#Until next week I’m a firm believer that he still has the chip

[hadeswearsprada]

The Bad Batch - Return to Kamino - 'They don’t leave their own behind, most of the time.'

[yeojaa]

come over, pt. i

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  this is pwp.  smut in the forms of:  kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex.  use of the pet name shy girl.  wc. 6.2k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life.  author note.  this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang​.  while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way.  tysm for reading!  (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that.  You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library.  He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room.  (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).  

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.  

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights.  You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.) 

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas.  It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed.  One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!"  You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks.  The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs.  You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands.  “Stop stealing all my chips.” 

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered.  (You know better though.  Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for. 

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips.  They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar.  (Note to self:  thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,”  you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows.  “I’m just—“  Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades.  “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout.  You aren’t actually.  The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter.  It’s just annoying.  You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls.  It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good.  People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail.  One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.) 

“Pay attention to the movie.”  The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time.  You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.  

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were.  Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin.  Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him.  The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite.  You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful.  You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.  

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery;  he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong.  Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,”  he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room.  Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.”  It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight.  Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level.  It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him.  "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest.  It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.  

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh.  Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt.  It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up.  A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention.  It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit. 

A part of you wants to run from the room.  Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck.  It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop.  (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook."  You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away.  Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out.  Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.  

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests.  (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most.  Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw.  A sigh escapes before you can help it.  "Shy girl,”  he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m not shy,”  you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you.  "We're watching a movie."  You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it. 

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips.  A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear. 

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be.  You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation.  Term paper due the next morning?  He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night.  Break something at a house party?  He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.”  He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's."  Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks.  So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh.  The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not.  They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt.  So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed.  “What’re you—“  The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people.  (Okay, not a lot, but enough.)  You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.  

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you.  There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck.  They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick.  Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day.  (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,”  he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky.  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending.  You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality.  You hope it doesn’t.  Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.  

“I’m not.”  

“Oh?”  There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach.  You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features.  “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he?  Of course he did.  Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though.  Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you.  Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet.  It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though. 

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair.  It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.  

“Oh my god,”  you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of  relief.  You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots.  “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in.  It’s his fault, after all.  

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed.  Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit.  You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth.  You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists.  Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this.  Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip.  There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands.  You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth.  A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels.  “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue.  You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.  

You want to be his pretty girl. 

"I want you.  I need more,"  you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth.  He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked. 

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips.  When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers.  They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease.  The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.  

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing.  (You swear you see stars;  you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving.  It feels so good to have him between your legs.  You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats.  Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself.  It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?”  You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.  

“Fuck.”  He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy.  He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves.  “You want a taste?  Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”  

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs.  You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.  

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else.  Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip.  It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy.  You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb. 

“Please.”  You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand.  You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing.  "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself.  It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.  

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs.  “Open up, ____,”  he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full.  “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind.  If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length.  A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives.  You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip.  Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away.  (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?"  You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie. 

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you.  The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion.  He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag.  Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand.  He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch.  It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more.  For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants.  As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.”  He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek.  You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up.  “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat.  It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now.  Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls.  When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks.  “Is it my turn yet?”  You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs.  Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.  

“Your turn?”  The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful.  It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed.  Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal.  “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,”  you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose.  Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did.  It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight.  He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared.  You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.”  Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air.  The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter.  Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me,"  you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks.  Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,”  Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck.  He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin.  You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit.  “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement;  or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees.  You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return.  You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need.  "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable.  Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.”  Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain.  You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes.  They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.  

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t.  It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?”  He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric.  Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.  

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.”  It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist.  You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core.  It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half. 

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help.  Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion.  “Oh my god,”  you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in.  “You’re so big.  I c-can’t—”  You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck.  A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder.  The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness.  “You feel so good, Kook.”  You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper.  “Please, move,”  you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you.  He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven.  When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out.  It sounds like that, anyway.  With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently;  you can practically feel him in your throat.  (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier.  You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake.  They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat. 

There’s slick all across your thighs.  You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in.  It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half.  "Harder, p-please."  Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes.  "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut.  Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits.  Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used.  You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking.  The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop.  A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?”  It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway.  (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward.  (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.)  "Like it so m-much.  Feels so good.”  You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him. 

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length.  You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years.  You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.  

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer:  every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much.  With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring.  "R-right there,"  you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?”  He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops.  They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.  

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.  

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care.  The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts.  He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered.  “Perfect,”  he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it.  You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more.  “So sensitive.  Such a shy girl.  Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon.  He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind.  It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves.  Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision.  Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over.  "So big.  It's too m-much.”  And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed. 

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap.  When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over. 

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit.  It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude.  It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses. 

"Kook—please—come for me.”  You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).  

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high.  You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop.  It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared.  “Are you okay?”  You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours.  He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,”  he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time.  “You’re welcome.”  It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for.  You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.  

“You too.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[sporticus1234]

Catch Me if You Can-Laws of Attraction (Part 1)

Summary: After weeks of flirting, teasing, and close calls, Tessa is ready to take the plunge, but can Gabe overcome his own worse fears and join her?

Pairing: Gabe Ricci x Main Character (Tessa Michaels)

Link to my Master-List and Other works will be added once they have been re-edited and re-uploaded.

Perma-Tags and LOA Tags: @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythadon @nishas-paradise  @blainehellyes @mm2305 @suitfer​ @thegreentwin @pixelnutrookie​ 

I hope you all enjoy it and see you soon for some...adventures...in part 2.

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Rather than clumsy words, it’s your action that I believe. Don’t stop. Go past the limit. Go faster. I’m going to find my heart. So catch me if you can.

-Girls Generation, Catch Me if You Can (Korean Ver.)

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The once glittering ballroom filled with stimulating conversation, flowing bubbles of champagne, and decadent hor-dourves was now deserted and quiet, signaling the end of the extravagant weekend legal conference. As the last person Tessa was speaking to excused herself for the evening, she looked around the empty space littered with discarded champagne flutes and linen napkins, her spirits deflating at the sight. The conference ended as quickly as it began, and come Monday morning, she would be back in the office, the competition still at the forefront of everyone’s minds.

It may have been a short weekend, but Tessa was grateful for the time away from the office. The past few weeks were filled with nothing else but case after case coming one after another and nonstop talk about the competition, particularly from Martin. But for a tiny period of time, all of that vanished out of sight and out of mind. She laughed and joked with her colleagues and bosses like they were all good friends. She camped and ate smores in a beautiful forest, and she finally got her first full night of sleep since she started working at McGraw Byrne. She truly felt like she had been transported to a completely different world, one she found hesitant to leave behind for an entire year.

Stifling the yawn sneaking up on her, she left the ballroom behind, her spirits still thrumming with excitement from the evening, but her body yearning for a soak in a hot bath and some sleep in the oversized hotel bed. She was halfway across the empty lobby, gilded elevator doors in sight, when her feet came to a stop outside of the hotel’s bar. She didn’t even have to look to know exactly who was sitting in that dimly lit bar. He had a larger-than-life presence, no matter what room he was in, that was like a magnet, drawing everyone’s attention, even if he was just randomly passing by on the sidewalk.

Her tiredness completely forgotten, she hovers near the entryway and discretely watches him. He’s sitting by himself at the bar, nursing what Tessa knows is a glass of scotch on the rocks along with a basket of half-eaten chips and dip, his eyes occasionally flicking up to the large screen TV showing a basketball game taking place on the other side of the country. His jacket is discarded on the back of his chair, his tie loosened slightly and the buttons of his shirt rakishly undone at the top. Despite his disheveled, executive blowing off steam look, he is still just as handsome and attractive as he was just a short time ago when he was polished and buttoned up. Maybe even more.

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she watches him. Gabe was such a surprise when she first came to New York, and she never expected to become so charmed by him. The man has such a lavish and lively personality on the outside, but on the inside is a man driven to be the best and passionate about using his vast knowledge to help everyone. His heart is as big as his office, a welcoming, refreshing contrast to the selfishness Tessa sees too often in this line of work. They have only known each other for a short time, but every time he came around, he put a smile on her face and made her stomach flip-flop. She couldn’t explain why he has such a pleasant effect on her. Perhaps it’s the way that when she flirts with him, he flirts right back with the same energy she gives him, maybe even more. Maybe it’s the way the two of them click when they’re together. Or maybe it’s the way he continues to keep her on her toes and excite her yet still make her feel a sense of comfort and familiarity at the same time. Regardless of the reasons, the one thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want this fluttering feeling to stop. Ever.

“Of course, you would be alone at a bar,” Tessa teases as she steps towards him.

Gabe swivels his head around at the sound of her voice, his eyes immediately catching hers as she approaches him. His lips twist into a grin, his spirits lifting like they always do whenever she is around. “Am I really that predictable?”

Tessa shrugs. “Maybe a little. But you wouldn’t be the Gabe Ricci we all know and love if you weren’t.”

Gabe chuckles. “Most people wouldn’t agree with you on that statement.”

“I’m not most people,” she fires back with a wink.

No, you are most definitely not Gabe thought. “What exactly are you doing still wandering around?” He glances down towards his watch, mildly surprised to find it still somewhat early. “The cocktail party ended almost an hour ago. I figured you would be in bed like everyone else.”

“I planned on it, but then I saw this guy sitting all by himself in this empty hotel bar and thought he could use some company.”

Gabe’s eyes twinkle with delightful mischief as he takes another sip of his scotch. He was hoping the two of them could spend some more time together before the madness hit them Monday morning. “I think I know who you’re talking about. And I, for one, know that he would love to have some company, especially if the company happens to be you.”

Tessa gives him a shy smile as she slips into the bar stool next to him. An electrical, buzzing warmth fills up the space around them as butterflies flutter in her stomach at the near closeness to him, the scent of his cologne invading her senses and tempting her to come even closer. As she peruses the small menu, the lone bartender comes over and places a napkin down in front of her.

“Anything to eat or drink?”

“A Manhattan please.”

The bartender nods before turning to Gabe. “Another refill for you, sir?”

“Please,” Gabe replies. “And put her Manhattan on my tab as well.”

The bartender grabs Gabe’s empty glass and heads down to the other end of the bar. Once he’s fully out of hearing range, Tessa turns to face Gabe. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I am more than capable of paying for my own drinks.”

“I know you could pay for it,” Gabe responds before his lips curl into his trademark sly smirk, “or you could let Sadie pay for it.”

“Wait, what?”

Gabe nods, his smirk growing bigger. “Consider it another partner-only secret. This conference is one of the few events Sadie lets us have more…leeway…with the company credit card. Any food or drinks we buy at this conference gets covered by the firm.”

“And something tells me you’re taking full advantage of that offer,” Tessa says.

Gabe gives her a wink. “What can I say? A good attorney knows a good offer when they see it.”

“In that case,” Tessa flags down the bartender again. “I’ll do an order of the spicy fried pickle chips with that Manhattan.” The bartender nods and disappears into a back room. Tessa turns her head, seeing Gabe looking at her with an amused expression on his face. “What’s that look for?”

Gabe chuckles, shaking his head. “Just wondering if I’m going to regret sharing that secret with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Tessa grins at him. “Your secret is safe with me. But if Sadie cuts us off or starts questioning anything on the credit card bills, I’m placing the full blame on you.”

The two of them continue to make small talk until the bartender comes back a few minutes later. He places their drinks and her basket of food down before excusing himself and shuffling into the back room once again. Tessa grabs her glass and holds it up in a toast, prompting Gabe to do the same.

“To drinks on someone else’s dime,” she states.

The two of them share a laugh as they clink their glasses together. Tessa takes a sip of her drink, the whiskey a sharp contrast to the bubbly champagne of the reception. The liquid pools like fire in her stomach and flows throughout her body, warming her up and loosening her muscles. “Best Manhattan I’ve ever had.”

Gabe cocks his eyebrow. “Is it really the best?”

“Oh, not by a long shot. But since I didn’t have to pay for it, I consider it the best in my book.”

“You really are a woman after my own heart,” Gabe replies. Tessa tucks her gaze away from him, feeling her face grow hot at the combination of the whiskey and his spell-binding charm. She takes another sip of her drink before sliding the basket of pickle chips towards him. He throws her an appreciative “thanks”, taking a chip and popping it into his mouth before continuing their conversation. “How did you enjoy the conference?”

“I really liked it,” Tessa answers. “I never got the chance to do things like this with my old law firm.”

“What? Have free food and drinks on someone else’s dime with a devastatingly handsome senior partner?”

Tessa shoves him with a laugh. “No, you complete smart ass. I meant going out to events and connecting with other people.” She absentmindedly picks the coating off a pickle chip, her mind reminiscing. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my hometown, but there was no excitement in my life. It was the same boring routine every single day.”

“Sounds like you and McGraw Byrne are a perfect match.”

Tessa nods. “Honestly, I really have you to thank. If you didn’t recommend hiring me to Sadie, I still would be stuck in the same boring routine. It sounds really sappy, but you really did change my life for the better…in more ways than one.”

The raw honesty in her voice tugs at his heartstrings, his lips twitching into another smile. He’s used to hearing those words come from his clients, but hearing those words come from her just felt…different, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

“You’re very welcome,” Gabe earnestly tells her. “I wouldn’t have recommended you if I didn’t think you were a stellar attorney. You deserve to be here just as much as everyone else, and I truly mean that. McGraw Byrne needed someone like you. Hell, the legal world needs more attorneys like you.”

“What? Sappy and sentimental ones?”

“No,” Gabe says, stifling his chuckle. “I meant attorneys who are passionate about their job and passionate about connecting with people. So many attorneys don’t take the time to really understand or listen to their clients. Having someone like you, someone who actually connects with clients and goes above and beyond to help them, really does make a world of difference.” Gabe takes a pickle chip and pops it into his mouth. “But I really am happy you decided to take Sadie up on her offer to join us, even if the past few days have given you plenty of good reasons to quit.”

Tessa blows out a harsh breath, knowing exactly what Gabe was referring to. “Yeah, they have been quite…challenging.”

“I meant to ask you earlier, but how’re you holding up?”

Tessa sighs, dragging her fingertip over the rim of her glass. “Honestly, I’m still pissed that Beau stole the credit from me in front of everyone, but I should’ve expected someone to pull that stunt sooner or later.” She blinks back a tear trying to escape. “It just sucks to be the one it happens to.”

“I know, and I truly am sorry Beau pulled such a dick move on you.” He sympathetically lays a gentle hand on her bare shoulder, the touch sending comfort through her veins. “If I could’ve done something to make it better, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would’ve, but I do appreciate you not saying anything to Sadie.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t my place to tell her. Besides,” he takes his hand off her shoulder, already missing the feel of her smooth, soft skin, “the only thing it would’ve done was make you and me look bad in front of Sadie.”

“Sounds like someone has personal experience.”

Gabe runs a hand through his hair. “Happened to me once back in my early legal days, but instead of getting the credit and respect that I rightfully deserved, I got told off for being a bad ‘team player’ and trying to take someone else’s credit.”

“That’s so unfair,” she practically spits.

Gabe lets out a bitter, humorless guffaw. “Preaching to the choir on that one. You’ll find that every group will have one person who will do none of the work or the one person that will take credit for anything and everything. Fortunately for us, Beau happens to be both of those assholes wrapped up in one, so we save a lot on payroll.”

Tessa laughs weakly at his joke, the sting of Beau’s betrayal still fresh in her mind. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. It just sucks knowing that Sadie is always going to believe that Beau solved the case.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m still incredibly proud of you, even if Sadie never knows the truth.”

“You…are?” she asks, surprise etched on her face as she turns her body towards him.

“Absolutely,” Gabe says, no hesitation in his voice. “Without you, we possibly would’ve never solved it to begin with, nor would Lydia have thought to make Joey sign a prenup. But what really impressed me was how you were the only one to step up and take initiative when needed. Not many of the senior partners would go to such lengths for a teenager like Lydia, but you did.”

“I guess,” Tessa mutters. “I just hope it will be enough come Monday.”

“It will be,” Gabe assures her as he steals another pickle chip.

“Really? I figured Sadie would shove Beau to the top of the rankings after he basically saved the firm.”

“Everyone in that room knows who really saved the firm, and it wasn’t Beau,” Gabe points out. “Even if Sadie believes he did, she’s also smart enough to know that one win, no matter how big it is, isn’t enough to judge how good an attorney is or will become. Beau may have stolen one win, but you’re still the one to beat.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“Plus, you showed her tonight how well you bounce back after taking a loss.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between moot court, the pro bono cases, the vaccine trial, and everything else we’ve observed, you had a major winning streak that Beau decided to snap. Most people would sulk in their losses, but you didn’t. You showed up tonight, looking incredible might I add, and managed to put everything behind you to impress the right group of people.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” Gabe confidently replies. He reaches out and covers her hand with his, trying to ignore the tingling buzzes on his skin. “You’re a wickedly smart attorney, Tessa. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks Gabe,” she says, the goofy smile plastering on her face at his heartfelt compliment. “That…that really means a lot to me.”

“It should,” Gabe tells her, reluctantly pulling his hand away again. “I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t the absolute truth. Just forget about Vegas and the Rothswells and continue onto the next case.”

Tessa nods and takes another sip of her drink as the conversation between them dies down. She may have already forgotten the Rothswells and was slowly getting over from Beau’s stolen win, but Vegas was still on her mind. It wasn’t just the city that occupied her thoughts, but rather, it was the small wedding chapel and the night she played fiancée to the man sitting next to her. That night was an intense roller coaster of emotions, desires, and confusion; it was a night where lines became blurred and questions began to arise at the nature of her and Gabe’s relationship. It was one specific little interaction that made Tessa not only sense a shift in their relationship, but triggered her to start over analyzing and over thinking every little action from their first meeting up until now.

“Nothing but the best for the most stunning woman on the Strip.”

“Alvin’s gone, you know. You don’t have to—”

He raises a finger to her lips, laying it softly against them as he gives her a smoldering look that makes her throat dry up. “What if I want to, Tessa?”

Tessa truly felt at that moment they were no longer pretending. The things he said to her that night with such conviction in his eyes and voice. The way he softly caressed and touched her with such adoration and tenderness. The way his breath tickled her lips and sent shivers throughout her body at their near-kisses. They were not things done by someone just “pretending”; no one was that good of an actor. However, despite his actions in the wedding chapel, there was one moment that made her second guess herself completely. Just as she was about to admit her feelings for him, he brusquely cut her off and completely changed the direction of the conversation. What punctuated that gut-wrenching action was him dropping her hand quickly, as if he had been burned by her touch. The cocktail of mixed signals made her head pound in dizzying confusion, and it was becoming difficult to ignore for much longer.

She glances over at Gabe, worrying her lip between her teeth and mentally debating whether or not to step into that territory of complete openness. She has a nice, working relationship with him, and she doesn’t want to risk making it awkward to be around him if he truly doesn’t feel anything towards her. On the other hand, she wants to know for her own sake of mind; she has to know if Gabe’s confusing behavior and mixed signals mean anything. They’re off the clock, away from the office, with no interruptions coming between them. It’s the perfect opportunity to air everything out, and hopefully come Monday, there would be no more confusion or misunderstandings.

“Speaking of Vegas…” Tessa mumbles, carefully avoiding his eyes. “I think we should talk.”

Gabe’s spine stiffens in alert at the sudden shift in her demeanor. “About…what, exactly?”

She takes a deep breath, knowing it was too late to steer this conversation in another direction. “About what happened at the wedding chapel.”

“Ah,” Gabe interjects, “that was some brilliant thinking on your part, with the rat and all.”

“That wasn’t the part I wanted to talk about.” She turns her head to look at him. “I wanted to talk about the whole ‘pretend’ couple in love situation.”

“What was wrong with it?” he asks her, his nerves starting to creep up on him.

“Nothing,” she quickly replies. “I was just thinking…what you said…” She takes another deep breath, preparing herself to blurt it out before she lost her nerve. “Did you ever have a moment where…you didn’t think it was pretend?”

Depends on what your answer is going to be. “What do you mean?”

“I know the whole situation was supposed to be pretend in order to get a copy of Lydia’s marriage license, but…some of the things you said…and did…” her ears grow hot as a shiver races down her spine at the memory of Gabe’s gentle caress on her wrist, the pure intimacy behind it.

“Didn’t seem like pretend?” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“And what do you think?”

Tessa sits there silently contemplating her answer. Up until this point, Tessa never had any reason to doubt Gabe. He is a man who never makes anyone second guess his true intentions or meanings. Every word he speaks is nothing short of the truth. But his reaction on the Strip was the first time she questioned his true intentions. If Gabe did mean what he said, then why did he quickly divert the conversation and act like he couldn’t stand to be around her? Her inner conscience was waving a massive red flag in front of her, but when Gabe gripped her chin and turned her head to focus on him, she caught herself slipping back into the warm pools of his chocolate-colored orbs.

“I really hope you weren’t pretending,” she softly says, voice barely above a whisper.

Gabe feels his stomach lurch at her confession, and the corners of his mouth tug up into a small smile at her answer. Gabe wasn’t going to lie. From the minute she stepped into the office, he became fascinated with her. She was beautiful, but what caught his attention was the way she introduced herself to the others. She was the only one who stood up and spoke with such confidence and conviction about winning the partnership that he would’ve given the spot to her immediately if his name was on the building.

“That’s because I wasn’t.”

Her eyes widen. “Wh…what?”

His thumb skates over her bottom lip, gently tugging it downwards, her breath hitching at the intense, smoldering look in his eyes. “I wasn’t pretending in the wedding chapel. I truly wanted to tell you that you were the most stunning woman on the Strip because you were, and I will always think you’re the most stunning woman I will ever come across.”

“And last night?”

“I still mean it,” he tells her, taking his hand away. “I really do enjoy spending time with you, and I want to spend whatever time I have with you and only you.”

“Good.” Tessa covers his hand with hers, the electric current running between them turning into tingling shivers chasing each other up and down her spine. “Because I really, really like spending time with you too.”

The smile on his face grows bigger, turning into the most genuine one he’s ever had with someone else. Their fingers tentatively move and twist together, the air buzzing with energy just waiting to be released. A sigh of relief floods through him once he sees their hands joined together. He feared he overstepped that night in Vegas, especially since he was sharply reminded of how Tessa flirted with the fireman a few weeks ago for her eviction case. But sitting here now, their confessions out in the open, their hands joined together, made all of it real.

“So where do we go from here?”

Gabe furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“We just admitted we like each other, Gabe,” Tessa states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The question is, what comes next? Are we together? Do we see where this goes?”

Gabe bit the inside of his cheek at her question, the bliss from earlier now getting replaced with dread and guilt. He knows exactly what he wants to do next. He wants to invite her to his hotel room tonight, spend hours tangled in the silk sheets together, then wake up and do it all again tomorrow morning. He wants to take her out to dinner tomorrow night and treat her to the most decadent food in the city while he teases and touches her until she can no longer bear it. He wants to be openly affectionate with her in the office…and maybe do a few more things behind the closed doors of his office. But he can’t, and he knew the exact reasons why.

The first reason was the more obvious one. She is currently in the competition for a junior partnership, and he is the one overseeing it and potentially making the final decision on who takes his former position. They are co-workers, and while Sadie has no real binding rule that co-workers cannot date or see each other outside of work, Gabe knows there will always be a cloud of doubt and speculation hovering over Tessa if the office discovers they are seeing each other and she wins the junior partnership. Gabe was already beating himself up for what happened between her and Beau; he would never be able to forgive himself if he was the cause of ruining her reputation and the potential she has at becoming the next great attorney. How could he look himself in the mirror every morning if this blows back up in their faces?

But the less obvious reason was a hidden secret, one that he hasn’t shared with anyone else. It was the one reason that stopped him from taking her up to his penthouse in Vegas and doing all the things he fantasizes about doing with her. It was the one reason for the walls Gabe built up over the years that no one else has been able to break down. It was the one reason that prevented Gabe from crossing the lines he wanted to cross. As easy as it would be to cross them tonight with nothing stopping them, he knows he has to make the tough decision, not only to protect her, but also to protect himself. He just hopes it doesn’t change anything between them.

“As much as I would love for us to be together,” he runs his thumb soothingly over her knuckles, already feeling guilty for what he was about to say to her, “I don’t think it would be wise to pursue it.”

“O…oh,” the smile on her face falters at his stinging rejection.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Gabe quickly assures her.

“Sure feels that way,” she blurts out with a bitter laugh.

Gabe sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re stunning Tessa, and whatever would happen between us would be so goddamn mind-blowing, because I know exactly what I’d do with a girl like you.”

As much as his rejection stings, the dark tendrils of desire twist and twirl together inside at the sound of that highly promising and exciting invitation, the rush of desire making her shift in her seat at the tingling sensation. However, his tone tells her he was about to say one little three-letter word that was going to take the invitation back and make the rejection even worse.

"But...?"

Gabe shakes his head and averts his eyes from the pain blooming in hers. “We can’t act on it. I can’t act on it.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I…can’t,” he relents. He untangles their fingers and pulls his hand back to his side of the bar, no matter how painful it is for him to do so. “You already saw how low Sadie’s own blood would go to push himself ahead. Just imagine how low the others would go if they suspected—”

“You and I were seeing each other?”

Gabe nods, a small twinge of relief pricking his heart at her understanding. “Opportunities like this bring the worst out in people.”

“Considering I just had firsthand experience on how shitty people can be, I do understand it.” She takes another drink of her Manhattan, the sting now turning into simmering annoyance. “What I don’t understand is why us being together is now such a big deal for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, you didn’t seem too concerned with people seeing us together or what they thought when we went to Hoi On and that business dinner you specifically invited me to,” Tessa shrugs. “I’m just curious about the change of heart all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t have a change of heart. Those situations were entirely different.”

“Different how?”

Gabe pauses for a second to gather his thoughts. He had to tread lightly going forward, or else any chance the two of them had with each other in the future was going to be destroyed. “When I invited you to Hoi On, the other associates weren’t in the office. I knew Aislinn wasn’t going to say anything to Sadie, so no one was going to question why I brought you there.”

“And the business dinner?”

“It truly was supposed to be a business dinner and an opportunity for you to network yourself,” Gabe admits. “I didn’t know beforehand that he was going to cancel on me, and as far as the office is concerned, no one knows that he canceled on me, so everyone still suspects the three of us had that business dinner.”

“But then…oh…” Tessa trails off, another wave of disappointment crashing into her chest. “I get it.”

“You do?”

She nods. “You’re embarrassed to be seen with me. I get it. The senior associate and the top senior partner being seen together would hurt your image with the other partners.”

A tinge of frustration punches his gut. “That’s not what I mean. I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. If I was, I wouldn’t have invited you to join me at the lake.��

“Good point,” Tessa tells him. “You certainly didn’t mind taking me out to the lake last night with Sadie and the other associates sitting around.”

“That was different too,” Gabe bluntly responds. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to understand,” she sighs, exasperated.

“There’s no point in tell you,” Gabe shoots back. “You’re intelligent and observant, Tessa. You know exactly why we can’t pursue…whatever there is between us.”

“The only thing standing in the way of pursuing whatever is between us is you,” Tessa points out.

He runs his hands through his disheveled hair again. “It’s not that I want to stand in the way of us. There’s so many reasons on why we shouldn’t pursue this.”

“Well, so far, you haven’t given me one that we can’t find a way to work around. So please enlighten me, Mr. Ricci,” she crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a hard stare. “Is your reasoning really about the partnership and my reputation, or is it about something more?”

As Gabe sits there in silence, Tessa’s mind flashes back to their previous interactions. Last night was the most unguarded she has seen Gabe since she started working at McGraw Byrne. The business dinner was the first time the two of them ever got physically close to each other. Vegas was the first time the two of them were fixing to jump across those boundaries and become one. But each time, Gabe pulled back, and his action spoke volumes. And with the way Gabe was currently avoiding meeting her gaze head on and how his fingers are tightly gripping his empty scotch glass makes the light bulb go off in her head. There was another reason Gabe was hiding, one that has to do entirely with himself. She just has to hope that she is important enough for him to be honest with her.

“Well?”

Gabe sighs. “It really is about the partnership,” he lies, firmly keeping his gaze locked on the bar top. “The partnership is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you shouldn’t waste it or throw it away.”

The air turns icy and frigid at his words. Tessa grabs her clutch off the bar top, knowing there was no more reason for her to still be around. “You may be able to bullshit other people, Gabe, but you’re not going to bullshit me. You and I both know this is more than just the partnership, and out of respect for your privacy, I’m not going to pry. Only you can make the decision to share it with me, but until you do, I think it’s best to forget whatever we feel for each other.”

Tessa gives his hand a soft pat before downing the rest of her drink and sliding off the bar stool. Before she could go far, Gabe’s hand reaches out and wraps around her wrist.

“Tessa…”

“Don’t worry about it, Gabe,” she says, gently prying his fingers off her wrist. “I’m honestly a little hurt and disappointed that you can’t be honest with me, but I’m not mad at you.” She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I really do like you, Gabe, but I also like and respect myself too much to go after someone who isn’t as crazy about me as I am about them, nor will I go after someone who keeps pulling back when I want to get closer.”

“That’s not—"

She ignores his plea, digging into her clutch and pulling out a platinum-looking card. “You know where to find me when you make up your mind and have an answer for me, but don’t expect me to be waiting around forever for it.”

She places the card down on the bar top; with a sad smile, she brushes past him and heads out of the hotel bar, the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Gabe watches her figure retreat until she disappears behind the gilded elevator doors.

“Dammit!” he slams a fist against the bar top. The empty glasses jump a little at the impact, but what catches his attention was the quick flash of light reflected on the platinum card as it jumped into the air. Gabe reaches out and slides it towards him, his spirits deflating even more when he sees what she left.

The spare key to her room.

To anyone else, it may be just a room key, but Gabe knows that it is so much more meaningful than that. It symbolizes the key to her heart and the key to their future together, a key that would only work for a short amount of time until Tessa closes both of those doors on him. The decision to walk through those open doors was entirely in his hands, but before he could do that, he has to make one other decision. The time had come for him to do the one thing he has avoided doing for years, the one decision he found easy to avoid until tonight.

It was time for him to confront himself and his fears.

__________________________________

This was going to go up a lot sooner, but because my job decided to go through some technology changes recently, it meant something that previously worked is now broken and no longer works. Unfortunately, that was me this time around, so my usual break times where I work on stories was used to help fix what someone else broke. 

Sorry about the delay, but I really do anticipate part 2 being uploaded soon, much sooner than LOA coming back from its hiatus.

For all of you who have read this story and made it this far, thank you so much for your support! It means more to me than you could ever imagine!

I love you all so much!

Second Chance Tagging in case Tumblr becomes Tumbroke again:  @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythadon @nishas-paradise  @blainehellyes @mm2305 @suitfer​ @thegreentwin @pixelnutrookie​

[doctoreuphoria]

The Prologue: Escapism

Edward Scissorhands x (Gender-Neutral) Reader

MASTERLIST

Published: 15th December, 2020

Writer: DoctorEuphoria

(Only on Tumblr & Wattpad)

Word Count: 1010

Fuck this. Internally you tell yourself.

This town has too many single minded people who enjoy gossip. They crave for conflict as if it were a drama club.

It was twelve in the night, middle of November. The sky portrayed a series of visibly beautiful constellations of stars. And the wind blew harder than ever with a chilling feel to it. It never snows here, just as upsetting as it sounds, but it pours rain.

You were walking through the silence of the neighbourhood. Everybody’s lights were shut off, and all were soundly asleep. Except you of course.

Your mother would nickname you The Owl. And to be honest, you always thought rest is only for the weak. Creativity would always arrive at your doorstep during the late hours of the night. But tonight was surely different.

Your mother was on a business trip, and wouldn’t return home until the new year. You fondly miss her company whenever she would be gone for a whole month. It was upsetting how you didn’t have family or friends you could trust with your mind and heart. Instead you lived in a neighborhood of back-stabbers, liars, and hypocrites.

No more overthinking. Not everybody is evil in this town. You attempt to comfort yourself.

Maybe exiting this town off into the nearby mountains may help cleanse away the negativity.

You glare at the puddle on the road that reflects your appearance. You wore loose black sweatpants, white shoes, a dark blue sweater with a beige jacket on top and a cap on your head that was also black. I look like a mess. You scoff. Adjusting your messenger bag.

You look up, immediately realizing the dirt on the ground that was once a clean road.

Your eyes trail off far up into the tall hill, only to be met by a dark castle high up. It’s windows were bright, almost as if someone were still awake. Why hasn’t anybody taken a look at this place?

You quickly observe your surroundings, making sure nobody was around or anything bizarre was as well. You take firm steps up the wet dirt, realizing your shoes were becoming dirty, which made you immediately regret your decision.

Too late to retreat now. You look down at the town, now getting an almost clear view of every home’s roof tops.

The sigh of relief exits between your lips, now feeling the gate at the palm of your hand.

You push the gate open, and luckily no unpleasant sound was made during the process. Once you stepped through, it was dark and already gave out a threatening feeling to the environment.

You look back at your journey to here, and see that the gate had shut automatically on it’s own.

Why do I do this to myself? You facepalm yourself, letting out an irritated sigh. I must proceed.

Opening your messenger bag, you take out a brand new can of Pringles and your camera.

As you proceed further, the moonlight now lid the environment clearly around you. You could even see your own shadow on the dirt.

You look around, feeling yourself become impressed by the beautiful bushes; some were animals such as bunnies, dinosaurs, and others were humans. It felt as if you were in an alternate universe.

“Hello?” You stood at the front door, knocking lightly. You munched on a few chips, waiting for an answer. Nothing. You close the can of chips and place them back into your messenger bag, now only holding your camera. Before you could knock again, the door opens slightly creaking.

“I’m allowing myself in.” You notify. Many in the town say that this home was long abandoned, which explained the poor maintenance. Others say it may be haunted, but you were ready, and you knew what you were doing was after all risky.

You snap a few photos of the old metallic machines. They all have seemed to have catched dust, and cobwebs as well. Strange mechanical pieces laid around all over the floor, scattered freely.

Soon enough, you start to make your way up the stairs. The warm light source was soon gone, and instead the moonlight crept through the giant hole on the ceiling. It made your eyes widen at how gigantic the hole was, although it had a nice view of the stars.

You snatch a blanket out of your messenger bag, and place it flatly on the dark wooden floor.

You sat in a criss cross, all the while taking multiple objects out from your bag.

Finding your WALKMAN, you place them over your head and adjust them till’ they were comfortable enough. You press play and hear some soothing songs to calm you.

You lie on your back, now looking up at the sky, you smile. Finally comfort you felt.

Everything has been stressful these past weeks for you. Your mother and you have been moving from places to places every month. Until now, she settled upon her favourite place, which was this two faced town.

Your mother is one naive woman, and believes that everybody here is sweet, kind, and true.

While you on the other hand, could already tell others here were inauthentic and absolutely immature. But again, maybe you were truly over analyzing it a tad bit much.

You snatch the headphones from your head, deciding silence was better for now.

CLIP–CLIP

You stood up, hearing a strange sound.

“Hello?”

You look around, now standing on both your feet. You start to pack everything inconsistently due to the panic of what may happen next if you stay too long.

“Don’t leave.”

The soft voice pleases, sounding like a young man.

He doesn’t sound threatening. You keep your eyes downcasted, swinging the bag over your back. “Come into the light.” You demand, trying your best to sound somewhat approachable. You held your camera firmly in your hand.

You gasped, fully afraid of him.

SNAP!

Your camera flashes brightly at the man, making him consistently bat his eyes from discomfort.

“Oh shit.”

Speechless you were.

MASTERLIST

[in-tua-deep]

🌻 If I may just request something lighter. I nee that right now.

a “happy ending, the team wins and life is made easier for them” au coming right up ;3c

bear with me for some less light content though bc it is the umbrella academy and there’s a lot of. u know. child soldiers and death. but i will try!! bear with me, starts off less light and ends much lighter I promise

so maybe not light but on god it’s going to end soft

---

When Five is seven, he walks into a room and makes a face. His siblings, who are loudly arguing, don’t notice. It’s just One and Two, going at one anothers throats for the eleventh time that one.

(It should be noted that’s it’s only the fifth of the month. So really not surprising in the slightest.)

And then Five tilts his head, and very purposefully steps backwards, and a few seconds later a knife embeds itself in the wall a few inches from Five’s face.

“You almost hit Five!” One roars, pointing accusingly.

“I wouldn’t have.” Two scowls.

Except he did.

The next day, Five looks up from his homework and frowns at Six. He’d rather ask Six alone, and Four is present, but this is the best opportunity he’s going to get to ask anything without Dad finding out or having to deal with, ugh, One. 

“Hey Six?” Five asks, getting a quiet ‘hmm’ in return as Six looks up, “You ever have a dream that comes true?”

Before Six can get out a word, Four rolls over from where he’s taken his book and sprawled out on the floor with it since he can’t sit still in a chair longer than four seconds. “I thinks that’s called deja vu, dude.”

Six nods, “The feeling something has happened before, sure. Plus, if you’re stressed out about something you might dream about it. You having dreams, Five?”

Five shrugs, thoughtful. If there’s a name for the experience, then it’s something that happens to everybody and isn’t something to worry about. 

“No,” He says, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

---

When Five is ten, he refuses to follow One’s - Luther’s - plan for the first time in a real life situation. 

“No.” Five says, firmly, “That plan is going to get someone killed.”

“It’s a good plan.” Luther says, equally firm and just the slightest bit irritated. Being in Luther’s favor actually counts for more than he might know, and being out of it... Reginald listens to Luther in a way that he doesn’t for the rest of them. 

So Five toes the line, but usually doesn’t give the boy a reason to actually complain about him. So he grouches and snipes and snarks but usually follows the plan, if with some... embellishment. He doesn’t usually disobey outright.

“I’m not doing it.” Five says, and the team is quiet to the side. Five has always been headstrong, but this head on collision is not his style. 

“Yes.” Luther says, anger twisting his face into something ugly, “You are.”

And then their illustrious leader beckons for them to go, and it’s Allison who flounces off first to her position followed by a stalking Diego. Ben gives Five a hesitant look, but goes ahead without saying anything. Ben has never been a fan of conflict.

Five stares at Luther, and Luther’s eyes narrow, and Five thinks fine, he thinks, I’ll do it myself. And he jumps away.

And when things fall apart and go to shit, Five is there yanking on a skinny arm and a bullet whizzes by and Five cover Klaus’s body with his own as he shoves them both under a desk. A few minutes later, knives appear out of thin air and Five pries them out. He doesn’t even realize until they’re all looking at him, horrified, that he’s been shot. Not until he touches his fingers to his shoulder and feels the red against his fingers.

“Oh.” Five says, frowning, and then he looks at a pale faced Luther. “I told you your plan was shit.”

That’s the last thing he remembers, until he wakes up in bed feeling fuzzy with his shoulder patched and bandaged and Mom right there helping him sit up and sip from a glass.

That’s the first time Five realizes that what he does can be dangerous.

---

The thing is, it starts off incredibly simple. Harmless. 

When Five dreams, his dreams are... strange. He dreams of simple things, little things. An argument that will happen. What dinner will be. That Ben is going to leave his book in the little storage room by the dumb stature of an elephant that looks more more like a bulldog with a snake attached to its face.

The thing is, he believes Klaus at first. That it’s harmless. Except it becomes less fuzzy and less a feeling that something will happen, and becomes something sharper. Something more than deja vu.

He thinks about telling his father, because he’s angry with Luther and craves recognition and discovering something new about their powers is a surefire way to get Dad’s undivided attention.

(When Diego discovered he could hold his breath for an alarming amount of time, the rest of the family didn’t see him for a week.)

That’s the first night he wakes up with cut off screams in his throat, and the knowledge that his father is a ruthless, tricky man. And very very inventive. 

(He does not tell his father about his power development. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually.

He loves his siblings, but he doesn’t trust them. Information, in this household, is power. A bargaining chip. He loves his siblings, but Reginald is clever and he is cruel and any one of them would betray the others if it hurt enough.)

As he grows older, his dreams become more vivid. And they stop just being about the next day.

He saves Klaus’s life from a bad plan, but he learns a lesson. If he changes what his dreams show him, he doesn’t know what will happen next. He saved Klaus, but got shot himself. 

He gets a choice, between having absolute certainty, and changing the future. It means that Five rarely acts on his dreams. Not unless he has to. And after that awful, awful mission, Five also learns to be more subtle.

Especially after a bedbound interrogation by his father, that Five barely manages to spin into it just being a challenging brat, and things just happening to go down badly was a coincidence that Five will hold over Luther’s head for the rest of time.

And Five is a challenging brat at the best of time, and so Reginald believes him, but he learns to be more subtle.

So Five... nudges things. When he absolutely has to. And the rest of the time he bites his own tongue and stomps on his own fury and grits his teeth. He does what he can, when it can’t be traced back to him.

(Klaus goes into the mausoleum, and he wraps his arms around himself in a terrified hug, and his hand bumps something in his pocket. A little flashlight. Klaus thinks for a moment about how it could have gotten there, and decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s still terrible, but it’s more bearable with a little bit of light.)

---

Five is twelve when he starts dreaming about the end of the world. He also discovers an entirely new aspect to his power.

When Five sleeps, he dreams of time travel. He dreams of the fizzle of time itself against his palms, how exhilarating it is. Time itself at his command, no, not command. Time itself cradling him in its infinite grasp. It’s not like jumping through space. Time is, it’s so big. And it loves him. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Time loves him, and he loves it.

He wants to travel, he wants it desperately. But he knows what will happen if he does. He knows, he sees, he dreams over weeks, over months, lives an entire life in eight hour increments. 

And in this life, Five learned his lesson early. You don’t tell Reginald Hargreeves about new developments in your power unless you’re willing to go through his private training in order to train it. 

Five doesn’t mention anything about time travel, to anyone.

Five is thirteen-years-old and two-months and he misses the day he was supposed to time travel on. And he wakes up sweating and dizzy and dying. 

(Five Hargreeves is time’s child. Time loves him, but he needs time in a way he never realized. he made a change. It’s too big of a change.)

Five wipes his face, splashes some cold water, and gets to work.

The first thing he does, is go into Vanya’s room and sit her down.

“Are you okay?” She whispers. She’s always been so quiet, like a mouse tiptoeing around in a house full of cats. And Five regrets, for just a moment, not telling her sooner that she’s always been a cat as well.

“I need to tell you something.” Five whispers back, determination making him sit up straight. “And I need you to not be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Vanya asks, tilting her head and looking confused.

“Because I kept a secret from you.” Five whispers.

Vanya just gives him the most puzzled look, “What secret? Why?”

“Because information is power, Vanya.” Five tells her, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, “Because I love you, I love you all. But I don’t know what’s going to happen, only what could happen. What cannot happen.”

“Five you aren’t making any sense.” She reaches up to feel his forehead, snapping her hand back to her side, “You’re burning up! Five!”

Five smiles at her, “I keep so many secrets, Vanya. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to change the world, and you’re the only one I can trust to help me, okay?”

“Five... I don’t understand.” Vanya says, helpless.

“You will.” Five says, his smile turning just a little watery, “Promise me something though. Promise me you won’t hate me. Won’t hate any of us.”

“What are you talking about.”

Five shakes her hand, “We were so little Vanya. We didn’t know. Allison didn’t know. The only person to blame for this is Dad, because he did something terrible, Van. Something awful. He made us all do something terrible.”

“Five...”

“Promise me Vanya.” Five demands, shaking his head. “Promise me, promise me you won’t hate us. If you have to hate someone, hate dad. But promise me.”

“I - I promise.” Vanya stutters, confused.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re the only child that didn’t develop powers?” Five asks gently, “Haven’t you ever wondered why, if you don’t have powers, Dad kept you? You know him. We all know him. He’s a practical man. If you’re of no use to him...”

“...He would throw me away.” Vanya finishes, her voice a mere whisper. “But he did. He did keep me, so - so he must think I have potential, right?”

“He knows you have potential, Vanya.” Five’s voice is soft, gentle, in a way it never is. “He knows, because he took it away from you.”

“What - Five?”

Five gives Vanya’s hand another little shake. “How long have you taken your anxiety meds, Van?”

“My what?” She pulls her hand out of his, drawing it up to her chest, “I - I don’t know. A long time.”

“Since we were four, Van.” Five tucks his empty hands into his lap, hiding the trembling of his fingers, “Do you know what else happened when we were four? We started getting our powers, remember?��

“Speak plainly, Five.” Vanya’s hands are trembling as well, but not for the same reason.

“He stole it from you, Van.” Five whispers, “You were four. You didn’t realize how dangerous you were. You didn’t understand, you were so little. So he took them, and then he never gave them back.”

Vanya’s eyes are wet, and she brings a trembling hand to her mouth, “No.”

“He told Allison to make you forget.” He grips the fabric of his shorts as a shudder ripples through him, “She was four. How could she say no? He made all of us forget, and then how could we know to tell you?”

Vanya is openly crying, a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs because everyone in the manor knows how dangerous crying can be. How dangerous the wrong kind of attention can be. “Then how do you know, Five.” She manages to get out, “How do you know.”

Five offers her a watery smile, “Because I keep secrets, Vanya. My powers, they’re not. They’re not what everyone thinks. I know things, because when I close my eyes at night I see things.”

That makes Vanya stop crying, just for a moment out of sheer confusion. “What?”

“I’ve known about you for a year. I know so many things. A lifetime of things. But none of that matters, because this, right here, right now? Changes everything. Do you understand?

“No!” Vanya bursts out, sounding angry. “No, I don’t understand!”

“I’m dying, Vanya.” Five says bluntly, which throws off Vanya’s anger like she’s been dunked in cold water. “I didn’t know. Not until today. This is the biggest change I’ve ever made, do you understand? I didn’t know. I need to leave. I need to - to reboot. I don’t belong to this timeline, not anymore. It’s rejecting me, unless I can reset myself. But if I do, where will I land?”

Vanya looks confused, and Five can’t blame her. He’s dropping a lot on her right now.

“Isn’t it funny?” Five’s smile is anything but cheerful, “Isn’t is cruel? If I want to survive, I have to jump. But if I jump, I can’t change anything. So you see? I have to try and change everything now. I have to trust.”

Five loves his siblings, but he’s never trusted them. Not really. Not with the important things. But now he has to. Has to take a, ha, leap of faith. 

“Five, talk sense.” Vanya demands.

And so Five tells her everything. He tells her about yesterday, about getting up from the dinner table, of jumping three times and ending up in the apocalypse. He tells her about the Commission, about Reginald’s death, about a man with two faces who convinced Vanya he loved her and turned her against them. He tells her about the end of the world.

Vanya is pale, and shaking. “I wouldn’t.” She whispers, “I wouldn’t.”

“You won’t.” Five says, “You were manipulated. It was planned, you were pushed. You were the weapon that was used to start the apocalypse, but you weren’t the shooter, Van. You’re my sister. I love you. I know you. You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m not. Five, I’m not.”

“Look at me.” Five demands, getting get attention. “I’m right here. Telling you. I’m not in Luther’s room, asking him to keep an eye on you. I’m not in Allison’s room, telling her to use her powers to keep you in line. I’m not in Ben’s room, telling him the future. I’m talking to you. Vanya. My sister.”

“Five...” Vanya whispers.

“I’m a secret keeper, Vanya.” Five says, “I don’t trust. But I’m here, and I’m trusting you.”

“Why?” Vanya asks, a sensible question.

“You’re the only one I can. Luther and Diego are too hotheaded. Allison too vain. Ben too afraid, Klaus too fragile.” Five tells her as another tremor goes through his body. “I love you. I trust you. You’re going to save the world.”

“How?”

“You need to be careful. There are eyes on us. Watching. If we change too much, we risk everything. You need to be quiet, you need to be wary, you need to trust no one. Dad thinks he controls you entirely, he thinks he has you completely under his thumb. He doesn’t watch you the way he does the rest of us, which gives you a freedom none of the others have.”

Vanya shakes her head, “I don’t know, Five.”

“If you want to stop taking your pills, you can. You can sneak out. You can train by yourself, away from the cameras. If you’re careful, you can learn.” Five looks at her sympathetically, “But the thing about that power, is that you have to keep it secret. Dad kept you, when he thought he could control you. What would he do if he thought he couldn’t?”

Vanya lifts a hand to her mouth. She wants their father’s attention with same fierce heartbreaking way they all do, but she also knows him. He’s Reginald Hargreeves, and he’s drugged her for the entirety of his life in the name of control. He is the ultimate power in the household. Reginald doesn’t flinch at killing. They all know that.

“You have to be careful.” He tells Vanya, “You have to stay alive. You have to save Ben. You have to be smart, you have to be so smart, Van. And you have to do it alone, because I won’t be here.”

Vanya nods, quiet and solemn. 

Another shudder ripples through Five, this one hard enough to make him fell off the bed with a muffled shout. Vanya shoots to his side instantly, grabbing his arm and helping him up.

“You need to go, Five.” She says, frantic, “You need to go.”

“I don’t want to.” Five admits, “I don’t want to leave you alone. This is so much, Van. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Vanya tells him firmly, “I have you. And I’ll have you again, in seventeen years. It sounds like a long time, but that doesn’t matter. Because you’ll be alive. You’ve always been there for me, even when you didn’t know. Even when you thought I was ordinary. You’re the only person in the house who treats me like, like a person.”

“You’re my sister.” Five smiles, “I trust you.”

“Go, Five.” Vanya whispers, leading him to the window and hiking it up. Five appreciates the gesture, it’s always easier to jump when he knows where he’s going to land. “Go, and I’ll make sure you have a world to come back to.”

Five nods, and he’s crying a little as he pulls her into the tightest hug he can. She’s crying, too. 

And then he jumps, and he’s out on the street. He turns to look back up at the window, and there’s Vanya with a hand to her mouth but still watching him. He nods to her, and then he jumps.

---

He’s crying, as he jumps the first time, but it’s almost in relief. The way he changed the timeline - it hurts. It’s not a simple thing. The other timelines he altered, they aren’t nearly as big. By not going the day he should have, by telling Vanya and asking her to save the world...

He gouged out a timeline. He carved out a future from time itself to cast it aside. Not just a little one, not one that didn’t matter, not the future of something as small as a human life. He changed the future of the world.

But when he bathes himself in blue, it smoothes over the ragged gaping wound he put in himself. It takes away the pain, because time is... adaptable. It isn’t linear. It repairs itself, given the opportunity.

He jumps again, and the pain gets even better as time itself heals. As it accepts his actions, what can and will happen. 

He hesitates though, before the final jump. He never lived that first timeline. Not really. But he remembers it, which is nearly as bad. He remembers the hunger, sharp and painful. He remembers the grief. He remembers finding the bodies of his siblings, and not understanding what had happened. He remembers the apocalypse, in all of its gruesome glory. It’s never happened. It will never happen, because he trusts Vanya. But he remembers it, and so he hesitates.

But he trusts Vanya. He has to trust Vanya.

So he jumps, one final time, he jumps.

---

He stands on the street, and someone bumps into him from behind and mutters an apology, and Five is rooted to the ground. The world has not ended. He is on the street, in front of the manor, and he whirls around and looks up and a window and - 

Vanya isn’t there. Of course she isn’t. He never got a time he arrived in the future-that-wasn’t. She wouldn’t be able to just... stand at a window all day. That would be silly.

He has to find her. He doesn’t know where she is. Except - except he can hear something. Loud, raised voices. Familiar voices, even out here on the street.

The courtyard.

Five is exhausted. He’s healed, the timelines have smoothed over and stopped killing him, but he’s tired. But even so, he jumps. It’s nice to have a view of where he’s going, but he’s never needed that.

He jumps into the middle of - an argument. His entire family is there. Harold Jenkins is there, yelling something about the family not loving her, and Five freezes.

And everybody freezes. 

And then Vanya smiles at him and says, “Five. You made it.”

Harold Jenkins sputters, the rest of the family starts to shout, and in one smooth movement Vanya pulls something out of her jacket and turns around and - 

Harold Jenkins falls to the ground. Dead. The gun sits in Vanya’s hand, steady as anything.

“Shit!” Luther roars, but Five doesn’t care about that.

He’s already run into Vanya’s arms. She drops the gun on the ground and folds him against her and he’s crying and he isn’t quite sure why. “Shhh, sh. It’s over.” She soothes him, her hand carding through his hair, “It’s over. You did it, Five. You saved the world.”

“No,” Five manages to find his voice, “You did. And you did it alone. You must have been so so alone.”

Vanya laughs, squeezing him tighter, “Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

“What the actual fuck.” Ben says. Ben. Alive and wonderful and alive and Five draws back just to stare at him. “Five?”

“You killed a man!” Luther hollers, looking absolutely scandalized. He isn’t huge, isn’t wearing a trenchcoat. He looks... smaller, than Five remembers him being. More normal.

Klaus looks... normal. Well. He’s got what look like the tightest possible skinny jeans and a crop top and way too much eyeliner, but otherwise - he looks healthier, draped across Ben’s shoulder and staring at Five with wide eyes.

“Vanya?” Allison demands, and Five kind of wants to duck behind Vanya because his breath is coming a little bit fast and he feels a little bit dizzy, which is stupid because this is everything he ever wanted. Everything. His family, safe and sound and whole. 

Vanya smoothes her hand through Five’s hair again, and then looks around at their audience. “I think,” She says, and her voice is strong and sure and so very different from the Vanya Five knows, the one that whispers and tiptoes as quiet as a mouse, “We should take this conversation inside.”

And that’s how they all end up in the living room, squished onto the couches. Five is next to Vanya, he hasn’t let go of her arm.

“I think I should tell you about the night that Five went missing.” Vanya says finally, when they’re all settled.

“What about it?” Diego says gruffly, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. He also hasn’t taken his eyes off of Five.

“Five’s powers aren’t just jumping.” Vanya says, after looking at Five to get his nod. And doesn’t that comment set a fox among the chickens? There’s a solid five minutes of yelling before the family realizes that Vanya is patiently waiting for silence.

Vanya smiles and nods approvingly when they all settle down. Five wonders if she’s a kindergarten teacher or something in this timeline.

(He has to hold in another shudder at the thought, because he’s finally realized why his lungs feel so tight and he hasn’t really spoken yet. He’s terrified. He’s so used to knowing, and he’s just dropped himself in the middle of a giant mystery. He loved his siblings. He loved them in the timeline-that-wasn’t. He loves them now. But he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know anything. And that terrifies him.

In their household, information was power. To not have any at all is... unthinkable. Horrifying. He’s so scared, he can barely breathe. But Vanya is holding him back, and she just saved the world, and he tries his best to trust her.)

“Five’s powers are to do with time. He saw the future, and he saw the end of the world, and he decided to stop it.” Vanya says finally, “And he told me how to do it.”

“Why is Five so quiet?” Allison demands, sounding worried. Five wonders if Claire exists in this universe. He mourns, just a tiny bit, for the niece he never met. 

Vanya squeezes Five a little, and looks at him with just as much worry in her eyes. “Five?”

And for some reason, the first thing that falls out of Five’s mouth is - “Dad’s dead?”

“Dead as a doornail.” Klaus confirms, and Ben nods.

“Really dead?” Five insists, and he’s not sure why, “You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Yes, Five.” Ben says, quietly. “He’s dead.”

Five looks up, and he finds Diego’s gaze and holds it, “If he knew, if he knew what I could do...” He sees the realization spark behind Diego’s eyes, “I saw it, when I thought I was going to tell him. I saw what he would do, if he knew.”

“So you kept it a secret.” Diego says softly. He’s not as hard as not-Five’s Diego, or at least not right now. He looks sympathetic, as Five nods carefully.

“Do you remember,” Five begins, pausing the clear his throat, “Do you remember that mission where I told Luther his plan was stupid?”

Luther’s eyes are wide when Five glances over at him.

But Five skips over Luther and looks at Klaus, “You could have died.” He tells his brother, and his voice shakes a little bit, and it’s terrifying to say these things out loud. Part of him expects his father to walk out from behind a door, having heard everything. “You would have died. Except you already died, the night before, when I was dreaming.”

“Five...” Klaus shakes his head, and Ben grabs Klaus’s arm tightly as if the lanky man will evaporate into thin air. 

“I for one want to know about the dead body in the courtyard.” Luther says, sounding a little shellshocked.

“He introduced himself as to me as Leonard Peabody.” Vanya picks up, “His real name is Harold Jenkins. He wanted to destroy the Umbrella Academy. He didn’t realize that he was actually priming a bomb.”

“A bomb?” Diego yelps, “What bomb?”

“Me.” Vanya says, smiling.

Everyone stares at her, and Five hits her on the arm. “You aren’t a bomb. You’re my sister.”

Vanya smiles at him, and tucks him firmer against his side. Two days ago, Five would have bristled and pushed her away. Today, Five’s entire world has been ripped away from him and he refuses to feel guilty for taking comfort where he can.

Five turns to glare at Luther, at Diego, at everyone. “You all died.” Five informs them, and he isn’t sure why he’s angry, “The whole world died. I don’t care about one murderer who hated us, who wanted us to suffer. He tried to use Vanya, and I’m glad he’s dead!”

Silence follows this declaration, and Five isn’t actually sure when he’d started yelling. Or when he’d started crying, actually. 

But there’s Vanya, and she’s there folding him back into her arms and letting him tuck his face into her neck as he sobs like the world ended. Except it hadn’t. It hadn’t.

“What’s wrong with him?” Klaus fails to whisper.

“It’s been a long day for him.” Vanya says, and Five is so tired. “He’s just helped pull off the biggest con of the century, and the fight isn’t over yet.”

“The commission.” Five whispers.

“Get some rest.” Vanya tells him, pushing at him until he’s paying down on the sofa with his head in her lap, “You’re practically falling asleep. We’re still going to be here after you get some sleep.”

“You promise?” Five asks, and maybe it’s childish but - he’s afraid. He’s afraid he’s going to open eyes and find out that this is just a dream again, that he’s going to have to do this all over again. 

“I promise.” Vanya says, smiling. “Have I ever broken a promise?”

And Five’s eyes are slipping shut, and the world has been spinning for a while, and he’s had a very very emotionally exhausting conversation with his sister, jumped in time three times, and then had a very emotional time reuniting with his family and watching his sister shoot a man. 

“Trust me.” Vanya says softly.

So he does.

---

“He’s so little.” Ben whispers, a solid five minutes after Five’s eyes slip shut.

“He’s thirteen.” Vanya tells them, carding her fingers through Five’s hair. “He’s thirteen, and he’s had the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“Why didn’t he just tell us?” Allison asks.

Vanya just looks at Allison with sad eyes, “Why would he have? By staying quiet, he gave himself the power to act. By staying quiet, he protected himself.”

“He should have told us.” Luther states firmly.

“He was just a kid.” Vanya says, “He was just a kid, and he was scared. We all were. But he was more scared than anyone. You know the way Dad pitted us against one another. He loved us, but he didn’t trust us. Not when Dad was too smart and too cunning and too cruel.”

“Don’t talk about Dad like that.” Luther says quietly, and just shakes his head, “I know. I know. But - I know. But he’s still - he’s still Dad. I still - I know, but - ”

Luther has had a week, so Vanya forgives him. Finding out Dad was... Dad had been a bit of a shock to him.

“What now?” Ben asks.

“Now, I tell you about the Commission.” Vanya says serenely, “Now, we work together and make sure that the world stays whole. Now, we look after our brother.”

“If I remember anything about Five, that’s going to be a difficult job.” Klaus waves his hands a little but in emphasis. 

“Good thing he has all of us then, isn’t it?”

---

That’s it. That’s the au. Five’s time travel powers translate into seeing the future, and he uses it to give his sister a little trust and a lot of responsibility and manages to save the world

Vanya listens to her brother. She keeps her head down. She knows, with undeniable proof, that her family loves her. That at least one person trusts her. That at least one person believes in her. 

She is Vanya, with a mission. With the most important mission the Umbrella Academy had ever faced. Perhaps the most dangerous mission the Umbrella had ever faced. The scariest mission, because it’s an undercover one. 

It’s one where Vanya kept quiet, stayed silent, stayed under the radar. She hid pills under her tongue and left the mansion, going to the parks in the dead of night with her violin tucked under her chin trying to figure out a power she didn’t quite understand. 

Vanya saves Ben. She crept out, was in the right place at the right time. Blasted one man into a wall with the sound of gunshots rattling in her skull, and then went home and bit her knuckles until the whole team came home safe and sound.

She saves Luther. Luther was hurt, but he didn’t die. He wasn’t at the point their father tried an experimental drug on him. His knee might never recover. He might always walk with a limp. But he’s alive, and he doesn’t have to hide. Isn’t ashamed any time he looks in the mirror.

She saves Klaus. She gets him into rehab. She encourages Ben to check in on him. She keeps in touch with the both, makes sure Klaus has enough to eat and isn’t on the streets and that he’s happy and healthy and safe. 

She saves Allison. She doesn’t write her book, but she writes to Patrick. She talks to him, on the phone, and essentially gives him the shovel talk. She tells him that Allison has issues, she encourages them to get therapy. Couples therapy. Allison works on her issues at Patrick’s insistence. They still divorce, but it’s amiable this time around. 

She saves Diego, who in another world grieved Ben and pushed the rest of the family away. Diego is less angry. More solid. He dropped out of the police academy, but he co-owns a gym and boxes in his free time and he doesn’t live in a boiler room. 

She saves Five, who is so young and so frightened, who loves her enough to trust her. She saves him, by saving the world. Her brother, her wonderful brother who pulled the strings for so long and was terrified to stop. Who is thirteen years old and a child and it’s hard to believe that she was ever that young herself.

They have a lot to do still, of course. The Commission isn’t going to be happy, they’re going to be sending people. But they aren’t as broken. And they have a unifying force to help them along:

Five. Because he’s young, and tiny, and he reminds them of exactly what their father did to them in a way canon five just... doesn’t. Because canon!Five looks young, but they know he isn’t every time they interact with him. This Five is... he’s young. He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s grieving. 

He doesn’t know them, and he isn’t sure if he wants to. Isn’t sure if he wants to let go of the siblings he knew while wanting desperately to connect with the siblings of now. Because at the end of the day, he loves them.

And Vanya is independent, and more confident, and she hasn’t been on that numbing medication in years. She hasn’t been a mouse since she left her father’s house when she was eighteen. Her brother was gone, and she had to step into his role as puppetmaster. She had to pull strings, to keep her family alive, while never looking like she was. 

Vanya has waited seventeen years preparing. She has a two bedroom apartment, she moved most of Five’s things over there years ago. She’s ready to do what someone should have done all those years ago. She’s ready to take care of her brother, because she didn’t realize until she took the job just how much he had on his plate. 

The family has to band together to deal with the commission agents. But Vanya refuses to be a weapon. She refuses to be the bomb. She refuses to betray her family. 

Five chooses to trust, but Vanya is the one who steps up. Decides that even if she doesn’t care about the rest of the world, even if she doesn’t particularly care for half of her siblings, it doesn’t matter.

Vanya is going to save the world.

[egelantier]

Yuletide Recs

Having had two days of more or less nothing but reading fics, I come bearing recs!

First of all, my amazing gifts:

The Goblin Emperor

For Thy Principles

The nohecharei of Edrehasivar VII were unparalleled in their defense of his person, but there were limits to even their prowess. When Maia first developed the fever, Cala quickly determined that it was not the end result of a magically-based assassination attempt – and from there it had to be left to the court physicians.

Maia falls ill, and Csethiro protects him as best she can.

Beautifully gentle Maia sickfic, with Csethiro holding him together. For me all for meeee.

Benjamin January Mysteries

Dry as a Bone

“Oh. Well, I’ve been better, maestro, been a hell of a lot better to tell truth.” Shaw stared at him for a long moment, and he was stunned to see honest to God grief in his eyes. Even when Shaw had just lost his brother he had been so much more himself than this lost man currently standing before him. “Not that I mean to put anything extra on your shoulders, I’m sure you’ve got enough of your own shit going on at present moment, but it seems like I’ve just lost my job.”

Shaw loses his job, and finally confronts Ben about trust (and lack thereof) between them. It’s GREAT.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

A Distraction Worth Losing

They may never be together, but the gods would have to move heaven and earth to split Rune and Brand apart.

Brand, Rune and The Kiss incident. (Poor messed up babies, somebody save them.)

And fics of the collection:

17776, Astreiant, Raksura, Frederica, The Gentlemen, The Goblin Emperor, Hades, Innkeeper Chronicles, Jeeves, Kate Daniels, King Arthur the movie, My Next Life as a Villainess, Nirvana in Fire, No. 6, Psmith, The Secret Garden, The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, Swordspoint, The Tarot Sequence, Teixcalaan Series, The Temple of the White Rat verse

17776: What Football Will Look Like in the Future

so far, so fast

When Manny gets a craving for some fancy meal he had once, over ten thousand years ago, Nick decides he’s gonna fulfill that craving, no matter how hard it is. Because real romance is about making the impossible happen for his husband.

Goddamn transcendental.

Go Get It

Sometimes you start out just planning to get some groceries with your husband, and next thing you know, you’re committing to join the most hopeless team in college football.

Nick and Manny decide to play. It’s perfect.

Afterlife

A young man dies six months before the end of human death; his loss saves five lives, which end up much longer than anyone expects. (A series of worldbuilding vignettes about original characters in the 17776 setting.)

Made me cry, in a very cathartic way.

Astreiant Series - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett

April dressed in all his trim

A quiet evening in spring.

Sweet little slice-of-life with lovely sensory details.

Books of the Raksura

The Second Consort

“When Glow arrives, be friendly and welcoming,” Ember said. “Not scary.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to scare him?”

Chime said, “They can see your face when you look at him.” He paused, glancing over at Moon. “That face, that’s the one.”

Ember sighed. “I remember being in his position. It’s pretty nerve-wracking coming to a new court and not knowing what’s going to happen to you there - whether they’re going to welcome you or shun you, whether you’ll make new friends, whether a queen is going to claim you…” He came and put a sympathetic hand on Moon’s shoulder. “Glow is probably worried about all of those things, and missing his home and clutchmates, and it’s our job to try and help him relax.” For a moment Moon thought he was just being soft-hearted, until Ember added, “He won’t open up and tell us what’s really going on unless he’s relaxed.”

Jade takes in a new consort, on Moon’s permission, and everybody is delightfully adult about it.

Frederica

Lady Alverstoke

Frederica commences her first Season as a married woman by planning a ball, promising most straitly that her husband will have nothing whatsoever to do …

Sweet and funny slice-of-life post-happy-ending for canon.

**The Gentlemen (2019) **

Even

The week after he intercepts Fletcher, that squirrelly little cunt, outside the London Miramax office, Raymond reluctantly ventures down to Brixton.

Under normal circumstances, Raymond tends to give this part of Brixton a wide berth, but he has unfinished business that needs attending to. Of course, that doesn’t mean he has to like being accosted by the overwhelming smell of greasy fish and chips when he pushes the car door open, doesn’t mean he has to be pleased about stepping into a piece of chewed-up gum the moment he sets a foot on the kerb.

But then, he can always take a shower after an errand in Brixton. The deep-seated discomfort of unfinished business doesn’t wash off that easily.

Raymond tries to pay Coach back for saving his life, and it doesn’t quite go as planned :D

The Goblin Emperor

The Archduke’s Discovery

Prince Nemolis goes on a journey, and learns a bit more than he wanted to know.

Really great point of canon divergence, and true and precise character voices.

Hades

all the spaces between us

For a place full of the dead, crammed with ghostly shades and nothing but the endless lull of eternity unchanging, gossip sure travelled fast in the Underworld.

Or, Zagreus mulls over his relationship with Thanatos while the rest of the Underworld get overly invested.

Slow, slow, slowest of burns.

Innkeeper Chronicles - Ilona Andrews

A Quick Trip

“It’ll be a quick trip,” Maud said, more to herself than to Arland. “No one will even notice we’re gone.”

Pirates are plaguing an ally, just outside of vampire space. Maud and Arland don some aesthetically beat-up armor and try to get more information from the pirates themselves. Of course, plans only last until you meet your enemy. Or your enemy’s giant alien attack boar.

Excellent canon voice, action/adventure sprinkled with badassery and hilarity.

Jeeves & Wooster

August Thirteenth

Discovering that this is not the first August thirteenth that he’s lived through, that certainly was a head scratcher. Luckily Bertie has the stalwart presence of his man’s man, Jeeves.

Very, very great and satisfying use of the time loop.

Kate Daniels - Ilona Andrews

lookin’ like a snack (cake)

It took Barabas a while to figure it out, because he wasn’t used to not being taken seriously.

Barabas considered several ways to phrase it, and finally settled upon, “Do you have a thing for twinks?” Christopher knocked his head back against the headrest: once, then again. “Is that a yes?”

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

When Goosefat Bill finds himself in a difficult situation, the last thing he wants is the King to show up and “help”, in his own unique and unexpected way.

Goosefat Bill does not need to be rescued by his King. But he might just enjoy it a little.

My Next Life as a Villainess (Anime)

All I Have To Bring Today

Catarina and Sophia had been discussing the latest in the Devilish Count series, and Sophia had mentioned how romantic the surprise picnic the count had planned for his lover was and how she wished for someone to surprise her like that.

“What about you, Catarina? Have you ever wished for someone to sweep you off your feet?” Sophia had asked.

Catarina makes a choice! As sweet and as hilarious as the canon.

Nirvana in Fire

Adverse Event

What a pitiful man must he have become, if the only thing he could provoke in bed was a monologue on his character flaws.

: or, the famous strategist mei changsu plays xanatos speed chess against truth serum: the fic.

Mei Changsu gets hit with an accidental truth serum; it doesn’t stop him from lying to himself, but it does buy Jingyan a clue.

Records of the Land of Xiang

There was something of Xiao Jingyan there, in the firmness of his jaw, the unforgiving slash of his brows, and most clearly in the eyes that neither saw nor conveyed deception. But Long Zhan was not Jingyan, could never be, no matter how much Changsu might wish otherwise, because Jingyan was dead.

In service to a very-much-alive Prince Qi, Jingyan dons a Jianghu-typical disguise and infiltrates the Jiangzuo Alliance to suss out this Mei Changsu fellow and see if he might be useful in helping them re-open the Chiyan conspiracy case. Basically, a slightly ridiculous premise where everyone is running around the Jianghu with masks, multiple identities, and secret agendas.

Fascinating and fun AU scenario that delves, among other things, into Mei Changsu the jianghu chef, not Sir Su the court schemer.

suffering as I suffer you

The first time Jingyan stays the night at Su Manor, he discovers an uncomfortable truth about Mei Changsu.

Excellent extrapolation of Mei Changsu’s illness into his nightly routine - with Jingyan watching…

Here, In Our Arms

With the world put to rights, however briefly, Xiao Jingyan and Mu Nihuang take the opportunity to make a fuss over their beloved Lin Shu, and will not take no for an answer.

Sweet moment of comfort.

Find the Coals Amid the Ashes

Despite Changsu’s assertions, Lin Chen is a well brought up person. He would never violate his host’s privacy during a social call. It would be inexcusable, for example, to break into a marquis’s private alchemy lab in the middle of said marquis’s birthday party, in order to search said alchemy lab for certain hard to find medicinal herbs, which one has reason to believe can be found therein. These would be the actions of a man without honour, of a man who has only desperation to his name.

Lin Chen crashes a party and makes a new friend.

The best team up ever :D

Dead Letters

Mei Changsu isn’t the only schemer in Da Liang.

Fei Liu fixes things, in the most Fei Liu way imaginable, and it’s great.

No. 6

All Good Things

In the midst of a crisis for No. 6, Nezumi returns to Shion’s side.

A reunion! And cuddling.

Psmith

The Psky Is The Limit

“As this ship’s Orator, my mission is still as it was in the beginning and shall ever be, world without end. It is to hail any message sent by comrades from outer space and pass it on to you verbatim. Well! The hour, I say, has come. The Word has come into being. Here comes Psmith, bearing news of great mirth: the intercom has spoken.”

(A Mike and Psmith Space AU)

Psmith in space! Hysterically funny Psmith in Pspace, at that.

Psmith Pops In

Psmith reached over and solicitously loosened Mike’s scarf, his fingers brushing the skin of Mike’s neck, and that young man, to his horror, felt heat creeping up from where gloved fingers brushed his bare skin. Really, this blushing nonsense was getting out of hand. Ever since Psmith had tried to take the blame in the case of the painted dog, Mike had developed an inexplicable habit of turning hot and cold around him, and these odd responses had become more and more frequent.

Very funny! And then very tragique! And then jussssst right.

The Secret Garden

The Space Garden

When Meri La Nix was sent from the Mars colony to live with her aunt at Missiles Wait Manor, nobody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. But some of them thought it.

Beautifully inventive space retelling - with gardens, still.

The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty

The sky spinning above him

In which there’s a jewellery thief on the loose, Tang Fan plays dress up, gets a mild concussion and also a boyfriend.

Frothy, sweet, well-grounded and hot. Also hilarious (check the end note!)

truth in fiction

Three days after Wang Zhi leaves the capital, bits and pieces of his extensive library begin arriving at Sui Zhou’s house.

Sui Zhou is really committed to research and accuracy in Tang Fan’s porn. It’s delightful.

Time don’t fool me no more

“The electrician is a Tang dynasty spy,” he says, dumping some of his eggs in Tang Fan’s bowl.

Tang Fan nods, shovels more food in his mouth, and starts talking again.

Past or future, Tang Fan has Priorities. And Sui Zhou is weak.

Meeting at the End

Sui Zhou knew he never should have let Tang Fan go alone. He knew he should have gone with him.

Really, really great and desperate whump. Super satisfying.

clever boy

Tang Fan never spares a smile for any of the girls at Wang Zhi’s establishment, he’s noticed. That’s alright, though. It means Wang Zhi gets his attention for himself.

Wang Zhi falling, falling hard; it’s delightful.

a bold and brilliant sun

“You’re sure you didn’t do something to it? They don’t usually stall out,” Sui Zhou says. He looks away from Tang Fan, out the windshield at the endless rust-red of the planet.

Tang Fan pouts at this, and slumps down on the edge of the console, feet propped up at an absurd angle against the pilot’s seat. “You think I’d fake a mechanical issue just so that they’d send a sexy Fleet crewman out here to rescue me?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he giggles. “Okay, I would do that, but I promise that this time the problem is real.”

Space AU! Most excellent space AU condensing all there is to love about the canon in one perfect package.

Blind Taste Test

Wang Zhi invites Tang Fan to evaluate Joyous Brothel’s chefs — but it’s Tang Fan and Sui Zhou who are really being tested.

Wang Zhi, ever helpful :)

Authorial Intent

Sui Zhou and Tang Fan end up in hot water yet again. Kinky sex ensues.

Hilarious, kinky, heartfelt, and in character.

Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner

Chrysopoeia

It struck Alec that this would have been much easier if their positions were reversed. Richard would have known what to do if he’d been dragged back here with a hole in his gut. He was quite simply not supposed to be the one on this end of the equation. In fact, it was possible he had done something very bad to deserve this.

Richard is wounded, and Alex is coping. Excellent h/c and excellent bloodplay and sharp, painful slice of Alex’ POV, excellently rendered.

At first — this was just like him — he thought he was hearing god. But it was only the man in the bed, whose face had turned toward him on the ragged pillow.

The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards

Third’s a Charm

Addam asks a favor of Brand.

Addam asks Brand for help, which ends up being exactly what Brand and Rune need.

Pretty good

Five times Brand crawls into Rune’s bed and one time Rune crawls into Brand’s.

Brand and Rune, through the years.

Teixcalaan Series - Arkady Martine

Also in the Act of Reaching

When Three Seagrass arrived at Lsel Station, she was, officially at least, traveling as a private personage. She had missed Mahit and the possibilities they’d both chosen to turn away from. She also had– would always have– a gaping hole in her life where Petal had once stood.

It was simply that, left on her own, Three Seagrass wouldn’t have let either absence drag her to the ass-end of beyond.

Reunion, metaphors and realigment. Subtle and clever and just right.

The (concept of the) World Was Wide Enough

Yskandr Aghavn comes to the world like a drowning man comes to shore, but he is living on borrowed time. Teixcalaan has so many wonderful things to choke on.

Teixcalaan has had his heart for all of his life, has elevated him, corrupted him, and discarded him.

It is Lsel that he thinks of as he dies.

Temple of the White Rat Universe - T. Kingfisher

If Grace Is Too Much

Zale is given a case by Bishop Beartongue which turns out to be more complicated and personal than a holy advocate-priest would prefer.

Clever and sweet and carefully shocking, but in a very right way.

Outreach

“We don’t generally assess the… cursédness… of objects, trees or otherwise,” Beartongue said.

Utterly delightful.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “the mirror is a lie” rating: T warnings: food, eating disorders, self harm, self hatred, sympathetic deceit, analoceit genre: hurt/comfort description: Logan has an eating disorder. (for anon prompt:  "Okay so: analoceit with V or Lo (you pick which) who struggles with an ed(specifically ana). problem is no one knows because they've never "followed though" with it because they fight it all the time(bonus if fighting it is 'easier' bc they fight s/h / suididal thoughts anyway) so they have to barely keep together everytime someone mentions their weight bc they're 'chubby' (no unsymp anyone please) and they get soft affection and comfort from the boyfs sorry if this doesn't make sense") (song lyrics are from “empty” by boyinaband and jaiden)

Mirror mirror on the wall, yeah Tunnel vision on the flaws In the scale of things it's unimportant So no talking, but it's still an intrusive thought

It isn't logical. He knows that. He knows his routine isn't very logical, either. It's fine when he wakes up and brushes his teeth (for precisely two minutes, and he always uses the same amount of spearmint-flavored toothpaste on the medium-firm bristles). Dressing doesn't take long- it isn't like he's some kind of fashion icon. The most complicated step is fixing his tie, and at this point, he could probably do it in his sleep. The next step the others know about is breakfast and he will get there, but before that step, Logan has a secret one.

And it's one he knows isn't very rational at all.

He stands in front of the mirror in his attached bathroom. It's a full-sized mirror, lingering on all his flaws in painful detail. He lifts up his shirt, exploring the contours of his pudgy stomach with ruthless fingers, squeezing and pinching until he frowns at the sting. He welcomes it, too, though, because if he were better at this, he would have nothing to grab. Don't eat thumps in tune with his heartbeat as he tucks his shirt back in and runs a comb through his hair. That thought's not logical, either. He needs to eat. Well, he doesn't technically need to- none of the sides need to eat, they aren't real that way- but they perform better if they do. It helps Thomas when they eat and how can Logan deny that?

"Chocolate chip waffles!" Patton chirps in response to Roman's inquiry as Logan makes his way downstairs, heading straight for the coffee pot. He has to get there first, or Patton will serve him sugar and cream just the way he likes it and he knows he only deserves it black.

Staring down at a plate filled with three waffles, Logan feels sick. He doesn't want to eat any of it. Even breathing the aromatic air above it feels laden with empty calories. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, pretending he doesn't see Virgil's and Janus's concerned looks, to either side of him. He cuts off a piece of waffle with his fork and raises it to his lips, chewing automatically. It feels like he's eating chocolate-scented couch stuffing.

"Are you all right?" Janus asks him, softly, under the clamor of the others. Logan tightly nods, but he knows that it's not reassuring. He wouldn't believe it either. Today was supposed to be a good day.

Been getting even worse All the days begin to merge, yeah Just a blurry haze and now it's Almost second nature to ignore the urges

It gets worse that night. Dinner is shrimp alfredo pasta, heavy and cloying. Logan feels his throat narrow to a pinhole as he attempts to shovel it down. He wishes he could blame the sensation on a shellfish allergy. He knows it's not.

The others choose a movie to watch. He isn't sure what it is. Some Disney movie, naturally. With Roman around, it's hard to choose anything else, although technically, they all get an opportunity to pick a movie throughout the week. Logan's choices are rarely approved of by more than Janus and Virgil (and occasionally Remus, oddly enough).

"Can I sit by you, Lo?" Patton asks. "You make the best pillow!" He doesn't mean anything by it, Logan tries to convince himself, static roaring in his ears. Don't be irrational. It's a simple question, Logan, it only requires a simple answer.

"Of course, Pat," he croaks out, through dry lips. "I'll be right back." He walks up the stairs- walks, but doesn't run- and he doesn't notice the glance his boyfriends exchange, nor the similar string of excuses made as they trail behind him.

When he reaches his room and the door is safely tucked shut, he collapses by the foot of his bed, doubling in on himself and cursing every inch of his disturbing fat, squishy body. He doesn't have to be this way. He shouldn't be this way. He wouldn't be this way if he wasn't such a coward. He drives his fists into the tops of his thighs as hard as he can, relishing the pain. He doesn't hear the door behind him open, or the twin intakes of breath seeing him disheveled on the floor, muttering self-hatred into his lap.

I can reach out To someone not like me I can help my mind learn to trust my body

"Lo-" and Virgil is there, softly coaxing him back into purple-clad arms, and Janus is facing him, concern bright in mismatched eyes, and then it all blurs in a wash of kaleidoscope colors, and Logan realizes he's crying.

"I just-" He stops, hiccuping and hating himself for it.

"Take your time," Janus quietly encourages. "No one here is judging you, Logan. No one is pressuring you. Take as long as you need."

"I hate myself," Logan blurts out. "I'm sorry, I know it's not logical, but I-" He stops again. Virgil rubs slow, soothing circles on the tops of his hands, steadying him. He can feel Virgil's breath stirring his hair.

"I hate myself," he repeats, starting anew. "I hate my body. It's disgusting. It's too fat. It's wrong. I should look more like Thomas and I don't. I- I like Crofters too much and I hate it and I wish that Thomas had never found that jam brand in the first place because maybe that was the start of my downward spiral and maybe I wouldn't be this way if it wasn't for Crofters." He shakes his head, staring at the floor.

"We love you," Janus says. "No matter what you look like, Lo. We love you. I could stay here a thousand years and never run out of things to say about how much I admire you and your body. But I know that self-hatred and body dysmorphia aren't so easily shaken." He looks down at ungloved hands and Logan can see the spattering of scales there.

"I love you and I love your body," Virgil chimes in. "And whatever we can do to help, we want to."

"You- you do?" Logan stammers in surprise. Janus scoots closer, taking one of Logan's hands.

"Of course we do," Janus says. "You're our boyfriend. We might not have taken wedding vows but I, for one, still apply that whole 'sickness and in health' thing."

"Even if it takes months? Or- or years?" Logan asks.

"Even if it takes eternity," Virgil says. "You're worth it, Logan."

The world goes out of focus again, thanks to another steady wash of tears, but Logan can't bring himself to care.

"Do you want to go back to the movie?" Janus asks, a long while later. Logan nestles himself deeper in Virgil's arms.

"If it's with you two, I'll go anywhere," he says. "Thank you."

tag list:  @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @littlestliu @matthindavick @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @bexxbeauty @killjoy-3000 @the-sunshine-dims @sneaky-slytherin @reesiereads @rabbitsartcorner @quackerz-creations  

[soyforramen]

The firm’s annual Christmas party.  That much closer to the end of year bonus, two weeks away from grueling corporate clients, and, more importantly, it was the time where Brett did what he was born and breed to do.  Schmooze.

While he was a man of, admittedly, quite a few talents (including but not limited to: lacrosse; getting into fully booked restaurants on an hour’s notice; and winning at the company’s forced monthly trivia (a blatantly outdated attempt at creating a better team cohesion among the younger, potential partners)), his most well honed skill was working over people for his own gain.  The natural charisma that oozed out of every one of his finely pampered pores was intoxicating to people of a certain ilk.  People like Weatherbee, who came second in the firm’s long historied and prestigious name.  Chipping, in particular, was still gushing over Brett’s most recent brief, wherein he presented the novel argument regarding corporate personhood and the parental legal rights of those children left in its care while their parents worked upstairs, that followed.

He’d be tapped for lead counsel in no time.  

Brett straightened his bowtie, about to launch into another witty repertoire about how he’d found a long lost legal case from 1873 that - 

“Ah, there he is.  Jones, over here,” Chipping said, interrupting Brett’s most charming piece of witticism tonight.

Brett’s face fell and he did his best to keep from looking as if he smelled something inferior.  He turned to greet his reluctant colleague - one must always keep up appearances, no matter the circumstances - and found the most recent hire walking towards them.  On his arm was a woman that looked like she’d stepped out of a Mattel commercial circa 1963.  Blonde, pink, and peppy.

“Mr. Chipping, Brett,” Forsyth said by way of greeting.

(Brett refused to call him by his particular nickname, if it could even be called that.  And even if it was, it certainly wasn’t a descriptor befitting a lawyer of one of the most prestigious firms in the world.)

“This is my fiance, Betty Cooper.”

They shook hands and Brett could almost taste the sparkly glitter of the world this woman lived in.  Unicorns and roses; a life that would be further tinted in sunshine by the salary an attorney of Jones’ caliber could provide.  The contrast between her and the gloomy Forsyth should have turned heads, but even Chipping seemed enamored with the pair.

Realizing he’d missed part of the conversation, Brett waited until a lull and did what he did best in this sort of situation: inquire into the life of someone beneath his social standing.

“So, Ms. Cooper.  What is it that you do?”

Forsyth smirked.  He slipped his hand into hers, a move that would have been sweet on a sixty foot tall screen.  But this was real life, and certainly no one was that enamored of their partner without some sort of chemical boost.  Brett made a note to suggest a floor-wide drug test at Monday’s meeting.

“Oh, just a few things here and there.  Trying to save the world one small cause at a time,” she said brightly.

Ah.  An elementary school teacher.  Brett smirked.  Who else claimed to ‘save the world’?

“Sounds like the world has one hell of an advocate.  I suppose Forsyth has told you what we do here?”

Betty batted her eyes - a vapid and flirtatious attempt at catching the eye of someone much higher on the food chain than her dear Forsyth.  A gold digger, for sure.

“He did mention the attorney-client privilege rule, so I’m afraid he wouldn’t be able to talk about what he does, even if he wanted to, Rhett Eaton Allspice.”

Forsyth choked back a laugh and, worst of all, even Chipping seemed to get a kick out of her mispronunciation of his name. Brett, meanwhile, almost burst a vein as he tried to keep his teeth from grinding themselves into oblivion.  Taking the high road, he excused himself.  

He was a Wallis, and a Wallis never stood for this type of humiliation.  Instead, he spent the rest of the party tactfully avoiding the blonde and her dopey eyed boyfriend.

Bright and early on January 6th, his first true day of work since before the New Year’s, Brett stalked into the mediation room early.  It was a long held tactic, one that had worked to unsettle his opponent many times over.  The earlier he arrived to negotiations, the earlier he could settle himself in, choose the spot that gave him the biggest psychological advantage (a seat facing the door, forcing opposing counsel to constantly fear someone coming in behind them; preferably with a window facing the rising sun that shone directly into their eyes).  

To his consternation, he found the room already occupied by none other than Forsyth’s girlfriend seated next to the woman who had been the thorn in his side ever since she’d brought suit against Lodge Industries.  It took him an embarrassing amount of time to recover.

When he did, he stepped outside to check the room number.

“You’re in the right place, Mr. Wallis,” Betty called to him.  “Unless you no longer represent McCoy, Weatherbee, and Valentine?”

Brett straightened his tie and tried to regain some of his composure.  “I do.  However, this is a court ordered mediation, and I doubt the judge would appreciate anyone other than the lawyers and their clients in the room while we discuss sensitive matters.”

“I’m aware of what the court ordered, Mr. Wallis, I’m the one who drafted that same court order that was signed by the judge.  And, as I recall, your client’s CFO was also ordered to attend the mediation.”

Brett cleared his throat.  The interns he’d left in the parking garage began to file in with their load of boxes, each filled only a quarter of the way, intended mostly for show.  He waved them to the corner of the room while he tried to think of a way out of this.  

Chipping had said nothing last month about Betty being the opposing counsel.  Nor had he said anything about - 

“I’m afraid there’s a startling conflict of interest here, one in which I will have to advise my client about.”

Betty raised one delicate eyebrow, urging him to continue.  Brett tugged at his tie, his mind whirling through the ethics class he’d largely slept through.

“Forsyth, afterall, works for our firm and -”

“And he’s my fiance, a fact known to my client and to your supervising attorney.  When he was hired, M.W.V. put in all the appropriate firewalls and restrictions reasonably necessary to avoid any information about this case being leaked to him.  As for my part, I do not make it a habit to bring my work home with me.”

“Yes, well, protections aren’t always -”

“Did you ever wonder, Mr. Wallis, why it was that Mr. Jones was assigned to pro bono work in the basement?  Over a dozen floors below the one where your physical files are stored?”

Betty reached into the briefcase on the table next to her and pulled out a stack of papers.  She slid them across to Brett.  

“Copies of every precaution your company took, agreed to and signed by all parties, including the judge.  And, may I remind you, that it was your company who pursued Jughead for employment?”

Brett leafed through the papers.  With every new page he could feel the color draining from his face.  Flabbergasted, his mind stalled, unable to process what had just happened.

“Please, take a seat Mr. Wallis.  I believe we can come to a cordial agreement, don’t you?” Betty said pleasantly.

With a heavy thud, Brett sat down, entirely unprepared for what was coming next.

[inorganicone2230]

Aos Sí (Part 1) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

TBC in Part 2

Summary: You've just moved to a small, quiet town to with hope of getting some peace and quiet, unbeknownst to you, you've attracted the attention of two individuals who have no intention of letting their newest interest go unaware of them for too long. It’s been so long since they found someone they can agree on and they are willing to do what ever it takes to keep it.

Warnings: Not meany for this chapter, just some light stalking/chasing, and some suggestive implications.

As always, a huge thank you to @talpup for all the brainstorming and for just being an awesome friend in general! I know how much you've been looking forward to this one. lol

Grams shop sat wedged between a cheap liquor store and a small rundown café. Chipped red brick and stain glass windows in colors of blue, green and purple gave the place a warm glow on the inside, the colors reflected off the shelves and made anyone who entered the shop believe as if there was real magic being woven into all the items showcased inside. The store was small and dimly lit, it’s shelves and walls lined with items that were purchased online or special ordered from people Grams had met during her early years traveling the world. Sometimes she would even put out items that she had handmade herself, though that was a rare occurrence. These days, if someone wanted one of her personal items, they had to know to ask her and pay a little more for the extra care and work that went into them.

Working in a novelty shop was a rather interesting experience and like with all jobs, it has it’s pros and cons. There were days when it took every ounce of your willpower not to roll your eyes at the love struck schoolgirls that came in asking about charms to get their crushes attention and other days where you were happy to talk to a customer about the interesting myths surrounding the use of tarot cards. It was all about attitude with you and how your mood affected your work ethic for the day.

Grams was under the firm belief that one need only believe in magic to make it real, which, while a perfectly charming notion, was not one you yourself held. Grams had every excuse in the book to believe in all that hocus-pocus nonsense, she was the one who owned the shop after all, it would be strange if she didn’t believe in it at least a little bit. You on the other hand, you had no such tendencies. As much as you loved her, you only worked here because of how well she paid you and if the pay wasn’t good, then family or no family, you would have been employed elsewhere.

You still had your own expenses to pay after all, even if they were relatively small ones.

Today was a Sunday though, which meant that the shop was as quiet as a graveyard, it also meant that with the lack of traffic in the place today, you were free to close up a bit early and head home. Grams insisting that you take the next few days off.

“Are you sure Grams? I can come back tomorrow and help you with inventory, I really don’t mind.” You said, shrugging on your jacket and grabbing your purse while Grams went around checking the windows and locking the doors.

“Nonsense! I may be old (Y/N), but I’m still capable of running my own business without help. I live here, but there’s no reason for you to spend all your free time in this place. Enjoy your youth while you still have it, lord knows you’ll wish you had when you get to be my age.”

Your shoulders shook as you let out a hearty laugh. The old bat was barely into her 50’s, as far as you were concerned, she was still young and spry. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” You said, waving as you walked out the door. “Have a good night, love you!”

“I Love you too Sweetheart, be safe on your way home.”

—————

The walk home was a quiet one for you tonight in the small tourist town you now called home and you took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air while you bask in the peaceful silence. It was quiet now, but in just a few weeks, the streets would be packed with city goers wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of their busy lives in exchange for a taste of the peaceful countryside. Winter was only just now ending, the snow had only just finished melting and the evening air still had a bite to it, but you didn’t mind, it was just another reason why you were so happy about your decision to move out here.

When Grams had called you, explaining that she would like to have some help around her shop for pretty decent pay, you had jumped at the opportunity, especially when you were told that there was already a place available for you to move into, a small cabin that a friend of hers owned. It only took a few short days to pack up your worldly possessions and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a moving truck and on your way to the next chapter of your life.

Three weeks later and you were feeling pretty good about this spur of the moment decision.

But if you had to be honest, it did all seem to be too good to be true, you kept looking over your shoulder half expecting someone to jump out and yell “Psych!” at any given moment. But so far everything had been fine, the only thing you were expecting to cause you any kind of inconvenience wasn’t even due to start until the weather warmed up.

The owner of the cabin let you live there rent free on the condition that you keep an eye on the high fence that surrounded a small patch of privately owned forest, it was a habitat for a few rare species of bird and apparently there was a rather large pond out there that the local kids liked to try and sneak off to party at. All you we’re supposed to do is call the cops if you noticed anything suspicious going on.

Easy peezy lemon squeezy, right?!

The cabin was on the edge of town and surrounded by a grove of maple trees, away from any neighbors and the owner was getting up there in age, so being closer to town was better for him, which is why he was now letting you live there. You had tried to offer him some payment regardless but he refused to take it, said that any family of Grams was family to him and family never pays.

“I really need to buy a bike. This trek will be much easier with a bike.” You mumbled to yourself as you approached the front door, glancing around the quiet area nervously, half expecting a serial killer to jump out and start waving a knife at you. “Note to self, include a flashlight and pepper spray with that bike.” You said as you quickly slipped inside and promptly locked the door.

You breathed a sigh of relief now that you were in the safe confines of your new home and proceeded to go about your nightly ritual of slipping into some soft spandex and a tank top before making yourself a quick dinner. You still had a bit of unpacking to do, but since Grams had given you the next few days off, you figured you could procrastinate for one more night and relax with a cheesy horror movie.

—————

Sometime later, you awoke to a strange sound in the otherwise silent room. At first, you thought it might be the TV, but the room was dark, indicating that the device had automatically shut off on it’s own.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you realized that the sound was coming from outside. It was faint, but it almost sounded like a flute. Stumbling towards the door, you cracked it open just a bit to try and make out the sound a bit better.

But…

As soon as you open the door, the sound was louder than before, almost like it was right next to your ear. Your mind goes blank and you can’t think or feel anything, all you know is that this melody is so sweet and so entrancing, that you could listen to it forever and never tire of it.

Before you knew it, your feet are carrying you through the gate and into the forest. You didn’t feel the cold, nor the branches that left the occasional bloody scratches on your exposed skin, all you could do was follow that wondrous sound straight to its source.

On and on you walked, further and further into the dense trees until at last you came to a clearing. The same clearing that held the aforementioned pond, a body of smooth, crystal clear water that perfectly reflected the full moon in all its glory, surrounded by lush green grass and patches of wildflowers with scattered petals fluttering in the warm breeze.

It was only when the lovely sound faded away into silence that your mind suddenly snapped back into reality and you felt a sudden onslaught of terror despite your picturesque, and very out of season, surroundings.

Your mind swam with so many questions and the sheer force of emotions overtaking you at that moment threatened to make you pass out at any moment.

How had you gotten here?!

When had you gotten here?!

What was going on?!

Fear seized hold of you as you realized that you couldn’t remember how you had reached this place or how long you had been walking. You couldn’t even remember what direction you had come from when you entered the glade.

Snap!

The sharp sound of a snapping branch and two deep chuckles immediately snapped you back to the present and you spun around, a frightened yelp slipping past your lips, only to come face to face with two men. At least, they looked like men, they were still relatively hidden by the dark shadows, having not stepped into the bright moonlight just yet.

“W-Who are y-you? This is p-private property, you need to l-leave now before I-I call the cops.” You wished that your voice sounded stronger, but you were still so confused and scared, that weak threat was all you could muster.

The two men chuckled again and looked at each other before turning back to you and, was it your imagination or were their eyes glowing? That had to be your imagination or a strange trick of the light… right…

The one on the left spoke first.

“I think you’re mistaken Little Dove, we’re not the ones trespassing here, you are.”

Before you could speak, the one on the right spoke next.

“You’re the one that’s wandered into our territory Kitten. If anything, I think you should be the one getting punished. What do you think Zashi?”

Something about his tone unnerved you and you weren’t sure if it was a conscious decision or some primal muscle memory, but you turned to run. You didn’t care what direction you were going or where it would lead you, all you cared about was getting away. Something in the back of your mind and in your gut was telling you that you had to get away from these two. No matter what.

You had made it maybe 10ft away from them when you felt yourself collide with what felt like a wall made of solid flesh, the force of your collision sending you flying back and when you opened your eyes to see what it was, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Somehow, they had managed to get in front of you without making a sound and now that they were standing in the moons light, you were able to get your first real look at them.

And what you saw both horrified and fascinated you all at once.

Both were absolutely gorgeous and dressed in normal clothes, jeans and t-shirts, but it was the rest of their appearance that had truly caught your eye.

One had long blond hair that fell down to the middle of his back, and swirling green eyes that glowed eerily in the dark and his ears, his ears were tall and pointed, like an elf in some fantasy movie. His smile was large and twisted, sharp canines were clearly visible and they flashed dangerously when he tilted his head to the side as he regarded you thoughtfully.

The second was as dark as the other was light. His black hair fell in messy waves around his shoulders and neck, a face full of stubble and the same pointed ears. His eyes glowed as well but red, like the color of fresh blood and whereas his partner could pass for human if not for the ears, he could not, not with the dark, spiraling ram horns that jutted out on either side of his head.

“What are you?” You managed to squeak out as you began to crawl backwards, only to be halted as vines slithered out of the grass like snakes and constricted around your wrists and ankles. No matter how much you struggled and pulled though, they would not break.

“That’s a very good question Little Dove. But before we answer that, I think we should introduce ourselves first. You can call me Hizashi.” The blond says, his voice is soft and melodic and you feel yourself relax just a little bit before catching yourself and putting up your guard again.

The dark haired one gives you a different feeling all together when he flashes you a sultry smile and introduces himself as Shouta. His voice is deep and echoes in your ears and you are ashamed when you let out the tiniest of whimpers as you clench your thighs together.

They both smirk at that, as if they know exactly how your body is reacting.

“Now, what’s your name? We gave you ours, I think it’s only fair we receive yours in return.” One of them says, their voice dripping with honeyed words.

But when you go to open your mouth, the only sound to escape is an ear piercing scream as the fear you’d been feeling finally bubbles over and and consumes you.

The sound rings out for a split second before more vines erupt from the ground and wrap around your face, covering your mouth muffling anymore sounds you tried to make as you thrashed and struggled and cried for release.

“That certainly wasn’t very nice. And here we were being so cordial with you.” Shouta says as both he and Hizashi tower over you, their eyes racking up and down your form in a way that does nothing to hide what they are thinking about.

“I mean, we already know who you are and what your name is, but you still could have been polite enough to introduce yourself before you screamed like a banshee.” Hizashi says, his words doing little to soothe your already racing heart.

“But,” Shouta continues, his red eyes locking with yours. “if you can avoid screaming again and speak like a good girl, we’ll uncover your mouth. Can you do that for us? If not, then we’ll just leave you like this for however long we want.”

You nod your head frantically, you’re willing to do anything at this point to get out of this situation and you feel the vines immediately retract. You steel your nerves and do your best to control your voice when you speak next.

“P-Please l-let me go. I won’t come b-back, I s-swear, I d-don’t even know h-how I got here.” You sobbed quietly.

Your plea went completely ignored,

“Oh, my apologies.” Says Hizashi and you look up to see him holding a set of pan pipes. “That was my doing. We were eager to finally meet you so I just decided to get your attention with this. Did you enjoy the song (Y/N)? I composed it just special, just for you.”

“How do you know my n-name?”

Shouta knelt down and reached out to stroke your face, uncaring for how you turned your head and fought to get away from his touch.

“We’ve been watching you since you first moved here, it’s been so long since anyone interesting has lived in that cabin and we have been waiting for a chance to finally talk to you.” He smiled and again, you felt your libido spike as you clench your thighs together when a sudden wave of arousal clouded your senses.

“Ease up on the compulsion Shou, Save that shit for later.”

“Says the one that couldn’t wait to get her out here.”

They went back and forth like this for a bit before your fearful crying brought their attention back on you and they regarded you with more gentle expressions.

“It’s been a rather long night, so why don’t we just cut to the chase.” Hizashi said as he to, knelt down on your other side to join his counterpart. “We’re willing to let you go back to the cabin safe and sound Little Dove, but only if you’re willing to give us something in return.”

Something about his voice calms you down and you find yourself speaking before your brain has a chance to register what your mouth is saying, you’re so sleepy and all you want is to go back to bed and forget this craziness.

“Anything. Say it and it’s yours, just let me go.” Your tired eyes are wide and look back and forth between the two smirking creatures as you try and figure out what just happened, even as your mind becomes cloudy with sleep and you feel yourself drifting off against your will.

“Perfect.” They all but purr as both reach out, each taking a lock of your hair from the nape of your neck to braid and cut off with a knife that each passes to the other so they can retrieve their prize.

You don’t even have the energy anymore to feel frightened by the weapon or to ask why they took your hair of all things. All you can do is close your eyes and let their voices carry you deeper into a dreamless slumber.

“We’ll see you again very soon Kitten, there’s no getting away from us now.”

“We’re going to have so much fun, just you wait and see. We’ll take such good care of you.”

First chapter is done and out of the way! Hopefully the rest will come to me a bit easier. lol

I hope you all enjoy this newest story!

[mosylufanfic]

You’ve Got Mail

This is for the second day of Killervibe week, the Meet Cute theme! Based on something that happened to a Facebook connection of mine, although as far as I know it didn’t turn out this cute.

You’ve Got Mail

The first note was stuck to Caitlin’s door with a piece of scotch tape. She frowned and unfolded it, wondering if the new neighbor already had a problem with her erratic hours. 

Hi! (read the computer-printed note)

I just moved into 202 and wanted to introduce myself to all my neighbors. I'm Cisco Ramon and I'm starting my Masters' in electrical engineering at the university. Normally I'd knock and say hi but this whole quarantine thing kinda keeps me from doing that. :( 

I speak English and Spanish and a little bit of Klingon. I cook sometimes but mostly get too much takeout so any good restaurant recommendations are welcome! I like tinkering and video games and SF/F books and movies and shows, like you couldn't tell from the Klingon. I have a cat named Buttercup who is a giant butt and I love him. If you see him outside, I’d really appreciate it if you called or texted because he's not an outdoor kitty. 

He'd added a picture of the cat, staring menacingly at the camera as if promising that anyone who tried to pet him would lose a finger. Caitlin smiled in spite of herself. 

Hope you have a great day! Cisco Ramon, Apt 202

He'd also added his phone number.

Caitlin read it through a couple of times before looking across the courtyard and up a floor at 202. It being 11:30 at night, the door was shut tight. There was a muted bluish flicker in one of the windows, like he was watching TV. It would be rude to knock on his door at this time of night. 

Also, they were all practicing social distancing right now.

Caitlin was a champ at social distancing. She could social-distance on Olympic levels.

She went into her apartment, shutting the door behind her.

***

On her way to the hospital the next morning, she left a plastic container full of cookies on the mat of 202. There was a note carefully taped to the top. 

Thank you for your nice note. Here are some cookies to welcome you to the building. They're chocolate chip. If you can't eat them, it's okay to throw them away. I've been baking a lot in quarantine.

She was halfway to the hospital when she realized she hadn't put her name or apartment number on the note. So for all Cisco Ramon knew, some anonymous benefactor had dropped cookies on his doorstep.

She sighed. She really was bad at this, just like Jay had said.

***

There was another note on her door when she got back home, this one hand-written in a sprawling, jagged scrawl.

Hello Cookie Queen!

I hope I'm not creeping you out or anything. I saw you through the window, leaving the cookies this morning, but I didn't want to freak you out by opening up the door right away.

They were delicious. I will happily eat any baked goods that you want to get rid of. That's not a beg, by the way. I can make my own cookies, once I find a good grocery store. (Any recommendations?) Just if you're the kind of person who likes to make entire batches and then has to eat them for the next three weeks, I can help with that. I don't have any allergies or anything.

Anyway I think I've weirded you out enough for one note. 

Cisco

***

Hi Cisco

My name is Caitlin Snow and you already know my apartment number. The grocery store I like is the Safeway at the corner of Livingston and Bellmore because they are very firm about masks and disinfecting right now, much better than the Kroger. Also closer. There's a Taco Galaxy across the street from them that delivers until midnight and I like their chicken taco salad.

She stared at the note for a few minutes, then wondered if he would think she was saying a Mexican place because he was clearly Latino. She crossed out and substituted The Golden Wok on Bellmore delivers, and they do a good sweet and sour chicken.

I am a first-year resident so my hours are kind of strange but please let me know if I can ever help out with anything. 

Caitlin, Apt 106

She chewed her lip for a moment, then added to the last paragraph before the sign-off, I wasn't weirded out.

Then she wrote it out in pen on a clean sheet of paper and found another plastic container to fill with butterscotch oatmeal cookies.

***

Hi Caitlin!

Nice to have a name and stop calling you Cookie Queen. Unless you want me to continue calling you Cookie Queen, that's okay too. Thank you for the second batch! Just as delish.

I took your tip about the grocery store and stocked up. Also got green pepper beef at the Golden Wok. Nom, nom, nom! Any ruling on the Taco Galaxy across from Safeway?

I'm major impressed with the residency thing btw. Are you doing okay? Is your ICU totally packed? I have a sewing machine because I do cosplay but obvi no cons right now, so I've been making masks and stuff too. Do you need any?

Cisco

***

Cisco,

We're doing okay right now. I'm not treating many COVID cases personally because I'm in my first year, but everybody is doing more than they would have normally. If you have extra cloth masks, I know some shelters and the local food bank are distributing them.

I like the chicken taco salad at Taco Galaxy. 

She paused, studying the note. She wanted to continue this conversation. She liked him - his warmth and his humor. Maybe she should start texting him. She had his phone number, after all. Or would that be weird?

She wrote down, Where did you move from?

Caitlin

***

They traded notes back and forth, at least once a day but more often twice. Their correspondence ranged from the mundane - he'd moved from Coast City, she had come here from Gotham - to the personal - neither of them had very good relationships with their families - to the downright philosophical.

I dunno, he wrote one rainy day, I feel like the people who say this is God's punishment or whatever are totally getting God wrong. Like I don't believe in God anymore but if I still did, I don't think I'd believe in that kind of God. 

A virus is a virus, she wrote back. There's debate about whether a virus really counts as alive or not, but it's just doing what all life does. The pandemic is definitely down to human hubris and selfishness and shortsightedness. No need for divine punishment. And I don't believe in that kind of God either.

At work, she would mentally compose parts of her next letter during her rare free moments, and every time something funny or strange or horrible happened at the hospital, she found herself telling him about it. No names, of course, because of HIPAA, but writing them down helped her work them out.

The day he mentioned his most recent ex, she caught her breath, a strange flutter in her stomach.

She did a number on me, I'm telling you. It's weird because I do think she liked me, maybe as much as I liked her. It's just she was in some bad stuff with her brother, and she wasn't really interested in getting out. When I realized that she was using me to help him out, I was done. Probably way after I should've been, but that was the last straw. I'm not saying that breakup was why I picked CCU for grad school and moved here two months early but I'm not NOT saying that.

She lay on her couch reading the note over again. His tone was cheerful, as it usually was, but she could almost feel the regret and self-recrimination behind it. 

Also, did this mean he was single? He hadn't wrapped it up with any other mention of someone else he was dating now. 

I know what that's like, she wrote back. My most recent ex was - 

She lifted her pen and stared at the paper. How to describe Jay?

My breakup with my ex was pretty bad too. You just start to doubt everything that you ever thought or felt. Like, is this real or is this another time bomb he put in your head?

God RIGHT he wrote back. The good exes leave nice little presents for you in your head. You think of them because you see a movie they liked or something they used to wear and it just makes you smile. But the bad ones leave freaking land mines and time bombs.

***

More than once, she arrived home to find a bag of takeout or a tupperware full of some recipe he'd tried out. His tastes were a little more adventurous than hers, but she willingly ate whatever he left. Knowing somebody was thinking about her was as nourishing as the meal. 

And some of it was really good. 

She kept baking, leaving cookies and bread and other treats at his doorstep. Sometimes she experimented, too. 

One day as the first leaves were turning, she left a jar with a note taped to the top. I decided to try something. Let me know if Buttercup likes these.

She got a reply within hours. 

Buttercup would like to formally request to move into your apartment now, because I'm a terrible kitty papa and never thought of making him treats. Also I'm very cruel because I won't let him eat the entire jar no matter how much he yells. You are a genius.

She laughed and wrote back, Obviously you're an excellent kitty papa because you love Buttercup very much. It was a pretty simple recipe. I'll attach it for you so you can make your own. I'm glad he likes them.

She didn't see a reply on her door that night. This wasn't unprecedented, though it was unusual, and she found herself cycling through a few anxious loops of what-if - what if he was sick? what if he had nothing more to say to her? what if it had been just too weird for her to make treats for his cat? what if he was talking to someone else now?

But the next day when she went out to get her mail, she found a note tucked into her screen door. She grabbed it and opened it up. 

Hey I realize this is kind of a weird question since we've been passing notes all this time, but would you be okay with texting? Or FaceTiming or WhatsApp or something? I don't know if you kept my number but here it is again anyway. 

She read the short note through a couple of times, trying to identify the feeling bubbling up in her stomach. 

She did like writing the letters. There was something so calming and old-fashioned about sitting down with paper and pen and writing everything out that was on her mind. And getting a letter back felt like a present. 

But on the other hand, this felt like a step toward something . . . new. Something more. Closer. 

She looked up at 202. A curtain twitched, and she caught her breath. Cisco leaned against the glass, spotted her, and lifted his hand in a wave. 

She waved back. 

She'd seen him a couple of times, leaving something at her door or going to grab his mail. She liked his face and his smile, what she'd seen of them. 

He saw the note in her hand. That much was obvious. Even from here, he looked a little nervous. Or maybe that was her, projecting. 

She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in his number. He looked away from the window, reached out to grab something, and lifted his phone to his ear.

"Hi," she said shyly. "It's Caitlin."

His smile spread over his face, big enough to bathe her in warmth from one floor and a whole courtyard away. "Hi, Caitlin," he said. "Cisco here."

She smiled back. "So. How's your day going?"

It would be a long time before they actually got to meet in person, without a mask. But she was looking forward to it.

FINIS

[thadelightfulone]

The Firm - Chapter 13

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Summary: Erik has been hired to find an embezzler for an old friend. What happens now that LaNyah is back?

Pairing: Erik x Black!OC

Genre: Suspense

It's Friday morning and business as usual at GBI. No one on the accounting floor knows why or cares that they have to answer to Stacey. Matt’s office was occupied two days ago when he ran from Mr. Green and Mr. Stevens, but now, it is empty. It was cleaned up overnight, door placard removed, and no news from the man himself. Mr. Green dropped by the floor on Thursday to hold a meeting. He let them know that he will be reorganizing the current teams, and Stacey will oversee the entire department until further notice.

Stacey is upstairs at the coffee machine, making her first cup for the morning. She turns as she hears the elevator ding. Ashley and Alex walk in together, waving at her on the way to his office. Finished doctoring the coffee to her liking, she walks back to her desk and sits down as the elevator goes off on the floor again. Stacey looks up to see Erik walk out of the car. He nods in greeting to her before heading into Alex's office.  

They all greet one another before settling into seats. Erik is on the couch while Alex sits in one of his desk chairs with Ashley on the arm. They all sit silently for a few moments before Erik starts the discussion.

“Everything was cleaned up and fixed after we left Tuesday night. Nothing is linking us to anything that happened in Gina's warehouse. And all the money will be returned to you within the next two months."

“How did you get that handled so quickly?” Ashley asks.

“The same way I got us the fully loaded SUV.” He shrugs, “I still have connections all over from people I knew back then and even with my line of work now. A few phone calls after discovering LaNyah was missing. Not too hard to do.”

“But a clean-up crew? Was that necessary?" Alex rubs Ashley's back, "You could have let them find the bodies."

“You both know I couldn't do that. Gina needed to disappear completely." He leans back in the chair. "Besides accessing some of her stuff required parts of her or proof of her demise." Waving away their looks of shock, "But it's nothing that you have to worry yourself about. Like I said, it's been handled and will go away quietly."

“Including Matthew?” Erik nods at them.

Focusing on Alex, “I set up a meeting for you and a federal prosecutor for a week from today. Matthew will be offered a plea deal and serve his time for his part in the embezzlement. There will be no mention of Gina. Everything links back to him only.”

“Wow! I wasn’t expecting you to be this damn thorough.” Greens states. “Still covering all bases, leaving nothing to chance.”

“That’s what they pay me to do. You better ask somebody.” They all share a laugh as Erik grins at them. “But yeah, this is done.” He gets serious for a moment. “I need to take some time off before my next job. So, this is it for me.”

“What? You’re headed back so soon.” Ashley asks him. “What about our dinner date?”

“I plan to keep that before I leave Cali. It’s just that I- I-” he stops speaking and looks away.

“Oh.” Ashley squeaks out, understanding what he is trying to say. She turns to Alex. “Kill has to disappear.” Erik looks at them and nods his head.

"We understand, man. You left that part of you behind many years ago." Alex wraps his arm around Ashley, "I am grateful he showed up, though. Now and then."

Erik stands up after that. “Dinner before I head back home. I promise.”

"Yeah, of course." Ashley walks up and gives him a hug. "Thank you for everything, Erik."

"You're welcome, girl. I'm glad I could help you all out." He steps back and side steps towards Alex, clapping him on the back in a bro hug. "It was nice to see you guys again, even if it was like this.”

“Next time, just come visit us.” They both laugh as they release the hug.

"I'm gonna go say bye to Stacey. I'll send my final report and see you soon for dinner." He walks out of the office, headed towards Stacey's desk.

---  

“So, do you plan to stay a bit longer?” Stacey asks as Erik leans on her desk. He just finished his meeting with Alex and Ashley. He dropped by her desk before making his exit.

“Nah, my job here is done. A new one awaits me back home.” Stacey makes a face that he can’t read. “So, this is goodbye.”

“Really? Just like that. You’re leaving.” He straightened up at her words, “You know that’s your family in there, right?”

Erik shakes his head. He knows what she is saying is true, but he can watch them from afar as he has done for the past 7 years. He can always come back to visit, maybe. Looking up, Erik watches her expression change. Suddenly, he knows it’s time to rush this goodbye before Stacey changes the topic.

“What about Nyah?” And there it is.

“What about her?” Stacey rolls her eyes at him. “Look, I know everyone wants me to talk to her and settle whatever it is between us.” He exhales his frustration, “But I am not gonna force that on her now. Not with all she has been through in the last week." Stacey opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off. "Nah, when she's ready to deal with it, she will. She's strong, and when she wants to talk, we will. It's that simple." He signals for her to get up.

Stacey stands up and comes around her desk. Erik pulls her into a big hug. As she returns the hug, she mumbles into his chest, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I know. I’ll miss you, too, Stace.” Looking over her head, he continues, “But you know how to reach me. I’m only a phone call away.” He pulls away, holding her hands, he looks at her. “Take care of her for me, ok.”

She looks up at him with watery eyes and squeezes his hands, “Yeah.” He wipes away her tear and kisses her cheek. One last squeeze, and he walks towards the elevator, pushing the button.

Ashley taps Stacey’s shoulder as she and Alex walked up to see him finally go. Erik looks up and nods at everyone as the elevator doors close in front of him.

--- One Week Later ---

Monday morning, LaNyah enters the GBI lobby after being out for the last week and a half. No one was expecting her back so soon. But she decided to come back early. She greets the security guy on her way to the elevator bank. While standing at the elevator, her mind flashes back to when she ran over Erik, trying to get to the office on time. LaNyah smiles to herself as she walks to the open car and pushes the button for the 35th floor.

The elevator chimes, and Stacey looks up to see LaNyah stroll out and make her way to the front desk. Stacey comes around and gives LaNyah a huge hug.

“Oh, I am so happy to see you chick!” LaNyah’s laughs are muffled as Stacey holds her close. She squeezes her one last time before pulling away to get a good look at her. “Does Mr. Green know you are coming back today?”

LaNyah shakes her head, “No, I came up here to let him know.”

“I am glad you are back, but you know he is gonna have something to say about it.” Right as she finishes saying that, Ashley and Alex get off the elevator.

“LaNyah!” Ashley runs over to her, smothering her in a hug. She hasn’t seen her since LaNyah sent her packing a week ago. She spent the night of the rescue at LaNyah’s place, and the next two days observing her before LaNyah put her out. LaNyah assured her that she was fine, so Ashley left. “What are you doing here? Alex gave you two more weeks off, at a minimum.”

Walking towards Mr. Green, LaNyah gives him a side hug, "I know I know, but I can't stand staying in my apartment another day."

“Nyah.”

“No, Ashley. I need something else to focus on. I would rather be here at work. In control of something outside of those four walls.”

"You sure? There is no rush for you to come back to the office." Ashley responds.

LaNyah nods at all three, “Yes, I am ready to be here.” Looking up at him, “I am ready to get back to work, Mr. Green.”

"Well, you know what you can handle. You are free to work part-time until you are ready for your regular schedule." Alex looks down at her as she stands beside him.

“I don’t want to work up to a full day. I am here all day.” She notices all the worried looks, “I promise to let you and Stacey know if I can’t handle it.”

“Good, because I am your new boss until Mr. Green finishes his restructuring of the Accounting department teams.” Stacey beams at LaNyah. Looking down at her watch, “Ooooh, it’s almost time for my first meeting of the day." She grabs her things and directs her next comment to Ashley and Alex, "I'll keep an eye on her. Come on, Nyah.” The two of them walk to the elevator and head down to the accounting floor.

Ashley and Alex walk to his office, “Do you think she is ready to be here so soon?”

Alex sits behind his desk as Ashley drops onto the couch, looking at his wife, “Do you trust that she knows whether or not she can handle being in the office already?”

Meeting his eyes, “It’s hard to believe she wants to be back here.” She sighs, “But if she says she is ready, then I trust her.” She lays on the couch, putting her legs up and stretching out entirely on her back.

Turning on his computer, “Now, when are you gonna go back to work?”  

"It's called personal leave, asshole." Alex sees the smile across her face as she closes her eyes. "Besides, all my clients know how to reach me if they really are in need. But my family comes first."

---

“Miss Lady, you up for hanging out tonight?” Stacey asks LaNyah as they eat lunch in the latter’s office.

“What did you have in mind?” LaNyah takes a sip of her water.

Taking another slice of pizza, she answers, “I was thinking movie night at my place.”

Nyah puts more salad on her plate, “Are we baking cookies or just shoveling ice cream?”

“Who says we can’t do both?” She glances at LaNyah, whose eyes grow wide. “Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies with French Vanilla ice cream.”

"I'm in." Nyah bounces in her seat. "I'll bring the stuff for the cookies, and you get the ice cream."

“Deal. Be there at 7:30.” She stands up, “Hate to eat and run, but I have another meeting this afternoon. So, I’ll see you tonight.”

--- 15 Years Ago ---

Killmonger was laser-focused as he entered the house. He was on another mission with a brand new team. He carried the tail as he watched the other guys lead the way. They make their way through, clearing every room and move onto the next one as their mission was to evacuate any stragglers hanging around the town. It was going to be rubble soon, and the powers that be wanted to display some sense of concern even if they were destroying people’s homes.

It had only been a few months since McCoy’s squad was disbanded after what happened to Bridges and McCoy’s death. It was his third team in 6 months. Kill was shuffled around for a while until he landed with this team. Everyone wanted him, and yet no one could handle him. The man was a natural killing machine whose reputation spoke to the core of a soldier. Follow orders, protect the team at all costs, and never leave anyone behind.

Yet, that is not the man who arrived on the last two special ops teams. Something happened, and it was like the killer instinct that he was known for left him. He was working on autopilot, completing all the jobs he was given. But the pride he took in picking up a gun and destroying an enemy was no longer present. Not when he realized the enemy could be looking him right in the face, and on the same side as him.

The whole situation with Bridges had him considering all he has done during his career. Yeah, he is great at what he does, but this can't be it—standing by, letting people get away with shit because the military protects its own. Nah, that isn't him. There are a lot of things he could be doing for the benefit of others then where he is now.

It was a shit assignment meant to bide his time as he contemplated re-enlisting. He chose not to make the decision rocking a desk. He wasn’t made that way. At least working out in the field on random missions overseas, keep him active and his mind engaged if nothing else.

Kill leads the team into the next building, as they were switching off on leaders. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he knew something was wrong. He stalled his entry and signaled back to the guys behind him, guiding them away from the entrance where he was standing. They cautiously retreated, but someone steps into a wooden door leading to a backyard.

Dust flies up near the men as his team is suddenly surrounded by a net lifting up around them. Kill turns around and makes the shooters on the rooftops of the cluster of buildings they just cleared.

"Rodriguez, on your right, up high." Kill yells to one of his teammates as he starts aiming to the left at anyone armed above them. Rodriguez turns towards the direction that Kill told him and starts letting off rounds. Both of them cover the sky while the rest of the team goes low. Their goggles are covered, and visibility is minimal, but they are also listening to the sounds amongst the rapid wind circling the dust around them between the gunfire.

Masked men approach from the North side, walking in a straight line towards the men caught in the net. Rodriguez is running low on ammunition and drops low to switch out rifles. Right as he pops back up, he is shot down by one of the men in the group strolling towards the center of the area where the team is trapped.

From his position, behind a low door leading to one of the nearby houses, Kill wipes the dust off his goggles and peers over it. He watched Rodriguez go down and come back up to a bullet through the skull. He softly whispers a prayer for the family man before lifting his M40A3 rifle. The rest of the men come into view, six men in total, and he knocks them down like he was at target practice.

It goes quiet, and the wind slows down to nothing. The dust storm that kicked up for all of five minutes now is just little tufts passing through the center of the buildings. When it calmed enough, and no movement could be heard, Kill hops over the fence door towards his team. Everyone slowly stands up, cutting themselves out of the net, if necessary. Looking around, they all notice their fallen comrade Rodriguez.

Shaking his head, Kill made his decision. It's time to move on. He couldn't keep doing this to himself. He is one of the first to lean over and pick up Rodriguez; another two guys help him. Walking back to their vehicle, he knows this will be the last mission he ever takes. Killmonger dies here.

Erik startles himself awake. He realizes he is on the couch, a blue screen on the TV. Who knows how long ago that movie ended? He never dreams about his last mission. The one that earned him a medal and leave the military as a hero. Running his hands through his unruly dreads, he swings his legs off the couch and stands up. Killmonger was never supposed to return.

He meant that shit, he never raised a gun with the same intent after that. Even though he was always packing because of his jobs, his ruthless killing days had long been over. Almost 20 years, and yet it felt like no time passed at all. He walks to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. The scared expression on LaNyah’s face as she looks at him at the warehouse flashes across his mind’s eye. He looks into the mirror and sighs.  

--- Two Weeks Later ---

LaNyah opens her eyes to find herself staring at familiar concrete walls. She’s back in the basement. Running her hands along her body, the same outfit she was wearing the day Gina set up her kidnapping from the parking lot outside her favorite market. She gets up, pacing the floor, hands touching the walls as she makes her way around the small room. LaNyah reaches the window that is too high for her to see outside before hearing the gunfire above.

She turns to the door of her room as a big bang crashes outside in the narrow hallway. LaNyah stands back as she waits for the door to clatter against the wall as he storms in. Erik bursts through the doorway, calling her name and extending his hand out for her to come with him. He patiently waits until she reaches for his hand. She doesn’t wait as long tonight. They walk out of the warehouse together, hand-in-hand.

LaNyah runs her hands across her face before sitting up in her bed. The light blue walls of her bedroom and the early morning sun greeting her once again. It’s the same dream she has had every night since coming home. Sometimes she finds herself in the warehouse, in the first small room without an IV. Then she hears all the gunfire again before the room to the door opens, revealing Erik.  

It’s always him, no matter how the scenario plays out. LaNyah is locked up somewhere, no way to get out on her own. Erik finding and bringing her to safety. Each time, every night. There is never anyone else. It is always just the two of them. What does this even mean?  Why does she keep dreaming about Erik? LaNyah shakes her head. She doesn't have time to analyze her dreams again this morning.

Rising from her bed, LaNyah prepares for her day. Today, she is meeting up with Stacey and Ashley for lunch. Everything has settled at work enough for them to get together.  

---

LaNyah arrives at the entrance to the restaurant at the same time as Stacey. Quickly, they greet one another, and notice Ashley being taken to their table. The two follow behind, shocking the other woman as she slides in to take her seat.

"You two nuts," Ashley calls out to them as they burst into a giggling fit while sharing hugs.

Stacey and LaNyah sit across from Ashley; they all order water before the host disappears.

"So, what's up? How are you two doing?" Ashley starts. LaNyah looks to Stacey so she can answer first. She knows this lunch will eventually turn to focus on her, giving her time to get it together before the inquisition begins. She picks up her menu, pretending to look it over even though she already knows what she wants.

"Busy. You know your husband has never had someone oversee an entire department like this before. Although it's new and exciting, playing catch up has been a bit draining." She smiles, continuing, "And having this lady around has definitely been helpful. That was one team I didn't have to worry about. Since I taught her everything, she knows."

LaNyah bumps shoulders with Stacey. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Their waitress shows up with their water and to take their orders. The Cheesecake Factory is the perfect ladies who lunch type spot. So, they all splurged for a decadent pasta dish and their favorite drinks off the menu.

When the waitress leaves, Ashley continues. “Nyah. How have you been?”

“Good. I’ve just been helping Stacey adjust to being one of us again. You know that penthouse view had her forgetting basic stuff like running reports.”

"Really, Nyah? It’s like that.”

“You started it first.” Sitting up straight, “I taught her everything she knows.” Mimicking Stacey and laughing at her unimpressed face.

Ashley watches the two of them together. Acting like sisters more than friends. She smiles at this. LaNyah has a friend, someone else that she can count on when she needs help. Hearing about it and observing it are two very different things, but she is glad to have witnessed this.

LaNyah does not appear to be stressed or bothered about anything, and that makes Ashley happy. Stacey has been a significant influence on her during the short time that they have been working closely together. The fact that LaNyah let her in so quickly is a testament to how much she is growing as a person. Sipping her peach Bellini, she lets the two continue to bicker across from her.

“Ashley, you know I’m right.” Stacey grabs Ashley’s attention back into the conversation at hand.

“About what?”

“You didn’t hear what she just said to me?” Ashley shakes her head. “Go ahead and repeat it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” LaNyah picks up her hibiscus lemonade and takes a sip, batting her eyes at the two of them. Setting her glass down, “Oh, Ashley. You will be happy to know that I finally started some self-defense classes.”

"Really? That's great." Smile widening as LaNyah beams with pride. "Just self-defense or something in particular?"

"Self-defense for now. But who knows, maybe I will take on kickboxing or something. It is nice to have a physically active hobby, though." Everyone nods their heads in agreement.  

Another waiter arrives with their entrees, so the conversation fades out as they all start to eat their meals. After a few quiet moments of eating and drinking, Ashley clears her throat, gaining everyone's attention. Stacey wipes her mouth, and LaNyah puts down her fork.

"How do you feel about everything that happened earlier this month?" Ashley slowly advances the conversation to her primary concern. She knows Nyah knows it’s for her, watching as she picks up her drink before answering.

“I’m ok.” Ashley inclines her head at her, “No, I am really. I bought another journal so that I could start writing about whatever feelings and things come up from the whole ordeal.”

“Well, that’s good. And especially smart to separate it from the rest of your other journals.” Ashley bobs her head in thought. “Anything that you want to share?”

LaNyah shakes her head, "Not really. I mean, it reads more like any other journal that I keep." Using her spoon, she twirls her pasta onto her fork, "There were a lot of entries right after the kidnapping, but it's kind of dwindled to a thought or two every couple of days."

“So, coming back to work when you did really helped then?” Stacey asks.

"Yeah, it did. Stacey was not trying to coddle me, which made it even easier to get back to the life I was creating before it all happened."

"That's wonderful, Nyah." Ashley takes her hand, "I'm thrilled to hear that."

“Would you ladies care for any cheesecake or a refill?” With big, bright smiles all around the table, they each accept a dessert menu as the waiter collects their plates for bagging and glasses for refills.

Over pieces of fresh strawberry and chocolate tuxedo cream cheesecake, they just enjoy the delicious sweet treat. LaNyah sits back with her spoon in her mouth, watching Ashley, who has become her mother-figure over the years. She killed for her, and she would forever be grateful to her for being a dedicated presence in her life.

Then there's Stacey, who she has known for years; she trained her for her current position. But working together these last few months, they have built a genuine friendship and sisterly type bond. She really does consider Stacey, her best friend. These strong women are who she sees herself becoming as she continues to grow.

"So, how's Erik?" LaNyah's spoon clatters to the table at the question Stacey asked. Both women look her way, as she quietly apologizes and sets the spoon right in front of her.

“He’s fine. Taking some time off before his next consulting job.” Ashley answers.

“That’s good. I bet he needed that after everything that happened.” LaNyah raises her eyes at that comment.

"Everything that happened? Nothing happened to him." She lowers her voice feeling her anger rise. "I was the one used as a pawn in someone’s deadly game of revenge. Not him.”

Ashley inhales deeply before responding to her. "LaNyah, I know, sweetheart. We all went through it while you were gone. Trust me when I say no was more affected by it than Erik."

“Erik. Why are we even discussing him?" Exasperated, LaNyah throws down her napkin. "His job's over, case closed and now he's gone. I don't see the need to bring him up anymore."

“Nyah, are you ok?”

“I’d be better if we could change the topic.” She shakes her head, “Actually, you know what I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Nyah, come on. We can talk about something else. What about the upcoming Paint & Sip, you and I are attending later this week? Maybe Ashley would want to go with us?” Stacey looks at Ashley as they watch LaNyah collect her things to leave.

“That sounds like fun. I would love to go.” Ashley gently touches LaNyah’s arm, halting her movement. “Nyah, you don’t have to go.”

"No, I think I should." She grabs her purse and stands as much as possible. Stacey gets up since she was on the end. "Just let me know my share of lunch, and I will send the money to you." Ashley stands up as well.

LaNyah gives them both hugs and says she will let them know when she gets home. Ashley and Stacey watch together as LaNyah run walks out of the restaurant. They sit back down and share the same puzzled look.

“So, Erik?” Stacey says with her glass of wine up.

“I guess I found out what she hasn’t worked through after the whole ordeal.” Ashley spoons a strawberry into her mouth.

--- Two Nights Earlier ---

Erik is sitting at a back table in the steakhouse that Green brought him to only a few months ago. He thought it would be fitting that this whole situation started here and end in the same space. He lifts the tumbler of whiskey to his lips, taking a sip when he notices Ashley and Alex approaching the table.

He stands when they arrive, hugging Ashley and shaking hands with Alex. They all settle into the booth with Ashley in the middle and the men on her sides. She orders a Washington Apple Martini on the rocks. Alex pours himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey Erik had on the table.

“Feeling better?” Ashley questions Erik.

"Yeah, much more like myself. Thanks." Ashley's drink arrives, and they all place their dinner orders. "So, I finished up my final report and will have that sent to your office.”

“Good. The meeting with Matt went well. So, he pled guilty in court and will start serving his time soon.” Alex responds.

“I heard about that. I assumed it would be a month or so before he was arraigned in court.” Erik returns, then holding his hand out to Alex across the table, "I also wanted to let you know that we are even."

Alex nods his head and takes Erik's hand in a firm shake. The same way they made that unspoken promise so many years ago. It has now been paid in full. “I’ll be expecting your invoice soon.”

Erik looks over at Ashley, “Nah, this was personal. I’m not charging you for anything.”

“Erik-”

“I’m not taking your money, Green.” He waves off his comment, “I was going to, but when I found out it affected all of us. None of that mattered anymore. My main concern was making sure that we all could continue living our lives without looking over our shoulders." Picking up his tumbler, "This was as much for me as it was for you two." Everyone at the table nods in agreement.

Their entrees arrive, and the table goes silent for a few minutes. Wiping off her mouth, Ashley taps Alex on his thigh to get his attention. She nods towards Erik. He shakes his head at her. Her eyes widen in question. Alex touches her arm and points at her plate. She huffs and starts picking at her food. A soft chuckle reaches them from the other end of the booth.

"Go ahead, Ashley." With a caught expression, she looks up at Erik. "You have questions and want answers. So, go ahead and ask."

"What about LaNyah?" Erik smirks knowingly. "I mean, are you going to talk to her before you leave?"

“Only if she wants to speak with me.” He puts his fork and knife down on his plate.

“You don’t think you should do something now?” Ashley sets her napkin to the side of her plate.

“You make it sound like I don’t want to speak to her.” Erik reaches for his drink, “You don’t have her look of pure terror stuck in your head. She didn’t dodge every effort you made to help her once she was safe and sound. She’s not afraid of you.”

“She’s not afraid of you.” Erik rolls his eyes at that. “Erik, she doesn’t know how she feels about you anymore.”

“You are very right about that. Gina definitely made sure that I suffer. I will give the bitch that much.” He raises his glass in salute. “If LaNyah wasn’t scared of me before then, whatever Gina told her before we arrived got the job done.”

“You can’t possibly believe that?” Alex asks.

"What that Gina didn't say anything to her?" He bites back a cold laugh, "I know everyone heard her call me LaNyah's Killer lover. Why would she reference my military moniker except to prove a point? Tell her the only reason I didn't kill her was that LaNyah was there in front of her."

“Erik, we all had our guns aimed at Gina." Ashley states.

“Ashley, I’m a trained assassin. You really think that I could not have gotten a shot off without harming LaNyah?”

Ashley sighs impatiently. “That’s not the point, Erik, and you know it.”

"Look, I know everyone wants this to be tied up in a pretty bow, and that LaNyah will be able to see me for who I am. But I just don't see it happening that way." Exhaling deeply, "I will always be open to speaking with her, but only if that is what she wants. Like I told Stacey, I’m not forcing anything. I fucked up long before we knew she was a pawn and taken to lure all of us. If she never wanted to speak to me again, it would suck. But I would deal with it.”

“You mean, you would watch her from a careful distance?” Alex scoffs.  

“Damn right.” Finishing his current drink, Erik tops it off from the nearly empty bottle.

“Okay, okay.” Alex taps Ashley on the leg, “We’ll leave it alone. Just make sure that you make yourself available when she is ready.”

"Of course." Erik picks up his utensils and returns to his meal. They all quietly finish up dinner, knowing that they won't get anything more out of the brick wall sitting at the table. Ashley grabs Alex's hand under the table.

--- Monday Morning ---

Alex calls Stacey into his office. When she arrives, she sees Ashley seated in front of the desk next to him.

"I take it we are not about to discuss the accounting teams today?" Placing her meeting items down on the coffee table. She takes a seat on the couch across from them.

"Not today. We feel there is something more important that we should be doing right now." Alex responds. "The restructuring can wait another few weeks since business is running as usual again."

Stacey picks up her coffee and speaks over it, "Then, our star-crossed lovers?” She smiles into the streaming mug as Ashley's face falls. Alex turns away at her comment.

“That’s not funny, Stacey.” Ashley hits Alex, who is coughing to cover up his laughter.

“Okay, okay.” He clears his throat, “Yes, Stacey. We are concerned about them.”

“You recall what lunch with LaNyah was like. She is holding a lot of anger towards Erik.” Ashley states. “And I’m not sure she has truly dealt with what happened to her.”

"Can you blame her? From what you told me, that scary bitch used her as a shield, and all three of you held guns on them."

Alex nods and shrugs. “That’s true. But Erik also was the only one to put his guns down and offered himself up in her place.” He looks at Ashley, “We never lifted our guns off of them.”

"Well, damn. He really does care about her.” Stacey puts her coffee down. "So, what can we do? Erik's gone back home, and LaNyah doesn't want to talk about him or what happened.”

“Actually, Erik’s still here. We had dinner with him last week.” Ashley says. “Watching her at lunch, I got a real sense of déjà vu,” she rolls her eyes. “He believes that she would be better off without him, and she avoids talking about him. Which lets me know that they both are thinking about the other.”

“We want to get them together to talk.” Alex blurts.

"And you think it's a good idea for them to have this discussion before Erik leaves?" Stacey inquires, and they both bob their heads. "I don't know. Those two are all about control, and they do it in such different ways."

Alex sits forward. “Erik still needs to send me his final report. It would be easy to get him to the office.”

"And you can set up a meeting to talk with LaNyah about her work," Ashley adds.

“So, you just wanted me to know what you have planned.” Stacey sits back into the couch.

“Yes, but we also want you to keep this to yourself until we can get them up here next week," Ashley confirms.

Stacey looks at the both of them, "You agreed to this, sir?”

“We're back to, sir? Ok, I know you feel some type of way about this.”

"Of course, Nyah doesn't like change, remember, and she shut him out for weeks over a slight that she didn't understand. This could backfire in a really big way and hurt them both." Stacey retorts.

“I know, I know. But I think they both just need a little push.” Ashley tells her.

"I want to see them win, too. But I don't feel good about this approach. We really should let them find their way to one another."

“And they can. After they finally face one another and have some kind of chat.” Ashley pleads with Stacey, “Please say you’ll help us.”

Huffing out in frustration, Stacey gets up and grabs her things, “Ok fine. I’m in.” She gets to the door, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter 14

Taglist: @killmongersaidheyauntie @muse-of-mbaku @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @princessstevens @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stark-red19 @kreolemami @bidibidibombaclaat @iamrheaspeaks @missumuch1918 @simplyyamberr @cheychey10142 @ajspencer1892 @chrismarcs @loosewindmill @sydneebleu @semianta @eyeknowmywrites @alexundefined @itsjustmezari @goddessofthundathighs @guccixcucci @kissmyafropuff @gimmeface @fd-writes @jozigrrl @soufcakmistress @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @shaekingshitup @localtrapgod @post-woke @theesotericqueen

[bubmyg]

a coastal cabaret - pjm

pairing: jimin x reader

warnings: very very loosely inspired by the movie footloose, fluff, angst, major character death (prior to the events in which the fic details), death mention, themes of grief and loss, hoseok is the lovable best friend (i based him off willard if you’ve seen the movie lol), probably incorrect boat terminology 

word count: 14,761

summary: sometimes an outside perspective is all that’s needed for the tragic events of the past to transform into something beautiful or the one where hoseok can’t dance and jimin is determined to keep the smile on your face.

a/n: six weeks in the making and she’s here...be gentle to me pls (also it’s definitely not necessary to have seen the movie to read this fic!!! i very loosely based the premise off the movie)

There was a tiny boat at the end of the dock, red with white stripes and a fanned awning suspended over the bench seats, five to a row, the sixth where the driver rests. The paint has been ruined over the years and seasons, bubbled in places, chipped in others, stained from the sun until it’s essentially burnt orange while the white becomes a dirty beige. There’s stickers altering the paint too, sponsorships and advertisers that both literally and figuratively keep the boat and business afloat. 

A bright yellow sticker for the surf shop up the coast even if the only viable surfing location is over an hour in the next town over. A cartoon shrimp with a speech bubble announcing the new chain seafood restaurant parked up the shore in, to the untrained eye, what looks like a sand dune. A years old logo for the tourist boat company taking the brunt of the aging, missing entire letters, not the same one screen printed on the limited edition t-shirts hanging off the rental barn or proudly pasted to the upgraded yachts parked as the boat’s neighbors.

Upgrades a last ditch effort to save the crippling effects of mass media on the town. The sea water seemed to swallow the efforts along with a few hundred thousand dollars and a few tacky letters pasted on the side of the last family owned boat. 

Se Bre ze Bo ts. 

Jimin noted the waxed sheen off the bobbing machinery, marveling how such a thing could float when he was led past it, two, three, until there was no room left on the dock (in theory, he could have tested the water proof quality of his new shoes) and he was left with the sad rock of Ang l. 

“And last but not least, the chariot,” Hoseok beamed, a wide sweeping move of his hand, palm up, presenting the boat and in the limited interaction Jimin had entertained with the red haired boy, he had every assumption to think he wasn’t being at all sarcastic. 

Jimin scuffed his toe into the dock, wary to the creaks that emitted from that boat alone and he mumbled to the tiny school of baby fish that crowded around the supports, “...so that’s it?”

Hoseok laughed, a loud sound in the otherwise serene coastline, clasping a cupped hand over Jimin’s shoulder. “Keep them clean and we shouldn’t have any issues. That’s the extent of your duties. I don’t expect you to take the first group out tomorrow morning or anything, of course—” He tottered onto one foot, leaning into Jimin with a wrinkled dimple pressed into his cheek, “—...now the five o’clock…”

“Scare him off and you can go back to cleaning my baby for me.”

 You paid no mind to the men in your path, cruising past their sandal clad feet to make it to your baby, otherwise known to Jimin as the saddest boat tethered to the dock. The bob of your head disappeared when you crossed onto the tiny paths jutting between the boats, a tiny rope in comparison to its tethered object your vice to drag it closer, legs stretching as you stepped and hoisted yourself until you were afloat with it, too. 

Hoseok smacked Jimin’s torso, gesturing toward your figure as you hobbled about the front of the boat, collecting the damp rope with you as you went, as if to say are you seeing this? A ludicrous expression saturated in amusement for Hoseok’s friend. 

Jimin didn’t have the pleasure of acquaintance.

“Jimin!” He called, an introduction in the way he formulated the words and offered a wave of his hand in greeting while the latter tucked into the pocket of his shorts. 

A grunt and then a name, yours he presumed, floated over the side of the boat until your head popped up again, holding entirely more rope in your grasp than before. 

“I’m about to do the nightly run,” You lifted your eyebrows, stance firm and even with the elevated stance the boat put you on in perspective to the two figures on the dock. “Are you two coming with?”

Another smack to his torso and Jimin audibly oofed this time, rubbing at the spot Hoseok’s knuckles had struck. “What do you say, new guy?” Hoseok chirped, smile only growing when the newcomer’s stanch gaze flickered to the corner of his eyes, “If not, you’re free to go. I have nothing else to show you—”

Jimin brushed past Hoseok, copying your movements, less gracefully albeit, to hoist himself up onto the side of the boat, dropping down with two feet into the depths of the machine. Hoseok came not long after, a purposeful scramble meant for comedic purposes that you nor Jimin laughed at but he smiled enough for everyone, anyway. You were elbow deep in reeling the anchor in, anyway, your stature giving away some mention between struggle and practiced ease but Jimin’s instinct went with the first, anyway, striding forward with outstretched palms. 

“Here, let me help you with that—”

There was a series of mechanical clicks in the same moment, a groaning of the same fashion, all while you’d pulled your labor away from the manual wheel to turn to him with a bemused expression. 

Amusement danced in the wave of your irises, the sea flickering in your expression as you nodded, “Thanks anyway.”

Somewhere among Hoseok’s monolog about the best breakfast cafe in the town and the adjustment to being out on the calm evening sea, Jimin found himself focusing on the silhouette of your figure, black outline detached like the clench of your jaw and the rigidity of your first impression. Jimin wasn’t much for those anyway, intrigued by what would commonly be seen as a negative “first”. 

He’d been so focused on the mundaneness that was the back and forth of your hands on a series of controls he couldn’t make out beyond a shaded sun screen that he’d missed when you’d idled the boat far off the shore, only jerking to reality when you stepped off the elevated platform with a raised eyebrow in his direction. 

The quirk of Jimin’s lips didn’t deter your prolonged stare, and neither did Hoseok’s loud announcement, your gaze only dropping when you plopped into a seat adjacent from him and accepted a condensation ridden can from Hoseok’s outstretched arm. Then it was a double take and scrunched confusion that met your expression, eyeing the logo on the aluminum before setting a glare on the side of Hoseok’s face. 

“Where the hell did you get these?”

Hoseok shrugged, already fingernail deep in popping the tab on his beer can and taking a generous swig. He placed his aside, reaching elbow deep in an under seat cooler to present Jimin with one as well, something the younger boy dismissed with a soft smile.  

“Up the coast. I have a life outside of saving your ass from the high tide, believe it or not.”

You were still fuming even as you opened it, “And how did you get these on my boat?”

Hoseok winked in Jimin’s direction, “On a whim that you’d be taking the boat out tonight. Like you do every night…”

Your sip was tiny in comparison to the swallow Hoseok had downed, gently placing the can aside, “You could have got us killed, you know that right? What if Namjoon had came down to the dock for a surprise inspection?—”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive but…” Jimin lounged forward in the seat he occupied, elbows pressing into his thighs, “It’s just beer?”

He caught you freeze in his peripheral, stature rigid where it was once relaxed and you coughed, casting your gaze aside to fingers that began to desperately fiddle with each other. 

Hoseok answered instead, quipped and short, “There’s an alcohol ban within the town limits.”

An awkward silence passed, one Jimin didn’t challenge in the gentle sway of sea water against the side of the boat, an echoing noise where the same motion lapped onto the shore, a gentle push and pull of sand that mirrored the swirl of questions in his conscious, none of which sounded proper on the press of his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he stayed silent to the waves and scratch of your fingernail against the leather of the seat you perched in. 

“So, new guy,” You spoke first, the slump of your stature inconsistent with the volume of your voice and he ignored the slight tremble in the upturn of your lips, “What brings you to this sleepy town?”

“After graduation, I decided to travel,” Jimin swallowed into picking at the hem of his shorts, “The easy answer is I ran out of money so I ended up here.”

Hoseok inquiry was straightforward this time, “What did you study?”

“Dance. Contemporary and modern mostly,” He laughed, unwillfully bitter, “A useless arts degree, I know.”

“Not useless,” You spoke again to the unraveled thread on the sewn edges of the leather seat you perched in.

Hoseok was louder, “Useless here, though.”

Jimin shrugged at the implication, shouldering the sentiment he’d had spoken much worse and with harsher insinuations than a virtual stranger teasing him on a boat in the middle of a coastal sea. Hoseok’s quick tone change from playful back to serious had Jimin quirking an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think you understand. You won’t ever be needing that here,” Hoseok flicked his index and middle fingers back and forth so that the friction was audible, “Alcohol ban goes hand in hand with a dance ban.”

Jimin laughed. Genuinely, a loud, single syllable sound that pitched him forward over his knees. He sobered when he straightened to two expressions, one glassier than the other. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Public, organized dancing,” You supplied, tight lipped to his ignorance, “Public organized events, mostly.”

Softer, Jimin amended this time, “But why?” 

You stiffened again, same as before but looser in a sense, one knee coming to curl to your chest as you turned away from him, supporting the lean of your torso into the back of the seat. His lips parted to dismiss his question, say it didn’t matter, but Hoseok jumped in with a short explanation that ran guilt into Jimin’s blood. 

“There was an accident a few years ago. On one of the boats,” Hoseok pressed his thumb and index finger into the sides of the can he held, gently popping the aluminum in and out while his chin pressed into his shoulder, “The town council members felt it would be best. Prevention of it ever happening again…”

Jimin swallowed the slew of questions on his tongue perfect for this silence to instead say, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Hoseok seemed to perk up a bit then, “I’m surprised Namjoon didn’t advertise it to you in a neon poster board when you arrived.” 

Your voice, softer, broke Jimin’s heart for a reason unknown to him but he decided that anything that saturated your spirit like that was worth protecting from you. 

“Nothing you could have done, anyway.”

Jimin felt silly on the seventh day of reckoning with himself, white wires haphazardly tangled in the cradle of his palm while bare feet paced away a trail of already chipped paint on the creaky front porch of his house. He wasn’t a one man festival complete with an organized dance floor. All he had in his fridge was water, refilled from the tap bottles because he hadn’t located a store to buy more, yet. 

Instead, he was one man with his favorite playlist and an itch in his muscles that he’d stretched but hadn’t sated. 

“It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong,” He told himself a bit too loudly to the tropical overhang of trees on the awning of his porch. He told the cusp of his earbuds next as he shoved them into his ears, still staring hard at the open playlist on his phone screen. 

“Fuck it.”

The curl of plump green leaves flicking against the roof of the house acted in accordance to the early morning breeze, one that brought gentle rains up off the sea and doused the concrete in a thin sheen a hue darker than normal but it wasn’t light enough yet to notice, anyway. Jimin turned his motions into more than mental productivity, twisting a cheap broom he’d found in a hall closet like some exotic mixture of a ballroom partner and a baton, cleaning away leaves and crumbs from the eggs he’d downed with a bent fork and the small puddles of water that had curled onto the edges where the awning didn’t protect. 

His dance turned inside, a shadow against the one light he left on while his senses guided the rest, a delicate story told against the half open shutters lining the far side of his house, the one that faced his only neighbor. His playlist carried him through the narrative just as the pointed step of his trained art elicited feeling, one that had him smiling by the time he shrugged the thick strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and all but skipped out onto the broken, cobblestone pathway to mount his bike. 

The quiet neighbor watched from their own porch, a fond smile plastered on their lips as Jimin’s figure descended into the rising shadows of dawn, a tear tracking their cheek in some sort of nostalgic longing that roused a smile just as joyful in their sorrow as Jimin’s. 

A debate on whether or not to play music through wire earbuds and dance to a beat that was most definitely not open for public gathering seemed silly when it had easily built itself into Jimin’s routine by the third day, never mind the seventh. He shuffled his playlist, a new crescendo carrying him down the length of the dock as he shimmied, stretched, polished his way into preparing the docks for the day ahead. His unsolicited crimes were hidden, boats gone like missing pieces of a Jenga puzzle that were never meant to fall by the time he repented his shift, striding back up the slowly busying dock with his phone and earbuds shoved in the depths of his shorts pocket. 

Perhaps he’d pondered over the ridiculous thought that he’d be thrown out of the town for good for dancing on the front porch of the house he, by all intents and purposes, owned by means of a security deposit that drained the last of his funds for a half second too long, but he’d failed to escape up the coast line to his tiny waiting station before someone had creaked gentle footsteps in his peripheral. 

Jimin jerked his headphones from his ears, leaving a searing pain in their wake but it was a soft giggle that soothed it, one that belonged to you where you stood a few yards away. The gold nameplate pinned over the embroidered logo of the boat service shop crinkled where your arms folded over your chest, one eyebrow cocked underneath the white visor perched on your forehead. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you,” You held up two hands as if to prove your point, the soft smile still there on your lips. 

He visibly relaxed but continued in his quest to ball the wires in a massive tangle and shove them in the depths of his pocket. He added, anyway, “Sorry.”

“For what? Having fun while you work?” You brushed past him to your boat, “It’s something a few people around here could and should take notice of.”

It was an unspoken dismissal but Jimin froze in place anyway, watching as you climbed aboard, a different set of procedures following your own routine as you busied about the inside of the boat, a different set than he’d witnessed when you’d taken him and Hoseok out on his first week. Week two and he had no greater grasp on you, only after sharing fleeting glances throughout the workday from where he sat and barely moved on the unoccupied area of the beach. 

“By the way—” You spoke right when Jimin moved to flee, freezing his muscles and he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, “—I’m sorry that I was so short with you the other night.”

He relaxed into a shrug, “S’alright.”

“It’s not something we, Hoseok or I...expect you to understand,” You seemed to ponder your own words, leaning against the railing of the boat, “After the...accident, the tourism went down drastically. The entire town nearly had to sellout. It was a really scary time.”

“I’m not saying the ‘rules’ aren’t stupid—” You shot him a look, “—because they are. Just...things are finally looking stable again. So it’s hard to want to...change that. I guess.”

“The annual town festival isn’t worth losing everything I have, you know,” You smiled, pushing yourself up off the railing, “Or...you know. Having a beer occasionally. Or having to get approval to have a DJ at weddings. Or literally anything fun.”

You laughed so Jimin laughed too, nodding simply to you. “Understood, it’s okay.”

There’s more to it that you’re not telling me. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong, by the way. Dance all you want. Play your music out loud. Bring a radio, if you want—” You winked at you tossed a thick, pleated rope over your shoulder, “—I’ll cover for you if they send Namjoon down here.”

Jimin laughed again, dropping his chin this time. “Well, thank you—” He squinted into the quickly rising sun, “Although I’m not entirely sure they make radios anymore, so that might be a bit difficult to find but...I’m up for the challenge.”

“Perfect,” You hesitated in your step backward on the boat, “I’ll see you later then?”

Later meant on his front porch, knuckles jostling the loose screen door that laid gently over the entrance to the house, never latched just like the heavier inside door was never shut. You were bent at the waist, squinting through the netted black when Jimin slid around the corner of the hallway, frantic confusion turning to amusement when his presence startled you and you nearly dropped the plate held delicately in one hand. 

“Hey neighbor,” You greeted, stepping back for him to push open the screen, “Brought a late housewarming gift.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow, gentle in letting you transfer the plate from your grasp to his. A pile of homemade cookies, stacked in a neat, crumpled pyramid about each other. “Neighbor, huh?”

You gestured for the house, the only one. “Correct, that would be my house…”

“Ah. Why haven’t I seen you until now?”

“We have different schedules, new guy,” You softened when he shot you an apologetic look, “I got off early today. Chance of storms later.”

“You can call me Jimin, you know,” He twisted, placing the plate on the rickety end table plopped between two lawn chairs, faded and unraveled threads dangling sadly from underneath. 

“New guy is more fun,” You perked up, taking a seat in one of the lawn chairs before he could offer, “Wait, I’ve got it. Ducky.” 

His cheeks pinked as he took a seat adjacent from you, “...Jimin will be just fine.”

You nodded, fingertips plucking into the plastic wrap over the cookies to retrieve one of the crumpled halves. You plopped a sizable bite onto your tongue, lifting an eyebrow, “...alright, ducky.”

Jimin watched you munch down the cookie half, watched you hesitate into grabbing it’s forgotten twin and nibble half of it before he blurted, “Would you, uh…like to stay for dinner?”

You took your time in finishing off the cookie, lawn chair creaking the porch when you turned toward him, ludicrous expression plastered firm to your features, “Hey! That’s not fair. I came over here with treats, I should be cooking you dinner. A...town warming dinner. Is that a thing?”

“Too late, I already asked.”

“Fine,” Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself up off the chair, eyes closing as you held out your wrists, palms up, “Lead me to the food.”

He let you stand there until your eyes opened to regard his sheepish expression, leaning forward to press his elbows into his thighs, “...one problem. I have close to no food.”

“Oh, that’s all that’s wrong?” Your rigid stance relaxed, reaching out to grab his wrist to haul him up, “Come on. I mean...if you think you can keep up with me?”

Jimin didn’t scoff until you were more than a dozen yards ahead of him on a gentle incline, coasting while he was struggling to the rotation on the petals of his bike. “Where are you taking me?” He labored when the ground finally evened out, allowing himself to collapse onto the tiny seat underneath him. 

“Farmer’s market,” You slowed to allow him to catch up, grinning at the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form underneath black fringe, “You know. Fruits and vegetables.”

“Really? I thought it was entirely processed junk food.”

Jimin caught a glimpse of your eye roll before you were tired of humoring him, speeding off to the tune of his amused laughter. 

It appeared to be closing time at the miniature farmer’s market, a tiny collection of tents set up on the far side of the coast. A lanky, brown haired man with a crumpled apron tied haphazardly across his front worked at folding up one of the card tables, one that appeared to have previously held woven baskets filled with various colored apples. Those baskets sat in the weird mixture of sand and grass that encompassed the ground farther up from the seaside while a tiny, fluffy dog wove in and out of them, periodically yipping upward at the man who talked back in an equal tone, as if having a casual conversation about the winds gradually picking up over the water. 

“Tae!” You left your bike against a tree, jogging up to the startled man while Jimin, wobbling albeit, tried to control the tires of his bike as the terrain changed. He managed to hop off though, being intercepted by the tiny dog rather than you or the ever mysterious Tae. 

“Tannie!” A rich baritone scolded yet held no real authoritative power. The dog seemed to think so as well, barely flinching at the call when Jimin crouched, stretching gentle fingers out for the dog to butt his head against. 

“He’s alright,” Jimin soothed his owner quietly, scratching behind the boisterous Pomeranian's ears for a split second before a hand was thrust in the way. Jimin squinted at it, following the line of the exposed forearm up to the smiling eyes of the farmer, geometric smile pasted on the bottom half of his face as he nodded for his hand again. 

“Taehyung.”

Jimin shook his hand once, letting the momentum carry him to a standing position that had his knees cracking in protest. “Jimin.”

“Ah, the new guy down at the dock—” Taehyung glanced at you when you snorted, “—you’re renting that empty vacation house of the town’s, right?”

Jimin couldn’t help but think of the nest of spiders he’d found in the bottom drawer of the century old dresser in his room on the second day. Vacation house. 

Only then did he realize he was still gripping Taehyung’s hand, something he promptly dropped before coughing, “Uh. Yeah.”

“Neighbors then, huh?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, fulling looking at you where you were preoccupied fishing through a container of tomatoes.

“He’s supposed to be cooking for me tonight,” You jabbed an accusing finger, tomato, in Jimin’s direction, playful smile still on your lips, “But he has not a singular vegetable in his possession.”

“He’s cooking for you?” Taehyung accused while you bagged a few tomatoes, moving on to the greenery scattered about, “Shouldn’t you be cooking him a housewarming meal? Or like...a town warming meal?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Jimin provided softly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Taehyung just laughed, starting out with a hand clasping his shoulder before moving to wrapping his entire arm around Jimin, leaning into him while you continued to gather supplies. “So what’s your story?” He said finally, letting some of his weight off of Jimin. 

Jimin shrugged, “Broke college student turned broke graduate decided to travel and ran out of money. Ended up here…”

“What’s your degree in?” 

Jimin considered a plethora of things as a masterful lie. One that would avoid a variety of stems in which the conversation could go. He could say something in technology and avoid the useless degree lecture. He could say something in writing and avoid the there’s no dancing here lecture. He could tell the truth and gauge the reaction that was generally more favorable from those who were around his age but still lived in a town that outlawed virtually all organized events on the basis of an elusive ‘accident’.  

Instinct made him answer quietly, “Dance. Contemporary mostly.”

An entire other limb, one that grew haphazardly from the trunk of the tree and threaded upward into a ridiculous, jagged shape, came from Taehyung’s mouth, not something that was even in the realm of what Jimin imagined. 

“Oh!” Taehyung called your name quietly, clapping his hands together, “Another dancer! That’s what you wanted to do! Contemporary too—”

Jimin’s moment of elation died into a nauseating sickness when your stature had froze much like it had those handful of nights ago, the hand not holding onto a bag of produce reaching out to dig your fingernails deep into the plastic of the table. 

When you turned around, Jimin tried gently, “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s because it’s in the past. Wanted, past tense,” You began tying a knot in the plastic bag in your grasp, frantic and jerky in your movements, “Not anymore.”

There was a similar sympathetic smile to Taehyung’s features as there had been one of stone on Hoseok’s, rolling his lips inward as his throat bobbed harshly. “Beautiful, nonetheless. I remember the showcases you used to put on down at the dock.”

“Muscles don’t quite move like that anymore,” You diverted this time with a tight lipped smile, one that didn’t even try to reach your eyes as you finished the knot, “How much do I owe you for this?”

Taehyung dropped it, squinting when the wind picked up in that moment, “You don’t owe me a thing if you help Tannie and I pack up before the storm rolls around.”

Jimin jumped into action to divert his thoughts away from the look you kept casting him, somewhere between regret, fear, and unadulterated sadness. 

He’d brushed his teeth three times since you’d descended the rickety steps of his porch to trek the short distance through the drizzling rain to your house yet, somehow, there was still bits of the seasoning fermented in the honey colored salad dressing you’d dollaped en mass over freshly washed lettuce leaves. The tiny black flecks on their own were foul, spreading in the back of his molars where he’d dug one out with the natural lay of his tongue, one that made him stop with rag in hand to grossly spit onto the dock. He smudged it with his shoe, wrist wiping at his lips while the disgust mulling on his facial features lingered, momentary pause causing his conscious to squint up the dock, thoughts scattered into the prior evening. 

So it was only fitting that you emerged in that moment, as if an apparition from the misted droplets clinging to the grasses on the shore. 

“Ducky! Slacking off?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to scramble because well, kind of, and if his routine was lacking so where you’d already appeared, he was most definitely behind. He jerked a singular headphone out as a first precaution. But the dramaticized mist cleared to reveal your soft smile, chin tucked into the zipper of your jacket as you paused in front of him. 

“Always,” He answered anyway, blackened taste of something burnt forgotten where it still festered underneath his tongue. 

You scuffed your foot into the dock, balled fists shoving into your jacket pockets. “I had a good time last night, by the way,” Another pass of your foot, toe heel, “You’re not a half bad cook.”

“Thank you. I had a good time too…” It was Jimin’s turn to duck his head, eyeing the frayed threads on the rag he clutched in increasingly white knuckles. His fist didn’t clench because he was lying but rather the bubbling question resting on the tip of his tongue, one he’d suppressed since leaving Taehyung with all his produce neatly packed into the shaded back of his truck right as the rain began. 

Kind of like media outlets who focus on one relatively small aspect of a much larger concept simply because it’s inherently negative. Jimin’s question was inherently negative, instead contextually negative based solely on the reaction you’d given Taehyung when he’d brought it up. 

And evidently, Jimin was a shitty reporter. 

“So you used to dance, huh?” He kept his tone soft, leaving infliction open for you to take. You could deny him. You could dismiss him. He really didn’t care if you ignored him. He just had to get it out. Quieter, he added, “I didn’t know that.”

You laughed, the opposite reaction that Jimin was preparing himself for, and he tracked your eyes as they swept over your feet. “You’d have no reason to know,” A sigh set your shoulders, allowing you to raise your gaze to his, “I quit not long after the...the accident.”

“It just seemed fitting you know,” You shrugged, arms lifting where your fists still sat deep in your pockets, “I mean you know what I’m talking about. Contemporary isn’t exactly the same thing elicited by a few beers and some fluorescent lights.”

Jimin laughed but stayed silent, nodding quietly for you to continue. 

“I had a scholarship. To get out of here...that’s what I was going to do after the tourist season ended. But after everything that happened here, from the incident itself—” You swallowed, tilting your head back slightly, “—from that, to the media coverage that made the town nearly desolate, to going into the off season with far less profit than we normally garnered. It didn’t feel right to leave my town like that.”

“I understand,” Jimin murmured.

“No, you don’t,” You laughed again, just as genuine, “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“Far from it,” He assured. 

A lingering silence ensued, one that had you scuffing your opposite foot this time. “Well...that’s my sap story about why I don’t dance any longer, so…”

You trailed off when Jimin extended a hand in your direction. He wiggled his fingers when you gaped, free appendage working at yanking his headphones from his phone, attention focused to navigate to a different playlist while he regarding you with a lopsided smile and one quirked eyebrow. 

It was something instrumental that filtered from his phone speakers, a piece he’d done for an assignment in college yet still had stored away in the depths of his music library. It was just eerie enough to curl into the fog that slowly began to lift over the sea, opening up to the heat of the day that began to rouse coastal wildlife into action, singing in crescendo over the melodies. 

“You think you’ve still got it?” 

It was the first instance that Jimin hadn’t seen you hesitate in the face of something that seemed to scare you, immediate in sliding your palm to his and squeezing. 

“We’ll see I guess,” You taunted, gliding closer to him at the pull of his arm, a playful glint shining in dawned irises, “Won’t we?”

Jimin grinned as you began to move at the extent of his forearm, leg curling outward into a purposeful movement that elicited musicality he heard too in the rouse of the music curling outward from his phone in his pocket. You stayed connected until the last possible moment, falling at the contract of your muscles into a turned out squat, gliding in front of him and then straightening on the farthest side, arms connecting into the next movement as something trilled in the music. 

It was the same sort of improvisation that carried the remainder of your movements, leaving Jimin in awe of the way your body curled into the melody only for half an eight count more before he was moving with you, twisting in such a way that made his foot slide from the slip on shoes curled on his heels but he took no mind, foot connecting at his knee, torso arching the opposite direction, following the dying crescendo of movement. 

You connected your touch to him once more, curling two forearms over the flat of his back where he’d bent at the waist before trailing crawled fingertips up the expanse of his forearm, latching first to his wrist with a beat in the music and then taking his hand on another, harsher, beat. He tugged you closer at the contact, one hand gripping both your hands, the later sliding around your waist to press a stabilizing palm into the small of your back. The lull of your head came, falling away from the beat of the music as you rose to look at him, not quite a smile but bliss nonetheless plastered to the part of your mouth.  

Jimin smiled, though. 

He deposited one of your hands onto the round of his shoulder, keeping his tight grip on the later as he began to move you in gentle circles to whatever the next song on his playlist was, something slow and with words that he vaguely recognized from popular radio play a few years prior. 

“I think you’ve still got it,” Jimin softly encouraged when a laugh caused your gaze to fall away from him, forehead nearly pressing into his shoulder as you gripped harder to his hand. 

“Eh,” He saw you smile no matter how you tried to hide it, “You’re not a half bad partner, ducky.”

There were footsteps on the dock in the next moment, ones that overpowered the music Jimin had reached to turn down in his pocket, music he now rushed to silence. Instinctively, he held you closer, squinting up the wood path. The footsteps were simultaneously too loud and too quiet to be Hoseok. They were too purposeful as well, slapping and consistent with the sound of flip flops as it grew closer until Jimin finally froze at the familiar face approaching at a ridiculous pace. 

You glanced up from Jimin’s shoulder when there was a tripping sound, the front of Namjoon’s flip flop catching on a protruding wood board but it didn’t stall his advancements by much, pausing a safe distance in front of you with two hands perched on his hips. 

Namjoon was struggling to find the words for you, attention darting to you where he scuffed the tattered sole of his canvas shoes into the wood, one curled fist in his pocket and then back out, as if he weren’t even aware of Jimin’s presence. Hesitant leg movements brought him a few steps closer, before he said lowly, “You should probably get to work.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” You countered, making no movement to budge from Jimin’s hold. 

The older man held up two hands, taking an equal step back, “I didn’t say you were, love—”

“Then why did they send you down here?”

Namjoon stared hard now from underneath the cap of the white hat shoved onto messy black tendrils. His free hand joined the latter in the depths of his short pockets, rocking back onto his heels and Jimin could spy the surface of his tongue searching the tops of his molars for a response. 

“They didn’t,” He said finally, carefully, like he’d plucked the obvious lie like a piece of corn from between his teeth. 

“Joon,” You pushed yourself from Jimin, taking two steps in front of him and he couldn’t see your face any longer but your voice grew softer instead, “You—”

“Please, just...separate. They’ll come down here if you don’t and it’s almost opening time,” Namjoon looked frightened now, a far cry from the assured monologue that had informed Jimin of the basics on the steps of his front porch. 

You didn’t turn until Namjoon’s flip flops clacked safely off the deck into the sand pathway, solemn smile not quite meeting your eyes as you shrugged. 

“Guess party time is over.”

Jimin watched as you almost robotically moved for the boat, your boat, one foot bobbing in the sea when he called with clenched fists, “Who’s they?” 

There was a lack of filter in your voice, blunt as you snorted, “The town officials—” You hoisted yourself fully into the boat, speaking to your work rather than to him, “—the ones who created this whole mess.”

“...they’re watching us?”

You pointed haphazardly over your shoulder, shrugging as you began to curl a rope from out of the water, “Town hall building is up the shore—” A heave in your voice as you dragged the rest of the damp twine into a messy pile underneath your knees, “—you know, so they can watch their biggest source of income fail day in and day out.”

“Or they were just tired of seeing me move around like a dead fish,” You tried to lighten the mood when you turned to him, an easy smile on your lips, “...no one’s seen me do that in years so...it doesn’t surprise me that they got worried.”

Jimin stifled his worried about what? when you waved. “See you later?”

The man just nodded, watching as your smile grew fainter. 

“...see you.”

The incident with Namjoon lingered somewhere just on the inside of Jimin’s conscious the longer his work continued through the season, partially because of it’s implications, mostly because of your blunt yet empty words, words he didn’t quite have a grasp on. It was a topic everyone quite literally danced around, draping the unaware stranger like Jimin in a darkness that mirrored that coating the entire town. It was your lipped their biggest source of income that resonated the highest and the easiest with Jimin’s spinning conscious, something he acknowledged yet came to see as fact the longer he stationed himself on the shore throughout the day. 

Business was seemingly non existent, your boat trips, specifically designed to take tourists on extensive, historical journeys of the beautiful seasides, full but few and far between from the schedule of potential times hung from the front boat house; Hoseok’s boat trips, designed for fishing, to find the best pockets where men in cheap sun hats purchased from Taehyung’s day time flea market style stalls could take one coveted picture with a giant bass before eventually letting the creature free, barely making the cut to plausibly allow the boat to pull away from its tether. 

It was as though all the money went into paying the metaphorical security cameras, the lavish town building up the shore coated in a fine layer of fresh stone, paying the salary of the camera lens’ themselves, the three men Jimin had only garnered fleeting glimpses of as black blurs crossing to and from a small parking lot just outside the grey, hazed building. 

Because there certainly weren’t literal security cameras. There were barely rags for Jimin to use to clean that wouldn’t get the surfaces dirtier than they had been before touched by dirty soaked cloth. Maintenance arose daily, a piling list that the contractor repair man, Jeongguk, a lanky, tattooed twenty something fresh from trade school who was rarely seen with a shirt on, could barely handle. This left for various boats out of commission on the worst days, weekends and the dead center of the week when business seemed to grow the highest, when they could justify filling all the time slots and taking out the half dozen fleet of boats at the same time. Turning away the business they so desperately needed because the lack of funding otherwise to maintain what little resources they did have. 

Jimin confronted Hoseok about the issue one day while lounging on the shore, Hoseok’s very presence a product of the neverending cycle of a dying industry in the dead center of the day on a Sunday, generally one of their busiest days now desolate with the whir of your engine in the distance the only source of light in the shrinking wallet available to the business. 

“It’s been like this for a few years,” Hoseok shrugged, red hair splayed into the grassy patch they sat upon. His eyes fluttered shut, folded hands coming to rest across his forehead, “It’s not as bad as it seems from an outside perspective. We...make ends meet. But nothing more and we can’t afford anything less so…”

“Has anyone proposed an alternate business model?” Jimin cringed when Hoseok’s eyebrow cocked over where his hands shielded his face, “I just mean like...if this isn’t working, why not try something else?”

Hoseok groaned as he moved to sit up, links in his spine audibly cracking as he arched over knees bent in towards his chest. “We know what works,” He said finally, “They know what works.”

“What’s that?”

Hoseok smiled at Jimin from underneath his arm, “Lift the stupid dance ban.”

“Oh—”

The red haired man shook his head, uncurling from himself to correct his posture, arms straight behind him, knees stretching out into the grass, “Let me explain…”

“That was the appeal of our little town. Not the boats and some cool pictures of sea bass. There used to be a thriving festival business. We had a pamphlet made especially for the town, one that detailed all the weekends in which various themed things would be happening down at the shore. People who pay us to use our coastline, basically.”

Hoseok shrugged, “Now no one wants to pay us except like...the elderly to have their fifty year class reunions. And even then, they don’t want to fuck with our policies—” He flattened two dark eyebrows, “—do you know how many restrictions there are for what music can be played out loud in a public setting? At any public gathering? Too many. A whole book too many.”

Jimin started slow, a thought that formulated the same way in the forefront of his conscious and it didn’t pass through any filters as it crawled off his tongue. 

“...so why don’t we...throw our own festival?”

Silence. 

And then Hoseok laughed, cackled really, returning to his splayed out position on the grass with his limbs starfished outward so far his hair nudged into Jimin’s thigh. The younger watched quietly, letting the implications of his own suggestion soak in and he briefly thought to glance over his shoulder for some sort of microphone attached to the bee buzzing to a pretty pink wildflower vining upward from the loose sand granules.

Hoseok came to, straightened again next to Jimin and he nudged his side with his elbow, nodding simply. 

“Okay.”

Jimin started to sputter out an apology, one on a knotted tongue, the words equally tangled in his throat when he was whipping toward the smiling man next to him. His eyebrows met in a single line at the bridge of his nose, unconsciously leaning closer to Hoseok. 

“Wait, what? What do you mean okay?” 

The older man nudged Jimin again with one curt nod of his chin, “I mean...okay. Let’s do it.”

Jimin blinked, once, twice, four times in the dying silence of Hoseok’s giggles before he admitted quietly, “I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly—”

“Listen, kid,” Hoseok slung a heavy arm across Jimin’s shoulders, tugging on the smaller man until he was curled against his side, “I don’t know what it is about you...but I like your enthusiasm. And your idea, of course.”

He glanced up from where he’d ducked into Hoseok’s shoulder, cocking an eyebrow, “...so you’re saying?”

Hoseok beamed again, an infectious giggle falling from his lips as he happily clapped at Jimin’s shoulder for a passing moment before springing to a standing position, presenting his palm for Jimin to take. He waited until Jimin had joined him on his feet, lowering his voice a half octave as he brought Jimin in by clasped fists between their chests.

“I’m saying, let’s plan a damn festival.”

Jimin expected Hoseok to take off at a dead sprint up the shore like any other cliche romantic comedy would, hurdling them into a montage of planning that involved highlighter marks etched into the pores of their skin and mountains of rejected flyer options with a dying laptop battery mocking the open document of logistics information, where, when, how the festival would occur. 

Instead, Hoseok stood still, eyes frozen on something in the distance and again Jimin jerked to look for a bee and his high tech audio visual equipment when Hoseok provided in a thick monotone. 

“One issue.”

Jimin with the bee in mind quipped, “I think there will be a little bit more than one issue but that’s fine, that’s...common knowledge—”

“No, like,” Hoseok’s lips formed a sheepish shape, “With me.”

An endless whir of possibilities stirred so much so that Jimin couldn’t consciously pluck out a few tangible options but among that strangled mess, Jimin certainly didn’t expect Hoseok to utter hoarsely, “I can’t dance.”

“I’m sorry you…” Jimin tried not to show amusement on his features, “You what?”

“I can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance.”

“No, they can’t. Because I can’t.”

The chaotic scene came later, the montage Jimin had envisioned as the grooves of a DVD shoved into the ancient player tucked away in the closet of his newly acquired home. Hoseok’s arms were colored in at least four different colors of highlighter, hair frayed at the edges of the headband wrapped haphazardly on the high rise of his forehead. Jimin had nearly broke his toe twice in his quest to hurdle a dining room chair to plug in his dying laptop as the spreadsheet he’d worked so meticulously to format hung in the balance of the singular electrical outlet at the far end of the dining room. 

They had a date. They had a venue. They had a backup venue. They had a caterer. They had a playlist. They had a playlist that would survive policy inspection, if need be. They had a mock flyer. 

They didn’t have a confident Hoseok. 

“I don’t know,” He huffed finally, fingers stalling on his laptop keys as he studied Jimin from over the lid, “...will anyone even come? Like, on the off chance that we do get this approved—”

Jimin knew the answer was an ardent no, but he teased nonetheless, “Is this because you think you can’t dance?”

“I know, I can’t dance. That’s beside the point—”

The hollow floorboards underneath the peeling linoleum of Jimin’s kitchen floor croaked in protest when he shoved his chair back, rounding the table to collect Hoseok’s wrist and drag him with him out the front door. 

“Where are we going?” Hoseok complained at the extension of Jimin’s digits curled into his skin. 

Jimin didn’t answer as he dragged Hoseok up your porch steps and rapped on the loose dangle of your screen door. He waited until you half emerged from the wood door you pulled back, palm on the screen door and clearly confused as he stated, “Hoseok thinks he can’t dance.”

You tried to fight the smile that curled onto each corner of your mouth, addressing your friend first, “You can dance. Everyone can dance—” and then to Jimin’s triumphantly beaming figure, “Why would he need to know how to dance?”

“We’re planning a festival,” Jimin said absently, a grin morphing higher on his features when your expression flattened into slightly horrified confusion.

“You’re what—” 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok stepped up to be shoulder to shoulder with Jimin, squishing his presence into the tiny door frame, “Do you want to help?”

“I have no idea what’s fucking happening,” You blurted finally, lips fished, pupils dilated to the ambiant starlight that curled over the figures stationed in your doorway. 

Jimin’s smile turned sympathetic, a gentle hand on your waist guiding you safely away from the rustic contraption of doors at the front of your house. There was a catch in your breath for two reasons, allowing Jimin to lead you to the swing dangling off pillars screwed to the deck. You sat first, a series of concerning creaks following as Jimin took a seat next to you, Hoseok situating himself delicately to the railing circumventing your porch. 

“We’re going to try to revive the town,” Jimin started, simply albeit daunting in that stripped down sense. 

You blinked, realistic, to some sort of nocturnal worm that had weazled it’s way between the floorboards, “Just the two of you, huh ducky?”

“And you!” 

“It’s got to start somewhere,” Jimin curbed Hoseok’s enthusiasm with a gentle palm on your shoulder. 

More blinking. A threat of that shriveled up rigidity to your stature that Jimin loathed like the bile that curled onto the back of his tongue. And then it relaxed all at once, like a daunting wave that suddenly cut under itself, the current nothing but a gentle lap over some vague footprints in the sand. 

“...so who’s going to cater this thing?” It was a gradual build up in the rise of your cheeks but it was there, shining in Jimin’s direction once it had fully developed and he was unconscious of Hoseok’s happy hollering as his own smile began to stretch across his features. 

“We were thinking Taehyung,” Jimin said again in favor of Hoseok who was still violently fist pumping from his perch, “Unless you have another suggestion?”

You shifted, chin plopping onto a palm where fingers curled upward into your chin. The digits patted your lips for a few passing moments before you nodded, muffled a bit by your hand, “Taehyung and maybe one of the restaurants up the coast would be willing to provide. So that their affiliation isn’t biased, you know.”

There was a light ambiance that followed, a continuation of the chatter that had taken place across the lively chaos cluttering Jimin’s rickety kitchen table until Hoseok, silent for the vast majority of the conversation, shifted on the railing enough for a groaning creak that drew two attentions to it. 

“We’re forgetting one thing,” The red haired man beamed into the insinuation he knew was going to earn him grief, “I still can’t dance. And what’s a festival organizer who can’t dance? Useless—” 

The movement of the swing underneath his toes barely perched on the ground startled Jimin but it was your hand in his that had the air escaping from between his parted lips. He was useless, limp in letting you drag him up as you collected Hoseok in a similar fashion, fingers wrapped around his wrist as your drug the two men down the porch steps. 

Your houses resided on the up most part of the main road, leaving the nature beyond virtually untouched to human editing aside from a few decorative flower pots curled outward from a concrete slab out your back door and a singular ceramic frog chipped at it’s right eye that Jimin had found in his own garden. Your, loose term, backyard, was much larger in comparison to his simply because the clearing was larger, more space between curved trunks of tropical trees and centuries old stands by older oaks and maples. The grass was uncut by a few passing weeks, short enough to wade through, long enough to tickle ankles, dotted in various shades of wildflowers that hadn’t been cut by sharp metal blades of machinery. Rounded petals seemed to glow in the crescent moonlight that shaded through the expanse spaces left by soft, flicking leaves.

One white flower glowing a pale blue unintentionally squished under the sole of Jimin’s shoe, resilient in the way it sprung back to half of what it’s stem height had previously been. Jimin couldn’t say the same for the way his conscious was able to recover to the feeling of your hand in his palm to the pointed grip of your fingers at his waist, situating him to a similar position you’d been in all those weeks ago in the fog of the morning dock. 

“Dancing is easy,” You were chattering but Jimin was too focused on the color lens that coated the yellow flower itching into the bone at his ankle and how it cast across the adorable determination on your features. The very thing that had him in a trance, your touch, was what broke him out of it, grip jerking him closer so that he was forced to curl a stabilizing hand around the small of your back. 

“See,” You continued, dragging Jimin messily to the side and he recovered enough to correct his stumbled step, “Watch us.”

He allowed you to lead, entertaining the newborn deer act for a few moments, purposeful in squishing your toes in one instance and in flopping his stature around in a dramatic circle to prevent you from dipping him. When you were laughing, giggling to the stars that reflected on the scattered petals below your feet, he took miniscule steps to regain your faux control, tensing his muscles, holding you tighter, swinging you to the soundtrack of grasshopper titters. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok narrated dryly when Jimin spun you in a series of particularly dizzying circles, stopping only when you collapsed against his chest from fatigue, “Looks extremely simple.”

You exchanged a glance with Jimin, one that made his heart stop to swell within the cavity of his chest underneath your palms placed at the very spot and it was more than the cool evening breeze that made him shiver when you stepped away to offer your hand to Hoseok. 

It was a process to get Hoseok to fall in step with a simple slow dance guided by the music off Jimin’s phone tossed carelessly in the grass, squashing your toes and earning playful yelps as you adjusted his position. You beamed at Jimin in each instance, joy directed at the amused man who stood a few feet off with his eyebrows raised and arms folded to his chest.

Hoseok managed to shuffle in consecutive eight counts without breaking one of your smallest appendages with the clumpy sole of his tennis shoes, going as far to attempt a dip that nearly had you crashing backward into the wildflowers, one that had Jimin rushing forward to try to brace you while your laughter just let you carry your slow descent to the grass, two amused men curled over you. 

The lesson shifted to basic steps, a jazz square (“Jazz hands?” Hoseok had peered hopefully, long fingers elongated outward as they shook slightly), simple hip rolls which he proved to be quite, in your words, lethal at. He took a liking to a viral dance craze Jimin had the misfortune of seeing on the internet a few times, combining that rigid hip swivel with equally rigid arms, moving back and forth at a speed that had Hoseok exclaiming, “Hey! This is great!”

“Maybe that’s your signature move,” You teased, bumping shoulders with Jimin. 

“Really?” Hoseok sped up the movement, red hair bouncing over his eyelashes as he glanced toward Jimin, “What’s yours?”

Jimin tried to stay neutral in tone, “Not the floss—”

He adapted something called the shoot too, something that carried his descent down the dock one morning while Jimin just grinned and prepared music in the muffled confinement of his pocket, letting Hoseok wiggle around him until you appeared, stealing Jimin’s towel and smacking Hoseok’s ass with it, ordering both of you to get to work. 

Jimin lent him a spare pair of earbuds, logging him into his Spotify account so that he could navigate through Jimin’s meticulously put together playlists, something that proved to be quite distracting when there were three figures huddled in the dim light of Jimin’s dining room and Hoseok didn’t hear each of your called inquiries until at least the fourth time, too preoccupied with a shimmy neither you nor Jimin had taught him while he mouthed along to the song, notebook pressed to his nose. 

“I want to show you something—” proceeded the encapsulation of Jimin’s knee caps with Hoseok’s hands, pulling back with a full featured grin as some vaguely familiar tune began to blare down the otherwise serene coast line. Jimin watched as his older friend added arm movements to his hip swivels, a little bit of unintentional chest too, but most importantly a smile as he executed choreography he’d came up with himself. 

He stopped short of the entire routine when they’d spotted Namjoon’s bike descending the trail, instead presenting it to you and Jimin behind the curtains of your living room.

Final nights of preparation came with less anxious staring at completed outlines, typed documents, laminated folder fronts, but more dancing, silly twirls of Jimin’s hands on your waist as your bare feet sank into the couch cushions, Hoseok declaring the coffee table as his stage to show off his increasing footwork skills (watch this turn!), not so technical reviews of desired playlists, or in other words, the ones that most definitely wouldn’t pass through the town council meeting. 

“Will any of this pass, you think?” 

It was a grossly simplistic way of expressing the worry that stirred in the pits of your stomachs but spoken calmly to Jimin one evening after Hoseok had gone home, leaving your knees curled towards Jimin’s figure on your couch. 

“I have no idea,” He tried to smile, a soft encouragement as he shifted toward you, thighs bumping your knees, “You know them better than I do. I’m just the new guy…”

“You’re pretty intuitive, ducky,” You patted his thigh, “Don’t bullshit me. What do you think?”

“I think they’ll say no,” Jimin sucked the end of his tongue between his teeth, afraid his answer was too quick until you laughed, hand still on his leg as you leaned closer. 

You didn’t speak until your cheek had subconsciously shifted to his arm, glancing up at him through smiling eyelashes that expressed so much more, just as your expressions always seemed to contradict themselves. You were an open book, intuition told Jimin, and he smiled back in hopes it would amend the sad red lingering around the iris ring. 

“Me too,” You looked away from him, one leg stretching out to nudge a particularly battered piece of notebook paper, scrawled over in Hoseok’s messy handwriting and Jimin’s incessant color coding, “I don’t want to get my hopes up it’s just...been so long—”

Jimin shifted to accommodate your figure better, tentative in the hand that slid around the small of your back and when you didn’t react, he cupped your far hip, squeezing your curled figure against his side. 

“—it’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of joy at the prospect of anything,” Your fingertips were just as hesitant in touching his stomach, gradual in expanding to lay your palm just underneath his ribs, “I...I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

He bypassed the urge to kiss your forehead by nudging his nose into your hairline, squeezing you a bit tighter. “There are only two options to what they can say, you know,” When you let out a shuddering sigh, he continued, “Yes or no.”

“Fifty fifty shot,” You muffled from below him. 

“Exactly. Worst case scenario, they say no. We ask what we can do, if anything, to alter our plans. We regroup, and try again at the next meeting,” Jimin swallowed, “Best case scenario...they say yes and we’ll throw the best damn party this town has ever seen.”

There was a prolonged silence between your mumbles of acknowledgement, paired with the slump and lull of your stature further into Jimin. “You’re right…” You slurred last, cute in the stars that shined in Jimin’s eyes. He struggled not to jostle you, snatching a quilted throw blanket from where it was neatly folded over the back of your paisley upholstery. 

He curled the blanket around your stature, gentle in dragging pillows around you to gently pry himself off of you, laying you into the tiny fort he’d constructed on your couch. He blew out the years old birthday cake scented candle on one of your end tables, flicked off the stereo system in the corner, turned out all the lights aside from the one in the threshold. A last pass by your dozing figure, adjusting the blankets until your slumbering state curled the ends into fists near your face. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jimin soothed, palm curling down the back of your head to your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your response was muffled but his heart heard it loud and clear. 

“Goodnight, ducky.”

Jimin didn’t realize the crushing weight of your fingers curled around his, knuckles anemic, pressure borderline painful, until he let out a breath when the stocky man at the head of the front podium glanced up. His thumb did gentle work at soothing over the back of your knuckles, releasing some of the tension as you let out a similar breath, gaze set forward on the mayor, a stark black nameplate with gold engraving advertising Moon Jaejin, head of council. 

“A festival, huh?” He spoke lowly but the quirk in his eyebrow suggested he was speaking to an elementary student. Condescending.  

Your mouth parted but nothing came out, Hoseok’s admission from the other side of you affirming, “Yes, sir. A sort of revival of the seasons end festival that we...used to have.”

Namjoon shifted from his position two chairs down, uncomfortable. The mayor drew out his rhetoric this time, “You’ve spent quite the time planning this, haven’t you?” He glanced up from the purple folder Jimin had meticulously fretted over the entire morning, “In secret, I presume?”

“We’re presenting it to you now,” Jimin challenged, letting you curl a death grip on his fingers this time, “Aren’t we?”

More of the council members shifted this time. One cleared his throat. Moon laughed. 

“Ah, so it was your idea then, young man?”

Jimin set his shoulders, “It was. I’d like to continue having a job here, and by the way the season is wrapping up, it’s seeing to it that none of us down at the dock will be employed by next year.”

Nervous tittering. Nail marks crescented into his palm as you shifted forward, crouching over your knees. 

“Quite the radical claim for a newcomer,” He seemed to take pride in the way he crumpled the front of the folder as he placed it to the table, effectively crumpling the cover Hoseok had spent hours editing. “Our economy here is doing just fine, particularly after—”

“For you.”

You spoke now, chin lifting as you still hunched into yourself. 

“What was that—”

“I said,” You straightened now, letting go of Jimin’s hand to flatten a clammy palm over your thigh, “That for you, the economy is doing just fine. We’re all aware, with the new pool you just had installed.”

Moon lifted his chin higher, a challenge, “What are you suggesting, dear?”

“You must have some idea. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

There was another uncomfortable pause in the exchange, silence filled with the ruffling of papers, Namjoon’s pointed cough into the crook of his elbow, Hoseok’s fingernails clacking against the chair he sat in. And for the careful consideration the mayor took of his words, it seemed that they were in preparation to grab his nearest dagger just to slice it through your heart. 

“You, dear, of everyone should be resentful of this idea,” He smiled as he lounged into his chair, “What would your late boyfriend think of you suggesting this, hmm? Reimplementing the various vices that led to his death.”

This silence was frightening, devoid of white noise aside from Hoseok moving for you, wide eyes curled like wallpaper around the perimeter of the meeting room and it seemed to drop an octave lower when you stood, shrugging out of Hoseok who reached for you. 

“You won’t even say his name,” You quipped and the sentence relayed over again, far less confident before, wavering into something higher pitched and painful, “You won’t even say his name and yet you continue to sensationalize the tragedy to further build the mountain you’ve created for yourself over the rest of us.”

“So continue to run this town into nothing if you want. Once we’re all gone, you’ll be nothing too,” A bitter smile twitched onto your lips, one now coated in a fine layer of tears that tracked in haphazard directions down the surface of your cheeks, “but don’t you dare continue to do it in Yoongi’s name.”

Jimin found himself frozen, numb to the call of your name from Hoseok that you’d ignored, needles pining their way into the clenched nature of his muscles, faced with a shade of grave he’d never imagined to see Hoseok wearing, something that rimmed red around his eyelids too and he blinked away from Jimin’s starkly different gaze to touch the back of his wrist at his eye. 

“Gentlemen—”

A silent exchange, a question, who was going to go after you, and when Hoseok didn’t move quick enough, Jimin forced the static and stars from his eyes to flee from the building.

Polished dress shoes unpacked specifically for the occasion became scuffed in a fine layer of dust as he took the winding path at elongated strides until he essentially broke into a run. Darkness didn’t help his any of his already jumbled senses but instinct carried him to the one place he did know, dust curling into the moisture clinging to the wood from the remnants of dusk as the moon began to sigh quietly over the water. 

He heard you before he saw you, a horribly muffled sobbing noise deep within the recesses of that tiny boat at the end of the dock. He barely used the ropes and ladders designed for the very thing, uncaring with how the boat rocked with the force in which he propelled himself inside. 

You were curled into the seat at the front, a jacket held around your shoulders with a harsh fist while your latter hand was firmly clasped over your nose and lips. Jimin took his trek to you gently compared to his frantic rush from the meeting hall, toeing over each of the bench seats until he made it to the front row, balancing gently on the edge of the tattered and splintered wood. 

The ambiance of crashing waves spurred by the sighing moon continued over the sound of your sobs and Jimin’s bated breathing for a dozen or so heartbeats, your raw tone cutting into the sound of receding water away from the shore. 

“You didn’t have to come after me, ducky.”

Jimin shared a look with your eyes that cut to the side, trying to smile on one side of his face. “If I didn’t come, Hoseok was going to.”

“Hmm,” You sniffled, straightening a bit to drag the jacket sleeve underneath your nose, “Only one of you doesn’t understand that mess back there, though.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I should have told you a long time ago,” You shrugged, “I’m just as bad as them, if you think about it.”

Jimin’s eyes rolled so far back they could have touched some of the glittering stars in the dark night, “Don’t ever compare yourself to them.”

“I don’t talk about it because it’s hard. They talk only about it because it benefits their stupid—” An unwarranted sob cut you off, ripping your spine forward to cup your palm over your mouth and Jimin surged forward this time, moving closer on his knees to rub at your shoulders. 

His soft touches curled own your spine, fingertips brushing soft patterns into the small of your back until the tremors in your shoulders subsided, allowing you to rub at your nose again. He waited until you were looking at him, cry ridden eyes reflecting the angry curl of water around the collection of boats that sat idle in the darkness. Then you smiled, pitiful but there as a short, single syllable laugh escaped, dropping your gaze again. 

“I’m a mess.”

Jimin shook his head, fingertips never ceasing. His chin dropped searching for your gaze until you managed to maintain it for a few passing, deep breaths. Then, gently, he encouraged, “Tell me about Yoongi.”

You froze but unlike previously, you began to speak almost immediately, rigid into the genuinely joyful laughter that followed. “He was everything good in the world. Seriously,” Another laugh, one that punctuated the pick of your finger into your nail bed, “Like...litters of puppies and sweet vanilla candles and fresh baked cookies. But...as a person.”

“We had been dating for three years. We were going to get out of here. Same university. Dance for me, music for Yoongi,” You laughed again, making eye contact with him now, “Dancing wasn’t really his thing. He could do it, he was great at it but he preferred the music thing. Which worked perfectly, if you think about it.”

“We were going to leave after the season ended. Work one last summer just to save up a little extra,” Jimin saw the tears well before you scrunched your eyes shut, “Wish I would have just listened to him and left early.”

A moment to collect yourself. “Anyway, it was a great season for us. Yoongi had just gotten his hands on one of the newer boats. Believe it or not, we used to have nice tourist yachts that were equipped to travel miles down the coast. A whole fleet of them,” You affectionately plucked at the worn leather you sat on, “This was his old boat.”

“He had a particularly rowdy group one evening. Not anything out of the ordinary, definitely not something him and the staff on board couldn’t handle but a distraction when there was a horrible storm approaching,” You sucked in a breath, chest expanding where Jimin’s fingers had traveled back up, still rubbing soft patterns into your jacket, “You can...uhm. You can imagine what happened…”

“They blamed it on the party that was happening on the boat. Said that if we just took people on boat rides for an hour or so, none of that would have ever happened. That the dancing and the alcohol and the atmosphere cultivated here in our little town was to blame. He wouldn’t have been as distracted without all of it and he certainly wouldn’t have been out that late...”

“Press got ahold of the story, took things out of context, didn’t have all the information. The town became deserted for more reasons than just the ridiculous executive order the mayor signed the night of Yoongi’s funeral—” You grit your teeth, “—like he deserved some sort of reward while Yoongi was—”

Jimin wrapped an arm around you then, tugging until you placed your cheek on his shoulder. His knees burned but nothing like the pelt of his heart against his ribcage. 

“That’s why I couldn’t leave. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. I didn’t want to listen to music. I didn’t want to dance. I didn’t want to look at the dock. I just wanted my Yoongi back…”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

His hand now rubbed up and down your arm, giving into the urge to press his lips against your hairline, letting softer sobs emit out of you now until the pass of his fingers to the jacket still clutched to your person was in time with your attempt at controlling your breathing. 

“I think you would have been friends,” You said suddenly, tears shining when you peeled your cheek off his shoulder to look up at him, “...and I’m really glad you came here.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, but you cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips. “I’m really glad you’re here for a lot of reasons, but that specifically. Hoseok’s my friend but Yoongi was his best friend,” You smiled sadly, “He’s just been kind of lost for a while. It’s...refreshing to see him like this again. A little bit of me feels normal seeing Hoseok be normal.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m still going to,” Your fingertip traced from his plump bottom lip to follow the line of his flushed cheekbone, “Thank you, ducky.”

“If anything, you’ve made the whole town think again. No one has played music out loud from their front porch in years. No one has danced on the dock in years,” You blinked suddenly, “But like fuck them. You’ve made me realize a lot too.”

“Stupid little things, like bike riding is fun and viral dance trends are cheesy but most importantly—” You inhaled through your nose, “—Yoongi would fucking hate everything about what they’ve done to our town.”

“You know what he’d love, though?”

Jimin shook his head, gentle in holding your waist. 

You grinned, genuine through the tears that wreaked havoc on your features as you cupped both Jimin’s cheeks, jacket slumping off your shoulders a bit as you nodded once, a curt pout on your lips. 

“A secret festival that oozes in...how would he put this,” A loud laugh, a sound Jimin hadn’t earned the pleasure of hearing before, “fuck the system.” 

“Taehyung!”

The farmer nearly dropped the neat pyramid of tomatoes curled into his chest when you hissed his name at an elevated whisper, high steps picking your way up to one of his tents. He deposited the tomatoes first, an ungraceful roll of the produce into a nearby bin before he braced his hands on the card table, leaning over it to repeat in the exact same whisper scream, “What?” 

You stripped one lapel of your jacket back to snatch a stack of the paperclipped, neatly cut flyers. One glance over your right shoulder, a prolonged glance over your left, and then you were shoving the stack of papers to Taehyung. “Take these.”

Jimin approached then, gentle in the index finger he prodded against the side of your head. “Subtle.”

Taehyung began speaking as you whipped around to glare at Jimin, “Oh? I thought this wasn’t happening—”

“It’s not supposed to.” “You can’t tell anyone,” You added, “Just...add these into bags of tourists. And the occasional trustworthy local, I guess. Just not Namjoon. Obviously.”

He pocketed the flyers into the front pouch of his forest green apron, hidden from view. “So...then this means you’ll need my catering?”

“You’re invited as a guest first. If you’d like to take a night off and come party with us, we’ll find something us. We already had a few ideas—”

“Who says I can’t serve food and party?” Taehyung beamed, lips all geometric edges as he cupped his hands over his lips, “I’ll be there. And your secret is safe with me.”

The look the broad man that stood before Jimin cast made his joints freeze in his pocket, name tag not blurred by the yellow lensed glasses perched on the edge of Jimin’s nose as he began to stutter over nothing in particular.

Seokjin. 

“Uhh…”

“Forgive my friend,” You touched Jimin’s elbow, reaching past him to snag the stack of flyers out of his jacket to slap them down on the counter. Jimin warily regarded the reaction, watching at Seokjin’s eyes traveled down to where your palm still covered the majority of the cover art. 

“We need a favor,” Hoseok added from Jimin’s opposite side, unabashed in slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Can you help us out, Jinnie?”

Seokjin’s expression remained stoic for a fraction longer before he was breaking into a series of wheezing giggles, bending at the waist to make his tie escape from his suit jacket and dangle to the floor below. He came to seconds later, holding a hand in Jimin’s direction.

“Of course, Hobi,” He beamed once Jimin deemed it safe to accept the handshake, giving one firm squeeze, “What can I do for you guys?”

“Can you hand these out to your guests?”

The suit clad man’s lips pursed into bloomed tulip as he fiddled with the clip on the stack, lifting one paper up to his eyes to squint at the font. Realization hit after a second and he nodded, “Oh? So we are having the festival?”

“Secretly,” You nudged the flyers a little bit until Seokjin got the hint and peeled them off the top part of the hotel counter to place them down near his desktop computer, “We want you to hand these out to guests.”

“Of course,” Another bellowing laughter, full of sweet eye crescents and a gentle shape to his mouth, “...I can’t give one to Mayor Moon, right?”

Hoseok moved to snatch the flyers back when Seokjin swatted at his hand, shaking his head with that same smile on his features, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I can even give you access to our valet services here, if you like. To get people down the shore, you know...”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok grunted when you placed two hands on his shoulder blades and pushed, “They’re going to catch us. The whole thing is going to be ruined!” 

You sighed, glancing at Jimin, “Think you can self teach yourself to drive a boat in five minutes?”

He beamed, “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Hobi,” You rolled onto your toes, squishing his cheeks between your thumb and index fingers until his panicked ramblings ceased, “They’re all out of town until the morning. Namjoon is with them. No one’s going to notice. We’re only taking two boats. We’ll move the rest around so it looks like nothing is missing.”

“Will that work?” 

“You spent hours photoshopping a party hat onto a boat,” You tweaked the pliable skin of his cheeks once more, “Do you really want to go back on the boat rides promised on the flyer?”

Miserable, Hoseok moaned, “No.” 

“Good. Take Jimin and let’s get this show on the road or else someone is going to catch us.”

All traces of whiny Hoseok were gone when the pair stood on the deck of the singular yacht the boat service still owned in front of an entire panel of controls that looked entirely too daunting for Jimin to even begin to comprehend. Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed like a kid in a candy store, some sort of high pitched giggle leaving his lips as he clapped his hands, turning to a series of switches and dials as the boat began to revv to life underneath them. 

“I haven’t done anything with these in years—” 

A third voice cut him off, followed by the soft whir of something through water as your boat began to poke by in front of them. “Are the two of you coming anytime soon or are you going to let it get daytime?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, a good natured gesture as he fiddled a bit more before the boat finally began to move. “Pretty cool though…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he turned to Jimin, “Right?”

Jimin nodded, tossing his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “So cool, Hobi.”

They’d chosen the area around an abandoned dock just outside of the town limits, beach area sufficient after a little tender love and care from the help of Jeongguk and the bed of his work truck, secret for the premise but technicalities making it so the town council members would have no grounds to shut it down. Taehyung provided the tents complete with various colored fairy lights and other lighting contraptions that Jimin couldn’t quite pinpoint the names of. Seokjin provided the transportation in the form of various high school aged children and golf carts, ones that were ordered to take the route down by the beach so that the ride was enjoyable in itself. 

Food had its own designated area, homemade from Taehyung’s garden recipes, a dance floor in another area sectioned off by multicolored streamers and party decorations Hoseok had raided his attic for. Music, certainly not approved by the town ordinance, played from speakers attached to Jimin’s laptop hidden underneath a black sheet, playlist set to shuffle different on each loop. Jimin had polished the boats after they’d successfully moved them, available until the hour that darkness would completely envelope the coast, leaving them available to take food and drinks and dancing to someplace other than the wooden panels pressed deep into the sand. 

You stood shoulder to shoulder with him as cool winds curled off the early evening waves, just at the entrance to the event. Taehyung had just declared The Coastal Cabaret open for business, lifting lids of expensive cooking contraptions that sent piles of steam billowing into the corners of the light lined tents, yet Seokjin was the only one who lingered around with a glass of champagne tucked delicately between his fingers. 

“Do you think anyone will come?” You spoke finally, words wisped into the wind. 

“I hope so.”

Taehyung called after ten minutes that the food was definitely edible, earning the attention of Seokjin who could be heard uttering ridiculous moans of approval with each new thing the farmer thrust toward him on a decoration paper plate. 

“This was stupid,” You concluded twenty minutes in when the breeze had picked more clouds over, rushing the night faster than first intended. “We shouldn’t have—”

There was a chatter, a voice that didn’t belong to either of the figures already tailored to the party. Some crunching, the sound of a soft engine, and then a loud hollering could be heard as Jeongguk steered the first golf cart into a makeshift parking space in the grass. 

“Here you go, have a wonderful time,” The younger man cheered, long curls stuck to his cheeks as he beamed at you and Jimin, offering a thumbs up over the steering wheel, “I bring you guests! And there’s plenty more where that came from so I have to go—”

It was an elderly couple, not unfamiliar to Jimin. He’d seen them around town, at the convenience store on the far corner from his house, roaming the shore hand in hand while he was doing his nightly closing duties at the dock. The woman touched his arm when she grew close enough, startling him out of his recognition as she softened, “We’re awful glad you arranged this, darling.”

“Oh it wasn’t just me. Hoseok and—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, shaking your head as you absently pointed toward the spot Jeongguk had just been before leading the couple down to the tents, explaining all the way what they had to offer. At the end of your point came Hoseok in the second golf cart, a group of teenagers this time that bolted from their seats the second the machine came to a stop, bypassing any sort of explanation as they went straight for the neon lights flashing to the dance floor. 

It continued like that for what seemed like hours, golf carts guiding people in, others parking their cars in messy rows just off the street to walk their way down to the coast. The unfamiliar face was few and far between, the majority of the festival goers residents of the town. The boats barely left their place at the dock on the far end of the happenings, people too preoccupied with the music and the dance and the atmosphere they’d been deprived of for what seemed like far longer than a handful of years. 

Jimin found you at the corner of the dance floor, stance wide as you watched people crowd the small area without a care to who they were near, taking the part off into the sand where the music could still be coherent enough to make out some sort of body movement to. He touched your shoulder in greeting, coming to copy your stance. 

“Awesome, isn’t it?” He mused, fondly watching as Hoseok slithered his way to the middle and returning with a toddler in hand, hoisting her up so that her pigtails bounced and her laughter rang in time with the beats of the music. 

You nodded, awestruck in the moment but that snapped when there was a figure in your peripheral, slinking in steps, stumbling more like, in trying to be stealth but hopelessly failing. Hoseok turned with you, eyes widening as Namjoon approached with a sheepish smile. 

He took both hands from the pockets of his jacket, holding them in solace to the protective step Jimin subconsciously shifted in front of you. 

“Did they send you down here?” You questioned anyway, negating the step Jimin had taken by moving around him. 

“Yes,” Namjoon answered truthfully, but rushed to amend when your gaze flattened, “but not for the reason you think!”

“What do I think, Joon?”

The taller man shifted from foot to sandal clad foot, fists curled back into his pockets. A smile graced his features, all dimples indented into his cheeks when he chuckled. “They told me to come have fun with you guys,” Bewildered, he continued to laugh, the sound growing in comical value, “Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t—”

You placed a palm on Jimin’s chest, soft again in a way he’d previously heard you speak to Namjoon. “Go have fun, Joon,” You nodded when he made curious eye contact with you, “You deserve it.”

It wasn’t until Namjoon had vanished into the mass of bodies that you whipped around, searching for Jimin’s hand. When you retrieved it, you tugged, an answer to your question, “Want to go somewhere?”

Somewhere turned out to be the boat, the boat, clambering aboard a bit harder on the unkempt sway of the abandoned dock but you made it with Jimin’s support on your waist, your hands turning to offer him a similar service until you were both safely inside. You paused halfway to clambering to the front, where the space was certainly much bigger to maneuver, legs caught between the rows of benches. 

You blurted, “Do you want to dance?”

He obliged, swaying you in a simple circle about yourselves that was complete with a few pained knocks of your legs against the benches but it didn’t much matter in the ambiance and you adjusted quickly. Your music became the white noise of the party happening down on the beach, high hats in the music punctuated by the sounds of laughter, accents the call of Taehyung to whoever was coming to retrieve a snack, a crescendo the whir of golf carts continuing to drag in late strays, eight counts of a part of your heart that slowly began to heal within itself, emitting such an intense beam that Jimin could feel it radiating off of you the tighter he held you. 

“You’re the best thing to happen to this town in a while,” Your voice curled across Jimin’s neck, eliciting goosebumps up into the short hairs at his nape, “You know that right, ducky?”

“It was all you. I didn’t—”

“Park Jimin,” The way you quipped his full name had him startling to your gaze, finding a fond smile creeping onto your teeth just underneath tears that seemed to have already existed, “Do you know how to take a compliment?”

Softly, he answered, “Not really.”

“You have helped me though. Immensely,” Assured, you nodded, “All of us.”

Bashfully, he shrugged, pink to his cheeks harsher in the low lighting off the battery powered fairy lights Hoseok had spent hours weaving through the railing of the boat. 

“Sometimes we all need a little push.”

You cocked your head, deciding albeit reluctantly, “Something like that.”

Jimin grinned. “By the way—” He began to fumble at the back pocket of his jeans, “—what music do you want?”

You shook your head, making grabby hands at him until he took you back into his embrace, holding you close as you mumbled into his chest, “Don’t want any music... 

“...I just want to dance.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (34/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m about to sit down to write some new words for the first time in about a month, and @shireness-says​ has permission to yell at me if I don’t. Now to decide what exactly I’m going to work on 🙈

Thanks to my beta @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all of these words and being a super cool and supportive human being. 

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-/-

September ends without anyone ever really noticing. The weather seems to get the hint, though, the daily temperatures in the eighties dipping down to the sixties for the high, and suddenly New York no longer feels and smells like melting concrete.

In truth, it’s amazing.

Killian loves summer and loves the feel of the sunshine beating down on his skin as he spends his days standing out on a baseball field, but there’s something special that happens when the leaves begin to change and the air has a crisp feel to it when he walks out of his apartment in the mornings to go to do his workouts or to physical therapy. It’s nice not to sweat as soon as he goes outside, and it’s even nicer to have the feeling that washes over him to know that his team is in the play-offs.

That starts today.

Nervous energy radiates over Killian, more than usual, and he’s not even playing today. He can’t quite yet, but he’s been approved to practice again and if all of that goes well, he’ll be able to play during the Championship Series which means he’ll qualify to play for the World Series.

If those things happen.

He’s getting ahead of himself. He tends to do that, especially lately when so much of his life is wanting and waiting for the future, and Killian definitely needs to put on the breaks.

But the smell of cinnamon is wafting through his apartment, the television is playing pre-game shows for the start of the Division Series today, and Emma is wandering around in a pair of thick socks pulled halfway up her calves with only an oversized sweater on and her curly blonde hair falling down her back in all of its unbrushed glory.

It’s been a crazy two and a half weeks full of them dealing with the fallout from the article and all of the trickle-down effects from it. Everything has been difficult. He won’t lie about that, but things are calming down a little more each day. Walsh has officially been fired from ESPN, and while Killian was tempted to take back his decision to not sue after Emma told him how Walsh confronted her in his office, he did eventually decide against it. The man isn’t worth it.

Contacting his father to confront him isn’t worth it either.

Killian thought about it, paced back and forth in his living room for hours thinking about it, but like he and Emma (and Liam and Elsa and David and Anna and Robin and every other person he knows) keep talking about, they want a reaction out of the two of them. They want to hurt them, and reacting in any ways more than absolutely necessary means that the bad guys win.

His father is not going to win. He’s taken enough. He won’t take anymore.

And if the pattern of photographers slowly disappearing from outside of his apartment door is going to be a pattern that continues, he thinks things will turn out just fine.

What crazy path to have to go through to get to fine.

His phone buzzes on the counter next to where he’s whipping together some oatmeal raisin cookies, much to Emma’s dismay since she insisted on him using chocolate chips instead of raisins.

She’ll never learn.

Robin: Are you coming to the game tonight?

Killian: Yep. I’ll be there. You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?

Robin: Possibly. Roland is very concerned that you’re not going to give us one of your famous pre-game talks, and we’re going to lose.

Killian: Tell Roland that I am giving a speech, if you guys still let me, and then I will be in the suite watching with him.

Robin: We’ll definitely still let you. I can’t wait for you to come back. It’s been too long.

Killian: Aye, it has. Soon though. You guys have to win so I don’t have to wait until March to come back.

Robin: I’ll try my best but no promises.

“How do you feel about this for the centerpiece on your dining room table?”

“Hmm?”

Emma slides her laptop across the island to show him her monitor’s screen where there are several artificial pumpkins and faux foliage in a long wooden tray.

“What’s this for again?”

Emma rolls her eyes at him, and he can’t help but smile at her as he cracks an egg over the edge of his bowl. “You said you were thinking about hosting Thanksgiving here. Your apartment is a very ‘a single man lives here’ place. I was thinking you might need something to make it more festive on the folding table you’re going to have to bring in here to accommodate everyone.”

“It’s October fourth.”

“And?”

“It’s October fourth.”

Emma huffs and reaches over to the bag of chocolate chips (okay, so he broke down and is making some with chocolate chips for her but only some) and grabs a few, popping them into her mouth. “I am aware of the date, Professor Jones.” He sticks his tongue out at her for her use of Will’s nickname. “I can’t look at my game notes anymore without going crazy, so obviously I’m online shopping for you to distract myself.”

“I mean, obviously. What else would you do to waste your time away?”

“Watch TV or go back to sleep. I could go pluck my eyebrows or read a book. But then I won’t know when the cookies are ready, and that’s all I’m really here for.”

“It’s going to be thirty minutes. Technically, I should refrigerate the dough for a day instead of popping it in the oven right away. It makes the cookies fluffier.”

“Yeah, but that’s too long.”

“Give me ten minutes, and I will come and look at your decorations that you’ve picked out for Thanksgiving, aye?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Emma tells him as she gives him a mock salute and turns around to walk toward the couch, unceremoniously falling backwards down onto the couch so that her legs hang off the side.

Insane, wonderful woman.

Killian hums to himself as he finishes making the cookie dough, and even though he should let it cool for longer than this, he simply puts the bowl on a shelf in the fridge and turns the oven on, the number six flashing up on the menu to tell him it’ll be finished preheating in six minutes.

Emma’s still lounging on the couch, all of her attention focused on the pre-game show that’s on the TV and her fall decorations, and he takes the opportunity to lean down over her, pressing his hands into the soft material of the couch on either side of her shoulders and to dip his head down so that he can sweep his tongue into her mouth. She gasps at the sudden movement, even if she opened for him, and it causes him to smirk down at her as she shifts beneath him, giving him more space to settle between her legs with his knees on the couch. It’s a bit of awkward movement getting settled, especially with how Emma was laying down to begin with, but they figure it out soon enough as his hand snakes up underneath her sweater to feel the soft skin of her stomach and the firm flesh of her breast. He flicks his thumb against her nipple at the same time that he finally gets to sweep his tongue against hers once more, and he’s overwhelmed by the taste of chocolate.

She’s obviously been sneaking in a little more than he thought she was.

“How many chocolate chips have you eaten?” Killian chuckles as he palms her breast while her nails scratch just above the waistband of his shorts.

“That’s not important.”

He teasingly flicks her nipple. “But it is.”

“Nope,” she mumbles with this undeniable joy in her voice. “It isn’t.”

Sometimes he still can’t believe that Emma is his to kiss and to hold and to laugh with. There have been a million and one obstacles along the way, things he never even could have imagined, and yet they are still here.

Together.

Emma’s fingers dip between the waistband of his shorts, and he hisses at her touch before reaching his free hand up to tangle in her hair and kissing her with a purpose. She’s so damn soft and warm against him, every movement of her lips and her tongue sending a shiver down each of the vertebrae that make up his spine as her hands ghost over his growing arousal.

“Bloody hell, love.”

“That’s what you get for judging my chocolate consumption.”

He huffs against her and trails his lips over her jaw and down to behind her ear while his hand moves from her breast to lay flat against her stomach to keep her from writhing below him so much.

“You know I don’t like chocolate too much,” he says into her ear before biting down onto the lobe.

“But you like me.”

“Aye,” he chuckles before biting down a little possessively onto the skin of her neck right in a spot that he knows will show above the dress she’s wearing today, “that I do.”

“Don’t leave a mark.”

“I’m not leaving a mark.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he whispers against the warmth of her skin while he purposely does keep working where she doesn’t want him to work at her skin. He won’t actually leave a mark.

Emma gasps in pleasure before moving her hands away from his waist and up to his chest to push at him. She’s strong, he’ll give her that any and every day of the week, but he’s larger than her and manages to press all of his weight down on top of her while he stops sucking a mark into her skin and simple laughs into her ear while his entire body rumbles with amusement.

“You,” she huffs, but Killian can still hear the smile in her face and feel her lips softly brush into the hollow of his throat, “are the most obnoxious man on the planet.”

“I know. I have the trophy in my bedroom.”

“Stop,” she groans, pushing at him again, and this time he listens, moving off of her and the couch only to pull her up with him. It’s probably a little too much on his shoulder, but Emma is a little slight thing and he’s feeling good this morning. She stumbles a bit when she stands, but he wraps his hands around her lower back and tugs her closer to him so that their chests are pressed together and Emma’s arms are loosely wrapped around his neck while she smiles one of the biggest smiles he’s ever seen that he absolutely has to taste. “You know, I thought this was going to go in a very different direction.”

The oven beeps behind him, and Killian dips his head down to pepper kisses across Emma’s cheek and over her mouth so quickly that every kiss is as fleeting as a whisper of air. “I had a timer going for those cookies that you keep complaining about. There was never going to be time for that.”

Her eyes roll as her fingers thread into the hair at the nape of his neck as Killian starts walking them back to the kitchen. “It’s not nice to tease a woman into thinking that she’s going to get some action and it turns out she’s only getting cookies.”

“That sounds like a euphemism.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Hmm, it should have been,” he laughs as he backs Emma up into the countertop so that he knows the stone is digging into her lower back. Killian squeezes her hips before running his hands down to her bare thighs and holding her there while his forehead presses against hers and their noses brush together. “I love you quite a lot, you know?”

“Funny thing, I love you quite a lot too. I also love cookies, so get on that, babe.”

“I thought you didn’t like that they were oatmeal.”

“I will literally eat anything. Also, I already ordered the centerpieces for Thanksgiving.”

“I expected nothing less.”

They spend the rest of the morning piddling around the apartment, not really getting anything accomplished before they both have to get ready to go. Emma, by nature of having to curl her hair and apply her makeup, takes much longer than him to get ready, so he straightens up a little before they leave. Emma’s things seem to spread like wildfire, and he’s not entirely sure she’ll ever be able to clean up after herself.

He doesn’t know how Ruby and Graham deal with it.

Then again, they don’t have to too often anymore.

A little smile creeps onto his face at the thought, his mind recalling Emma making a joke about them living together a few weeks ago, and that’s precisely when Emma walks out of the bathroom wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans with suede boots that go up to her thighs and a tight-fitting white sweater with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail.

“What?” she asks as she puts in a pair of dangling gold earrings in her ear. “Why do you have that goofy little smile on my face?”

“I was just thinking about how undeniably smoking hot my girlfriend is.”

Emma huffs and keeps putting her earrings in. “Those aren’t your usual eloquent words.”

“You’ve rendered me speechless today.”

Emma walks toward him, a sweet smile on her face, and leans down to press her hands on his shoulder and squeeze. “Good.”

And then she’s walking away from him with a pointed sway of her hips that has her ass looking absolutely spectacular. “Minx.”

“I try,” she yells from the hallway. “Come on, Jones. We’ve got a baseball game to go to, and I have to be early.”

-/-

They easily win the game against the Astros that night.

They also win the next night, even if it’s much more of a nail bitter. Killian swears that watching it from the sidelines is a million times more nerve-wracking than actually being an active participant. He feels every little mistake magnified, and his mind focuses on the mistakes more than it usually does. Instead of being able to compartmentalize, Killian keeps replaying everything to figure out how they could have done things better.

He can’t change the past, but there are always improvements to be made in the future.

Focusing on the entire game instead of simply his pitching changes the perspective, and he’s going to lose all of his nails if he has to continue completely watching from up in the family suite instead of getting to be a part of the action every few days. Belle and Ariel are fine to watch with and all, but it’s not what he’s grown used to.

The past six weeks haven’t been too terribly bad, at least recovery wise, but now that they’re one win away from moving on from the Division Series to the Championship Series, Killian isn’t sure that he can wait much longer to get back out on the field for something other than practice.

“Be patient,” Emma always tells him.

He’s trying, but it’s damn hard.

Off to Houston they go.

-/-

“Do you know we’ve been together for six months, and this is technically our first date?”

“And you only had to follow me to Texas for us to accomplish it.”

“You’re a very cheap date.”

Emma laughs as she hooks her arm into the crook of his elbow and walks a little closer to him while they walk down the sidewalk in downtown Houston. They’ve only been in town for two hours, and while the rest of his team is at the fields practicing for tomorrow’s game in what they all hope will be the last game of this particular series so they can get one step closer to the World Series.

He doesn’t even technically have to be here since he’s still on the injury list, and while the team didn’t pay for him to have a room at the hotel, he’s set in being able to stay with Emma.

So while the guys all work their asses off, he and Emma are free to wander around completely freely for the first time, well, ever.

It’s odd still not having to worry about anyone knowing that they’re together. He’s still accustomed to looking over his shoulder and around every corner for someone they know or for some inane photographer to be there. And while things are still a little crazy back home, no one is paying them any attention here.

And since Emma was very rudely heckled by a few fans (though that term is used loosely) at yesterday’s game, Killian is thankful to simply be able to get away from it all. They’re doing a damn good job at dealing with things, but there’s no need to feel the weight of the world on their shoulders – especially his if he thinks of it literally – all the time.

“So,” Emma starts as they dodge a slight puddle on the concrete, “are you still not going to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

“Nope. I know how to plan an evening. You simply have to trust me.”

“I obviously trust you, you weirdo, but I’m curious. All I’ve figured out was that we’re not going to some stuffy restaurant, which was kind of a surprise to me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re a romantic, Mr. Jones,” Emma sighs while she pats his forearm and rests her cheek against his shoulder. “You like to do things like get all dressed up and go to a candlelight dinner with wine and flowers and really expensive small food.”

Killian scoffs, incredulous. “That is not the only way to be romantic. Besides, we are not dressed for something like that. I don’t think they let in people with ripped jeans and white sneakers on.”

“Yeah, well, this is how you told me to dress. And you have on a plaid shirt over a t-shirt, so you’re not exactly dressed up either.”

“I thought you liked it when I dressed like this. Are you complaining?”

“No, Killian,” Emma breathes out, and he can practically feel the smile in her face, “I am not complaining. I simply want to know where we’re going.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to guide Emma along the sidewalk and follow the path that his phone told him to take. He swears that the GPS is leading him in circles and not to the destination, but then he sees the sign a bit of a way away and lets out a little sigh of relief.

“Swan,” he starts, stopping them in their tracks and placing his hands on her hips while a smirk stretches across his face, “you may not be a candlelight dinner kind of girl, but you are very much a smash old pieces of furniture up with a hammer kind of girl.”

Both of her brows raise high on her forehead. “What?” He nods his head to the building in front of them, and she turns around to look. It takes approximately five seconds for her to figure out. She spins on her toes and looks up at him with a smile that he swears reaches her ears. “I have never loved you more than I love you right now.”

“Exactly my intention.” He winks and places his hands on her ass, pushing her forward. “Now, come on, love. We’ve got a reservation.”

They hurry inside where Killian checks them in, and a woman comes out with safety equipment for them to slip into. They both look ridiculous wearing body suits and face masks to protect themselves from any flying shards of glass or pieces of wood from the broken downbroken-down furniture that they’re about to smash. Killian had simply been looking up things to do in Houston when he found this place where people pay to destroy furniture. Immediately, he knew Emma would love it, so he booked a reservation after texting Archie and making sure that his shoulder would be okay to wield a hammer.

From the absolute beaming joy on Emma’s face, he knows that he was right in his assumption of her loving this.

The room they get assigned to destroy is ironically a set-up of an old newspaper production office, and Killian is sure that Emma is very much pretending that all of the items in here belong to Walsh or his father or any other bastard who has hurt the two of them recently or in all of their years of life.

Smashing a hammer into a computer that has to be from the nineties is quite possibly the most cathartic thing that Killian has ever done.

Fuck Brennan Jones, Walsh Osbourne, Arthur King, and every other person who has ever hurt either of them.

And after the ten minutes of their session, Killian’s arms hurt from the exertion and his stomach hurts from the laughter of it all.

Totally worth it.

“Oh my God,” Emma breathes out when they walk out of the building back and into the crisp autumn air. They’re back in their regular clothes, sweat dripping down both of their backs, and their hair will likely never be normal again. “I take back all of my teasing about you having us go to some stuffy dinner. All of it.”

“Technically, there’s still time for us to go to one of those. It’s only eight.”

“Don’t even mess with me like that,” Emma laughs before pressing up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to going to get something to eat.”

“I’ve got a plan for that.”

“You think of everything.”

“That I do.”

It’s a pie place two blocks over. He came here the last time they were in Houston and has been wanting to come back ever since. Pies usually aren’t his favorite thing, probably why he doesn’t bake them too often, but this place is downright delicious.

He’s also glad his workouts are back to being regular because the slices of rhubarb and key lime pie that he and Emma get are practically bigger than Emma’s head, and he fully plans on enjoying all of it.

Emma is taking large bites out of both her pie and his, as well as sipping on her mug of hot cholate, while telling him this story about David and Mary Margaret and how they have a penchant for going to karaoke bars on their date nights but usually only when they’ve had a few drinks. David is always willing to go, funnily enough, but Mary Margaret who seems like the exact type of person to enjoy singing songs and letting birds dress her in the mornings, will only go when she’s had at least two margaritas.

And for some reason they always sing We Are The Champions as if they have the vocal range of Freddie Mercury even when they’re not sober.

Killian would pay big money to see David Nolan, the perennial serious guy and protective older brother, willingly go and sing karaoke. In fact, he is very much offering to take the Nolans out one night when he gets more free time.

The smile that’s on Emma’s face mirrors the one she’s had all night, and Killian’s heart is suddenly struck with how much he loves her. She came into his life like a whirlwind, even if it was a slow going one, and Killian hasn’t looked back since.

It’s a funny thing. Love, that is. The world can be going up in flames around you with broken shards of glass having a trajectory straight to your heart, but none of that seems to truly matter when the person you’ve been vulnerable enough to give your heart to has a firm enough grip on it so that the cuts seem a little less deep.

Killian’s been in love before, and even though that relationship didn’t end well, he does know that it was love. But it’s not like this. It’s not this all-consuming thing where Killian can’t imagine living life eating pie in a diner with anyone else.

He’s known for a good while that his future, whatever it may look like, is going to be with Emma, but for some reason sitting with her and laughing with her while she’s got the smallest bit of whipped cream on the tip of her nose has truly cemented the idea in his mind.

And his heart.

Emma waves her fork in the air as she chews. “You’ve got that goofy smile on your face again.”

“I know not to which you are referring.”

She scrunches up her nose. “You’re thinking about David singing karaoke, aren’t you?”

“You know what, my love,” he sighs, “that’s exactly what I’m thinking about.”

“You know,” Emma sighs as she smiles at him with her fork full of pie, “that is a pretty good first date even though it’s not really our first date. I think I might like you, Killian Jones.”

Killian scoops up a bit of his pie. “Does that mean there’s going to be a second date?”

“And possibly a third, but don’t think that means I’m going to sleep with you.” She winks at him, and he can’t help but laugh. “A lady likes to be courted first.”

-/-

They win the next day.

Four more wins, and they’re going to the World Series.

It’s almost unreal, and yet it very much is real.

They’ve just got to beat the Red Sox first.

-/-

“Are you nervous?” Liam asks Killian two days later as he sits on the examination table in the hospital waiting for his doctor to come in with the results of his six-week follow-up MRI and the reports from Archie on how his shoulder’s movement is recovering.

He’s barely felt any pain in the past two weeks besides the occasional twinge, and while Killian has tried to tamper down the hope that things are going to be okay, it hasn’t worked. His mind is already imagining him underneath stadium lights standing on that mound with thousands of people cheering around him.

That’s one of the things that he lives for. Not the only thing but a damn important thing.

And he wants to be back.

He needs  to be back.

“Yes and no,” Killian tells his brother as his fingers tap against his thigh. “You didn’t have to come and wait for me, you know? I know you have your own patients.”

Liam shrugs his shoulder and sits down in the chair they leave for guests. “You said Emma couldn’t get out of a meeting at work, so I figured you’d want someone to be here.”

“I’m a grown man. I can handle going to the doctor by myself.”

“The fact that we’re in here right proves that isn’t true.”

“Ass,” Killian mumbles underneath his breath.

“I’ve made no claims to be anything else.” Liam looks damn proud of himself for having annoyed Killian, and it seems par for the course of things. “Are you surprised we haven’t heard anymore from Brennan?”

Killian’s teeth grind at just the sound of the name, but he quickly unclenches his jaw. “No. He wanted a reaction and more money. He didn’t get it. All that came from the bloody article was that I got followed around by cameras for three weeks and Emma had to put up with shit from men who are nothing more than assholes. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about it is all. Mom’s birthday is tomorrow, and that always makes me think of growing up, you know? I’m so much older than you and had such a different experience with them, and I do get a bit sentimental even if our father ended up simply being an over-involved sperm donor.”

“Funny, that’s how Elsa describes you.”

Liam reaches into the box of rubber gloves and snaps one at Killian only for him to catch it and for a smirk to slowly stretch across his lips. “And you call me an ass.”

“Being an ass is simply in our blood.”

“And yet two of the most incredible women in the world have chosen to spend their lives with us.”

Killian raises a brow. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“No,” Liam chuckles, spinning in the chair. “I didn’t mean anything like that. Emma isn’t filing marriage papers or anything. I simply mean that the two of us, screw-ups that we are, have managed to get pretty lucky with both Elsa and Emma. It’s a big commitment to be stuck with a Jones man.”

“Ah,” Killian sheepishly sighs while reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “well, like you said, Emma isn’t technically stuck with me.”

“No?”

“No.” “And yet she wears mom’s ring around her neck. You hadn’t taken that off in years, and suddenly I see someone else wearing it.”

“Yep.”

“Yep? All you have to say to that is yep?”

“Aye,” he laughs, suddenly feeling a bit shier than he has in years. And it’s in front of Liam of all people. He hasn’t been shy in front of Liam in years. “Is that…are you upset about that?”

Liam’s brow pinch together, all of the lines on his forehead focusing in one place before they fall back to their normal spot and a soft smile graces his lips. “No, Killian, I’m not. I…there was a reason we each got the same amount of mom’s jewelry. She wanted us to give the pieces to the women we love. I’ve given pieces to Elsa, and you’ve given a piece to Emma. Mom would like that.”

“Would she? Do you think she’d like Emma?”

“She’d be obsessed with her. I think she may love her more than Addy and Lucy combined love Emma.”

Killian snickers as warmth spreads across his cheeks and his head nods up and down. “That’s a lot of love there.”

“There was a lot of love in her heart.”

His mouth opens to say something else, but then the door to the exam room is opening and Killian’s doctor is walking in with a clipboard and absolutely no emotion on his face.

“Do you want the good news or the good news?” he asks, and Killian’s heart leaps.

“Both.”

“Well,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “as long as you continue to monitor your shoulder, you’re cleared to play again. Congratulations, Mr. Jones.”

[feliix]

Staycation (jhs)

Summary: Your boyfriend spent weeks planning a romantic getaway to take with you while he was on break, but the weather had other plans. Leave it to Hoseok to plan an even more romantic evening to make it up to you.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: nudity, consumption of alcohol

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

Attention Passengers. Flight 219 to Nassau, Bahamas has been canceled due to inclimate weather circumstances. Please contact the airline for re-bookings or refunds. We are sorry for the inconvenience. 

Great. After waiting at the airport for almost 16 hours, two flight delays due to the heavy rain, and not getting a blink of sleep, your flight was canceled. Your boyfriend finally got a break from touring and had planned a lavish vacation for the two of you to spend some time together, but typhoon season seemed to ruin your plans.

The look on Hoseok’s face was pure and utter frustration. His lips tightened into a straight line and he let out a harsh sigh. You knew how much he was looking to finally getting away with you and how much effort he put into planning the perfect trip. He quickly pulled out his phone and started aggressively typing, you assumed he was sending the airline an email or something.

“So what now? There is no way we're getting out of here today and I think I might die if I have to spend another 20 minutes in this airport,” you felt disgusting from being there for so long. It seemed like you hadn’t showered in days and your ass was numb from the uncomfortable airport chairs.

He looked over at you with his brows furrowed, deep in thought. His expression quickly changed and he stood up, “Give me one minute I have to make a call, I’ll be right back.” You nodded at him and turned back to your magazine. You bought it one of the kiosks when you got here and probably read every article inside at least 3 times. It caught your eye when you were walking to your gate, on the cover it read “BTS ON HIATUS?” in large red letters and you just had to know what the tabloids were saying about your boyfriend and the other members this time. Hoseok was kind of embarrassed when the cashier was ringing you out, doing a double-take when she noticed the man standing in front of her was on the cover of the magazine you handed to her.

Before you could even flip to the next page Hoseok was back and rushing you to gather your belongings to leave. You had no idea where you were going and what his plans were, and as much as you begged him to tell you he was not budging. 

After you retrieved your luggage, Hoseok led you outside to a black SUV that was waiting for you. How had he managed to get a car service here so quickly? It was one of the perks of dating an idol I guess.

The driver stepped out wearing a black suit and opened the back door for the two of you. Hoseok waited for you to get in while he leaned in closer to the driver whispering something. The driver gave him a quick nod and took your luggage to put in the trunk as Hoseok slipped into the seat next to you.

“So Hobi, where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you, it will ruin the surprise,” he gave you a small smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards and he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hobi, you have to tell me. You can't just tell me to get in the car and not say where we're going that like, kidnapping.”

He chuckled and slipped his hand into yours, “I promise, you’ll like it.”

-

The car ride to your destination was mostly silent. It felt comfortable though, he kept his hand placed on your thigh gently caressing you throughout the entire ride. You were eager to find out where Hoseok was taking you and he seemed antsy to get to the destination. The both of you were lost in your own thoughts when you let out a hushed chuckle.

“What?” He gave you a confused look.

“If our flight got delayed one more time wouldn’t it be like,” you really couldn’t help yourself from bursting into a fit of laughter before finishing the sentence, “Airplane part 3?”

“That was the worst attempt at a joke I’ve ever heard,” He said, still laughing along with you anyway. “And that says a lot seeing that I live with Kim Seokjin.”

“Come on your laughing it couldn’t have been that bad,” you gently hit his shoulder.

“Oh no, it was pretty bad.” He shook his head at you, he was more amused that you found your own joke funny. Blame the sleep deprivation causing you borderline delirium.

As if it was on cue, the driver stopped the car and announced that you had arrived. You looked out the window and immediately recognized where you were.

“Your big surprise is your apartment building?” You met your boyfriend’s smug grin with a confused stare. This was definitely not what you were expecting. Whatever this surprise was, you had a feeling that Hoseok had something good in store.

-

The elevator ride up to Hoseok’s apartment seemed longer than usual. He was urgently typing something on his phone not saying much since he got out of the car and it was making you nervous. The elevator made a loud ‘ding’ and Hoseok finally looked up. He took your hand and smiled, leading you to his place.

“I’m sorry if it’s not perfect, you know I didn’t have a lot of time to plan this.” Hoseok was a jittering mess and he placed his key in the lock and swung open the door. He let you take a step into the apartment first and followed you closely behind.

The corridor leading to his living room was lined with rose petals and small tea lights. It was the corniest, most romantic thing you had ever seen. But it was perfect, and you hadn’t even seen the entire place yet. You turned your head around and gave him a quick smile before turning back and walking further into the penthouse. 

The living room was stocked up with extra pillows and blankets and there was a campfire playing on the large flat-screen TV. Soothing music came from the surround sound speakers and the room looked cozier than you had ever seen it. Your eyes lit up as you did a 180 and saw all your favorite snacks placed on the kitchen counter. The dining table was set for two, covered with a white silk table cloth and sprinkled with more rose petals and small candles down the center.

“How did you manage to do this on such short notice?” You beamed, turning around to see his expression. He met you with a smile that was just as big as yours and his gaze was full of love. 

“I figured since we weren’t able to get away and have a proper vacation, we could have a staycation instead,” he wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a gentle kiss on your lips. You were in shock from how he was able to pull all of this off from the time you found out your flight was canceled until now. Not to mention how he came up with this idea all on his own. He truly was the perfect boyfriend.

“Why don’t you grab a snack, I’ll only be a minute.” Hoseok pressed his lips to your forehead before stepping away to his bedroom. You sat down at the kitchen island and admired all of your options. There was a wide array of candy, chips, and even a chocolate-covered basket of fruit. He really went all out for this ‘staycation’ of yours. You grabbed a piece of fruit and opened a bag of pretzels to munch on while you were waiting for your boyfriend to finish doing god knows what. 

“Baby!” Hoseok called from somewhere in his bedroom you assumed, “Can you come here?”

You stood up wiping the small crumbs off of your lap and made your way over to search for him. You walked into the bedroom saw a giant heart, shaped from long stem roses resting over the plush white comforter of his king-size bed. There were more rose petals leading through the master suite into the bathroom. It was like a cliche romance movie, and you loved every second of it.

You continued walking through the master suite following the rose petals to finally find your boyfriend.

“Hi beautiful,” he flashed you a toothy smile, “I figured you’d want to wash up after sitting in the airport for so long.” 

Hoseok sat in his giant bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles, the subtle smell of vanilla filling the room. You really did not know how it could get much better than this. After quickly stripping off your dirty clothes you climbed into the bathtub with your boyfriend. He poured you each a glass of champagne and held his up to make a toast.

“To our staycation, it’s no Caribbean getaway, but I’m always in paradise when I’m with you.” He clinked his glass with yours and you couldn’t help yourself from chuckling at his cheesy toast.

“Thank you for doing this Hobi, I really can’t believe you managed to pull all of this off in an hour. You’re amazing, I love you.” You leaned in to give him a quick peck but he caught the back of your neck and deepened the kiss. His lips were so soft and moved slowly against yours. 

After pulling away he turned you around so your back was pressed to his chest, sitting between his legs. He rubbed the bubbles over your shoulders and placed soft kisses to your neck. This was truly better than any vacation you could have gone on. 

The rose petals, the candles, the warm bubble bath, and the feeling of your boyfriend's smooth chest against your back set the tone for a lust-filled night. You could hardly wait for what was in store after your romantic bath. His gentle touches and tender lips were clouding your thoughts with desire. You felt his firm member pressed to your lower back and you expected that he was thinking the same.

“What do you say we dry off and take this somewhere else,” He whispered in your ear.

“Make sure to move the roses from the bed, I don’t want to get poked.”

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Staycation is copyright 2019 @parksfilter​​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.