your legs. When he comes back carrying a plastic bag from the convenience store, it takes him a few minutes before he notices standing forlornly in front of a tree.

“What?” he asks, only half curious. It’s a tall three, thick-trunked, with segmented branches that end in spiky gray-green leaves that make it look like a high school rocker with too much hairspray.

“It’s a Joshua tree,” you reply mournfully.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, and you turn to him with an evil look in your eye as you begin the walk back to the car. “He broke his leg, not his neck.”

“Of course it’s all the same to you,” you fire back. Jeonghan unlocks the Corolla with short, sharp movements that show his exasperation, and tosses the keys to you. You catch them, going around to the driver’s seat, as he leans in and pushes against the lumpy plastic bag, trying to make space for it on the dashboard. “A broken leg is pretty painful.”

“More painful for you than him, apparently,” Jeonghan grunts. With a final push, he manages to make the bag stay, and climbs into the car, shutting the door behind him before pulling on the seatbelt. He turns to look at you with his forehead furrowed as the car starts rolling forward. “I thought you wouldn’t want to drive.”

“Why, because you think I’m sulking?” you ask, offense creeping into your voice. Your neck is already coated in sweat, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the weather or just a bodily reaction to your feelings.

“I’d say it’s normal to be upset about your best friend being hurt.” Jeonghan shrugs.

“I’m not upset about that,” you snap. 

“You’re not upset about your best friend being hurt?”

“I am. I just mean—” You break off, irritated. The sweat is now drying because of the hot air coming in through the open tops of the windows, making your skin itch. You just twist your shoulder backwards, unwilling to let go of the steering wheel because if you do, you might just sock Jeonghan in the mouth. “It kind of brings things to a halt. For both him and me.”

Jeonghan leans against the side. “I wouldn’t call one canceled trip bringing your life to a halt.”

Your head is beginning to hurt. “You’re right,” you say testily. “It’s just really fucking inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” he echoes. “You get to go home to sweet Joshua. Nurse him through his grievously traumatic injury. It could be a bonding experience, unless you’re bent on calling the poor incapacitated boy an inconvenience.”

“I never—” You grit your teeth, forcing down your rising anger. The heat has begun to crawl like a swarm of fire ants, up your neck and down your back. “I’m surprised he only broke his leg,” you say savagely. “Considering that he thought of sending you in his place, instead of literally anyone else, I wonder how he didn’t get a concussion instead.”

Jeonghan laughs. “All this anger over a little road trip? What exactly were the two of you planning to do, pray tell? I feel like I’m missing out.”

You kiss your teeth, thinking better of responding with another biting comment. Your skin is sweaty and itchy and hot and there’s still a good four hours before you get home. Going at it with him isn’t going to help your mood. You tell yourself that it’s been eight months, you’ve grown, you’ve become a better person. You’re not going to fall for his bait.

Then Jeonghan says, “You could always tour his bedroom.”

In your head, you slam on the brakes, bringing the car to an immediate halt for dramatic effect. In real life, however, you’re painfully aware of how Jeonghan’s lack of a seatbelt would send him flying into the windshield, so you slow down before coming to a rolling stop at the side of the road. Your throat feels like hot lava.

“Really?” the perpetrator asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the witless bedroom comment that gets you?”

You clench and unclench your jaw a couple of times, trying to bring your temper down, but to no avail. Your hands on the wheel are unusually tight, as if trying to close into complete fists around it, so you have to forcefully pry your fingers apart before you unlock the door and step out of the car.

Jeonghan copies your movements, getting out of his seat to lean over the hood of the car, his posture suggesting curiosity rather than sympathy. His lips part, no doubt in preparation to say something to push you over the proverbial edge, and warning bells go off inside your head.

“Shut up,” you snap, and he recoils, blinking in surprise.

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you repeat decisively, turning to level your gaze at him like the tip of a sword. “I didn’t ask for you to be an ideal travelling companion, but the least you could do is shut the fuck up.”

Jeonghan says nothing, but his eyes stay on your face, intent and oddly unnerving. You force yourself to look away lest you give away some kind of weakness in your expression—being civil is your best bet to last the duration of the ride, but this is still a push-and-pull. With him, it always is.

“This was supposed to be the last summer we had before graduating and getting jobs and moving to different parts of the country,” you say through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t even going to be that big of a deal—just being on the road for a few weeks with each other for company, having no responsibilities, no destinations, and no deadlines. And then he had to go and fuck himself over, and fuck me over in the process, and now it’s weeks and weeks of work gone to waste, and all I’ve been looking forward to is dust. And on top of that, you had to come in and do what you do best, which is twist everything I say and make me feel like shit about it like it's your god-given right to ruin my life. So, yeah, it’s the fucking—” 

The anger seems to have gone out of you somewhere towards the end, and you feel yourself deflate like a pricked balloon. “And it’s so fucking hot, too,” you mumble, burying your face in your hands. Then, face still covered, you laugh, feeling ridiculous and petulant like a child after throwing a temper tantrum about a broken toy. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault for having to drive me, and it’s not Joshua’s fault for getting his goddamned leg broken. I’m just…” You struggle to find the right words to express your frustration, but ultimately give up. “It’s so hot,” you whisper.

Your face burns, and you’re no longer sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment. It’s unusual for you to lose your composure, but you must have been more affected by this than you had imagined. Or maybe it’s just Jeonghan bringing out the violence in your emotions again.

Speak of the devil. Jeonghan steps around the front of the car and comes to a stop in front of you, hands very still at his sides, yet tensed as if they’re about to move. Suddenly you feel very tired, and very, very small.

“Let me drive the rest of the way.” His tone is gentler than you expected, but you’re still not brave enough to meet his eyes. He hesitates, like he’s about to say something else, but then his lips press into a thin, concerned line. You remember that expression from years ago, his eyes warm, a hand reaching over to curl around yours. Now, it just feels alien.

“Get some rest,” he finally says, and you don’t have the heart to fight back.

It’s been half an hour, and you still haven’t said a word to each other. Whatever pretense of cordiality you thought could be preserved is gone—if it had even existed in the first place—and the tension in the air is thick enough that you could carve something out of it. You’re beginning to get a little tired of the silence, now that the noise in your head has begun to quiet down just enough so you can actually think.

At least he’s turned the air conditioner on, which is a small mercy. You don’t know how you forgot about it before, but it probably had something to do with your rising irritation and the complete lack of awareness due to your blinding rage. Maybe if you’d just retained enough sense to turn the stupid freaking air conditioner on, you wouldn’t have had a loud, embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the freeway.

“I can hear your internal monologue from all the way over here,” Jeonghan says, making you start. It’s almost as if he actually can hear every single one of your thoughts—which shouldn’t be so surprising, considering your history. Your heart’s startled palpitations turn into a painful squeeze. “Stop thinking so hard and get some sleep.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying,” you mutter. “I’m just…restless.”

“Can’t wait to get home?”

You scoff. “Yep,” you say, dragging the syllable sarcastically. “Can’t wait to get home.”

Jeonghan catches your eye in the rearview mirror. There’s something quietly thoughtful brimming behind his eyes, and although you can’t quite put your finger on why, it makes you sit a bit more easily. It could be that you’re glad he isn’t too mad at you—people pleaser that you are—but it’s more likely that the look is…familiar. Familiar enough that relaxing in reaction to it is an instinct your body hasn’t gotten rid of just yet. Fucking biology. “We don’t have to go home if you don’t want to,” he says with pretend nonchalance, looking away.

You laugh, a little sadly, and uncross your arms to rub your hands down your biceps. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

It’s quiet for another moment. This time, it’s you who can almost hear the gears turning in Jeonghan’s head. You can’t help but anticipate what he’s going to say. “I don’t know,” he says, voice so muted that you have to look at his mouth to make sure you can correctly make out what he’s saying. “Where were you planning to go with Joshua?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “No,” you say firmly right as he asks the question, your voice a little rough and more than a little hoarse. You’re sitting stock-still now, like you touched a live wire and have been electrified in place. “Don’t even think of going there.”

He shrugs, and you can see the slightest hint of tension in his neck muscles when they flex with the movement. “If we take the highway, there’s a motel about half an hour from—”

“Don’t,” you say through your teeth. He’s still not looking at you. “Jeonghan, stop it.”

“Two days,” he says, unrelenting. His eyes finally flicker to yours, and you feel something stutter in your heart when you see the first hint of genuine emotion in his expression. The first time in eight months. “If we take the U-turn up ahead and keep going, it takes two days to lead up to the bay. Just two days. We could stay in a bed-and-breakfast, and if you still want to go back after that, I’ll take you home. No stops.”

You swallow back the dry patch in your throat. It feels wrong to see him like this, so eager when he greeted you with all the warmth of an icicle just a couple hours ago in the parking lot behind your apartment building. You know some part of it is because of your unintended meltdown in the middle of the road an hour ago, but the whole proposal reeks of pity.

“Not funny,” you say shakily.

“I’m not joking,” comes the simple reply.

“What’s the catch?” you ask sharply. “Not even half an hour ago you were letting me know exactly what you thought of road trips and risks. Why the sudden change of heart, huh, Jeonghan? If you tell me it’s because you feel guilty, I swear to god I’ll punch you.”

“Well,” he starts, lifting a single shoulder, “I don’t really have anything better to do. And if I take you home right now your mom will definitely make me stay for dinner, which would be awkward for both of us.” He shrugs. “And…maybe I want to spite Joshua. For breaking his leg playing soccer with little kids, and making me come all this way just to pick up an ungrateful little alley cat who could’ve just taken the bus.” 

You lapse into silence for a few moments. Then: “He really broke his leg playing soccer with little kids?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan replies, but not without an eye roll to accompany it. He looks at you then. “So what will it be, sweetheart?”

You know in your heart that there’s only one right answer to that question, and it’s a resounding no.

But then, if you’d been sensible enough to listen to your heart, you probably wouldn’t have ended up five hours away from home in a shitty old college majoring in fucking math of all things. So of course you tell him to turn the car around.

Jeonghan has always been an ass with apologies.

Which is ironic, because ever since you first met him, you’d known that he had the gift of the gab (for lack of a better phrase). His talents had always been in lying and talking and picking exactly the right quote from a classic text to make himself sound smart—which, admittedly, he is. He went from making people pay him to write their college essays and down the natural pipeline to majoring in literature at a fancy place. He’s always been good at making you angry, but you don’t think he’s ever figured out how to make things right. Or care enough to work for it.

So when Jeonghan knocks on the door and you open it to find him with a beer bottle in his hand, you’re only slightly surprised to see it. 

When he comes in, his eyes go straight to the double bed. He steps inside the room (at the first motel you’d seen which advertised running hot water, which makes no damn sense anyway because it’s over a hundred degrees outside and neither of you is taking a hot bath anytime soon, but whatever). The blades of the ceiling fan spin lazily, barely even disturbing his hair.

“The speed for the fan doesn’t go beyond three, and the air conditioner only works between seven and seven,” you inform him as you sit back on the bed, your suitcase open on the mattress in front of you. 

Jeonghan nods, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He’s probably not used to this kind of place at all, but if you’re going on the road with him, you’re not pulling your punches. You’re happy enough with the arrangements yourself, being accustomed to living in even worse conditions. His description of you as an ungrateful little alley cat wasn’t far from the mark. It could always be worse, but you don’t tell him that.

You’d decided against calling your parents—or Joshua—to inform them about your change in plans, and had instead chosen a few simple texts to convey the information. They trust you enough to deal with your last-minute changes, but you know that there’s going to be a lot of questions about your choice of companion when you get back. Those questions, however, you can confidently avoid thinking about at least until you get back. And as for Joshua—he should’ve known better, you think primly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says suddenly, breaking you out of your reverie. The beer bottle sits guilty in his grip. Gotcha, you think. “For riling you up in the car. Being around you kind of triggers my fight or flight instinct, and I’ve never been much of a runner. Heaven knows my dad tried, though.”

You half smile in acknowledgement. His expression is awkward, which makes your smile widen. The apology in no way makes up for your history, but now that you're already halfway through your decision, you decide to put him out of his misery and call a truce.

Leaning forward, you take the beer he offers you, raising it in his direction like a salute. “You’re good enough with words to make up for your lack of athletic ability,” you say, making the corners of his lips curl up. “And the pen is mightier than the sword, as they say. Care for a sip?”

He shakes his head no. “Can’t blame you,” you say, nodding sagely as you casually uncap the bottle with your teeth. “Beer does taste like piss when warm.”

“Or cold. Or room temperature,” he says. “I don’t know how you manage to keep it down.”

“Needs must.” You grin, patting the empty space on the mattress next to you, and he indulges your request. “So, I was thinking about what you said,” you start, taking a square of paper from between folded clothes and books in your unzipped suitcase, and unfolding it. “I’ve been going over the route Josh and I picked out for the trip, but I thought of making some changes.” You run your fingertips over a squiggly blue line marked on the map, and tap a spot outside it. “We could visit the museum. Take a meandering route, make a few stops here-and-there before we actually get to the bay.”

Jeonghan peers over your shoulder. “That’s about eight hours from here.”

“Mhm,” you say, putting the lip of the bottle to your mouth and taking a gulp. You make a face as you swallow. “Damn. I thought it was kind of clichéd, but warm beer really does taste like piss.”

“I did warn you.” He’s stiffened a bit. You sniff the air, wondering if something stinks. 

“Well, uh,” you mutter under your breath, and bring the bottle back up to your lips with slow, careful motions. “We could make a few pit stops over here, and go to the shore later. Then there’s the wharf.” Your fingertip moves over the map.

Jeonghan looks at the spot you’re pointing at. His gaze shifts to your hand, then up over your arm, all the way to your bared shoulder—which you realize is mere inches from his face. 

He’s stopping breathing, as if afraid to exhale on your skin. You open your mouth to make a joke, but it dies in your throat. Your mouth remains open, no words coming out. Jeonghan lifts his eyes up to yours, and you feel your heart jump. The scent of green apple shampoo envelopes you.

Something thumps on the roof above. Jeonghan looks up, and you take the opportunity to nimbly shift away. “Do you think that was a rat or a person?” you wonder aloud.

“I’m not sure which I’d rather have it be,” he answers, getting to his feet. You look up at him, the beer bottle in your hand barely empty, but you’re already feeling lightheaded. “Dinner?”

Dinner is uneventful. You usually hate forcing pointless conversations, but now you find yourself broaching all kinds of topics from the weather to the food to the ketchup stain on the waiter’s apron.

Jeonghan is polite, laughing at the right moments and nodding along when you need him to listen, but you feel fidgety on the worn leather seat that you normally would have sunk comfortably into. The long-drawn conversation makes you feel like you’re talking to a stranger, not someone you’ve known for the most part of your life. Not for the first time, you mourn a friendship that has seemingly dissolved after your break-up.

By the time the two of you walk back, it’s almost ten. You pass under more than a few flickering streetlights, but they are more than made up for by the neon signs that begin to light up after dark.

When you get back to the room, all you can think about is the double bed. How convenient, you think to yourself, more than a little miserably when you think back to the tiny moment you shared while looking over the map. While you’ve moved on from Jeonghan, your body clearly hasn’t, if the way it reacted to his scent is anything to go by. And you have moved on. Why else would you be so comfortable basically running away with him?

“I hope the lock works,” Jeonghan mutters to himself as he locks the door for the night. You’re less confident, so you zip your bag back up and push it flush against the white door, propping the handle against the top.

Your phone rings, and you take it out, checking the caller ID. Joshua. You look up, and find Jeonghan looking at you, his face blank. Feeling unsettled, you reject the call, and put your phone away.

Now that it’s just the two of you with no dinners or strangers or ketchup stains to distract your conversations, the two of you fall into a pregnant silence. Jeonghan thumbs the collar of his shirt idly, looking at the bed with a glazed-over expression. You sidle by the bed and place a pillow in the middle, then stand back to survey your work.

“It looks like a face,” Jeonghan says.

“We can share the blanket,” you allow. For all the burning heat of the mid-afternoon sun, you know that the nights in the desert are cruelly cold, especially so within the paper-thin walls of the motel room. “Do you want to keep the fan on?”

“I’m good.” For some reason, Jeonghan looks ill. “You know…I just realized I don’t have a single change of clothes.”

You take a good look at his current attire, and it’s definitely not an excuse to stare. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, as you noted before. It’s fitted but billows faintly about his frame, making him look like a prince of old. His hair falls in soft blonde waves down to his neck, brushing the very top of his collar, and a few stray strands frame his face. Even though the harsh fluorescent lights draw the color from his face, the sheen of sweat over his cheekbones make them shine. You watch, transfixed, as Jeonghan’s fingers slip from the collar to the undone button, the pad of his thumb shaping the outline of it.

And he’s also wearing jeans. The jeans are reusable, you think, blinking yourself out of your stupor. Get a hold on yourself. But you can already pick out the stained collar of his shirt with ease. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” you suggest, clearing away the thickness of your voice. “Restock your supply of Walmart t-shirts.”

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, and you allow yourself a smile.

When all the blinds are all drawn and the lights turn off, you’re the first under the blankets. The pillow you’d ceremoniously placed down as a barrier between the two of you is flush against your back as you curl into yourself. You feel the mattress dip and the bed frame creak as Jeonghan gets into bed. It feels strange to have him in the same bed again, something you used to yearn for, now something so strange and troubling.

“Neighbors are loud,” he states, his voice muffled. You curl your fingers into the bedspread, and sigh silently before turning on your side so you’re facing him. Sure enough, now that you’re paying attention you can hear party music bleeding in from the room next to yours.

Jeonghan is nothing more than a dark outline against the sparing light that seeps in from under the door. “G’night,” you say softly. Softer than you intended, anyway. You bite your lip and duck your head under the blanket, feeling inexplicably schoolgirlish.

With the way your heart beats in your chest, it sounds almost as loud as the music coming from next door. You’re almost worried about him hearing it, but if he does, he doesn’t betray a thought. There’s no way I’m falling asleep like this, you think to yourself, but it doesn’t take more than a few minutes before you’re at the soft edges of sleep.

“Good night,” Jeonghan whispers back, just as you begin to drift off.

True to your word, the first place you put on your list of shopping locations is the local Walmart.

“You know I intend to wear these newly-acquired clothes outside of this trip, right?” Jeonghan complains as you browse a rack of t-shirts that advertise themselves as being up to fifty percent off! “You’re wasting your time if you think I’m going to spend my well-earned money on anything here.”

“May I remind you, mister, that this whole trip thing was your idea?" you ask, pulling out a tie-dyed shirt that’s a swirl of shades of peach and baby blue, and holding it up in front of his frame with an appreciative hum. “Plus, don’t you feel gross in your sweaty old underwear? This could be the splash of color your wardrobe so desperately needs.”

Jeonghan looks unimpressed. He pushes the tie-dye down, looking over it at you with a shake of his head. “I know better than to trust your choices, even those made with good intentions. And your intentions at the moment are clearly not good,” he emphasizes. “Anyway, this is not the underwear section.”

You raise your eyebrows, and look behind you pointedly at what is, actually, the underwear section. Jeonghan follows your gaze to the display of Fruit of the Loom underwear. “No, nope,” he murmurs. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too good for Walmart underwear, are we?” You wrinkle your nose, but don't press the issue, moving instead towards another part of the t-shirts section. The tie-dye stays in your hand, though. 

“With underwear, I always believe that what you get is what you pay for,” Jeonghan says, then frowns. “What are you doing?”

You look up, innocent. “These crewnecks are on sale too.”

“That’s because it’s the peak of blistering summer,” he says, exasperated. “No one’s wearing crewnecks.”

“At night, though.”

“I’m not wearing a crewneck to bed.”

You’re about to crack a joke about going on long walks by the beach, but think better of it. Jeonghan looks confused by your sudden surrender, but you’re too busy looking in every other direction possible as a prickly heat crawls up your neck. “You really are a snob,” you mumble.

“I’m not a snob.” He rolls his eyes. “Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?”

You glance back, coy. “Anywhere?”

He grimaces. “I take that back.”

“Your wish is my command.” You wave the blue-and-coral tie-dye in the air. “We’re buying this one though. Don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk out of here empty-handed.”

For once, Jeonghan doesn’t complain, but he does purse his lips to make his feelings clear. “I guess I could make use of it when I have no clean clothes left.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

He still pays for it—and some clean, much-needed underwear, despite his many complaints—at the counter, and you’re honestly surprised at how civil he's being. You'd thought that it would require a lot more effort to make this whole thing as smooth as possible after the fiasco in the car, but he's been on his beat behavior since then.

Despite your outburst and Jeonghan’s subsequent apology, you’re aware that neither of you have actually broached the reason for this tension. It’s much easier to just not think about the break-up, and act like it never happened, because that’s a whole can of worms right there that you do not wish to open. 

You wish you could unscrew the top of your head and bring your brain out. Give it a good shake to dust off all the stray thoughts you keep having about Jeonghan and your self-control and your relationship, and just let yourself enjoy the ride. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

“We could go thrifting,” you suggest once you’re in the car, and for once, Jeonghan doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea.

The first thrift store you find on the GPS is small and plain-looking, but upon entering the dilapidated, run-down looking building you quickly learn not to judge the book by its cover. Inside, Jeonghan picks up a fluffy hot pink scarf with a wince, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You should try that one on, actually. It matches your mean girl vibe,” you point out, digging through the bin where he found the scarf in question.

“I like mean girl better than snob.” He slings the scarf around his neck. He'd decided to trade in his white button-up for the tie-dye you got from Walmart, but not before proclaiming that it was only because he needed clean clothes to wear. “It sounds more like a phase that way.”

“It doesn’t fit as well though,” you say, bringing out a sequined shirt. “Ooh, try this one. The disco vibes would make you a hit at the local club.”

“Thirty years ago, maybe,” he grumbles, but adds it to the cart. “Can’t you look for something more…”

“Boring?”

“Classy,” he finishes with a pointed look.

You grin. “As my lord pleases,” you announce, and hold up a plain brown t-shirt. Jeonghan arches his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised and skeptical, until you turn it around to reveal the Twilight logo with the faces of the main trio plastered below it. “Doth thou find this to thy liking, good sir?”

There’s an expression of part disgust, part enjoyment (and is that a glimpse of fondness you catch in his eye?) on his face. “Verily, fair maiden. It is to my utmost satisfaction,” he replies, a smile playing on his lips. “And it would be dost, not doth.”

“Very well.” You drop the shirt into the cart and straighten, grin unwavering. “Let us look around.”

He offers you his arm, and you hesitate only a millisecond before taking it. “Shall we?”

You nod, keeping the smile in place. “We shall.”

The two of you end up staying in the store until it closes, losing track of time as Jeonghan models different outfits you throw together—“This one has a dick drawn on the back.” “I know, right?”—and bring to him in the changing rooms. It’s not entirely a waste—he actually ends up finding some decent clothes, which you make him pack into a hello kitty backpack, and you buy the heart-shaped sunglasses that manage to catch your attention. By the time you come out and agree to get an unhealthy dinner from a McDonald’s drive-thru, it’s almost nine, but you’re on a dopamine high that you know is going to keep you up for a long while.

Also, you kind of don’t want to go to sleep. Going to sleep means finding a cheap place to stay, with vacancies, during tourist season, which means you’re probably only going to find a single bed. After all you’ve done to keep an invisible barrier between the two of you today (which is to say: not much) you don’t trust yourself enough to try to risk sleeping in the same bed again.

Jeonghan seems to have had the same idea, so you end up taking mini naps while switching with him to drive all night to the next destination. Most of the night, at least. It’s about four in the morning when you realize you’re beginning to nod off in the driver’s seat, so you pull over and nudge Jeonghan awake.

“I don’t think going on is good for our health,” you tell him seriously.

He’s still half-asleep, but he bestirs himself at your words, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of a closed fist. “Uh, okay,” he mutters, opening his eyes wide and blinking the sleep out of them. “Why?”

“It’s irresponsible,” you insist. “You know, from a road safety perspective. Also, I almost drove us into a tree.”

That wakes him up quick. “What do you suggest, then?” he asks, sitting up. “Sleeping in the car?”

“Well,” you begin, unsure, “yeah?”

“Are you crazy? We’ll freeze to death.”

“No we won’t,” you whisper back, then clear your throat, not sure why you’re whispering. “Body heat.”

Jeonghan puts his face in his hands for a few seconds, then exhales deeply. “Okay,” he mutters savagely, dragging his fingers down his face. He looks up at you, and there’s a languid sharpness in his eyes that makes you squirm in your seat. “Four hours,” he says. “Don’t complain later if you can’t take it.”

You try for a scoff to hide your discomposure, but end up yawning instead. “Whatever,” you murmur, putting your forearm against the wheel and leaning your face against it. It’s still dark out, and you are freezing a little bit, but the dull orange light that lights up the interior of the car makes it feel slightly warmer. “It’s not like we have anything worth stealing.”

Jeonghan lounges against the passenger seat. He’s still wearing the stupid tie-dye, and the orange of the interior lights have washed out the peach in his shirt. The rest of him is bathed in the same color, making his skin look like it’s been licked by fire. You watch him undo the seatbelt buckle with hooded eyes, curling your fingers around the steering wheel to contain yourself. Even as he climbs into the backseat, you don’t move, eyes still fixed on him. 

Would you have reached for him if you didn’t remember every word he said that day? Maybe you should talk about what happened, to clear the air at least. You try to think of how that would go. Jeonghan, you would start, about what happened—

“Are you coming or not?” Jeonghan asks. He leans forward, beckoning you with a crooked finger, and your gaze glides over the collarbone that peeks out from just below his neck. His voice is breathy and low, making something twang in your gut. You pull yourself up quickly, and follow him before you can change your mind. Jeonghan pulls out a few of his clothes from the backpack to cushion the seat. The space is small, cramped, and smells like cheese, but you think about none of those things except the heat of his body against yours. This is, undoubtedly, the most terrible idea you’ve had so far.

“This is a terrible idea,” you voice, as he pulls an oversized shirt over your legs and leans back. You’re not half as sleepy as you were mere moments ago. The comfort is so deeply unsettling that you feel like you’d rather nap in a bush.

“As I said,” he murmurs, gaze darting to your lips for a millisecond. You gulp. He looks like he’s made of honey and marmalade. “Do you want to turn off the light?”

“So passer-bys don’t think we’re fucking in the back of the car?” A nervous laugh bubbles up your throat like an uncorked Coke bottle, the regret following the words as soon as they come out. You glance up at him, pulse jumping, but his eyes are already closed. “Oh. Um. I’ll turn them off.”

It doesn’t take long for Jeonghan’s breaths to even out, but you lie awake for a long time, listening to your own heartbeat. It’s long past ten a.m. before either of you wakes up.

You spend the next few days doing what you do best—wasting time. This was what you’d planned originally, doing absolutely nothing and deciding destinations on the road, but it was supposed to be with someone who knew you well. While you have no doubt that Jeonghan had managed to puzzle out every part of you before, you're no longer the same pedantic, rule-abiding perfectionist that he probably remembers. You think you’ve changed a lot since you last saw him, and since a major part of that owes itself to him not being in your life any more, you don’t know how to adjust your relationship to that change.

There’s a day you spend most of at a microbrewery, where you manage to snag a guided tour to the home brewing process and Jeonghan develops a taste for fruit beers. Another where you trek up the mountains at a national park just to watch the sunset, sitting on a rock with your sore legs and sharing an artisanal. Once you spend the whole day at the pier.

“There.” You point at a highway, licking the side of your strawberry ice cream (Jeonghan takes the mint). “That’s the road I took while following this stupid underground band on their tour. Didn’t even like them that much, but these guys convinced me, and it turned out to be kind of fun. Sort of like a grown-up camping trip.”

Jeonghan squints at where you’re pointing, then shakes his head. “So that’s why you were so confident about sleeping overnight in a car in the desert.”

“S’not that bad.” You shrug. “I thought it would be like a new experience, you know, and that’s where I got this idea about the road trip in the first place. I don’t think Joshua expected me to suggest something so…careless.”

He’s silent for a long moment. You glance at him sideways, and clutch the bear plushie you won at the ring toss. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks at length.

“Never,” you reply quietly. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you thought.

Every location is fun at first before your not-relationship gets in the way, slowly chipping away at your sanity like a heavy-handed ax. You swear you’ve barely touched alcohol, but soon the days begin to blur together, and by the time you get anywhere near the beach you don’t even know what day it is.

Saturday, your phone says.

You swipe ignore on Joshua’s sixteenth call in the past few days, this time not even bothering to shoot him a text in its stead. It’s late in the afternoon, and you’re lying on your stomach on an extremely soft mattress in a fancy hotel, ankles crossed in the air as you read an old copy of Gone Girl that you borrowed from Mina in case you got bored. 

Or you were reading it. You press your lips together as you finish reading the same paragraph for the seventh time without actually absorbing any of it, and sigh. Jeonghan reaches over and flicks the cover before leaning back. “Female rage, huh?” he asks, settling back against the pillows. “Should I be concerned?”

The colors of the sunset seep in through the slits between the blinds. You look up at him, noting his watchful gaze, the controlled set of his mouth. Somehow you feel more resentful than wary. “I don’t know.” You roll onto your back and jut your chin out, looking at him upside down. “Should you?”

He doesn’t give up. “Are you angry?”

Your fingers coil more tightly around the book. You match his stare for another second before propping yourself up on your elbow and going back to the text. “No,” you reply after a second, still with your back to him.

“I think you are.”

You throw your head back, irritated, and set the book back down on the bed. “Why would I be angry?” you ask, turning your face in his direction. “I’m just tired. That’s all. It’s too hot to do anything anyway, we can just go out after the sun goes down.”

Jeonghan doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push you on the subject, and you’re relieved. The truth is that you’ve been feeling irritated and guilty and rash ever since you woke up, but don’t want to give yourself the chance to do something stupid.

“Where do you want to go today?” he asks instead.

You frown, squeezing the bridge of your nose between a forefinger and thumb. “I don’t know,” you repeat. “Maybe nowhere. Do nothing.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What were you planning to do with Joshua?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, all of that went out the window the second he broke his damned leg,” you snap. Then you pull back with a wince. “Shit. Sorry. I think I’m getting a headache.”

He doesn’t say anything, only offers you a glass of water, which you accept with a quiet thanks. It’s not going to help, though, you know that; your headache has deeper roots than that. The water is lukewarm, and you gulp the water down, spilling half of it over your mouth and down your shirt. “Maybe we can go somewhere you want,” you say, pursing your lips into the best smile you can muster. “You know, this was for the both of us.”

“I know,” Jeonghan replies, monotonous. “You’re getting a nosebleed.”

“What? Oh, fuck.” You hurriedly put the glass down on a side table and head to the washroom. Sure enough, when you look into the mirror, your upper lip is coated in crimson.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself again, and bend over the basin. The sound of running water almost drowns out Jeonghan’s footsteps, so you jump a bit when you hear his voice.

“Let’s go to a club,” he says. You straighten, holding a napkin to your nose, and glance back at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “Sounds like you need to get drunk,” he says, shrugging.

Your lips part. “Okay.” You turn and grab another napkin. “Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

The teeming throngs of people seem to envelope you, like a piece of paper folded over and over. The air in the nightclub is stale but cold, with undercurrents of sour sweat and sweet coke syrup. You wouldn’t call yourself a stranger to this scene, but for some reason, it feels foreign.

You weave your way through the crowd on the dance floor, an untouched glass in your hand. Although the whole ordeal had been Jeonghan’s idea, he’d disappeared less than ten minutes after you came, no doubt off buying pretty girls drinks. Being seen with you would probably ruin his night, but at least someone’s living their single life to the fullest.

You, on the other hand, have not been having fun at all. It’s not entirely unexpected, since the whole reason you’d said yes to the idea was because you’d felt bad about snapping at him. Usually, you go drinking to unwind after a stressful week, but today you just can’t seem to get into it. You suspect it’s because you’re alone. The music is loud and heavy and while you remember noting that it’s one of your favorite songs, all you can hear right now is the bass. You feel it in your skull and your teeth and jarring all up your sciatic nerve, sending little jolts through your spine. If you didn’t have a headache before, you’re definitely close to getting one now.

Someone brushes past you, and you almost spill the drink in your hand all over the dress. Annoyed, you turn to snap, but they’re already gone by the time you’ve turned around. You sigh, massaging your temple with your free hand, and sit down at the first table you see, placing the glass with the red drink sloshing around inside. The pulsating lights make the surface of the liquid flash, turning it orange and pink and even green. You don’t even remember what it is supposed to be.

With a deep sigh, you pull the glass off the table and nurse it in your lap, head dropping from exhaustion. Maybe if you had someone to dance with you, but your choleric disposition has a habit of chasing people away, and tonight you’ve dialed it up by about a hundred.

A shadow looms over you, blocking the lights, and the color winks out of the drink in your lap. You look up with a glower, ready to chastise what is undoubtedly another hopelessly drunk guy looking to hit on single girls, but falter when you manage to make out the man’s features.

Jeonghan’s blonde hair looks lilac in the lighting. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s got that white shirt on again, but the lights have bled into it like with your drink, turning it different colors. For a moment, neither of you move, him looking down at you and you matching his stare from the seat.

“Are you drunk?”

You shake your head mutely.

If he doubts your honesty, he doesn’t show it. “Wanna get out of here?”

It’s stupid, but you feel bad. You’ve never known him to be into the whole party scene, but maybe he’s gotten different hobbies since you split up, and you feel like you’re taking that away from him. “Don’t you want to stay?” you ask, setting the glass on the small table. “I know the way back.”

He offers you a small smile. “You know how I feel about places like this,” he answers as you prepare to leave. Then why did you suggest it in the first place? you want to ask, but dare not utter a word. “Well then—” He offers you a hand, the smile softening— “my lady?” 

His voice is low, but you hear it like an arrow singing through the noise. “As my lord pleases,” you murmur with an incline of your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you take his hand.

Jeonghan tugs you through the crowd, his grip gentle yet firm. You pull yourself closer to him, marveling at how the sea of people seems to part before him, like he’s a warm knife going through butter. “You should’ve told me if you didn’t want to come,” he yells back at you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” you explain, wrapping an arm around yourself as the two of you step out into the night air. It’s much colder outside even with the crowd, and you barely manage to suppress a shiver. “I thought it might be—fun.”

“But it wasn’t?”

You shake your head stiffly, shoulders raised against the late night chill. It’s only then that you realize your right hand is still intertwined with his, with you almost hanging off his arm. Flushing, you extract it quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”

You can’t see his face, but you imagine him burning holes into the side of your face. But he only nods.

Back at the hotel, you lean against the basin in the washroom, staring at yourself in the foggy mirror. Your face looks back at you from the parts where you wiped off the mist with the heel of your palm, smokey-eyed, your makeup smudged. The cold ceramic seems to cut into your hands, but you’re grateful for it.

With the bathroom door left ajar, you can hear Jeonghan in the connecting room. “Sorry about ruining your night,” you offer with the most apologetic tone you can summon, but your heart feels as numb as your fingertips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you hear him say, his voice feeling like it’s coming from a tunnel. You know exactly what’s gotten into you though. 

You swallow against the hard knot of dryness that has lodged itself in your throat. Your head is pounding, and you feel like something is splitting you apart from the inside, like a block of ice in your chest that refuses to melt. Am I really that cold inside? Throughout this trip, you’ve found yourself wishing multiple times that the distance between you and Jeonghan didn’t feel so great, but now the thought overwhelms you, washing over you like a riptide, and you feel like you’s gotten into you to sea.

You think about just giving in, but you want to preserve some semblance to self respect. Although none of your concerns feel grounded—Jeonghan’s been the perfect gentleman since after you broke down on him. The memory of your last argument eight—now nine—months ago, his harsh words cutting you down, they all feel so far away. So unreal. You wonder if you imagined breaking up.

“I shouldn’t act so immature, right?” you wonder aloud, and spin around to face him. Jeonghan’s standing just outside the bathroom, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, and blinks at your question. “I mean, we’re not in high school anymore.”

His brow twitches, like he’s about to frown. “You’re not acting immature.”

You feel slightly hysterical. There’s exactly one thing you want from him—a reaction. Even though you know it’s only going to make things worse. “You don’t think so?” you ask, very quietly.

The frown finally manifested itself on his face. “Are you drunk?” he asks again, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jeonghan.” There’s a wild edge to your voice that has him tilting his head. “Why are you so—so—” Blank. Unaffected. Maddening. “Calm?”

The frown flickers away, and once again, he goes back to looking as unemotional as an alabaster statue. Just as beautiful, driving you insane with a feeling that you can’t quite put into words. “What would you rather have me be?”

One second you’re leaning against the doorframe, fingernails gouging into the wood, and the next second you’re on him, reaching out like you’re about to claw his face off. Before you know it, you’re kissing Jeonghan with all the viciousness of a bite. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, then slide up to his neck and down to his upper back. You can feel his shirt creasing where your nails dig into it, so desperately that you think they might leave crescent-shaped scars. “What do you think?” you hiss into his ear as he stumbles, stepping back to steady himself, his hands coming to your hips. You lean into him, returning to his lips, and then he’s kissing you back.

Jeonghan slides his hand over the diaphanous material of your dress, reaching up to slide into your hair, deepening the kiss. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you as close to himself as humanly possible. His arm crushes you against himself as his lips part against yours, kissing you like he was breathing from you, as desperate as if he were drowning.

It’s as if he’s come alive under your touch, so different from the unemotional front he’d displayed just seconds earlier. His hands roam your body, exploring, tracing, remembering. You open yourself to him, letting every doubt and second thought be washed away by the tide of emotion that rages inside you. Jeonghan tastes like strawberries, his lips soft and sweet, and you feel like putty in his hands, but you still manage to push him into the bed. You’re in his lap now, legs on either side of him, slowly and teasingly tracing the roof of his mouth with the tip of your tongue.

Jeonghan’s hands travel up your waist to your breasts, and you press your lips to the junction of his jaw and neck, right over the pulse. He moans into your mouth, and you feel hot all over—the good kind of hot, the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing in his fire, sweating harder to feel more keenly the wind against your skin. It starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads to your core, your chest that’s flush against his, your hands as you pin his shoulders to the mattress. You kiss him again, hands moving to his chest as you start to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeonghan breathes, covering your hands with his. You make an impatient noise at the back of your throat, but pause, pushing yourself up so you’re straddling him. “You’re not drunk.”

You give him a black look.

“Okay, okay.” His breaths are coming in pants, each as ragged as the last. “I…I don’t have a condom—”

“I do,” you cut him off in the middle. He gives you a questioning look, and you huff. “I was going to get laid, okay? One way or another.”

His lips part, and for a long moment, no sound comes out of them. “Are you sure?” he asks lamely.

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you think?” you demand again. He’s such a sight under you, with a half-unbuttoned shirt and swollen lips, that you’re having trouble stringing words together. “Jeonghan—I don’t know what it is that’s holding you back, or—or if you just don’t want to have sex with me, but—”

“Not like this,” he interrupts. There’s a softness to his voice, even as he looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Your hand twitches where it’s lying on his chest. “I mean. You’re not in the right state of mind—”

You’re incredulous. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Jeonghan,” you say, petulance creeping into your voice as you struggle to maintain your composure. “I’m upset and frustrated and I really need this, okay?” Your voice cracks just slightly, but it’s enough for the air to get knocked out of him. 

Some part of you tells you not to do this. To apologize, maybe laugh it off with a shitty joke about getting rid of the tension, act like you don’t want to open him up and climb into him. Sex has never been the solution to your problems. But you’re on a mean bad decision streak, so you just bite down on your lip, swallowing your feelings.

“Please touch me,” you whimper, and Jeonghan takes in a sharp breath, briefly closing his eyes before moving to oblige. 

His hands go back to your waist, but this time he flips your positions. He grasps the hem of your dress, and you stretch your arms, letting him tug it up and off your frame. You watch as his eyes rove over you, and his pupils darken, swallowing the warm brown of his eyes. Jeonghan leans down next to your ear, and you feel the dent in the mattress next to your head where his palm presses into it.  “Remember,” he says, as your stomach flutters weakly, “you asked for this.”

Jeonghan’s knee nudges yours to part your thighs, and the next thing you feel is two of his fingers pressing against the already-damped seat of your panties. “Didn’t expect to be so wet already,” he murmurs, and your face heats up like he toom a match to it. “Is that what you meant by frustrated?” Wordlessly, you arch against him, eager. “Hips,” he commands, and you raise your hips to allow him to pull your panties down your legs, where you agitatedly kick them off your ankles.

You suck in an anticipatory breath as his fingers push against your unclothed core. He doesn’t even need to look for your clit—the pad of his thumb is pressed against the bundle of nerves a second later, rubbing circles into it. You screw your eyes shut and throw your head back, clenching your thighs around his arm. “Oh god,” you gasp. “Oh god oh fuck—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale to grab his forearm, digging your fingers into it as he flicks a finger against your clit. “You’re so sensitive,” Jeonghan remarks, a smug smirk painted on his face. “Always were. That’s what made playing with you so much fun.”

You open your eyes just to narrow them at him, panting. “Oh, finally, there he is,” you drawl breathlessly. “The resident devil of—Jeonghan!”

He has the gall to laugh as your entire body jerks in response to his middle finger pushing past your folds and into your heat. “Admit it. You like me better that way,” he counters, adding another finger inside you. You arch your back, sucking his fingers deeper inside your cunt as he curls the digits in your core.

“I did admit it,” you breathe. It’s astounding, how quickly the two of you fall back into the familiar play, trading words back and forth like you’ve been doing this all your life. His thumb swipes down against your slit, collecting your wetness and massaging it back into your clit. You buck against his hand, mewling. “Fuck, Jeonghan, pleasepleaseplease—”

Watching him like this, you suddenly remember that no matter how mild-mannered he may seem to the untrained eye, Jeonghan is neither calm nor reserved. He is sanguine, a hunter in the night, smelling blood from a mile away. And you've always been his favorite plaything.

“There’s a good girl,” he praises, but his fingers pull away a second later. You bemoan the loss of the friction, desperately rubbing your aching thighs together for any sort of relief. Jeonghan’s fingers dig into the inside of your thighs, prying them apart firmly. You begin to protest, but he quells you with a look. “But I can’t let you have it just yet.”

You’re panting. “Fuck you.”

He only smiles. “Condom.”

You gesture towards the bedside table with a tilt of your chin. “Second drawer,” you choke out, feeling like someone’s set a fire to the base of your brain, cutting off your ability to form coherent thoughts. Jeonghan retrieves it, waving the small square packet in the air as if to further provoke you. You settle back onto the sheets, waiting for him to put it on, but instead he leans his weight back against you, playfully nipping at your collarbone. You grit your teeth, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” You hiss, and start unbuttoning his shirt hastily. 

“Well, I tried being nice, and you hated that,” he murmurs against the base of your throat, sending vibrations through your sternum. You fling open his shirt, and he takes it off fully, balling it up and throwing it to some dark corner of the room. “Aren’t you hurrying too much?” he says, but when you roll down against his hips, the bulge straining against the seat of his pants is unmistakable.

“Aren’t you talking too much?” you fire back, and he chuckles. You hear the sound of the packet tearing and the subsequent unzipping of his pants. Jeonghan rubs the head of his cock against your slick heat, almost making you sob, and pushes it in.

Your fingers claw against his back when he slowly rolls his hips into yours, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. “I forgot how good you felt,” he rasps, sidling his hands under your arms and pulling them off him. The heel of his palms skims your forearm, reaching up to meet your wrist. When he presses his fingertips against the palm of your hand, you open up to him like a flower in bloom, letting him twine your fingers with his in a slow, decisive motion.

The head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot, and your mind goes blank with bliss. Jeonghan says your name like a prayer as he pushes deeper into you, harder, and the feeling of hot-and-cold pleasure stirs in your abdomen. His pace quickens, hips snapping faster against yours, and you begin to feel dizzy and delirious. 

You gasp his name, and he shudders as he breathes out, all but falling against you. His fingers tighten around yours as he moves, the tip of your nose nudging his, his forehead cool and damp with sweat where it meets yours. He draws your orgasm out, still fucking into you as you reach your climax. You call out his name as you ride out your high, and his face twists with desire so devastating that it looks almost like pain. He thrusts into you once, twice, only a few more times before he comes, almost collapsing on top of you when he finishes. The pent-up frustration is gone, you realize as you lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, along with the misery and confusion and anger. 

You clean yourself off in the bathroom in silence, as he wipes off your makeup with a gentleness that you’d almost forgotten. Neither of you speak, but the silence is heavy and comfortable like a winter blanket. A voice at the back of your head is screaming at you about consequences, but it’s small and tin-like and easy enough to tune out in the face of Jeonghan’s lips brushing against your temple.

Plenty of time for regret in the morning.

And, oh boy, does the regret hit like a fucking truck.

You’re the first one up, waking to the feeling of soft blankets on your bare skin and Jeonghan’s sleeping face just inches from yours. Startled, you sit up, the strap of your bra slipping off one shoulder.

Then you’re slipping off the covers and making a beeline for the bathroom, stopping only to grab your phone off the bedside table before locking the door behind you. You lean against it heavily as your legs seem to give out, breathing hard as if you just woke up from a nightmare. 

You slept with your ex last night. The one thing your friends with active dating lives told you never to do. And it was all your idea.

Fuck.

Still trying to steady yourself, you sit down heavily on the edge of the toilet seat, placing your head in your hands. It was a stupid decision, and you know that—hell, you’d known that going into it—but now it’s time to deal with the aftermath. Jeonghan himself is going to wake up in no time, and you don’t even want to think about how he’s going to react.

You try to think of someone smarter than you, but after your actions last night, the bar proves to be pretty low. Your first thought is Joshua, but you feel even more like shit when you think of calling him, so reject that option out of hand. Someone who’d know what to do, you think to yourself as you shakily dial the number on your phone, fingers trembling.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey, girliepop,” Mina greets in a bright, peppy voice, as your shoulders sag with relief. “I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages. What’s up? How’s home?”

You don’t waste a second. “I did something really, really bad.”

A pause. “Do you need help hiding a body?”

“What? No. I slept with Jeonghan.” You cover your mouth, briefly closing your eyes. Saying it out loud makes it sound even worse. “I’m so screwed.”

“The hot ex-boyfriend? Oh, honey, don’t worry, that’s a mistake we all make at least once in our lives,” she says sympathetically. “Were you drunk?”

You squint. “No…”

“Okay,” she says slowly, and you wince. “Do you…want to do it again?”

At that, you pause. Do you want to do it again? You hadn’t even thought of it before this. “I mean…” You trail off, doubtful. “The sex was pretty great, but…”

You can imagine her twirling a lollipop stick between her fingers, sucking thoughtfully on the candy. “I don’t know, I’m gonna need a lot more context,” she asks finally. “Why did you guys break up? How long were you together? What kind of person is he? It depends on a lot of things.” Another pause, and you can almost see her raising her eyebrows at you, like, well? “You gotta give me something to go on here.”

You try to think of an answer, but every thought feels muddled, like you’ve reached peak brain capacity. “Um,” you start, haltingly, “we have a lot of history, I guess.”

She hums, which sounds like a muted buzz through the line. “Like what? Childhood best friend type of history? On-and-off kind of history?”

You close your eyes, focusing intently. “Um…well…we have known each other since we were in grade school. And we dated for most of high school, and almost two years after that. Then we…we broke up in October, last year.”

“Why?”

That’s a loaded question. You pass a hand over your face, trying to think of how you can explain it. You remember there being so many reasons for it, but now that you’re trying to remember them, not a single coherent-sounding explanation presents itself. “It’s complicated?”

Mina tuts. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is, babe.”

“I’m so confused,” you lament, biting your lip. You try to explain the situation as best as you can, how you decided to ditch your plans and go on a fuckass road trip with your ex. Everything comes out like a barrage: all the doubts you’ve had about your relationship with Jeonghan, the constant second-guessing yourself, all your worries about his inconsistent behavior. By the time you’re done, Mina’s gone silent on the other side. 

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, so you listen to the soft crackling of her breathing mixing with the sounds of traffic coming in through the tiny window on the opposing wall. “Oh, honey,” comes her fizzy voice from the speaker finally. “Now I wish I’d convinced you to go on that blind date.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah. It’s just… Every sensible bone in my body is telling me I’ve made some kind of mistake, that I’ve crossed some invisible line, but it was so easy,” you tell her. “Last night, when we—it felt like old times. As if nothing had ever happened. And now I’m wondering if that’s what I’ve wanted all this time.”

“I almost wish you’d come to me with a murder to cover up, because at least I’d be able to help you then,” she replies. “But if you think that maybe this is what you want, and if he wants the same thing, then you can still work it out, you know? You’re a smart girl. You can figure out what you want.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” you murmur, using your pinky to trace a crescent into your bare knee. “But thanks.”

Her grin is crystal-clear in your mind. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“That makes one of us,” you quip, and she laughs as you hang up. 

The call didn’t help much, but you’re glad to have gotten some things off your chest. The narrow walls of the bathroom don't feel so suffocating anymore. All right. You pull your knees up decisively, straightening your spine. It’s my problem to fix now, you think. Even if you don’t feel calm, you have to at least act like you are.

Taking a deep breath, you unlatch the door and step outside, closing it slowly behind yourself. As you’d thought, Jeonghan is already up and dressed. Well, kind of. He has his boxers on, and the shirt from last night, crumpled and still unbuttoned. You stare, frozen in place, as he turns and notices you. A beaming smile spreads across his face.

“I went ahead and ordered room service,” he says by way of greeting. “Considering it’s past twelve and absolutely boiling outside, I thought we might stay in for brunch instead. I hope you like pasta, ” he says, shrugging. Then he notices the look on your face. “Is something wrong?”

You blink slowly, as if coming out of a daze. “Something wrong?” you echo, wondering if you sound as bewildered as you feel. “Something…Jeonghan.”

His eyebrows arch. “Yeah?”

“We had sex,” you say slowly.

“We—yes.” He nods, slowly at first, but then more rapidly, until he looks like a bobblehead. “Yeah, but—I mean, we used protection, and we talked about it before, kind of, and I thought it was fine, you know, because—” He’s rambling. You’re beginning to realize he’s not as nonchalant as he appeared a moment ago. “At least we didn’t have sex very publicly in, in the motel, or the car, or—”

It’s like a strange tranquility has descended over you. Jeonghan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he looks anxious. You haven’t seen him anxious in so long.

It feels like the roles have been flipped. You know that’s not quite true, and your poise is only temporary, but at least he’s not giving you unreadable looks every time you try to show vulnerability, tripping you up on your own words. You just hope you’re not going to use this opportunity to do something stupid again.

“Jeonghan,” you interrupt. Mina hadn’t really given you any clear-cut counsel, but it seems her reassurance had been all you needed. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”

‘No strings attached’ sounds weightless in your mouth, but the words seem to sink like stones into your mind.

Still, now that at least the sexual tension is out of the way, you feel as unburdened as those girls in sanitary pad ads. Jeonghan’s inner navigator must be in touch with his good-for-nothing side, because he turns out to be absolute magic with finding amazing out-of-the-way places. The two of you go off-road for a while, but get lost so you decide to stick to what you could identify on the map. There’s another day spent walking around at a doll museum and pointing out dolls that you thought looked like people you both know.

It feels a bit silly, running around with Jeonghan all the time, but it’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You take baths together, and sometimes you go out for ice cream, and despite some of the lewd activities involved, it feels as sweet and innocent as kids playing house.

After the first time your motel room neighbor bangs on your shared wall to ask you to be quieter during sex, you decide that sticking to places with reliably thick walls is the way to go. That’s how you find out that Jeonghan has developed a taste for long baths.

You’re rummaging around inside your suitcase, looking for the paperback you borrowed from your roommate, untouched since the day you stopped reading it right in the middle. “Jeonghan!” you call, overturning a pair of pajamas. Even in a thin robe, you can feel the heat almost radiating off the floor. “Did you see my book? I’m kind of worried that I left it somewhere.”

No response.

Frowning, you stand, looking at the cream-painted door on the opposing wall. It’s firmly shut, and has been that way for the past hour or so, not a sound escaping from inside. You cross the room and check the handle, not too surprised when it swings open.

One glance inside gives it away. Jeonghan looks at you with displeasure, only his head poking out from behind the side of the bathtub. Well, that and the copy of Gone Girl you’ve been looking for the past half-hour, clasped in a long-fingered hand, his elbow propped against the lip of the porcelain tub. “Do you mind?” the perpetrator asks.

You place your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’ve been in here for over an hour,” you tell him. “At this rate your body is going to turn into an overripe raisin. Also, that’s my book.”

He turns the book over to regard it. “I thought you weren’t reading it.”

“I wasn’t. Emphasis on was.” You rest your hand on the door handle. “There are other people who want to take a bath, you know.”

“Aw, I was just looking for some entertainment.” He flashes a grin at you. “But if you have a better idea…”

You roll your eyes, but unfasten the robe anyway. Jeonghan’s eyes follow your every move, pupils blown wide. He places a cheek on his arm, eyes half-mast as you slip the robe off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at your feet.

“Nothing underneath, huh?” he muses. “Have I been out-maneuvered?”

You ignore that. “Move over,” you say shortly.

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

(Later, when you’re lying on the bed after having managed to wrestle the book away from him, Jeonghan brushes his fingers against the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt. “Don’t even try,” you warn him, after smacking his hand with the spine of the book.

“I thought you wanted to do something ‘wild’,” he says, making air quotes with his hands. You smack him again.

“Not everything is about sex,” you remind him, not really meaning it.

“‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex.’” he quotes. “‘Sex is about power.’”

You roll onto your side, letting the book fall shut as your forearm hits the mattress. “You’re so full of shit, Yoon Jeonghan,” you tell him, getting a razor-sharp grin in response. But you still let him kiss you a moment later.)

By the time you finally reach the ocean, the air conditioner has been broken for two days, so when you feel the fingers of the first evening breeze sneak in through the lowered top of the window and run themselves through your hair, you almost stop the car there and then.

Jeonghan stops you, reminding you that if you get off you’ll have to walk a pretty long time before you actually get to the beach. You stay put, but when you do get to the beach you’re the first out of the car, standing spreadeagle against the flow to feel the wind on each and every inch of your skin, plastering your clothes to your frame.

“This is so much better than that stupid air conditioner,” you sigh. Jeonghan’s still fishing out that Hello Kitty backpack that contains your towels and sunscreen, so you deign to wait for him instead of going off on your own.

Something pink and plasticky covers your vision. “Here.” He grins, settling the heart-shaped sunglasses on your face. “Now you can finally use these,” he says, and turns to head off.

You fix the sunglasses before following after him. The sand is soft under your feet, shifting to accommodate the shape of your feet as you step over it. You pull your sandals off, tucking your fingers under the bands and opting to carry them at your side so you can feel the grains on your soles.

“I thought there would be more people here,” your not-boyfriend comments.

You look around. A kid is building a sandcastle near a couple that looks over him, turning over buckets to deposit clumps of wet sand to shape them into towers. A bit further away, a head wearing sunglasses pokes out of the ground as its giggling companion packs more sand over the body. Jeonghan’s right; the crowd is tamer than you expected, but it’s probably because it’s getting late and the weather is about to turn icy in no time. 

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages,” he says as you reach the shore. The wind tousles his hair, flapping his shirt around his torso, and he squints against the saline breeze. “Kind of forgot what it feels like.”

You hum contentedly, watching the tiny waves lap at your feet. “When I was a kid, my mom told me I had to dig my feet in before the tide came in, or else I would be carried away by the waves.”

He snorts. “I know. Your mom told me the same thing.”

“Right,” you smile. 

Jeonghan bends to place his hands in the sand in front of him, letting the water wash over them. “Cold,” he says. 

“You know, I did almost get washed out to sea once,” you remember. “Swam too far. There was salty water in my mouth and ears and the ground felt like it was made of hands, trying to drag me down further. My uncle told me that when they finally fished me out, my head was wrapped in kelp. He thought that telling me that would traumatize me, but I just kept swimming out again and again.”

“Stubborn and proud,” he observes. “That sounds like you.”

“Does it?” You grin, bending to scoop some of the water into your palms, and sling it off your fingertips to splash it into his face before he can realize what you’re doing. Jeonghan sputters, stumbling in the sand, and comes up with an indignant hey!

Laughing, you turn to run, and glance back to see him discarding the Hello Kitty bag to chase after you. “It’s the beach, cut me some slack!” you yell back at him. He doesn’t respond, but when he does catch you, it’s around the middle, and his tackle flings both of you into the water, you still laughing. You wrestle unsuccessfully with him for another second before coming up for air, his arms still wrapped securely around your waist.

“No fair,” you complain, but the smile that splits your face is as bright as the sun.

“No fair?” he repeats, expression indignant. “You started it.”

“Okay, but now we’re both wet.” You spit some water out of your mouth. Sure enough, your clothes are drenched, and so are his. Jeonghan staggers to his feet, pulling you up with him. His pale blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, darker where it’s wet, curling at the back of his neck. “And not in the fun way.”

“Who says this way isn’t fun?” He kicks some water at you, and you raise your arms to shield your face. Offering only a glare in retaliation, you turn, wading a little further out so the water is up to your waist. “Are you planning to get washed out again?”

“Hilarious,” you call back without turning. The sun is low in the sky, turning the ocean the colors of fire. Jeonghan comes up behind you and you close your eyes, breathing it all in.

The water tickles your waist where your shirt billows up, and the breeze cuts deliciously sharp on your damp skin, but you only shiver when Jeonghan traces a map on the exposed skin of your back.

You don’t stay in the water for long, dragging yourselves up to the shoreline to make sure you mostly dry off when the sun is still up. Jeonghan’s hair slowly curls as it dries, and he tries to comb the sand out with his fingers to no avail.

“I’m gonna need a nice hot bath after this,” he complains, carding a hand through his hair. “It’s all fun and games going to the beach until you’re digging sand out of your body for the next three weeks.”

“You take a nice hot bath at every opportunity you get,” you remind him, but you share the sentiment. The retrieved backpack swings off one shoulder, slapping against your side with every step. “That was so much fun, though. I wish we’d just come here in the beginning and stayed.”

“Nothing beats hiking for hours up a mountain just to see a yellow ball come up in the sky. You made me wake up at an ungodly hour for that, too.”

“And I’m not gonna apologize.” You stand back in the final rays of the sun, watching it sink into the horizon. Strips of gold glimmer in the blue-green of the water, shimmering like the surface of a polished jewel. “Sometimes I look at the sun on a regular day and wonder how it can do that.”

Jeonghan hums under his breath. His stance is unhurried, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. You lick your lips, feeling the salt sting the raw patches where you’ve managed to break the skin by constantly worrying at it with your teeth.

Now that your mind is beginning to quiet, it’s turning to thoughts of the real world instead. For the last few days, you’ve successfully ignored every single warm tingle or stomach butterfly, every warning sign that came up when you looked at Jeonghan, but casting them aside has only made them weigh heavier on your shoulders. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, you’d told him, but that had felt more like an excuse. Under the guise of only using each other for sex, you’ve been indulging yourself in far more than that, and it’s plain as day for you to see.

“Jeonghan,” you venture in a hushed voice, and he turns to you quizzically. “Do you ever wonder—do you ever think that you’ve made a mistake?”

Instead of answering, he offers you a lopsided smile and extracts his hand from his pocket, letting it hang in the air next to yours. It’s only your knuckles that brush the back of his hand, but you feel the heat all over—on the backs of your shoulders, north of your abdomen, as a constricting circle around your throat.

“I try not to think too much,” he says, catching your fingers lightly when they graze his. You hesitate, but choose not to pull away. “But I know that’s not your strong suit.”

The sky has gone dark. One by one, the artificial lights switch on, bathing the sand in a pale glow. With his tanned skin and platinum hair, Jeonghan looks like a tallow angel in the light, his mouth a soft rosy line curved into a smile like you’re sharing an inside joke. The breeze flows over the water, lifting his shirt up a shade.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you manage a smile back. He’s probably right and you’re probably overthinking, but you are as helpless in the face of that knowledge as you were without it. As you murmur and you think too little with numb lips, you can't help but wonder what he’s really thinking. 

Jeonghan thinks this bar is going to be the death of him.

The Shipwreck Tavern must take its name quite seriously, because it smells exactly like how he imagines the interior of a shipwreck must smell—like fish and rotten wood. The place is filled with tough-looking old people, and the bartender must be a wrestler’s grandma, because her arms are as big as his head. Everything inside the pub looks old and feels old, except the new-looking TV that adorns a wall adjacent to the bar, playing a soccer game that seems like the local pastime, judging from the attention it garners among the tavern’s patrons.

There are probably better places the two of you could’ve gone to, but this was the nearest place he’d been able to find with an outdoor shower, and he could’ve sworn he felt a crab in his pants before. Instead of bothering to look for a place to eat, you’d suggested staying at the same place, and he hadn’t known better than to comply.

Jeonghan takes the drinks he ordered from the bar with a nod of acknowledgement, fighting to keep the smile on his face until it’s out of the bartender’s view. As soon as the old lady with the anchor tattoo on her forearm turns her back, he makes a face, turning away from a fellow customer who frowns disapprovingly at his expression. Jeonghan gives him a helpless look, and begins making his way through the crowd to a pool table in the corner.

He knows that you think he’s the more sociable out of the two of you, but he begs to disagree, and the fact that you’re already laughing along with a mean-looking guy with a shaved head is only more proof. You turn slightly to let your eyes glide over the crowd searchingly, stopping when they spot him coming towards you. Something in his chest clenches when he sees your face light up upon seeing him. You wave him over to the table, and he raises the drinks in response.

“You might wanna go slow on these. I think I saw something wiggling in the bottle she poured these drinks from,” he warns as you take the glass from him. You grin, but pay no heed to his warnings, tossing the whole thing back like it’s a regular Tuesday.

“How bad could it be?” Shrugging, you put the drink down and smooth down the front of your skirt, briefly playing with the corner where the slit ends. “Maybe it was like an eel or something.”

“Well, you’re certainly something,” he mutters to himself, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Why don’t you go ahead and drink mine too, if you’re so fearless? Might find a shark fin in there.”

“Those are too big to fit in a bottle, silly.” You roll your eyes, taking a cue stick leaning against a corner. “Now let’s get this party started,” you purr, bringing the stick up and across the table and positioning yourself behind it.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but doesn’t try to push down the smile that appears on his face. “Okay,” he sighs, coming around the table to your side, leaning so his face is level with yours. “So you want to keep the stick aligned with your line of sight, and try to aim for the easy pockets first.”

You lick your lips, screwing one eye shut to aim. “You underestimating me?”

“No, it’s just to keep your mood up. Now choose your shot.” You survey the layout of the table once before deciding on a target, arranging your stance to aim accordingly. Jeonghan nods. “Okay, good. Line up, and be careful about the angle.”

Placing the stick’s tip near the cue ball, you bend again. “Like this?”

He reaches over, rearranging your hand that’s splayed against the table so your first two fingers make a bridge. “Balance the cue on top of that,” he says, curling an arm around your waist. His fingertips press against the elbow of your cueing arm, stabilizing it. You shiver slightly as if a cool breeze had just blown through, making his own stomach flutter. “That’s it, like that,” he whispers in your ear, enjoying your reaction as you squirm. “Steady, steady…now try.”

Taking a deep breath, you shoot. The cue ball cuts across the dull green surface, bumping into the black ball and sending it rolling into a corner hole. Grinning, you straighten, pumping a fist in the air. “Nice!”

“Yeah, pretty nice.” Jeonghan nods. “Except we’re playing 8-ball pool, which means if you pocket the 8 ball before all the stripes and solids are gone, you lose.”

A despondent boo erupts from the audience watching the soccer match, exactly in sync with your face as it falls. “You didn’t tell me that before,” you say accusingly. “That’s cheating.”

“Good try though,” he acknowledges, taking a sip of his drink. It tastes just as bad as he’s expected. “And I didn’t cheat, I just withheld information.”

“That’s lying.”

“Tomato-tomato.”

You bring up the cue stick, pointing the polished end at his chest. “I’m about to demolish you,” you challenge.

He grins and takes a stick of his own, tapping it against yours. “Bring it on.”

Jeonghan had intended on leaving the second you were done with your food, but you end up staying for more than a few hours as you keep asking for extra rounds despite continually losing. When you finally agree to leave, it’s way past two, and you walk with a giggly, faintly tipsy stupor so he has to support you all the way to the hotel. 

Instead of falling into bed immediately upon entering the room, you pull him into the bathroom, crashing your lips against his before he has the chance to let a question pass them. Jeonghan closes his eyes, holding you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost dragging him down the floor as you go limp in his arms. Your back hits the wall with a loud thump, but you still don’t let up. “Someone’s eager,” he says as you press kisses along the line of his jaw, settling his hands on your hips.

You let out a soft breath, bunching up his shirt under your fingers. He leans in to kiss you, but you step back, holding him in place. “I was—do you think we should—”

Someone bangs against the other side of the bathroom wall, making both of you jump. “Message received, damn,” Jeonghan mumbles, turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, you were saying?”

You fumble with your words for a second before seemingly giving up, instead smiling brightly. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Nothing, is it?” He kisses your jaw, and you let out a soft sigh. Your hand drops to his pants, moving to unfasten it, but he stops you. “Shh,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your lips. “Walls have ears, remember?” he murmurs, as his warm breath fans your face.

You tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, blinking up at him so sweetly that he almost groans. He dips his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, the ghost of his smile against your skin. “We have to be quiet,” he says, lips touching the shell of your ear. “If you behave, I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your efforts.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn your face away, letting out a choking laugh. “Oh yeah? And how are you planning to do that?”

Maintaining eye contact, he sinks to one knee, and slides his hands down from your hips to the back of your thighs. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, and he tugs your skirt up, warm palms skimming the cool skin of your thighs. 

“Well, for starters,” he says in a low voice, watching your eyes as they darken, and slips a cold finger just inside the top of the slit in your skirt. “I’m going to make you come on my tongue.”

You watch him with wide eyes, still as a statue. Jeonghan licks a warm line up the inside of your leg, which twitches in response. “Remember, not a sound,” he warns, teeth nipping at your skin. 

“You’re an ass,” you tell him, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He smiles, and taps at your knee to indicate to you to move it. You swing a leg over his shoulder, adjusting your stance to stabilize yourself. He hooks a thumb into the underside of your panties and pulls it aside, revealing your glistening core in its full glory.

The sight makes his breath catch in his throat. Jeonghan licks his lips, experimentally swiping the tip of his finger along your cunt, and you squeeze his shoulder. “Ticklish?” he asks, and you slide a hand through his hair, giving it an impatient tug. “Always so sensitive,” he tuts, even though the sensation sends a bolt of arousal straight to his dick. “Always had a bite, too.”

“Shut up,” you growl, impatiently pulling his face closer to your core.

“Patience, grasshopper,” he admonishes. He slips the finger between your folds, massaging lazy circles into it, and your grasp on his hair tightens. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

You grit your teeth, but the pause tells him you’re actually considering it. Your giving up so easily would take all the fun out of it, he decides, and without warning, he tilts his head up and closes his lips around your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Your whole body seems to spasm in response, like a puppet that just had its strings pulled taut. Jeonghan grins into your cunt, and increases the pressure on your clit. You whine, rolling your hips against his face, but he holds you in place.

“Not so fast, honey bunny,” he murmurs against your arousal, which only has you straining harder against his hold. “You like that, huh?” he asks, and sinks his index and middle fingers into your hole knuckle-deep. “All those times you called me a silver-tongued devil—how d’you feel about this tongue now?”

As if to prove his point, he laves his tongue leisurely along the entire length of your pussy, making you cry out. “Jeonghan, please,” you moan, and his heartbeat stutters at your desperate pleading. The moment you start begging, he’s a goner. “More—ah—”

He doesn’t even remember that he asked you to be quiet. “Fuck,” Jeonghan snarls, “you know I can’t say no to you, don’t you?” He pulls his fingers out almost entirely, coated in your juices, before thrusting them back inside. He proceeds to bury his face back into your heated cunt, sucking on your swollen clit and finger-fucking you at the same time. You throw your head back, scraping your fingernails against his scalp as he eats you out like a starved man. “No.” he says, pulling away momentarily. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Ngh—please—” Your words come out in broken moans, but Jeonghan scarcely hears them. He scissors you ruthlessly, stretching you out with his fingers, the other hand leaving dents in your skin where it digs into the soft skin of your thigh. Your orgasm is drawing near, he can tell by the way your walls are spasming around him, so he speeds up his pace, licking and suckling in quick succession, pushing you far past the point of satisfaction. “Jeonghan!”

You come with a cry, your eyes rolling back into your head, back arched against the wall. Jeonghan unlatches his lips from yours unwillingly, pulling back to admire the look on your face, hazy with desire. 

“Fuck,” you breathe once you’ve come down from the high, chest heaving. You let the back of your head fall against the wall with a light thump. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugs with faked nonchalance, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slips your leg from his shoulder. A glint of satisfaction shines in his eye like an ember sparking in a dead bonfire as he gets to his feet. “I’ve been practicing.”

Your shoulders stiffen, and Jeonghan stops in his tracks. “Right,” you murmur, as alarm bells go off in his head. He regrets the words instantly, and moves to take a step towards you, but you’re already turning away and out of his reach, leaning towards your phone that rests precariously on the basin’s edge. “Oh, wow, it’s getting pretty late. I think we should head to bed.”

Jeonghan bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says softly, stepping back to allow you to slip past him and out the door. Stupid, he thinks, licking the remains of your cum from his lips. “I guess so.”

The next morning, after you finished locking the doors behind yourself, you’d come down to the lobby to find Jeonghan flirting with the receptionist.

He had both his elbows on the table, leaning his weight against it as he gave her his best smile, chuckling at some shitty joke he probably cracked himself. She’s pretty, you’d thought as you saw her smile, flushing as she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. He said something else to her, and she giggled, but it had died out quickly when she’d spotted you approaching.

To his credit, Jeonghan dropped his smile as soon as he saw you. You’d deposited the keys, thanking the receptionist with the nicest smile you could manage, but even that wasn’t very nice. He hadn’t said anything as you got to the car, and you feel like shit even though you know he doesn’t owe you an explanation.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid of you to forget that this whole thing was going to be over soon, stupid for caring so much and getting hurt despite yourself, stupid for thinking that Jeonghan would share your concerns. And let’s not forget angry: angry for getting so carried away, especially when you pride yourself on being so careful all the time.

The car hasn’t stopped in hours, not even for a gas refill, and you haven’t had a proper conversation since the drive started except for when Jeonghan tried to offer you a soda.

You’re glad you’re driving, because it gives you an excuse to be silent. Focus on the road. Jeonghan has sensed something off with your mood, but he hasn’t tried to ask you about it, and you don’t know whether to be grateful for him respecting your boundaries or mad for not trying hard enough. 

Now that it’s June the skies have begun to turn an angry, burning orange-red before six o’clock instead of remaining a softer bruised purple. You’ve been in the same position for a while although your neck started to hurt some time ago. It’s getting chilly, but not cold enough to roll the window back up, and you’re determined to fill the silence with the whistling wind for as long as you can.

You must’ve jinxed yourself, though, because the silence is broken in seconds. “Just so you know,” Jeonghan starts, tone light and conversational, “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

You tighten your hands around the wheel, staring so hard at the windshield that you’re surprised it hasn’t melted into a puddle of plastic yet. “I don’t care if you did,” you say tersely, trying and failing to sound normal. “It’s none of my business.”

“I was just asking her if she knew any places we could stay nearby,” he continues, instead of giving up. “And as it turns out, there’s this really great—”

“Actually, I think we should go home.” You cut him off demurely, not taking your eyes off the road in front of you, even though there isn’t another vehicle in sight. “My parents are probably worried about where I’ve run off to, and I’ve been kind of a shit friend to Joshua recently.”

Jeonghan’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “That was a choice you made.”

You scoff, rounding on him with a scornful look on your face. ���Oh, so you want to talk about choices now?” you ask, voice full of strife. “Remind me again in case I’ve forgotten—it was your choice to have us break up in the first place, wasn’t it?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten, standing out under his skin where they flex. “Oh, come on. You’re just mad about last night and instead of acknowledging that, you’re changing the topic.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m mad,” you admit, “but that’s not why I’m bringing this up, and you know it. I believed you the first time you said anything. We can’t just never talk about what happened nine months ago—you can’t just sweep something that big under the rug and expect things to be fine and fucking dandy.”

“Who cares about something that happened months ago?” he asks angrily.

“Are you serious?” you ask, laughing disbelievingly. A chill is beginning to settle over your skin even as the air simmers at a hundred degrees.

He tugs an opposing sleeve, and throws the other hand up in exasperation. “I don’t see how it matters anymore.”

You stop the car.

Jeonghan opens his mouth, and closes it again. "You know, this whole stopping the car in the middle of the road thing is getting old," he says with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You don’t see how it matters?” You whip around to look him in the eye, and he shrinks back just a bit. “Jeonghan, you said getting into this relationship was a fucking mistake!”

He stares back at you, unyielding. 

“And now you want to act like that never happened?” you press on. “How did you expect this to turn out? That we would be on the road forever, always going nowhere? That you could get away with never addressing all the things you said, just because I never brought it up?” You scoff. “Did you ever give a shit, or was this whole thing just a way to get into my pants?”

Your eyes are burning, and not just from the heat. Jeonghan’s hands are balled up around the seatbelt, the skin around his mouth pulled tight. You don’t dare to look away, hoping against hope for him to finally say something, anything, even though you’ve been in a dozen arguments like this that all ended the same way. This time, you pray with bated breath, this time it has to be different.

“I guess it was just a bad idea,” he says finally, quietly.

Every tensed muscle in your body goes limp, and you’re pulling yourself out of the suffocating car before your mind has even formed a coherent thought, dying to get away from him. The asphalt seems to sizzle, and you wonder in a daze if the road is just a mirage and you’ve actually been standing in one spot this entire time.

You’re standing in the heat, the warm wind making your skin sting with sweat, and even with your hands covering your face you can still sense Jeonghan’s presence behind you. When you turn, there he is, standing still in front of the car. The sun’s rays reflect off of the hood of the car and into your eyes, and you blink back against the stinging brought on by the forceful brightness. For a second you can’t see the expression on his face as he shifts, his silhouette outlined in shadow by the glaring sun, but then your eyes adjust to the light and the look on his face makes something crack and split apart in your chest.

You know then that he will not say anything. He will watch you walk away, again and again and again, with that stoic set of his shoulders and the proud line of his mouth, but he will not say a word. You want to grab him and shake him, scream at him to say something, but you know that his words, in all their vehemence and vitality, are reserved only for him. And you’re going to stay outside, forgotten in the sun, where he hung you out to dry all those months ago.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a twinge of pain against the side of your ribs where his fingers dug into your skin last night. For a moment, you can almost feel his hot breath on your neck, his teeth on your thighs, but you blink, and suddenly the distance between you feels too great. Jeonghan’s eyes bore into yours, the heels of his palms braced against the hood of the car he leans on, and even in the sweltering heat you have to suppress a shiver. 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” you whisper. “Even when I didn’t have a choice.” 

A muscle in his neck pulls taut, but all he does is lift one corner of his mouth in a lazy, sardonic smile. You watch him pretend not to notice as his grip turns white-knuckle-tight.

“Needs must when the devil drives, sweetheart,” is all he says.

You have no response to that. “Right,” you whisper. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re definitely in no state to drive, but you’re suddenly seized with the desire to get away from it all. Away from him. “Take me home, Jeonghan.”

Peonies have always been Joshua’s favorite. 

Even though you’ve never been big on elaborate apologies, the guilt you feel after having ignored your injured best friend for the past couple of weeks is strong enough that you end up buying a whole bouquet for him. Joshua’s mom’s face lights up when she sees you, and you give her a shy, apologetic smile right before she sweeps you up into a bone-crushing hug.

Your eyes widen, but you wrap your arms around her anyway, feeling stupidly emotional at the warm reception. “Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t seen you in so long!” she gushes, and you ignore the painful squeeze of your heart upon hearing the endearment. “If Josh had told me that you were coming, I would’ve made your favorite cherry brownies.”

“No problem, ma’am, I’ll be sticking around for a while,” you tell her with a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be looking for him,” she says, “Poor kid’s been cooped up for weeks, he misses you so much. I think he’s in the backyard, or I would’ve called for him.”

The backyard? You wonder what a guy with a broken leg is doing in the backyard—definitely not sunning himself in this weather—but you thank her anyway. Gripping your bouquet, you head to the back of the house, pushing past the screen door and stepping into the uncut grass of the Hongs’ backyard.

And stop short.

“What the fuck?” you sputter.

Joshua almost trips over the black-and-white football, steadying himself last minute to look up at you with wide eyes. Your grip on the flowers has tightened even further as you imagine it to be the boy’s throat. “Hey, ____,” he says with a strained grin. “I didn’t know you were coming! This is such a lovely surprise. And are those flowers? For me? Aw, you shouldn’t have!”

You stare him down, unrelenting. “I didn’t realize broken bones could heal themselves in less than three weeks,” you say pleasantly, a contrast to the death glare that pins him in place. “Shouldn’t you be resting, sweet Joshua?”

“Oh, um, the doctors were pretty surprised too. Miracle recovery, they called it.” He lets out a forced laugh as you cock an eyebrow menacingly. Joshua sighs, dropping the facade. “Okay, that’s not working, huh.”

“No,” you tell him. “But I can break your leg right now to make it all true, because I know how much you hate lying to your best friend.”

He puts his hands up placatingly, taking a careful step back. “Hey, hey, hey, I can explain,” he says, sweating. “Why don’t we go back inside and get you something to drink, and then I can tell you why I lied,” he suggests with a nervous smile. “You must be parched.”

You give him a dirty look. “For blood, yeah,” you mutter. “This better be fucking good, Hong, or I’m going to break both your legs.”

Back in his room, you opt to stand near the doorway in case he tries to bolt. You’d tried to upend the peonies into the bin, but he’d grabbed them before you could, saying that the poor flowers weren’t to blame. Joshua sits on the edge of his bed, hugging the bouquet to his chest, and you fold your arms threateningly across your chest. “Alright,” you say waspishly. “Explain yourself.”

He looks down at his shoes, see-sawing the heels of his cleats back and forth. “Before you get mad,” he starts, “you gotta remember one thing. I did it for you.”

Your lips curl downwards into an unimpressed frown. “Let me get this straight. You lied to me about your leg being broken, sending my ex-boyfriend in your place to take me home, for my sake?”

Joshua winces. “That sounds pretty terrible when you put it like that,” he confesses. “But, yeah, I did.” You unfold your arms, making as if to step towards him, and he yelps, putting his hands up again. “Let me explain!”

“You’ve explained plenty,” you tell him.

“No, I still have stuff left!” he pleads. “Listen, after you broke up with that guy, you weren’t the one who had to deal with him afterwards. While you went back to college, I had to stay here and be there for him while he was moping all over the place.”

You roll your eyes. “I would hardly call you and Jeonghan friends. There’s no reason he would come to you for comfort.”

“I mean, yeah, he didn’t,” he admits, “but this is a small town. Do you know how hard it is to escape the news of one break-up, especially one as high-profile as yours.”

“High profile?”

“You know what I mean,” he chides. “The point is, you didn’t see him afterwards. He was really torn up about it, you know?” You purse your lips as Joshua leans forward, his expression turning serious. “I didn’t have any sympathy for him in the beginning, because of what you told me, but the more I saw of him the more difficult it became to match up the idea of the Jeonghan I knew and the Jeonghan you said told you all those things.”

Scoffing, you look away, unable to stand the sight of Joshua’s imploring eyes. “Just because you couldn’t make sense of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

He sighs. “Look, I’m not defending him. What he said to you—about not seeing the point in putting in effort, that you were just playing at charades, and the thing about your relationship being a childish mistake—”

You grit your teeth. “I get it. I was there, remember?”

“Yeah.” Joshua scratches his head, a thin line appearing between his brows. “He had no right to say any of that to you, but I still felt like there was something I was missing, so I went to talk to him.”

Defeated, you throw your hands up. “Of course you did.”

“And I don’t think he meant any of that. I mean, he still shouldn’t have said that shit, but…” Your eyes narrow to snakelike slits, and he shakes his head hastily. “Haven’t you ever gotten the feeling that despite all his bravado, the guy just doesn’t know how to express his feelings without getting defensive about them?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. Joshua sees the shift in your mood, and persists. “I might be wrong, and maybe breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to you,” he says, “but if there was the slightest chance of miscommunication, I would be a shitty best friend if I allowed you to let him go without a chance to set things right.” He tilts his head, sitting back. “So I faked a broken leg and kind of tricked him into thinking I was doing him a favor by letting him go get you in my place.”

“You tricked Jeonghan.” You can’t lie, you’re impressed. “Wow, you’re insane.”

“Um, I would say talented,” he argues. “Anyway, he was happy to do it. I think he was secretly looking for a chance to talk to you, so I thought a five hour drive might give him enough courage to tell you how he really felt. Then when you came back, I thought I’d surprise you, and we’d get to go on that trip after all. And then you texted me that you were eloping with him—”

“That’s not what it was.”

“—and I thought that my idea had worked. But then…” he trails off, and looks down at the flowers in his hands.

“But what?” you prompt.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he says. “Something clearly went wrong.”

You sigh, and walk over to sit down heavily beside him. “It was going fine in the beginning,” you tell him. “But we didn’t actually talk about the argument, and after a point, I didn’t know how to bring it up. Then we sort of…” You wince.

Joshua frowns. “What?”

You think about all the different times the two of you fucked instead of talking about your feelings. “We kissed,” you finally speak, and Joshua shakes his head disappointedly. “A few times.”

“I’m getting the feeling that’s not all you did.”

You shush him. “And then it sort of reached a boiling point, and we argued. Again.” Your heart hurts as you remember the argument from only hours ago. “And he said some messed up things. Again.”

Joshua is silent for a few moments. Then he slings an arm over your shoulders, squeezing you against him in an incredibly comforting side hug. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, and you blink back tears. 

“I missed you.” You reach up to wrap your hands around his shoulders. Joshua’s hugs are as comforting and as restrictive for your breathing as his mom’s. “I had the worst fucking time, but it was also the best fucking time,” you sniffle into the crook of his neck. Then you spot a gleaming trophy on his ledge. “Oh, so you guys did end up winning the playoffs.”

Joshua looks back, and nods. “Oh, yeah, the second half was absolutely insane. Remind me to tell you about it.”

You tuck your chin into his shoulder. “I still can’t believe I threw a whole tantrum about not getting to go on a trip,” you say, “when I could’ve just come back and done it anyway.”

“Don’t worry, we still have weeks to make up for that.” Joshua rubs your back comfortingly. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, he is,” you mumble, speech slightly obstructed by your cheek squished against Joshua’s shoulder. “I just thought things might be different this time.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

You press your face back into his neck. "You're not off the hook, by the way."

Joshua sighs.

Joshua’s mom insists on throwing you a welcome back party that night, and despite being both emotionally and physically exhausted, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. She makes you your favorite cherry brownies, as promised, which are the only thing you eat before your appetite runs out.

You sit alone at the table after everyone is done eating and the guests have dispersed around the house, dragging your spin around the empty hollow of your bowl. Your shoulders feel heavy with the weight of all the mistakes you’ve made. As you sit there idly, you keep running your last conversation with Jeonghan over and over in your head, wondering what you could’ve said to make it go differently. 

You close your eyes, and for a moment you’re back to last October, standing on the ice-slicked ground outside the diner where you’ve celebrated every birthday with Jeonghan since eighth grade. His eyes are vacant and vicious and there’s ice trapped around your ribs that seems to be getting harder and sharper with every breath, and you’re screaming at each other until your throat is raw and your tears freeze in the cold.

There’s no point in crying over spilt milk, you suppose, and you’ve always been a hothead. You and Jeonghan together are about as mild as an active volcano.

Sighing, you get to your feet, the table cover rustling over your knees. You’ve stayed for about as long as you could have, and now you just want to sleep. I’m just gonna tell her I’m tired, you think, and head towards the backyard in hopes to catch Joshua’s mom conversing with someone there.

You step outside into the dark to find a single person sitting on the rickety old swing. Frowning, you move closer to figure out if it’s her, but the frame is too tall and masculine to be the person you’re looking for. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” you tell them as they raise their head, taking a step back.

“No. Stay.” A hand reaches out to wrap around your wrist, tugging it towards the swing. It’s then that you notice the silvery-blond hair, lit up by the smattering of light that shines out past the half-open screen door. Jeonghan gets to his feet, and you freeze. “Please.”

“I didn’t realize you were invited,” you say stiffly.

“I wasn’t. I just came to look for you,” he says. There’s an earnest touch to his voice, giving you pause. “To apologize.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your hackles rise. “What could you possibly have to say now?” You free your hand from his grasp, taking another step back. “You’ve made it sufficiently clear that this never meant anything to you.”

“Of course it meant something!” he yells. He takes a deep breath, chest still rising and falling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was—I was scared.”

The notion sounds so ridiculous that you want to laugh in his face. But his eyes are still on yours, voice is gravelly and somber, and you feel like you’re rooted to the spot.

“Scared of what?” you whisper.

“Scared to repeat history,” he replies. “Scared to let my pride get the best of me again, say things I don’t mean. Lot of good that did me, since trying to avoid talking about it just led me to making the same mistakes.”

Your throat constricts painfully, like it’s being choked from the inside. “You really hurt me, you know,” you say hoarsely. “I never wanted to see your face again.”

A small, sad smile touches his lips. “I know,” he says. “Knowing that you didn’t want to see me made everything so much scarier. What if you just refused to come back with me? What if you’d rather just stay back or actually take the bus?” He seems to struggle with his words for a second. “When you agreed to come on that stupid road trip, I felt like I had struck the lottery.”

Your vision is blurry, and you blink rapidly against the oncoming tears. “Thank you,” you whisper, choking back the emotion that surges up your throat, “for telling me that. But,”

He waits.

“That’s not enough,” you complete tiredly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asks, eyes blazing. He looks just as tired as you are. “Is it because of what I said? Because—I don’t know how to make you believe this, but I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

“No.” It feels like the only reason you’re standing still is because every cell in your body has had the energy sucked out of it, leaving you bone-weary. “It’s because you never say anything. And I’m sick of it, Jeonghan.” Your face twists as you try not to start sobbing like a little kid. “I can’t live knowing that you can go back to pretending to be that wooden, unfeeling shell of a person every time I rip myself to shreds in front of you. I hate that you never say a word, that you’re willing to watch me walk away rather than choke back that damn pride of yours. I’m fucking sick of it.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not the same person I used to be, sweetheart. Losing you taught me that,” he says quietly. “Even if I forget that at times myself. Please, just let me show you.”

“I'm not a girl anymore, Jeonghan,” you say tightly. “I don’t know how many second chances I have left in me.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” He moves towards you, cupping your face. “Because you still feel like a girl to me… and I still feel like a boy around you. I'm afraid that you're growing up and away and out of me. That’s how I felt last October, when you came back so different, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Then why didn't you say that?” you demand, lungs burning. “All this time, I've been—” You finally let the tears flow. “I’ve been so…”

“Because I'm still seventeen," he breathes, "every time I look at you, choking on my words as you come down the stairs in your prom dress. I might be a devil, but when it comes to you, words still fail me." 

There’s a barbed wire wrapped around your spine, a spike stabbing into each vertebrae, that tightens and tightens with every word that comes out of his mouth. He laughs under his breath, as if remembering something. “You see,” he says, “being around you kind of activates my fight or flight instinct.”

A broken laugh bubbles to your lips, and you blink against the tears that seem to make everything brighter around you. “You suck,” you tell him honestly, making him smile as if you’d just told him he was the most perfect man on earth. Standing straighter, you school your features into an expression of formality, and clear your throat. “So how are you planning on not making the same mistakes again?”

“Well,” he says, “I’m gonna try really, really hard.”

You cast your eyes heavenward. “You’re really lucky I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“I know.” Jeonghan takes your face between his cold hands and pulls you in for a firm kiss. You clutch the hem of his t-shirt, feeling warmth spread down to your toes when he smiles into the kiss. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, too.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up,” Joshua gushes as you lug your olive green suitcase down the front steps of your porch. “Going off to college for the first day of her final year. I feel like we should take a photo to remember this moment.”

“Joshua, shut up,” Jeonghan grunts as he lifts the bag. “If you have the time to take a photo, you have the time to help me out with the luggage.”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?” Your best friend points exaggeratedly at the plaster cast that covers his foot. “I’m a bit disabled at the moment.”

Karma had come full circle for him when he’d tried to take over the neighboring eleven-year-old’s trampoline, and had ended up breaking his leg for real. Everyone thinks he deserved it except Joshua himself, who’d warmed up to the idea anyway when he’d realized that he could get people to sign cool stuff on his cast.

“You’re acting like I’m going for my first day at kindergarten or something.” You roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re a real grown-up,” he leans over to pat your arm, withdrawing it hastily when you threaten to kick his broken leg. “Jeez, calm your tits.”

“I am calm.”

“Totally.” Jeonghan slams the boot of the Corolla, making a cloud of dust puff up. He reaches over to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “You ready to go?”

“I really think we should take a picture,” Joshua interjects.

Both of you turn to glare at him, and he shrinks into the wheelchair. “Sensing some hostility,” he mutters. “So ungrateful, considering that I’m the whole reason you’re together in the first place.”

“Exaggeration,” you say, and turn to Jeonghan. “I’ll just be a moment, okay?”

He nods, and you give him a tiny smile before running back inside the house. Joshua shakes his head curiously at Jeonghan, who only shrugs in response, just as mystified. They wait for a few more seconds, and Joshua pulls out the marker and begins doodling inside the D of your signature on his cast, which is a sweet, short message: Dick.

“Okay!” You command the attention back to yourself with a clap of your hands as you emerge from the door, this time with the plastic pink heart-shaped sunglasses adoring your face. “How do I look?” you ask, propping them up on the top of your head, and giving them a little twirl.

“Like an idiot,” your best friend says, deadpan. You smack the back of his head as you pass him. “Also, don’t forget your Hello Kitty backpack. They go with your glasses.”

“That’s mine, actually,” Jeonghan says pointedly, and turns to you with a heart-melting smile. “And you look gorgeous as always.”

“Disgusting,” Joshua comments.

You flip him off. “I’m ready to go now.”

“Well, then,” your boyfriend says breezily, patting the hood of the car, which causes another cloud of dust to billow into the air. “Get in. We don’t have all day.”

taglist: @fragmentof-indifference @sadgirlroo @joonsytip @odetoyoon @sstarrysshit @lockburn-castle @chocosvt @ohgeezitsbreadgenie @outrologist @ishireads @ti--red

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Fandom: His Dark Materials

Title: 'Cause We Survived The Great War

Pairings/Relationships: Lyra Silvertongue/Will Parry

Summary:

"Will."

Her voice. So small, so weak and yet the loudest sound around him. He hadn't heard her saying his name in so long he was almost afraid he'd forget how it sounds on her lips but the second it left her mouth, it brought the same sense of warmth into his bones it always did. Will never could find a proper name for that feeling, always struggled to identify it but now that she was here, finally with him after so many days apart, he knew what it was instantly.

It felt like coming home.

---

Post s03e02. After they escape Marisa's clutches and The Magisterium's bullets, Will and Lyra finally allow themselves to feel relief and reunite properly.

OOOH IT'S SO GOOD TO BE BACK!

Hi everyone! It's been almost two years since I've written anything for this fandom but His Dark Materials is back with the final season and out for our hearts and souls so I'm back too! Am I ready to suffer? No, not really. But I can't wait! AND MY BABIES LYRAWILL ARE BACK ON MY SCREEN! If that fact alone doesn't push you to write about them, then Idk what does.

Enjoy this sweet and emotional little piece. Just like riding a bike, writing it felt so natural to me.

For you, my HDM besties 😘

@nooowestayandgetcaught @jillcfan

[soobnny]

after hours — athlete!nishimura riki. strangers to lovers. university au. fluff.

synopsis. when practice gets overwhelmingly exhausting, nishimura riki finds that staying at the field after hours can be such a calming past-time. apparently, you go there when you need to think too. an awkward friendship ensues. (7.5k words)

note. i’ve missed writing long fics in general so i hope this satisfied!

Over the years, Nishimura Riki has come to learn that there was something serene about a football field without any players practicing, playing – without an ear-piercing audience, without the pressure of winning. 

Everything is instantly calmer, grass bathed in the moon’s glow, the air peaceful. At this time, the sun would’ve just been traitorously chased away by the moon, taking over the skies, and stirring crickets awake.

Back in high school, Riki would never admit the thrill he got from football, choosing to hide behind straight faces and unfazed facades, but now he’s given himself a break.

He finally allows himself to recognize that the field is filled with potential from promising players who poured their heart out into the sport. What he convinced himself as merely a club back in high school has become a huge part of his life (though he isn’t sure he’s ready to fully admit that yet).

So naturally, staying late for practice wasn’t anything new for the boy. It’s how he came to find out about the serenity of the field. And what stemmed from late practices became a routine for Nishimura Riki. It’s one of the few appeals to signing up for added hours after university.

Playing football was a commitment, but he’s grown to actually enjoy it - as long as he gets to witness the calm after the storm, the same serenity that explains why he’s currently standing in the middle of the field, eyes scanning the empty seats and trying to be engulfed by the solace that surrounded the empty space. 

He liked how it felt, as if the entire world had stopped spinning for a moment and time wasn’t chasing after him, even though he’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be in the university field this late at night with the amount of homework he has to do the next day. 

And on most days, he’d feel embarrassed to be caught in the field in the middle of the night (he was too prideful to admit he has passion for something for the fear of failure and disappointment). He supposes it’s alright though, as long as he comes prepared as to not be caught by—

“Hello?”

His head whips at the sound of another person at the field. 

It’s on rare occasions that you find Nishimura Riki startled, but he gives himself a pass. He’s allowed to be startled (and a bit panicked) if it meant he’d been caught and the quiet of the after hours would abruptly be taken away from him, without being able to say a proper goodbye. 

He’d only ever come to meet it for a few days, and he doesn’t find it fair that one of the few things he’s allowed himself to treasure can be easily ripped away. 

It’s generally against the rules of the campus to be out so late in the night at the field without the permission of the coach or the assigned personnel of the Sports and Athletes Unit.

Riki supposes he could try to make a run for it, but that would mean he’d have to run past you and risk being caught in a way more embarrassing way (which would ultimately violate his pride). 

If he played his cards right, he could try his hand at words. He’d been told many times he’s quite the silvertongue, but could he really risk accidentally insulting you and earning a few disciplinary points? He doesn’t wanna have to be pulled away from playing in the next season. The school always takes the athlete’s behavioral cases very seriously. 

Though, just as easy as panic seemed to settle, relief arrived when he noticed you were in a similar state of horror as he was.

“Who are you?” His tone intimidated you right away, his voice was careful and oddly calculating. Though it was dark, you could still tell his gaze was sharp, and just as intimidating as he sounded. You could barely make out the rest of his features from where he stood due to the lack of lights and the moon’s poor luminance. 

You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you’re sure it wouldn’t be very difficult to recognize him in daylight. Not a lot of students are blessed with an overtowering height like the boy standing meters in front of you.

Deciding it’s alright to talk back when you’re at least 80% sure it’s not one of the people who could get you in trouble, you try to counter back at the boy.

“I don’t know, you tell me who you are.” You crossed your arms as if you were also allowed to be in that space right now, as if you also hadn’t trespassed to spend a few minutes of calm in the field. It was always easier here after hours of exhausting lectures and homework. The field reminds you back to the time from when you were a kid and carelessly running around, not having a single clue on the future. 

And it’s almost comical the sight of two university students who can barely hear each other, trying to communicate. 

“I asked first.” He jested, taking a few steps forward. Only then are you able to make out his features, and fuck. Heaven couldn’t compare if it tried to.

His black hair swept a little past his eyes, just a little messy to give him the I’m-attractive-but-I-pretend-I’m-not-aware appeal. The hoodie he’s wearing compliments his frame so perfectly, and you’re left to think if someone can even be this proportionate. There’s a slight pink hue on his nose from the cold and he looked so pretty with his glasses.

For a moment you’re convinced you’d wronged God for stepping into the same air as the boy. 

However, you try not to back down from the conversation just yet (even though the tall boy with his hands in his pockets looked terrifyingly intimidating and so painfully attractive). It was obvious he was trying to push your buttons with the smirk that was gracing his face, and the way he looked down on you as if he was always in the right. 

If there was one thing Riki was good at, it was turning a situation around to benefit him. You didn’t know that yet.

“Doesn’t mean anything if you asked first or not.” You meet his eyes, breath getting caught in your throat as you gauge the levels of his attractiveness for the second time.

It’s only when you catch sight of him furrowing his eyebrows that you realize you’d mumbled out your words like an upset child, and he probably didn’t understand a single thing you had said.  

You scrunch your face in embarrassment. 

This definitely isn’t one of your proudest moments, and you’re only glad Karina isn’t around to smack you in the back of your head for sounding so stupid around someone who God clearly took time making.

You crumble in defeat just as easily as you thought you could one-up the boy in front of you. You don’t think you can handle talking to him much further, and you supposed you could just come back at another time. Besides, the pair of you had equal share of the trouble for visiting the field without permission, so he couldn’t report you for being there (just like you couldn’t with him). 

“Sorry. You just sort of freaked me out, nobody’s usually here when I come.”

He’s silent for a moment, lungs filling up with the cold evening breeze. He’s apathetic at how you squeak out your words, it might be because the look of resignation dawning on you is too wholesome. 

“Riki.”

He doesn’t know why he introduces himself, maybe it’s because he knows you’ll never see each other again. 

You will, but he doesn’t know that yet either.

“Riki?” Your voice is soft, riddled with confusion. What is the connotation of throwing a random name in the middle of a conversation? 

It takes you a while to realize that he had just introduced himself.

“Oh… oh! That’s clearly your name, sorry.” He nods his head, stepping a little closer to where you’re standing. 

You think it’s unfair that he looks even better up close - and you’re suddenly embarrassed by your appearance, especially with how good he looks, even in just jeans and a hoodie, as if he was always meant to be kissed by the ethereal blue of the moon.

“Why are you so nervous around me?” He quips, raising an eyebrow down at you and your face quickly heats up. You pray to Whomever is Above that the moon is just dimly lit enough that he doesn’t have to see you with blown-up cheeks.

“I don’t know. You intimidate me.” You retreat, looking down at the grass. It’s damp, must be due to the slight drizzle of rain a few hours ago. 

You can hear a quiet chuckle leave his lips as he follows where you’re looking, taking a few steps so he can stand beside you instead of in front of you. “You never told me your name.” 

“________.” You risk a glance back at him to give him a small smile, but when he stares at you with a blank face, you dart your gaze back at the ground. 

Jesus, why does the hoodie he’s wearing give him the perfect shoulder-to-waist ratio. You think it must be God’s turn to apologize for casting him here with you right now, out of all the places he could’ve been in, or people he could’ve been with.

“Well, I should probably get going.” You nervously play with your hands behind your back, looking up at him but not quite looking, gaze fixated at the space just beside his face. The air feels way too suffocating for you to continue to stay here. 

“So soon? Didn’t you just arrive?” He asks, taking his hands out of his pockets in favor of crossing them over his chest instead.

“Uh, yeah. I just don’t want to bother you, and I… have homework?” You don’t mean for your words to come out as a mumble, but it’s enough for him to hear you anyway.

“I don’t mind. Besides, the field is a little further from the dorms so you probably took some time out of your night just to come here. Don’t let me ruin that for you.”

Your face is contorted in admiration (though if someone else were to comment on the look you were giving him, they would’ve mistaken it for confusion) whilst you move your gaze back to stare at him. This elicits a cold laughter from him. 

“What? Why are you so surprised?” He prods, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I guess I just expected you to be a little meaner. I’m sorry for judging you by appearances, I swear I don’t usually do this. You just… yeah… you just look kind of mean.” 

“Do you want me to be?” 

“No.” You’re quick to answer, shaking your head as you rock yourself back and forth, staring at anything but his eyes. There’s a moment of silence after that, and it’s just the two of you standing beside each other in a huge field in the middle of the night. 

That was your first encounter with Nishimura Riki. It was odd, the way he seemed amused with everything you did or the way you couldn’t even look him in the eyes. It wasn’t excessive, or grand. It was simple - just two people experiencing the quiet of the field together.

+

You almost forget about Nishimura Riki a few days later as you rush towards the Publishing Team and Journalism room, scrambling to make it in time for your weekly meetings. You hadn’t seen him around campus, and you found it useless dwelling on the attractive boy you had met nights prior. You’re not even sure if he existed, could it be that you had just dreamt him up? 

“_______, you’re late.” 

Fuck.

You grin sheepishly at your organization president, bowing slightly and muttering a quick apology. “I’m sorry, my professor kept me late after classes had ended.” 

Karina looks at you like she’s about to laugh, with her cheeks puffed and a hand over her mouth – a poor attempt at concealing her giggles. You don’t look back at her. You might be a little airheaded sometimes, but you were rational enough to know this was definitely not the time to burst out in laughter at the face of your best friend. 

“It’s alright.” 

You sigh in relief at her response, smiling shyly at your president before rushing towards the seat next to Karina, not-so-subtly shoving her in the process. 

The meeting goes on rather smoothly as you discuss the soon production of your school paper for the current academic year. That is until someone notices the absence of Jang Wonyoung. 

And you think you’re safe from running late, you really think so, until Yujin decides to speak up.

When no one volunteers to find Wonyoung, you think they’ll leave it at that. However, Yujin has other plans when she volunteers you to look for Wonyoung – as a consequence for being late. You normally wouldn’t have a problem with doing tasks for the team, plus, you had been late on your own accord. But you hear your heartbeat quicken in pace at the mention that Wonyoung was probably at the football field finishing her sports feature article.

You think the world is onto you, and have somehow found out that you sneak into the field sometimes at night. You know, however, that this is just another case of your overthinking and fear of receiving disciplinary points. 

When the attention of the whole organization is put onto you, you’re quick to stand and oblige with the task given to you. Your ears don’t fall deaf to Karina’s teasing laughter as she urges you to be quick so she doesn’t have to suffer through the meeting alone. 

As soon as you walk out of the building, the scorching heat of the sun hits you. The university is filled with people going about their days, stopping by the coffee shop at the corner to do some studying, cramming their lessons as they rush to their next class, some chattering with their friends as they head back to the dorms. 

Shoving your hands in the pockets of your hoodie, you quickly make your way towards the football field where you hope to find Wonyoung. You find yourself arriving earlier than you had expected, but you reason it’s due to the routine of habit. You had gone down this path multiple times to the point that you were convinced you could get there with your eyes closed. 

Wonyoung isn’t hard to spot, not with her towering height, standing by the benches of the field as she writes rather intensely in the notebook she’s holding. You sigh out in relief, absentmindedly making your way towards the girl.

You really should’ve paid more attention to where you were heading. 

“Look out!”

Your head snaps towards the sound of the sudden shriek, only to catch sight of a football hurling towards your general direction. You’re utterly convinced someone is actively praying for your downfall. In a very poor attempt to shield yourself from the ball (as you figured it was far too late to move), you shut your eyes and bring your arms up to cover your face.

And then there’s nothing.

You open your eyes slowly at the lack of impact, and you’re surprised to be greeted by the sight of broad shoulders and a toned back. You think he must’ve caught the ball, or it must’ve harshly collided with his chest. You hope it wasn’t the latter. Either way, you feel embarrassed for causing a ruckus. 

With your ears still ringing and pulse hammering from the sudden sitch, you lower your head to thank the boy who had saved you a trip to the nurse’s office. After getting over the initial embarrassment and wanting to get away as soon as possible, you bring your head up to thank him one last time. 

The sight of the boy leaves your feet planted to the ground.

Black messy hair swept to the side from the sweat of playing, straight lips and piercing eyes. You’re hidden in the shadow of his towering figure. 

Riki from the football field a few nights ago! 

You feel dizzy at the familiarity, and mostly because you were so convinced you had dreamt him up that the reminder that he was real felt so… unreal. 

He throws the ball back at his teammate with ease. Slowly, he turns his attention to you, skimming over your frame to check if you’re okay. His eyes widen slightly when he recognizes who you are. 

“_________?” You laugh rather sheepishly as you scratch the back of your neck. “Riki!” 

“What are you doing here?” His hand lands on the small of your back as he moves you towards the direction of the bleachers, away from imminent danger similar to that of a few minutes ago. 

You tell him that you were tasked to look for a member of your club who was apparently here. 

Riki sighs, running a hand through his hair as he sits you down. “Be careful next time.” You gulp at the stern tone of his voice, nodding your head as your cheeks flush crimson. His pointed look softens a bit as he hands you the water bottle he had just bought for himself. 

“That’ll help you calm down.” He blinks at you one last time, staring a heartbeat longer than what was necessary. You feel heat creep up your neck and your stomach twist at his gaze. And then, he’s gone to go back to his team.

You’re left seated at the bench, desperately clutching onto the water bottle he had given you. You’re only snapped out of your daze when a concerned Wonyoung jogs towards your spot with so much urgency. 

“Oh my god, _______, are you okay? That was a close one!” She has both hands on your cheeks, moving them from side to side to check for any possible injuries. You laugh at this, taking her hands and peeling them away from your face. “I’m alright!”  

Wonyoung asks why you were there in the first place, and you tell her that you were tasked to summon her towards the meeting. Her cheeks flush in embarrassment at forgetting about the weekly meeting, and the pair of you walk back towards the building

Your mind is stuck replaying Riki’s broad shoulders and pointed look on the way back.

+

You see Riki again a week after your second encounter. 

“Hello?” You say, quietly, walking towards the tall frame sitting in the middle of the field. 

When you had seen he was there before you, you were tempted to haul yourself out of there and call it a day. However, you’re reminded that he had quite literally saved you from a bruised face and a bloody nose the last time you met.

While embarrassed, you think you owe it to thank him again. So, you muster up the courage to walk up to the boy — even when all he does to acknowledge you is look in your general direction before facing away again.

You hesitate if you should sit next to him, but when you start crouching down and he doesn’t seem to reject your presence, you allow yourself to fully sit next to him. 

He’s staring at the field, eyes narrowed in concentration. You want to ask him what he’s staring at, but you don’t wanna disturb him any more than you already have. Although, that was easier said than done when the awkward silence was slowly engulfing your entire being. So, you muster up the courage to slightly nudge his arm. 

He turns to look at you.

“Thanks again, by the way. For, you know.” You gesture the ball hitting your face, and pretend that you’re blocking it. You don’t really realize how stupid you look until a smirk forms on Riki’s face. 

“It’s whatever.” 

You nod your head with a shy smile, resting your chin on your knees. You don’t understand how you ended up in this situation in the first place, in the middle of the field with the tall boy for the second time.

It’s just that, making friends was never something that came easy to you (if you could even consider Riki as a friend, hell, you don’t even know his last name). It wasn’t so smooth sailing with your natural awkwardness around new people, but the boy seated next to you didn’t seem to mind. 

“Did you end up finding your friend?” Your head quips at Riki, surprised he chose to continue the conversation. You hum in response. 

“Yup! She wasn’t really all that hard to find, she’s really tall. Just like you. Like a titan.”

“Like a titan, as in Attack of Titans?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“I should’ve let that ball hit your face.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. Since when was he capable of joking? Or… did he really mean that? “Didn’t your mom teach you to be nice to strangers.”

“Quite the opposite actually. She told me not to talk to any.” 

“Oh.” You’re not so sure if he was joking or not anymore, not when he still kept a straight face. Was this his subtle way of saying he didn’t wanna talk to you? 

As if he could read your mind, he continues. “You’re not really a stranger though. I know your name, and you know mine, so we’re technically past that stage.”

You smile at this, risking a glance at the boy, and when he gives you a questioning side glance, you dart your gaze back on the ground. 

“Friends then.” You mutter almost to yourself, but he hears you anyway.

His face contorts to a barely recognizable expression. His lips are twitching and you’re not quite sure you can decipher what he’s feeling or thinking at the moment, but he nods. His face doesn’t show one of grimace (unlike the expression you were met with earlier in the evening), so you assume that whatever he was trying to do with his face, it was a good thing - genuine. 

“Since we’re friends now, you don’t mind talking to me, right?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Riki!”

“I was kidding.” 

“You really need to work on your tone more.”

+

The fourth time around, the awkward air shifts to something more comfortable. 

That night, the two of you walked around the empty seats, telling stories about his best and worst football games. You admit to him in guilt that you aren’t much of a football fan and had never really seen any of your university’s team play. 

He asks you what led you to the empty field after hours, and you tell him you just so happen to stumble upon it when going home late once after a night class. It was one of the many stressful nights in college, and you found that you liked the quiet in the field. 

“What about you? What got you into it?” You interrogate, standing on a seat to make you taller than him, mumbling a quiet ‘this must be how it feels’. Riki hears you very clearly and chuckles more to himself. 

“Being here at night or football in general?”

“Oh, just football in general.” 

He hums, placing his hands behind his back as he thinks carefully for his answer. “A match I had back in high school. Nothing has come close to beating the number one ace of the prefecture. And I guess that did the trick because… well, I’m still playing now.” 

You smile at this, jumping down from the seat to stand in front of him. You miss the way his hands instantly hold out for you in case you fall. “I bet you were a tough player. Probably still are!”

“I’m hardly any of that.”

“You’re just being humble, if we played against each other, I’d probably say those exact same words.” You say proudly, smiling up at the boy before continuing to move forward against the empty bleachers. Riki follows quietly behind you. 

“That’s because you don’t know how to play.” 

“Uncalled for.” 

Riki smiles when he knows you can’t see.

“Do you have to be attractive to play football? I mean, all the girls probably swoon for you… all of you. All of you. They swoon for all the football playing boys who are all very attractive.” You’re quick to correct yourself, spinning on your heel to look at Riki again. He coughs out loud at this, using the back of his hand to try and cover the unexpecting blush that’s creeping onto his cheeks. 

Only now does he realize you’re standing too close for comfort. You had unexpectedly stopped as he was moving to continue to follow you, and the proximity doesn’t go unnoticed. He feels close enough to trace every feature of your face, close enough to tuck away the loose strand of hair that’s covering half of your face. 

He doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean the thought doesn’t stick the rest of the night.

After what seems like hours talking and roaming around the football field, Riki proposes that the pair of you call it a night. You nod your head, but not before joking that he probably didn’t want you around anymore. Riki doesn’t say he noticed your sleepy eyes and yawns every couple minutes. 

“I didn’t even know it was close to midnight already.” The two of you exit the doors carefully, looking around to see if there was anyone around. When no one comes in sight, you’re quick to run out to the sidewalk and pretend you were never even there in the first place. 

“Well, I’ll see you… when I see you.” You wave at the boy with a smile. 

“I’m walking you back to the dorms.” 

You feel the tip of your ears turn pink. “Oh, it’s really fine. It’s late, and you probably need to head back too.”

“Exactly. It’s late. I’m not letting you walk alone.” He persists, walking by your side. 

“Okay. Uh, thank you.” You reply as smoothly as you can, because as much as you hate to admit it, the small basic act of human decency has you blushing and smiling to yourself. Especially when you know Riki isn’t the type to spend an extended period of time with someone. 

Since your second encounter when he had saved you from taking a ball to your face, you had managed to be more observant towards him on campus in general. And in the little time of your personal investigation towards the boy you’re spending a lot of your nights with, you find out that he’s known for just being around his close circle of friends. 

While he’s capable of joking around in class, he only looks like he’s genuinely enjoying himself when he’s around his little group of seven. And maybe that’s why it strikes you as odd that he chooses to spend time with you, that he doesn’t just walk out immediately the moment he sees you walk into the field. Notorious for not being so friendly, you wonder why he engages in conversation with you from time to time.

You think he might just be trying to be polite now that he has to share his space with someone else, but does being polite come with shy smiles and eye contact that lasts a little longer than it should?

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

“You look like you’re in deep thought.” He shrugs, looking down at you to wait for your answer.

“Oh. It’s nothing important, really.”

His nosy quip at your thoughts starts another round of conversation on your way back to the dorms. This time though, the little monster called curiosity doesn’t leave you alone. It stays in the back of your head, asking you why conversation comes so easily with him now. It asks you if you’ve noticed Riki’s sincere and shy smiles directed at you. It asks you if he’s ever willingly joked around like this with anyone else aside from his friends.

On the walk back home is when you see Riki genuinely laugh with his heart for the first time since you met. When you mentioned your building was just around the corner, he stupidly suggested racing towards there and running immediately without a countdown. He thinks the look of betrayal partnered with your pretty face is funny.

So, he laughs.

And you would go through a hundred more biased races to see him laugh more.

He apologizes for cheating you in the race with a promise of ice cream the next time he walks you home after hours. The next time. You don’t catch the latter part of his sentence when you’re grinning widely at the mention of ice cream.

Your smile makes him beam with pride. 

“This is me. Thanks for walking me back, Riki.”

He nods his head and smiles back at you, much to his disappointment. In all honesty, he didn’t want the night to end. He was having fun as you chatted your lungs out about the time you had given yourself a horrendous haircut at the age nine or the time you had cried because you didn’t want to go home from the pet shop.

As he listens to you, it’s easy to forget about the exhaustion of the afternoon’s practice.

Riki waits for you to walk in the building before sending a final wave in your direction. When he’s sure you’re safely inside, he turns on his heels to start his own walk back home. 

And the whole way back, he genuinely smiles to himself. It’s something that doesn’t need to be taught, he has smiled multiple times before – but it does need to be relearned. Riki doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this way before.

+

Riki’s friends were starting to get a little suspicious as to why he’s been sneaking off after football practice. Every once in a while, he would turn them down on their invitation to buy something at the convenience store. They don’t really think it’s anything. Jake would reason that he probably had homework, Jay would say he was probably tired.

Jungwon, however, is suspicious – but it’s not like he meant to accidentally catch the two of you several nights ago when he had returned to see if he had left his earphones on the benches of the field. 

You must be the reason for Riki’s sudden attitude change. While subtle, Jungwon prides himself in knowing his best friends really well, and he knows this must be why Riki’s been acting a little soft in general. 

Soft. Riki would laugh in his face if he ever said that out loud. Soft wasn’t exactly the type of word that came to mind when thinking about Nishimura Riki. Sure, he was relaxed and cool, but never soft. 

The side of Riki he saw, smiling and laughing at the empty bleachers and looking at you was so foreign to Jungwon. No matter how many admirers came Riki’s way, he was always just unfazed. The unrecognizable smile of adoration in his face was what made everything click for Jungwon.

The reason Riki always seemed to be looking for someone in crowded rooms. The reason he would walk a little slower when going past the school paper club room. The reason he would politely decline on invitations to stay a little longer in the field. The reason for his sudden smiles and overall livelier mood during practice.

It all stemmed back to you. 

When Jungwon tests his hypothesis and asks about you to Riki one late afternoon, he wasn’t really expecting a clear response other than a raised eyebrow or a change in topic. He definitely did not expect the shy smile and the shifting eyes from the tall boy as he mumbled under his breath.

“She's… someone I feel most human with.” The volume of his voice drops when talking about you, and the pink on the tip of his ears doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon. Jungwon feels his heart about to burst when Riki doesn’t even avoid the topic of you – doesn’t ask why Jungwon knew about you. He simply answers.

This was a breakthrough in Jungwon’s hypothesis. The connotations of you and the relationship you had with Riki (whatever it was), Jungwon knew it was good. You made Nishimura Riki, his best friend, feel most human. 

And on top of all that, you made him want to do better in games. You made him want to attend practice without a looming feeling of negativity and exhaustion. You made him want to get ice cream? (Riki always refuses to go out for ice cream, so Jungwon wonders why he stops by the nearest ice cream parlor to buy two cones of ice cream). You made him feel warm.

With you came new possibilities for Riki.

Jungwon is continuously proven in his hypothesis when he notices Riki talk more during practices. And it wasn’t like Riki didn’t talk at all. He was just someone who valued his silence. And Jungwon continues to be right with the subtle and meaningful ways in which Riki changes in the following months.

+

Two months after always meeting each other in secret, you’ve grown more comfortable acknowledging each other outside the late hours of the field. 

You send a small wave Riki’s way as you walk towards an empty seat beside Karina at the field. She had wanted to watch their practice in support of the guy she was seeing and asked you to tag along. Even from a distance, you could tell Riki was biting back a grain as he waves back at you. 

Karina looks at you accusingly. 

“Excuse me, since when were you and Nishimura Riki friends?” 

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks at Karina’s sudden interrogation. 

“Since a few months ago.” Karina swears she’d never seen your features this red before and she gasps at the realization. “Is he your boyfriend?” She basically screams in your ear as she continuously rocks you back and forth.

You’re quick to shoot her down, shaking your head and telling her to lower her voice. “No, no. We’re just friends.”

“Just friends, my ass. How come you never told me about him?” There’s a look of betrayal in her eyes as she crosses her arms. “It never came up?” At your response, Karina rolls her eyes. 

“You like him, don’t you?” There’s a teasing hint in her tone, but you know she was genuinely curious. Your lack of response, the blush on your cheeks, and the way you look at Riki are enough to give her an answer. “This is perfect, then. I wouldn’t have to suffer watching a game alone when you’re with someone on the team too!” 

After their practice and what seemed like hours of gossip with Karina, she excuses herself to go to her soon-to-be-boyfriend and you spend the time observing the field. It felt so different to the field you knew at late hours. And it was almost funny that the space where Riki’s practicing with a straight face is the same space where he’s joking around and laughing with you at night.

Deep in your thought, there isn’t much time to process that Riki is standing in front of you, pointing at you with an accusing finger. “What are you doing here? Come to get smacked in the face again?”

“I did not get smacked in the face last time!”

“Thanks to me, you’re welcome by the way.”

“I have thanked you a million times for that already.” 

He laughs as he sits beside you, and Riki’s friends stare in shock at the scene unfolding in front of them. By their reaction, you don’t think Riki has mentioned much about you to his friends either. 

The conversation with Karina earlier feels like an itch you can’t scratch. You’ve always known you enjoyed Riki’s presence, but you haven’t gone out of the way to confirm that you had feelings for him (not that it needed much confirmation). You knew the way you felt, but you were afraid that if you acknowledged it, your feelings would only grow stronger.

You start to wonder if maybe he liked you too. 

“Oy, Riki.” Heeseung calls onto the young boy, beckoning him to come over. Riki excuses himself from his conversation with you, muttering a brief ‘see you later’ paired with a boyish grin. With an arm draped around his shoulder, Heeseung starts his sentence carefully. “You and ______.” 

Riki hums in acknowledgement. 

“Are you two like… a thing? Like dating?” 

Jungwon watches Riki freeze at the sudden and rather straightforward question, and he stays frozen for a while as he tries to arrange his train of thought. Jungwon doesn’t say anything.

“No.” His response is short and blunt, almost bitter even. There was something in the way Riki’s eyes changed at the realization of his own answer that confirmed his friend’s lingering suspicion (they had finally caught onto it).

Sunghoon laughs teasingly, pushing the young boy around. “You don’t have to sound so miserable.” 

“Yeah, just ask her out. It’s not that complicated.” Jake says as if stating the obvious. “Hey, give him time.” Sunoo and Jay are quick to jump on Riki’s defense as they relentlessly tease the boy. 

Jungwon doesn’t say anything. He understands in the way Riki falls into a daze that he was just gathering up enough courage to actually tell you how he feels. 

That night, as he was waiting for you to come back to the field, he ponders on the previous conversation he had with his friends. 

Riki liked the way he was with you. Jungwon once told him that strangers had an easier time interacting with him now that Riki had known you, and it bewildered him how something as simple as a small wave and a smile from you has his blood rushing to his cheeks. 

He always knew he liked you. 

Ever since he had walked you home from the first time, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He doesn’t really have to say anything when he’s with you – somehow, you already know. He likes it. He likes things with you. 

He likes it best how he’s able to make a home out of memories with you. How nothing has to be too grand and extravagant. Just simple and easy. 

The thought used to make him want to puke, the realization of how whipped he actually was, but still found himself staying late in the field, waiting to see if you’d be there that day.

The thud of the ball is loud as it drops to the field. Tonight, the two of you decided to play a little football. Riki didn’t mind. Besides, he found it cute how you didn’t seem to know what you were doing yet you were still willing to play anyway. He’d play goalie, and he’d intentionally let the ball go in to see you jump up and cheer for yourself. 

When he throws the ball back to you, he doesn’t realize the strength he put into it, not until you’re on the floor clutching the ball in your hands. He’s about to apologize when you start howling in laughter. You’re clutching your stomach and tears are forming in your eyes, and Riki has the compelling desire to do whatever it takes to make you laugh like that again.

He helps you up, still apologizing, as he asks if you’re okay. “You know what, maybe this is our full circle moment where I actually get hit by the ball instead of you catching it.” Riki laughs, and he doesn’t notice how he still hasn’t let go of your hand until your cologne fills up his nose, and he steps back upon the proximity. 

Riki coughs. “At least I didn’t aim for your face.”

“You would never.”

His eyes shift towards your lips for a split second, he’s thinking that it probably wouldn’t take much to just move an inch and kiss you right there, in a way that he’s wanted to for a while, but he chooses not to for now. So he lets his eyes, glinting with the light of the moon, trail over something else while you dust off the dirt on your clothes from falling down. 

+

Ever since that night, Nishimura Riki has made it a point to run into you on the campus. Now, apart from after hours on the football field, you had small meet-ups on campus too. 

He’d greet you “good morning” if you happened to pass by each other in the halls, he’d sometimes invite you to eat lunch with his friends which you always declined because you couldn’t betray Karina like that, and his friends were a little intimidating (you tell him, maybe next time). He’d tell you ‘hi’ or give an encouraging ‘fighting!’ while you worked on an article for the school paper. And then, after class, you’d find yourselves hanging out if he didn’t have practice. 

While he was someone that rarely smiled despite having the prettiest grin, he isn’t uncomfortable showing you his perfect set of teeth. 

You didn’t really know what to expect from the boy. You definitely didn’t expect what came next.

Around another two weeks of time spent with Riki, he approaches you with a newfound hesitation. 

With the field bathed in a kind of silver glow, he composes himself under a full moon. “I have a game in a week.”

He doesn’t say anything after and you nod your head at this, pausing as you try to think of what to say.

“Good luck!” 

“I want you to go.” 

“Oh.”

Riki has always stressed how he didn’t really invite anyone to his games, not his family, not his friends outside of the football team. So, his sudden invitation surprises you and you have no clue on how to respond. Your lips parted, staring at the boy.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

“And I want you to watch the game after that too. And the next. And then maybe a date after I win too.” While he says it with so much ease, you can see the panic in his eyes at the straightforwardness of his invitation. 

“Did you… a date?” You ask him again, unsure if he heard you right. 

“I like you.”

At his sudden confession, you feel a laugh bubbling in your throat and you sigh out in relief. “Oh my god, I thought I would have to suffer through an unrequited crush.” He visibly calms down at your response, until realization hits.

“Wait, so does that mean…?” 

“I like you too.” As cocky as he was when you first met, you’re continuously amazed at the new sides you see of Nishimura Riki, with his cheeks flushed a bright red and a girlish giggle escaping his lips. A warm grin breaks over his face and he uses his palm to cup your cheeks. 

“Since you like me, and I like you. Does that also mean I can kiss you?” You smile at his uncharacteristic shyness, eyes squinted as his face breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Does it?” You tease playfully, leaning in a little at his touch.

His nose brushes against yours, and his lips hover just right above yours, as though he’s waiting for your permission. “Okay, maybe you can.” At that, he moves slowly and inches forward to steal your lips in kiss, the way he’s been wanting to for the past months. The kiss felt bashful, reserved, with his lips moving gently against yours.

Riki couldn’t have possibly imagined it’d be possible to kiss you, to the point that the kiss felt like an out of body experience. He was there, he felt himself kiss you, but it felt like he wasn't. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to have you in his arms.

When you pull back after a reasonable amount of time, he presses his forehead against yours, and you’re too shy to maintain eye contact that your head drops to his shoulder, and he hugs you with no hesitation. 

“I could do that again and again.” Riki mumbles to himself and you nudge him as if to tell him to stop because you’re blushing too much and you can’t believe that this is actually happening, that it’s real that Nishimura Riki likes you back. 

Riki’s eyes glint with happiness for the rest of the night, even when he walks you home. How can you easily bring the solace he seeked for in the field with just your presence?

“Goodnight!” He doesn’t let you go without pulling you in for another hug, chin resting atop of your head as he quietly whines. 

“What if I don’t wanna let you go yet?”

“We’ll see each other tomorrow.” You untangle yourself from him, afraid you wouldn’t be able to let go if it went on much longer. With a fond smile, you look up at him to send him one final wave. It doesn’t take much observation to spot the same admiration in his eyes. 

“Alright. Goodnight.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“One more kiss?”

“Goodnight, Riki.” 

“Sooo… it’s a no for one more kiss?” 

[zenkindoflove]

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: Reveal and Q&A

Before reading this post, make sure you go and read the final update to Dear Lucien, Dear Elain. Under the cut will not only be the reveal of who wrote who, but also a Q&A inspired by some of your questions of the writing process that myself and @crazy-ache took while writing this collaborative fic.

In our poll, you all were evenly split, 50-50, on who you thought wrote Elain and Lucien. Which really tickled us.

Now, to reveal (which maybe you already know if you read the fic lol)....

art by @works-of-heart (thank you so much for putting this together last minute!!!)

So, are you surprised? Validated on your hunch?

We also asked you all what some of your questions were related to our writing process since this was both a collaborative fic and a very unique style (epistolary). It was definitely experimental for us. But we had so much fun writing it. It was really us stretching some of our creative, writing chops. And the epistolary style really was a great medium for writing a collaborative fic together.

Q&A with crazy-ache and zenkindoflove

How did you choose which character to write.

Crazy-ache: I chose to write for Lucien because I felt most comfortable in his head! I had dived deep into his psyche and motivations in a few of my recent works. I also had this vision in my head that Lucien is a very poetic, romantic writer given his rakish and silvertongue ways. My roots in writing are in poetry and I tend to be a flowery, verbose writer, so I felt like I could naturally tap into Lucien’s style. I believe I asked to be Lucien first and had a good inkling that Zenkindoflove had the stronger grasp on Elain’s character. She went above and beyond in giving Elain’s character and development the justice it deserves. 

Zenkindoflove: I was very relieved when Crazy-ache declared she wanted to write for Lucien because as soon as we came up with this idea, I knew I wanted to write Elain's letters. I think she provided the level of poetry and devotion that was necessary to convey in Lucien's letters. For me, I have always been an introspective writer. I like to be inside character's heads and have them actively work through their feelings. And for Elain, this exercise felt like it was an exploration into her working through her feelings for Lucien. Where I think Lucien has always been clear on his feelings for Elain. Or at least he's been sitting with them longer than Elain. I also relate a lot to Elain (and probably project a lot too though I argue that especially in her case where we haven't gotten her POV, authentic writing requires it a bit). I've always felt more comfortable in my other fics writing from Elain's POV.

General process/approach to writing

Zenkindoflove: We decided that the easiest way to write the fic would be to pick a character, stick to that character, and take a ‘yes and…’ approach to writing much like in improv or role playing. We very much treated it like we were the characters and writing each other letters. I would get so giddy when I saw I had mail because it felt like Lucien was actually writing me 😂. After we wrote the first two letters, we came up with a general plot that we wanted to follow once we knew the set up was working. We didn't know how many letters that would entail but we knew that we wanted to try to stay as canon compliant as possible and end on Nessian's mating ceremony where that would be the first time they would talk in person. For topics that were discussed, that was almost entirely unprompted and generally came from us answering each other's letters as the characters. So the emotional development was fairly organic throughout the whole process.

Crazy-ache: Something I want our readers to know is how organic this entire process was for us. What you read from each character is also mostly what we read as well. So we experience the same feelings of giddiness, sadness, disappointment, etc as you did. We just happened to have an idea of where the story was going, but not the words that would take us there on the journey. We truly got inside our respective character’s heads and created this story for you. It’s been one of the most fun, passionate writing exercises I’ve ever participated in, and I hope that rings true in your reading. 

Curious to know if either of you had veto power for when the other wrote something you didn’t like, or how you handled any differing opinions (if you even had any) on what the characters might say. 

Zenkindoflove: For the most part we didn't have many disagreements. A lot of our conversations consisted of us brainstorming or working through the logic of certain situations. The hardest situation to work through was what we did for Starfall. We knew we wanted to have this angsty moment where Elain stands up Lucien because of a vision, but we were working through the logic of how she could accomplish this without Lucien feeling her panic through the bond and coming to find her. That consisted of a lot of back and forths and crazy-ache wanted to make the situation even angstier by having Azriel actually be involved (only flying her away) and it contributing to Lucien's feelings of paranoia that there was someone else! That was the one time I said absolutely not because I didn't want us to go too hard because it was already a gut punch. Also I had to write the letter explaining everything! 😂

Crazy-ache: Yes Zenkindoflove had veto power for that situation and the next day I was like what was I thinking 😂 But it truly was a collaborative experience where we built off each other’s ideas. When it came to the letters, we had no idea what the other would write (other than an overarching plot we had initially agreed upon), but we respected each other’s creative decisions and just went with it! 

I wonder if either of you had a line that the other’s assigned character just had to say. Did you talk about this prior?

Zenkindoflove: Mostly this did not happen except for setting up some plot stuff. Like, hey did you get your Starfall invitation? That kind of stuff. We sometimes gave each other a few edits after reading. Such as if there was something that felt not properly addressed (cause let's be real, these letters got long at a certain point) that we knew would be good for setting up the next letter. Oh, in the beginning, we did have a really hard time thinking of the questions they would ask each other and we often referenced those lists on the internet of like 100 questions to ask on a first date. Those kinds of things hahaha.

Crazy-ache: Agreed, there was nothing we requested or assigned the other character to say in their letter. Everything we wrote was 100% true reaction to what the other person put in the letter. But like Zenkindoflove said, we would give each other small bits of feedback. Like hey, I think it’s little early to bring that up. Or, I think we need more on X. In fact, the line a lot of people seem to really like from Lucien wouldn’t exist if it hadn’t been for Zenkindoflove pushing me for more on one letter. I remember being like ugh you’re right you’re right….and I sat back down and worked on it some more. And I’m so glad she did because that’s when I came up with this line and paragraph: 

"Perhaps the Mother knew we would not be ready when our paths first crossed—our hearts, our minds, our circumstances—and so she gave us this immediate, unbreakable connection to ensure we never lost each other along the way." 

Zenkindoflove: Specifically I remember Crazy-ache holding me back from Elain bringing up the bond too soon which was 100% correct and I was getting too eager. And I pushed her in the end for Lucien to say “love" more since Elain had been using it after her breakdown. Which I think shows a lot of balance in how we approached emotional development.

Favorite letter you wrote?

Zenkindoflove: My favorite was definitely the last letter. It was challenging because I essentially had to write it as Elain telling Lucien events he already knew because he experienced them too. I wanted people reading to get the information they needed to know to visualize how the night went but make it feel like an authentic letter Elain would write. I also got to lean fully into Elain being as romantic as possible about her feelings for Lucien.

Crazy-ache: I am going to cheat and say 2 letters. The majority of my letters were written in one sitting, really emulating what it would be like for Lucien to sit down and read Elain’s letter and then just write his reaction immediately. But the two letters I sat on for a while….1) THE Starfall letter where we learned Elain stood him up and 2) the letter where he responds to her explanation for why. The starfall letter I was just so excited to write because I knew it would catch everyone in surprise. And the response was also exciting because I really, really enjoyed exploring what the bond meant to Lucien. 

Most challenging letter you wrote?

Zenkindoflove: It was definitely the letter after Elain stood Lucien up and she responded to his very angry curt letter. Crazy-ache sent me his letter and I was immediately overwhelmed even though I knew it was coming. I literally could not stand not answering his letter immediately. I just was so upset haha. And then as I wrote Elain’s letter, I had a complete meltdown in messages to Crazy-ache where I cursed SJM for the SF bonus chapter and making me have to explain the almost kiss. I think I said to her, “I feel like I cheated on Lucien but i didn’t!!!!!” Like, I was a mess you guys. Which is probably why it ended up the way it did - this stream of consciousness. I was imagining Elain just utterly broken, crying at her desk, writing the letter frantically, desperate for Lucien and hoping he would still write to her. With her sad little corsage on her wrist. 

Crazy-ache: The hardest one for me was Chapter 6 after Elain reveals Lucien had misunderstood her discomfort to the bond and she sorta calls him out on that. I really tried to get into his head the best I could for these letters--and I imagine hearing Elain say she always had desired him even when it was confusing and complicated would be overwhelming to read. Like the world just shifted for him because that wasn’t what he imagined…and after you have accepted a certain amount of love and affection, it can be even harder to accept more when it is presented to you. I was balancing all these things when writing his response and that would took me the longest to put together. 

Favorite line the other person wrote? 

Zenkindoflove: Crazy-ache is SO poetic in her writing. Especially as Lucien. Choosing one is incredibly hard. I will choose a few but know that I don’t even know if these are really my favorite favorite because so many of her lines were just BEAUTIFUL. 

“I take all matters and concerns regarding your trip very seriously. I will gladly accompany you across the courts, where you can trust I will be unhurried, diligent, and thorough in the pursuit of your greatest pleasures. I simply could not live knowing you were in the slightest disappointed, and will not rest until I know you are quite satisfied.” - the innuendo!!!

“I have done my best to be loyal, dutiful, and honorable. Only to turn around and discover my actions have only proceeded to write me as a villain in their narratives for those very attempts at doing what is right. There are reminders of my arrogance and recklessness every time I look in the mirror. I have certainly paid the price. You deserve to know these facets of me as well, most especially the bitter, pathetic parts of me.” - such a good summary of Lucien’s character and how he sees himself

“To put it bluntly, yes, your mere existence hurt me. Because my soul aches for you in ways I had never known it could hurt. What was painful and difficult was just how badly I wanted to know you beyond all reason and that terrified me. You, my lady, still terrify me.” - PAIN

“Please, I beg of you, to not mourn any fate of mine. I have survived worse possibilities thus far, and that was before you were mine. Before you were my reason to survive, to fight, to live and breathe. There is nothing that can keep me from you.” - THE ROMANCE

“Elain, if the bond is the sun, then you are the warmth of its light.”

“Fire may live inside my veins, but it is your actions and words that have sparked a flame to rival the sun, where I burn and burn and burn for all of you.” 

“Perhaps the Mother knew we would not be ready when our paths first crossed—our hearts, our minds, our circumstances—and so she gave us this immediate, unbreakable connection to ensure we never lost each other along the way. When I told you I wanted an anchor, someone to ground me, the truth is I wanted it to be you.”

All of these - I cry!

Crazy-ache’s favorites: 

“I suppose, I will have to trust in your wealth of experience and your steady hand to guide me through these desires. I would welcome a long, thorough exploration, as my previous travels ended too soon for my liking. So, I think it would please me to spend sufficient time, discovering new sights and experiences, and some clever bouts of spontaneity, to the point that I am tired and sated.” - NOT APPRECIATED ENOUGH 

“You call yourself disfigured, as if your scar could take away from the handsome features of your face or the ethereal quality of your essence. If anything, your scar is a story of a life of loss and daring, adding to the mystery and allure of your draw. I wanted to know immediately who marked you so I could cut out their eye as well. Because when I looked at your face for the first time, I knew you were mine.” - PLEASEE i will never forget elain wanting to cut a bitch

“And the truth, Lucien, is that you have always eclipsed every desire I've had. Since we met, every second that I am awake, and even hours that I am asleep, are touched by you.”

“I refuse to waste another moment that I have not knowing you. Not just knowing you through your words but knowing the way you smile when you tell a joke or the way your arms feel wrapped around me. I want to live in the moment and see what promise this little passenger in my chest has assured me.”

“So Lucien, to put it plainly, I both wanted your distance and I wanted you near.”

“I think we must be forever changed. It’s not only that the distance is gone, but we are different. I think there is no avoiding it, when soulmates finally find each other through the darkness.” - THIS IS MY FAVORITE AHHHHH

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Sanchez & Scoresby Chapter One: Pilot

Fandom: His Dark Materials Wordcount: 5.3k Warnings: Canon-typical violence, drunkenness

A hot-air balloon is on its way North, to Trollesund. Far below them, on the sea, a Gyptian boat sails in the same direction. On the boat is a girl who will change the world and in the sky are two adults who will guide her to her destiny. Their paths haven’t crossed yet, but they soon will, and once they have they’ll never diverge.

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Lee Scoresby is sailing through the sky, singing as he clambers over the edge of his balloon’s basket, Trade my home for the road again. Kit Sanchez reaches out to him, their hands locking around each other’s elbows as she hauls him back on board. Singing my songs with an old best friend. Lee continues to sing, clapping a hand on Kit’s shoulder. She shakes her head, but she joins in with the next line anyway, Running around with a child’s mind. Her voice is higher than his, clearer, though more liable to fall out of tune. On either side of the little control panel Lee and Kit turn towards, a hare and a lynx rest their front paws on the edge of the basket. Hester and Eli, their daemons. A man gets lucky just a couple of times.

“Sing it, Hester, Eli.” Lee says, breaking the song for a moment.

“I ain’t singin’.” Eli mutters even as the other three break into a well-practiced harmony.  Lee picks up a tin mug to drink from, but Kit takes it from him almost before he’s finished drinking.

“That’s my tea, Scoresby.”

“And who made it for you?”

“You really think it’s gonna be Iorek?” Kit asks, lifting the cup to her mouth.

“Real subtle, Sanchez.”

“Thanks for the tea. I just dunno, Lee. It just…”

“It doesn’t sound like the Iorek we knew.” Hester agrees with Kit.

“Look, from what I hear a seal-hunter got him drunk and tricked him out of his armour.” Lee assures them.

“That’ll have been a real boost to his ego.” Eli snarks, and Kit shoots him a look. “What?” Eli asks, acting the innocent. Kit shakes her head at him, passes the tea to Lee and leans over the edge of the balloon. They’ve just passed over another cloud, and Kit can see the sea now. It’s calm and clear, and Kit can see a ship heading in the same direction as the balloon, towards Trollesund.

“He’s gotta point.” Hester admits, “Lee, are you sure Iorek will want us making trouble?”

“That bear saved our lives, Hester. We owe him trouble.” Lee tells her. Kit leans further forward before reaching up to the bar above her head, hoisting herself up so she stands on the edge of the basket. She closes her eyes against the wind.

“What’s the plan, Lee? We march into the first bar we find and demand information?” She asks.

“That’s as good a plan as any.”

***

Lee marches into the first bar he finds, and all the chatter stops. The barkeep stops pouring the drink he’d been preparing.

“Say what you like about the North, wherever you go is guaranteed to be a bar full of men who should be at home but aren’t.” Lee announces. This does nothing to warm up the atmosphere. Lee moves forward, proposing different card games and then, “Will you join me in a glass of hot rum? My round.” he offers, and the door swings open again. A woman walks into the bar, wearing a hat and coat similar to Lee’s and with a lynx softly padding along beside her.

“I’ll join you.” Kit tells him, and the temperature in the room drops again. It seems their reputation has preceded them. They’d expected that, considering the thin-face young man who had sought them out after they’d landed, but this not-so-warm welcome isn’t something they’ve really experienced before and it looks like they’ll be playing to a tough crowd.

“Miss Sanchez, how lovely of you to join me. I’m just looking for some conversation, see?”

“I see, Mr Scoresby, I do see. I’m looking for someone.” 

“Are you now? Well, maybe I can help you.”

“I’m looking for a bear, Mr Scoresby.” She feels the energy in the room change, the flip from disinterested avoidance to aggression. Eli senses the change too, tensing, tail flicking agitatedly from side to side.

“Ain’t that funny, Hester, we’re after a bear too.” Lee says. He’s facing the crowd and Kit’s looking at the barkeep, picking up the drink he’d been pouring and downing it.  “He’s kinda royal looking,” Lee goes on, “fancy armour. Well, no armour anymore...I know, strange for these parts.” Lee looks to Kit, “You know what a bear looks like, don’t you, Miss Sanchez?”

“Sure I do. Thick white coat, big teeth, wiggly nose.” Kit turns to face the men. “And now one of you nice boys is gonna tell us where we can find Iorek Byrnison and which son-of-a-bitch tricked him into givin’ away his armour.” Kit’s the one who curses, who’s trying to initiate the fight, but it’s Lee that gets the first hit, Lee that gets socked in the nose, slammed into the bar and then into a column in the middle of the room.

“Kit! Kit, help him!”

“Aw, Hester, do I have to?”

“Kit.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Kit slams her glass back down onto the bar, yells something and dives in. She grabs the collar of the man pushing Lee into the column and drags him back. Not expecting the sharp tug, the man stumbles back into the bar. Kit uses the momentum of her turn back towards Lee to sink her fist into the gut of the next man who goes after him. Kit hears a loud snarl from her daemon.

“Bottle!” Eli shouts to her, and her arm goes up in time to protect her head from the blow. If the men had gone for Lee first because they didn’t want to hit a woman, that hesitancy is gone.

“Hell’s teeth, Lee, gonna give me a hand?” Kit asks, sidestepping out of the way of a charging man. He does wade in then, or at least he tries with Hester coaching him. Unfortunately, Lee isn’t particularly adept at fighting and is soon forcibly thrown from the building. “How about you let me leave without the manhandling?” Kit asks. She is declined this request and lands next to Lee on the ground.

“Well, that showed them.” Hester says dryly.

“I’d like to think I made my point.” Lee says, rolling onto his side to reach into his pocket as Kit stands, brushing herself off and inspecting her knuckles. 

“And what point was that?”

“Three watches and a wallet.” Lee says, pulling his prizes from his pocket. Kit reaches into the pocket of her own greatcoat.

“I raise you two wallets,  two rings and a bottle of whiskey.” She tells him, grateful that only the neck of the bottle has a small crack. Lee looks up at her, incredulous. “I fought more guys than you.” Kit shrugs, “Gotta get better at throwin’ punches, Scoresby.”

“Why, when I got you around?” Lee cracks a smile. Kit crouches in front of him, and again they lock hands as she helps him to his feet.

“Come on, you sop, let’s find Iorek before you get a black eye.”

“HAS ANYONE SEEN A BEAR?” Lee yells the moment he’s recovered enough.

“And there’s the black eye.” Eli sighs, as he and his human share a look and she folds her arms. Several yards away, a young girl tugs on the sleeve of the older man she’s walking with, her father, Kit thinks. The girl points towards where she and Lee are standing and says something. The older man nods and the two of them change course for the bar. 

“What do you want with a bear?” the girl asks, then, “You’re bleeding.”

“Hazard of the job.” Lee tells her. Eli sidles closer to the girl’s daemon, which fluidly grows to become some kind of wildcat that’s a similar size to Eli. He hasn’t settled yet.

“And what job’s that?”

“We’re in aeronautics.” Lee explains.

“What part of being an aeronaut-” she starts.

“Let me give you a tip, kid, never upset a seagull.” Lee and Kit jump down from the raised decking of the bar together, though it clearly pains Lee.

“You’re not serious.”

“Not if he can help it.” Kit tells the girl. Her daemon has shifted again, back into the Arctic Fox form he had held before.

“Will he want to see you, this bear?” The girl asks. The older man, who Kit will later find out is not her father, is letting her take complete control of this exchange.

“I hope so.” Lee mutters. Kit’s eyes narrow a little.

“You know where he is, don’t you?” She asks, leaning forward a little. “Look, kiddo, we’re here to help Iorek, he shouldn’t be here.”

“How do you know him?” The girl asks.

“Well, she’s a sprung box, isn’t she, she just keeps asking questions.” Lee says, rather sharply, addressing the man she’s with. 

“Lee.” Hester and Kit say it together, a warning that he ignores,

“Lee Scoresby. Can you tell me where to find him?” he asks, shaking hands with the man who admits,

“I’m just following her lead.” The girl looks rather smug at that.

“I’m Kit. Will you tell us where he is?”

“What’s keeping him trapped here?”

“Kid, we’ll tell you that when you tell us what you know.” Lee tells her. The girl seems to think about this for a moment, but then she pulls a face.

“Another time.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” Lee calls after her as she walks away.

“Because we need him, and I’m not sure that you won’t take him from us.” 

“Good going, Lee.” Eli grumbles, “Now we gotta trawl through all of Trollesund.”

“We were gonna do that anyway.” Kit says, still watching the girl as she walks away, “But it ain’t all bad.” She uncorks the bottle of whiskey and passes it to Lee. “Let’s get going, Scoresby.”

***

The second stolen bottle is empty by the time they find the right alley, catch a glimpse of white fur disappearing around the corner.

“IOREK BYRNISON!”  The name rips out of both Lee and Kit at once. 

“Iorek, the fuck are you doing down here?” Kit’s words, though she won’t admit it, are a little slurred. She can’t even feel the pain of the cut she’d gotten from that bottle earlier that day.

“It’s, uh, it’s been some time.” Lee says. His words are clearer, stronger than Kit’s.

“It hasn’t been some time, it’s been three years.” Iorek’s voice rumbles from the depths of the alley.

“Fuck me.” Kit mumbles. Lee hardly reacts except to frown a little. 

“Three years, long as all that?” Lee asks.

“It has not been a good three years.” Iorek informs him.

“We want to help, Iorek, Kit and I. Can we help? We owe you.” Lee tells him. Iorek steps forward out of the darkness.

“And how can you help me?”

“Getcha armour back.” Kit offers.

“She’s right, Iorek. Some look good naked, you do not.” Lee tells him. Kit giggles at the remark and Eli plonks himself rather ungracefully onto the ground. “Who has your armour?”

“I am drunk, Lee.” Iorek admits, “And not behaving as a bear should, and I’d rather you leave.”

“And what if I don’t want to go!” The question is shouted rather than asked, “You know, when I see an old friend, I’m inclined to tell him where I’ve been, the adventures I’ve had.” As Lee speaks, Iorek steps fully into the light.

“Iorek! Lee, it’s Iorek!” Kit exclaims excitedly, grabbing onto Lee’s arm.

“I know, Kit, I know.”

“I have done things I’d rather not talk about.” Iorek says, ignoring the drunken Kit.

“I’ve done some things I’m not too keen on people knowing either.” Lee tells him.

“We stole some stuff today.” Kit blurts.

“That we did.” Lee agrees, softening, “Tell me what you’ve done. We wouldn’t judge you, couldn’t judge you.”

“And what if I desire to be judged?” Iorek asks. Just as he turns away, Kit reaches out as if to place her hand on his muzzle.

“Iorek, no…” Sadness fills her voice, and then sudden anger, “We came all this way for you, Iorek!”

“Then leave, Kit. Take your balloon and fly away, Lee. For I neither asked you to come nor do I want you to stay.” Iorek says, the white of his fur already fading into the darkness he’s retreating back into.

“Iorek! Iorek Byrnison!” Kit calls after him again. Lee stands still for a moment, and he knows what Hester would say. Don’t let him go. But he turns, his arm falling into a familiar place around Kit as he guides her out of the alley.

“C’mon, Kit. It’s time to sleep.”

“But Iorek…”

“I don’t think he’s comin’ with us.”

***

Lee wakes up with a thumping headache, which only gets worse when he sits up and finds the sun slicing into his eye. His hand goes to his head as he takes stock of his surroundings. The room he and Kit had paid for in the bar they’d fought in. It’s a small room, the bed Lee’s sitting on taking up most of the space. He can see the little nest of clothes and scavenged blankets Kit had made for herself on the floor. Kit herself is sitting on the only chair in the room, her elbow propped on the windowsill and a half-empty bottle next to it. She’s taken off her long-sleeved overshirt to get at where she’d been cut yesterday, and Lee can see the odd markings on her back, but he doesn’t mention them. He never has. A needle glints in the light.

“Bloody hell, Kit, can’t you close the curtains?”

“What, you want me to stitch my arm in the dark?” Kit asks from where she sits on the only chair in the room. She doesn’t look at him, concentrating on her second stitch. Eli’s slowly scratching the carpet from the pain that his human shows no indication of. “You got some wicked bruises on your back, Lee, but it isn’t too bad. Washroom’s down the hall if you want it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Lee says, even as Hester’s nose wrinkles. Kit has washed, the ends of her hair are still damp, which also explains her alertness and clearness of mind compared to Lee’s.

“Well get out of the bed, Scoresby. We gotta get Iorek’s armour back.” Kit’s on her fourth stitch now. She pulls it too tight and Eli hisses.

“I can do that for you, Kit.”

“It’s fine.” Kit tells him, her voice sharper than she’d intended, her lips pressed together into a thin, straight line as she concentrates.

“Alright, alright.” Lee stands up then, wanders towards where Kit is sitting to look for his boots.

“Where’re we gonna go to look for the armour?” Hester asks.

“That guy we met yesterday, got all touchy when we mentioned Iorek. Might be some kind of authority around here.”

“Oh, he’ll be pleased to see us alright, after we started a fight and robbed half the people blind.”

“We did not rob the people blind. We just took the valuables and drink they no longer needed.”

“Another important question, will the balloon take Iorek?” Eli asks through gritted teeth.

“Let’s hope so, Kit, are you sure you don’t want me to-” Lee gets cut off by an angry noise from Eli. “Alright, I get it. You don’t gotta snap at me, Sanchez.” Kit tips her head into her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go see if they’ll rustle up breakfast, huh?” Lee leaves the room without his boots. 

***

It’s cold in Trollesund, much colder than any of them are used to being on the ground. The cold helps wake Lee up, and Kit reaches up to push her hat further down to better cover her ears. Eli winds in between her legs as she stands waiting outside of Sysselman’s office, and Lee stamps his feet as if he’s the hare rather than Hester. They’re there for ten minutes before Sysselman actually arrives, and he offers them tea as he escorts them inside. It isn’t any warmer inside than it was out.

“It’s not often we get customers waiting for us.” He admits as he hands out small tin cups.

“You haven’t got that lucky, Mr Sysselman. We’re not handing ourselves in.” Lee tells him.

“Is that right?” Mr Sysselman asks, the question accompanied by an odd half-laugh as he sits at his desk. Kit leans against the wall, leaving Lee to stand opposite Sysselman. “How can I help?”

“I’m representing the bear.” Lee answers. 

“The bear’s case is closed.”

“Correction, he’s representing himself via the bear.” Kit corrects, lifting her little cup to her lips.

“And who is representing you, Miss Sanchez?”

“Representing me for what? I haven’t committed any crimes that I’d need representation for.”

“What we’re getting at is that you confiscated my property, not the bear’s.” Lee steers the conversation away from Kit, who reaches down to scratch her daemon’s head.

“Yes, I doubt that, Mr Scoresby.” Mr Sysselman says, clearly feeling he still has control of this exchange.

“This is why I’ve been seeking him.” Lee reaches into a pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper, “Now, this is a bill of sale stating that I, not Iorek Byrnison, own his armour.” Sysselman’s little lizard daemon crawls forward to poke her tongue at the bill. “He lost it to me in a game of cards, you see.”

“That we should have won.” Eli mumbles.

“He needed a win that day.” Kit reminds him before draining her cup.

“I’ve come back to reclaim it.” Lee continues, speaking over his friend and her daemon. After a moment, Sysselman stands and turns to his filing cabinet.

“The bear’s armour belongs to the Magesterium.”

“Well, I don’t remember the Magesterium buyin’ it off us, d’you, Lee?” Kit asks from her corner.

“No, I do not.” Lee says. He’s standing very still now. Hester’s ears twitch.

“He’s paying off a blood debt.” Sysselman informs them, putting the papers he’d retrieved from his filing cabinet down on his desk for Lee to see. 

“Well, yes, this document is correct, as far as the Crime and Debt Act, chapter three, paragraph four-point-five is concerned….” Lee goes on with the kind of babble Kit has only ever heard in court and always tunes out, and she can see Sysselman getting more and more uncomfortable until,

“Please do not doubt my intelligence, Mr Scoresby-”

“We ain’t doubting your intelligence, Sysselman. We wanna know how much the Magesterium paid you to fabricate this.” Kit says, pushing herself off the wall and stepping forward to stand next to Lee. “And how much it would cost to rewrite it.”

“Now, you be careful of what you accuse me of, Miss Sanchez.” Sysselman tells her, pointing a single finger at her. Kit just shoves her hands into her pockets, the outline of her pistol becoming visible as she does so.

“If money doesn’t work for you, we can always try somethin’ else.” She says, her tone surprisingly light, “Break the leash the Magesterium has you on.”

“Whatever you’re accusing me of-”

“Now, the North,” Lee cuts in, “as I understand it, has always been a place for people who didn’t fit in or didn’t want to. The Magesterium has been trying to gain power out here for over a generation. No one ever actually let them in. Until, perhaps, now.” As Lee speaks his last sentence, Sysselman pulls open a drawer in his desk and pulls out a gun. Kit’s eyebrow quirks upwards as she pulls her own pistol out of her pocket.

“Look, Mr Sysselman, we don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want to help our friend who has been trapped, much like yourself, in the Magesterium’s web.”

“I am not-” Kit clicks the safety off her gun and Sysselman clams up.

“How long did you think you’d be able to keep him cooped up? Iorek Byrnison is a bear, the truest Panserbjørn I have ever known.”

“As the lady says. Iorek is no slave and he has no debt to pay.” Is all Lee says before retrieving his bill of sale and leading Kit out of the office. “Fancy some lunch before we wreck the town, Miss Sanchez?”

“I believe there are bacon sandwiches with our names on them.”

***

“Remind me why you chose to sleep here, Kit?” Hester asks as the aeronautical partners make their way from their room downstairs to where lunch should be waiting for them.

“It’s the best bed we’re gonna find in Trollesund.”

“And bacon.” Lee adds.

“And bacon.” Kits repeats, correcting herself, “And clean toilets, that’s a real plus.”

“It worries me that bacon is more important to you two than survival.” Hester says, in a rather defeated tone.

“How would we survive without bacon?” Eli asks, padding down the stairs ahead of the humans.

“You are aware that everyone is looking at us?” Hester asks, “It’s time to leave.”

“Well, we’re not leaving without Iorek.” Lee tells her.

“Or without lunch.” Eli adds. Lee and Kit sit at a table just as two girls, two almost-identical girls at that, place plates and mugs on the table. Quick thank-yous are said as Hester jumps up onto a spare chair and Eli settles under the table. 

“They know you stole from them, Lee.” Hester tells him.

“We know they know. They’re not doing anything about it, are they?” Kit points out, picking up her knife and fork. She’s wearing the rings she’d nicked yesterday.

“Every minute we spend here longer than we should-” Hester starts, ignoring Kit.

“That bear saved our lives, Hester.” Lee reminds her, gesturing towards Kit with his fork. He’s clearly signalling that the conversation is over, but Hester goes on,

“And we came here to repay him, and he told us he didn’t need our help!” Eli’s ears perk up as the door bangs open.

“Issthe girl from yesterday.” Kit says around a mouthful of food. Before Lyra moves forward, she takes note of the aeronauts’ appearances. They’re similar in colouring, though the woman’s skin is darker. It’s far warmer in the bar than it is outside, so they’ve taken off their huge coats. He’s still wearing a leather jacket, and she has some kind of bandana around her neck. With an odd, quick rush of something not unlike fear or disgust, the girl realises that the woman is missing a finger. No, one whole finger and half of another.

“Who didn’t need your help?” The girl asks, striding towards their table and taking the last empty chair.

“You know, kid, much as I like you, now’s not the time.” Lee tells her.

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Eli asks the question for Kit, as her mouth is still full.

“My name is Lyra Belacqua. I represent John Faa, ruler of the Western Gyptians, and we would like to hire you.”

“Do you now? Could you afford us?” Lee asks.

“The Magesterium is stealing children. We have to get them back, and it occurred to us that the help of an aeronaut might be of some use. We’d be grateful of your services.” The girl leans forward and swipes a rasher of bacon off Lee’s plate, “We’d pay in gold.”

“We know what you’re fighting, kid, and we know you’re gonna lose.” Lee tells her.

“D’you play cards?” She asks, and Lee laughs.

“What do you know about cards?”

“I used to play them with the scholars I lived with. They are much cleverer than me, but I generally won.”

“Scholars, huh? They don’t know how to play cards, believe me.” Kit huffs, scooping beans into her mouth.

“I learned that sometimes a bad hand can be your greatest weapon.”

“You callin’ us the Gyptians bad hand?”

“Sometimes when there is no hope, it can allow you to bluff magnificently.” She takes another rasher from Kit’s plate and bites into it as if to punctuate her statement.

“Remind me never to play cards with you.” Lee says dryly.

“As if you’re any good at cards.” Kit counters.

“We need you. And the bear.”

“You need the bear and you think you can get him through us.” Kit corrects.

“How do we get him to come with us?” The girl asks, and this makes Kit smile.

“You’ve already tried, haven’t you? Iorek ain’t gonna go anywhere with you and the Gyptians, kiddo. Iorek ain’t goin’ anywhere at all.”

“He’s an armoured bear.” Lyra points out. They’re looking at her expectantly, both sipping tea at the same moment as they wait for her to put the pieces together, “What could they-” she cuts herself off and voices her realisation, “They got his armour.”

“Hey, you got there without needing my help.” Lee says, sounding rather happy.

“Why’s his armour so important?” Lyra asks, biting into the second piece of bacon from Lee’s plate.

“War is the sea he swims in and the air he breathes. No….without his armour…his armour means as much to him as Hester here does to me.” Lee tries to explain, his smile to Hester half an apology and half his explanation.

“His armour’s like his daemon?” Lyra asks, clearly confused.

“His soul is in those pieces of metal. But the Magesterium will have it well hidden.” Lee looks over his shoulder, to the Magesterium soldier sitting not too far away. As he goes on, both Kit and Lyra reach out at the same time for the last two rashers of bacon on Lee’s plate, stuffing them in their mouths in near-perfect synchronicity. “Now, I’ve been thinking that maybe Kit and I are outgunned in this town, but we’ve got some craft of our own, you understand. No, if I can’t win Iorek his freedom then-” He turns his head again to find Lyra gone, “Where did she go?”

“Left.” Kit shrugs, swallowing the last of her stolen bacon and picking up her own fork again.

“She’s quick.” Lee admits, “And she stole my bacon.” 

“Yeah, well, when you start waxing poetic-like over a Panserbjørn…” Kit lets her sentence trail off, earning a hard look from Lee. “I like her.”

“Do you now?”

“She’s damn determined.” Kit points out, not taking her eyes off her friend as she starts to smile, “Reminds me of someone.” She can tell Lee’s somewhere between rolling his eyes and smiling with her. “She was talkin’ bout the Gobblers, Lee. No one know what’s happenin’ to those kids. The Gyptian’s kids, they’ve been taken. They need help to get them back.”

“Kit, we’re here to get Iorek-”

“And why are we getting Iorek, Scoresby? Why’d it take you three years to decide to come find him?” Sadness softens Kit’s features. “Kids, Lee. Like her. Like us. Authority knows we needed help. They need help and we can give it to ‘em!”

“Kit…”

“Lee.”

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“You do.” Kit agrees. There’s a moment where they stare at each other, almost having an argument without words. Lee’s the first one to blink. He looks to Hester and stands.

“Alright. Where d’you reckon the Magesterium’d hide a bear’s armour?” he asks her.

“A church?”

“Here we go again, trawling through Trollesund.” Eli sighs.

“There’s an oratory not far away.” Kit recalls as they make their way back up the stairs, “We’ll check there first.” Several minutes later, they leave the bar, yet again followed by stares of hatred. As they open the door, screams hit them.

“Aw shit, Lee.” Kit starts.

“She’s gone an’ riled up Iorek.” Lee finishes, just as an echoing roar comes from the direction of the oratory.

It doesn’t take them long to get there, but Iorek has found his armour. How the hell the girl had found it before them, they had no idea. Iorek has also already disposed of several Magesterial soldiers. Some small parts of Lee and Kit take pride in seeing Sysselman being squashed underfoot by the bear. They’re just within earshot of Lyra trying to talk the ice-bear down,

“You owe me a debt, now you can repay it. Do as I ask, don’t fight these men!”

“You owe her a debt too? Damn, Iorek, you’re racking up debts faster than Kit.” Lee calls out.

“Faster’n you, I think you mean.” Kit elbows him, “Mr Sysselman, you look to be in a bit of a pinch.”

“Havin’ fun? I hope so.” Lee asks, and near-identical smug smiles spread across his and Kit’s faces.

“Just turn around, walk away with me.” Lyra says to Iorek, holding a hand out to him.

“She’s makin’ sense, Iorek, you know it.” Kit tells him.

“Her people need our help. Let’s go give it.” Lee adds, “This isn’t who you are.” There’s a beat of silence before Iorek roars, but he does roar, and Lee and Kit know what the sound means. It means Iorek Byrnison is on their side. It makes them smile, and Lyra smiles in return. Lyra moves away first, and Lee follows directly. Kit waits for Iorek to release Sysselman. He regards her for a moment, and she reaches out, tentatively, to rest her hand on his head. A moment later, her forehead meets the crown of Iorek’s armour. 

“I accept your apology, Kit Sanchez.”

“Thank you, Iorek Byrnison.”

“You coming or not?” Lee yells from the other side of the little bridge.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kit waves a hand at him, nodding her head towards Iorek before making her way across the bridge and towards the docks. It doesn’t take long, but Lee and Kit hang back, giving the Gyptians a moment to get used to Iorek before announcing their arrival. 

“He’s been mistreated and tricked. Just like the Gyptians have been! Always mistreated and tricked. He’s practically Gyptian. Just like I am.” Lyra explains.

“Lyra. You cannot constantly be disobeying me.” The man who seems to be the Gyptian leader, must be the John Faa Lyra had mentioned earlier, clearly isn’t pleased with her. Lee decides this is when he and Kit should cut in.

“I agree. Who wants a disobedient kid? But she’s right.”

“You’ve changed your tune.” Eli remarks.

“He’s a good bear. You won’t have any trouble, as long as you pay him. And us.”

“And who’s this?” John Faa asks. This takes Kit and Lee aback. He blinks and looks at Lyra. Kit can already hear Eli snickering.

“You told me he’d asked for me.” Lee says quietly, leaning closer to Lyra so as to be heard.

“Us.” Kit corrects.

“Yeah, what she said.”

“No, I told you he’d be grateful for you.” Lyra corrects Lee too, which he isn’t particularly pleased about.

“Yeah, I was working on him already being grateful, you’ve entirely messed up my sales pitch.” Lee hisses.

“What did I tell you about how I play cards?” Lyra asks. Kit, suppressing a laugh, holds out her hand.

“You must be John Faa. Kit Sanchez and Lee Scoresby. I fight, he flies.” Kit tells him, taking it upon herself to take over the ‘sales pitch.’ 

“We don’t come cheap and neither should we. You’ll get gold for gold.” Of course, of course Lee has to mention their expenses at this moment. Lyra reaches out and pushes Kit’s rejected hand down.

“They’re aeronauts. They have a balloon. They could be useful.” Lyra pleads. John Faa doesn’t look particularly happy, but he concedes.

“Well then. Welcome aboard, Kit Sanchez. Lee Scoresby. We have a long and dangerous journey ahead.”