#all of this could be settled with her retracting her statement but honestly at this point...Jeanette has definite cause to claim defamation

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 2 "Spotchka Under The Stars"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Link to read the Introduction and Chapter 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/738467105361494016/vagabonds?source=share

Word count: 3K

Background: Hunter and Mad bond, make love, and break shit. 

Warning: SMUT ALERT! Fingering, oral sex, intercourse, erections, arousal, sexual/sensual feelings, flirting, swearing, alcohol use, mention of deep sorrow/depression/hurt/lost love/relationship breakups/estranged parents/heavy mental baggage/ugly crying. 

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Recap: Mad grabbed Hunters hand and led him through several dark winding stairways, many doorways, purposeful twists and turns that confused the sense of direction. The last door opened to a rooftop area... 

"Spotchka Under The Stars"

...that didn’t even fit the aesthetic of Cid’s Parlor.  Outdoor rugs sporting plush cushioned lounge seating, soft blankets, big throw pillows, centered around an elevated bonfire pit.  Lit by strings of small lights, adding a dim ambient glow.  Planters full of foliage framed the area, giving it a very natural landscape.  All hidden by walls around the rooftop perimeter so as not to be seen by those looking up at ground level.  A retractable awning was pulled back to reveal a clear night sky and millions of stars above Ord Mantell. 

Mad walked over to the bonfire, hit a switch, and flames sprang to life.  The glow and heat added yet another amazing element to the scene.  Hunter stood transfixed by everything before him.  Mad laughed.  His mouth was hanging open, eyes wide.  Adorable Laser Brain.  It was already worth it, just to see the look on this man’s face. 

“Here, down the hatch since your mouth hanging open.”  Pulling the cork on the Spotchka and handing it to Hunter.  Coming down from his momentary shock, and away from the scene around him to focus on Mad.  The firelight danced off her skin, eyes, hair.  Her smile now carefree with no menace.  Beautiful in her genuine happiness.  Hunter wanted to kiss her right now, just grab her and passionately plant one on that sassy mouth.  But he didn’t want to ruin the bit of trust they had at that moment.  He wanted to know more about this woman.  So, he settled with a goofy smile while swigging from the bottle. 

There was a large, cushioned settee, big enough for two people.  Mad laid down and folded her arms under her head.  The best position to look straight up to the sky and stargaze.  From this position she could also regard Hunter and watch his next move. 

“May I join you?” Hunter asked as he strolled over. 

“I’ll allow it” Mad winked at him and grinned. 

He settled in beside her.  Then his comm lit up.  It was Tech. Something about repairing a neighboring ship and wondering when Hunter was coming back to the Marauder.  Since it wasn’t an emergency, he ignored the message.  Omega would be fine with Wrecker and probably pass out watching holos.  He needed this respite away from everything.  Just for tonight. 

“What is it?” Mad asked eyebrow raised. 

“My brother pestering me.  I’ll answer him later,” while switching off his comm. 

He handed the bottle back to Mad.  She took a sip, then candidly replied, “Tell me about your family.” 

Hunter hadn’t expected that to come up.  Honestly, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from Mad at that moment.  She gave off vibes of guarded flirting.  This probing statement caught him off kilter. 

“They are everything to me.  Pretty much the only thing I have” he replied.  Long silence.  He wasn’t going to give much personal information away now.  Crosshair’s face appeared in his mind, followed by Omega’s as she told Cross he was her brother too.  The disappointed expressions on Tech, Wrecker, and Echo’s face as they turned away from Cross to board the Marauder. We never leave our own behind. Mad noticed a sudden pained micro expression from Hunter. 

Mad handed the bottle back to Hunter.  He took a long-drawn-out sip. 

“To the Nomaadi People family is life...literally.  We may be scattered among the galaxy, but our devotion is deep.  If I call on my family, they will be there.  The shirt off their back, food from their mouths, fight for safety's sake, with them there will always be a home. It’s not a place, it’s the people.  Our creed is: By blood or chance, our family makes.” 

“Sounds beautiful.  You’re lucky to have such a support system to call family.”  Hunter answered briefly.  Unsure how much to share.  This was uncharted emotional territory for him. 

“We used to be a huge extended family.  Not many of us left now.  We are a marked people” she stroked the tattoo emblazoned on her chest lovingly.  “Double edged sword.  Marked as an honor to belong to The Star People.  Tattooed right against our hearts.  We are comprised of blood relations and non-blood's that are adopted in. A tapestry of community.  And yet...marked by powerful Establishments that would eradicate us from existence for just being who we are and owning this symbol.” 

Mads words made him think of all the clones he knew.  A huge extended family of brothers.  Yet expendable lives for the war machine.  Clones were barely given respect among the wider public...less so than droids.  Nobody cared if clones lived or died.  They were cannon fodder, and a useful tool. Most of them now controlled by the inhibitor chip.

As the night progressed and the Spotchka flowed, they both loosened up enough to ease into earnest conversation.  Mad talked about being an “independent contractor” refugee smuggler and more about her Nomaadi culture.   Hunter about his brothers, sister, planets they had visited while working odd jobs for Cid.  He didn’t mention being a clone or having ever belonged to the Republic.  He purposely avoided that, with Mad never questioning.  She probably never suspected it since he didn’t look like a Reg, nor dressed in uniform.  He hated lying by omission and honestly wanted to tell her.  His fear was that she would immediately get up and leave.  He enjoyed her presence...and selfishly...he was lonely. 

Tentatively, parenting entered the chat.  He discussed Omega but omitted her role with the Kaminoans.  Mad discussed Love, but omitted her offspring being force sensitive should this man narc on them for any bounty reward. Both wanting to connect but scared to risk too much for safety's sake.  They talked about how much they cared for their family.  How they worried about their children's safety and for the future of the galaxy in general.   

By this time, it was late, and the moon above Ord Mantell was high.  A slight chill was in the air, so they covered up with blankets.  Mad still shivered from the cold.  Hunter politely offered to snuggle for extra heat and trustingly Mad took him up on it.  He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.  Being that Mad and Hunter were almost identical in height, her head rested against his.  They settled in together and watched the stars quietly for a time.  Eventually, a shooting star sailed across the night sky. 

“Make a wish, Mad”, Hunter said quietly. 

Mad sighed.  The night was not what she expected.  It was better.  This right here with Hunter, was the most she had let down her walls.  The closest she had been to anyone since Love’s father.  Sure, she had some flings hoping they might blossom. But any conversation was brief and impersonal.  Most men were “in and out” quickly.  Some even avoiding her altogether once they realized she was Nomaadi.  Hunter looked past all of this.  He seemed very genuine.  The combination of alcohol and emotion bubbling up at this moment rushed out before she could stop it. 

“I wish...to be loved.  I’m so damned lonely!”  The shock of it coming right out in the open.  And, before she could do anything to stop it, started to cry.  Through her tears she stammered, “I appreciate my kid...but sometimes it isn’t enough”.  

Mad didn’t apologize for her emotional outburst.  She was done with worrying about what others thought of her.  Or if she was what they thought she should be.  The road leading to this moment was such a long, hard one.  If this man wanted to bail because she showed some human vulnerability, she didn’t kriffing need the company.  If Hunter wanted to snuggle with someone baggage-free, there were plenty of escort houses open all night in Ord Mantell.    

The sudden change of character had Hunter sit up on one elbow and regard Mad. Tears streaming down her face, she looked up deeply into Hunter’s eyes.  Mad saw a man contemplating his own emotional baggage.  Hunters' eyes looked moist in the firelight.  No tears, but close.  Tired lines forming on his face.  She unintentionally struck a chord. 

Brushing away Mad’s tears, Hunter felt a deep pang within his own heart.  While he had his brothers and Omega, there was no intimate partner to share his deep feelings with.  Keeping to himself, holding back so much for his family. Losing Crosshair, no longer having a homeworld, scrabbling for basic existence.  Hunter understood Mad’s emotions.  It was so difficult and lonely to be the rock others held onto for strength.  The weight of Mad’s emotions reached out to touch his senses, while flowing together with his own.  A riptide taking its toll on his controlled demeanor, pulling him out to sea. 

His voice husky with emotion, Hunter spoke with difficulty while returning Mad’s deep eye contact, “I don’t know what to say...other than...for tonight...I’m here.”   

With a sudden movement, Mad intensely embraced Hunter, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck.  Her forehead resting against his cheek.  Hunter reacted kindly by wrapping his arms around her body.  The energy that raced through them in Cid’s Parlor returned with more intensity.  It's warm tingle didn’t leave this time.  With the embrace it stayed and made both of their bodies shiver with its power.  Hunter, finally unable to hold back any longer, broke out in tears.  They ran down his face and mingled with Mad’s.  They held onto each other like their very lives depended on it.  Crying, hitching sobs from the heart, noses running onto each other.  Forming a bond of deep emotional sincerity.  

The Kaminoans never prepared Hunter or his brothers for such raw emotional interaction.  Brutal honesty regarding the struggle of existence.  He never had to think of such things.  Raised without this type of contact or context.  Clones were told what to do.  To execute someone else's orders.  Not to consider their own emotional wants and needs.  They were property of the Republic, now pawns for the Empire. 

Mad had built walls since the absence of her last partner.  She refused to be hurt again when he left Love and Mad alone.  She mourned his absence, and the collateral damage to her child.  But she never let go of the hurt and loneliness his absence left on her heart.   

Mad and Hunter clung to each other, nestled together under the moon and stars of Ord Mantell.  Half drunk on Spotchka, breathing in each other, and crying like newborn children.  Finally, when they ran out of tears, they whispered to one another.  Gentle caresses gave way to passionate kisses. They both felt the heat of sexual desire take over. “May I touch you?” Hunter asks demurely.  He’s feeling very ardent but doesn’t want to overstep. 

“Yes”, she snarks with a smirk.  “I’m up for anything...except anal.” 

Hunters' expression is full stop shocked while his penis immediately pokes Mad’s thigh HARD. 

"Feels like HE’S totally on board.” 

Hunter chuckles “Not used to a partner that's so...frank.” 

“I’m not one for holding back” and with that Mad flipped Hunter onto his back and straddled him. 

Hunter ran his hands up Mads thighs and growled.  One hand slid to her inner thigh and brought his fingertips to her center.  Then he started applying firm pressure and making lazy circles, rubbing her clitoris through her pants.  She shuddered.  Mad caught his other hand and brought it up to her face.  He gently stroked her cheek with his open palm as she brought it to her mouth to kiss.  From there she inserted his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it.  Her tongue tickled the base of his thumb while it was in her mouth. 

Mad paused, pulled Hunter’s thumb out of her mouth and swirled her tongue around the tip.  An unspoken promise of what she could do to him.  This accentuated by grinding her hips against his swollen crotch.  All done with intense unbroken eye contact. 

“You First, Mesh’la.”  Pulling his hand out of her grasp, Hunter started undoing her pants.  Mad helped him slide them and her underwear off together.  He could smell her full arousal.  Mad then took off her shirt and threw it showily behind her.  Large breasts bare and nipples hard with the chilly air.  Hunter’s erection ached. 

He grabbed Mad’s hips and dragged her to his mouth, burying his face into her crotch.  She inhaled quickly and moaned as he sucked and flicked his tongue over her clit.  He firmly held her hips down onto his face, groaning and growling like a wild creature.  Occasionally he would shake his head side to side under her with wild abandon. 

It didn’t take long for Mad to orgasm.  As the wave of her climax washed over, she arched her back and took in the stars of Ord Mantel right before her eyes rolled back into her head.  She cried out.  Delicious aftershocks jerked her hips.   

Hunter, fully enjoying the show asked, “More?” 

“MORE!”   

Hunter obliged happily.  More licking, sucking, growling.  Bringing her to another orgasm.  Then another.  Her refractory time was indeed short and since she wasn’t saying no, he kept on going.  He was quite enjoying watching Mad lose her composure over and over again.   

Eventually...” Oh, Maker...Hunter...” she was breathless and swooning.  “I can’t anymore!  My legs are weak.” She laughed while panting.  He had tongue fucked her so much, she literally could not move her body off his face. 

Amused, Hunter lifted her off him and set her down.  He helped Mad lay back as she was now a shaking, wet mess.  She lay back catching her breath.  Off went Hunter’s shirt and pants.  The potted plants were covered in their clothing.  Then he pulled the covers and himself onto Mad.  Before he went to nuzzle her, Hunter grabbed another blanket off the chair next to them and wiped his coated face off on it.   

“Classy there, Hunky” Mad teased. 

“Might save this for Cid.  Drape it over her office chair for a surprise.   She’s been such a bitch to me and the rest of the Batch.” 

“Hey!  Keep my bodily fluids out of it.  You really should just wipe your ass on it.  Seems more fitting.” 

They both erupted in laughter.  Then passionately kissed.  Hunter nuzzled Mad’s neck as she wrapped her arms and legs around his body.  He traveled around and down kissing her chest.  On the way, he made sure to give a full loving lippy kiss to her Nomaadi tattoo.  In his mind, he sent intension to whatever Force or Ancestors were out there: From my lips to your ears.  Take care of this woman, her children, and her family.  They deserve to be happy.  SOMEBODY DESERVES TO BE HAPPY! 

Hunter settled on Mad’s breasts, nuzzling between them.  Groaning as he breathed in the scent of her skin...and her perfume.  Something akin to dark blooming flowers and amber.  Sweet, warm, and musky.  It drove him wild.  He reached down, grabbing his swollen member, and stroked it gently.  His cock was leaking and wet.   

Mad ran her fingers through Hunters dark curly locks as he licked her nipples.  Then he nibbled them.  He let go of himself and cupped one breast while lovingly caressing her curves with the other.  He was slowly...methodically making his way to the inside of Mad’s thighs.   

Hunter looked up at Mad and exclaimed with heated desire, “Oh ner kar'taylir darasuum, oh ner kar'ta! (Mando’a: “My love, my heart.”) 

Mad answered breathlessly back in Nomaadi: “My heart, my love.”

Mad snatched off Hunter’s bandana and tossed it with the rest of their clothing.  His curls spilled out.  She grabbed handfuls of them.  They were so soft.  The feeling of his hair, his touches, kisses, his scent, the Spotchka, night air, fire, stars, her lust, all blended in total sensory euphoria. 

Hunter stroked Mad’s Mound of Venus and she pulled him back up for a long, deep, soul kiss.   

Then she pulled away and leered at him “I want to taste you.” 

Hunter smiled and obliged. He laid back and relaxed on the settee. Mad leaned over Hunter and rested her ample breasts on his lap, framing his stiffened cock. She then gently teased the head with her tongue. Small wet circles, flicking her tongue on his frenulum, that intensely passionate gaze up at him while he gazed down at her. He was starting to lose his composure. Not wanting to cum too soon, he looked up above at the stars. 

Everything right now was amazing to Hunter: The stars, this woman, the heat of their lovemaking. It had been so long since he felt this alive. Like the air crackled with energy. A lot of this was his enhanced senses, but a lot of it was...something he couldn’t explain. Something wonderful.  

Mad’s ministrations on Hunter’s cock became intense. She was really enjoying what she was doing to him. He felt and tasted amazing. She enjoyed listening to his heavy breathing and groans. It made her feel powerful to be able to make a partner react like this. To bring someone such joy. 

“I...can’t hold it together much longer” Hunter gasped. “Is this how you want me to finish? Or do you want me inside you? 

“I want to hold you and kiss you when you cum” 

“Are you...do you need any...protection?” Hunter momentarily felt guilty he hadn’t asked sooner and certainly didn’t want to kill the mood. 

“No...I haven’t been fertile for...awhile now.” Mad inwardly cringed. How can you say, hey I started menopause early...without it sounding so unsexy? “The kitchens been closed” she giggled self-consciously. 

Hunter chuckled and pulled Mad up to embrace her. They kissed passionately, running fingers through hair, nibbling lips, earlobes, necks. Ardently stroking each other's back.  

Their lovemaking ramped up as they both fought for top.  Neither willing to concede bottom.  Rolling back and forth on the lounger, making it rock wildly.  Whomever was in the apartment below The Oasis was NOT getting any peaceful sleep tonight.  Finally, they settled with Hunter sitting up and Mad straddled him. She slowly lowered herself down upon his length. They both shivered as he slipped into her warmth. Mad held Hunter still and without moving, worked her pelvic muscles around his cock. He gasped in surprise. Then she slowly undulated her pelvis up and down, side to side. Her hips were dancing while he was inside her. It was more than he could stand to not explode. 

“Uhhh...Mesh’la...kriff...” 

"Mmmmm..." Mad smiled, eyes heavy lidded in the throes of ecstasy. Starting to shudder, pressure and heat building inside of her. Hunter grabbed her hips. They held onto each other and rocked in unison.  Their breathing heavy, punctuated by growls, gasps, sighs. 

Both Mad and Hunter were overtaken by the returning feeling experienced earlier, like a tidal wave forming within them. Rising up, up through their bodies, cresting, and crashing with intense emotion and sensory feeling as they both climaxed together.  It was an almost out of body experience.  Neither was aware of how loud their screams of orgasm were.  They finished hot, sweaty, exhausted and panting.  Hunter lovingly stroked Mad’s face.  They held onto each other, forehead’s touching, relishing the afterglow. 

The moment was interrupted by a drunken voice. 

“DAMN!  Somebodies havin’ a bangin’ time up there!!!  Hee, hee.  WOOOoooOOOooo...” 

Neither one spoke as they tried to catch their breath.  Hunter and Mad just stared with shocked eyes at one another.   

“Ya woke me up.  Imma movin’ somewhere else to give ya’s some privacy.”  SOMEONE had passed out against the building on the street.  They could hear cackling and amused mumbling as he wandered away.   

Both relieved that they were now TRULY alone, relaxed in the afterglow.  The stars twinkled overhead as Mad laid comfortably upon Hunter, embracing each other.  As Mad opened her mouth to speak, they both heard a loud CRACK!  

The wooden settee collapsed, having broken in several places, dumping them both onto the rug underneath. 

Hunter and Mad laid there shocked for a few seconds. 

“FUCK!  Cid’s going to have my ass for this!!!” 

Mad howled in maniacal laughter.   

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 3

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/729052697841582080/hunter-x-ocfem-reader-ongoing-series?source=share

[academiaipromise]

the way cruel summer just played out half of the scenes (with martin and kate) exactly as they happened between aria and ezra on pll but called it what it was is...well i’m not gonna call it progress because it’s 2021 but like. felt something there.

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. II

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 10k

➵ warnings : none really, swearing, mainly fluffy and funny interactions, some angst! :o 

➵ a/n: and i’m back with chapter two! i really wanted to say thank you for the love and support i received on the first part of maybe i do, it was astounding!! i’m so grateful so many people loved the story and asked to be tagged (all at the bottom <3), it made me feel so motivated to write. if you would also like to be tagged please message me. your feedback is always appreciated! 

chapter two : “on my pillow, can’t get me tired” 

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Taehyung didn’t remember sleeping anywhere near you last night. 

He remembered that even though you willingly agreed to share the same bed, he still opted for caution and slept with the most space between you two as possible.

Though when his eyes fluttered open the next morning, eyeballs burning from the light that bled into the suite, the first thing he realized was that he was not on his side of the bed from last night. 

No, he had somehow gravitated towards the center, and as if almost on cue, your slight movement and the sound of your breathing alerted him of your nearby presence. 

Peering down at you, Taehyung caught sight of your sleepy head turned towards him and lying on his arm, his other thrown over your torso with you unsuspectingly nuzzled into his side.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open, acknowledging he had succumbed to his habit of hugging something to sleep during the course of the night and he internally panicked. He began retracting his arms slowly, just about drawing himself from you until alarms rang in his head at the sight of you stirring in your sleep. 

Taehyung took the golden opportunity to sit up in a flash, having to physically shake his head to rid the image of your tranquil, sleeping face from his brain, crushing the thought that it was kind of cute.

He found himself chanting the same denial from last night, he couldn’t be thinking of such complicated things concerning you when he knew the second he’d step foot inside his home, there’d be a mountain of paperwork ready for him; even more on his work desk.

He had to be thinking about his job, not you.  

Even if Taehyung was married now, it wouldn’t lessen the amount of work that plagued his life nor make it any less demanding. If anything, his life would be harder now considering the fact that he had another priority to add to his list, another aspect of his life he had to split his attention between. 

He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, just found himself needing to work harder than he already was. 

Taehyung sighed heavily at the thought and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He took a moment to look back at you, thinking if he observed you a second time he’d be able to piece together how the hell you two ended up in that position, that close. 

By evidence of the forgotten blanket half-thrown off you, he could see you were the tossing-and-turning type, maybe the only explanation for your proximity considering he was the same. 

He also noticed you slept all curled up, like you were cold and the only warmth you knew was snuggling yourself.

Cute.

There it was again, cute. 

Why does that word even exist? 

Taehyung discarded the notion altogether and stood to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles. He made for the bathroom eagerly to begin his day, though not without fixing at least some of the blanket back onto you. 

“You don’t have a driver?” 

“Not for everywhere I go. I have two hands, I can drive myself.” Taehyung made it a statement to jazz hands at you, showcasing the perfectly capable limbs he was gifted with.

“That’s.. nice, actually. I always see asshole CEO’s getting other people to drive them around.” You relayed as you trailed behind Taehyung, letting him lead you towards the front of the hotel where dozens of expensive cars lined the curb side.

You had no clue which luxury vehicle belonged to Taehyung because quite frankly, he could probably afford every car your eyes caught sight of. It wasn’t until he approached a certain one and retrieved his keys from the valet that your jaw completely dropped, floored.

“This is your car?” You gawked, the sleek design, crispness of its shape and nearly sparkling gloss completely sweeping you off your feet.

“Yeah, think someone like me can’t get a car like this?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself.   

“It’s just-wow. Mercedes CLS?” You inquired without really looking at him, inspecting the car instead as you admired its every curve. Safe to say, you were beyond in love with it. Even if you were always more of a minimalist and preferred the average product, there was just something gorgeous about luxury cars that appealed to you.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Taehyung looked at you impressed, momentarily reminded of just how different you were compared to any other woman he’s chanced upon. 

How many of them knew car models?

Taehyung was intrigued by the fact before speaking with one of the hotel workers, confirming if they had loaded his car with both your luggage and some wedding sentiments your parents insisted you keep. 

Once receiving affirmation Taehyung made towards your side of the car and pulled the door open. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he gestured for you to hop in, drawing you out of your stupor. You thanked him warmly before sliding into your seat. 

He let you scramble in comfortably before shutting the door and walking to his side, positioning himself in and clicking on his seatbelt. He watched as your expression lit up once occupying the car, face beaming with excitement as you touched and drank in at the high-end features the vehicle had to offer. Taehyung found himself smiling before he licked his lips and straightened his face, igniting the engine and beginning the smooth drive. 

It was easy to settle the debate on where you both would be living. Taehyung was an enormously rich CEO who lived in an expensive, massive home while you lived in a measly apartment. You knew it was useless to live separately, even more useless to have him live with you. And so you agreed without protest to pack your things and relocate, begin your move into the house you’d share with him for a lifetime. 

The car ride remained quite silent, you mindlessly bopping your head to whatever mainstream song played on the radio, while Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel or his lap. 

You found your eyes wandering to his slender fingers wrapped around the wheel every so often, sometimes venturing to the other one he placed against his thigh. You began reprimanding yourself once you realized with all the staring, observing and ogling, you most certainly had a thing for his hands already. 

Fuck. 

They were just so big, bigger than what you’ve seen of the average man and it didn’t help that they looked crafted to perfection. 

There was just something about the veins that decorated them, his palm large in size as his fingers seemed deft turning and working the steering wheel. His little accessories like a ring or two, bracelets and his watch did absolutely nothing to deter your interest either.

It only increased once you realized he looked good driving, really good. You knew men had this common attractiveness to them when they drove, watching them all focused and effortlessly working the car somehow sexy; but watching Taehyung drive was another experience entirely. 

He looked insanely hot, and you felt like throwing yourself out your window for even thinking such a thing. It was another case of you ogling him without realizing until his deep voice suddenly fished you out of your thoughts, questioning. “Did you like the wedding?” 

“Huh?” 

“The wedding, did you like it?” Taehyung repeated, glancing at you. 

“Does it really matter if I did?” You asked, this one phrase seeming to perfectly sum up the misfortune of your life, provoking an ironic laugh even. 

“I think it does. A bride should always enjoy her wedding.” 

“Well, I didn’t.” You deadpanned, your expression turning frustrated having to remember that one of, if not the most special night of your life had just been robbed of you, thrown to the wolves while you were only left to accept the sad fact. 

“C’mon, you didn’t enjoy a single thing?” Taehyung didn’t mean to flash back to the kiss you two shared, though found himself doing exactly so. 

You didn’t enjoy that? he questioned in his head. 

“Not really, I just imagined having more choice in the wedding.” You answered honestly, trying not to sulk so much. “It’s not you, I just... thought I’d be able to decide things at my own wedding. I’m grateful your parents did so much, but I didn’t really get to choose anything.” You grew more solemn as your gaze fixated on nothing, watching the world pass you by through the car window. 

“My favourite flowers weren’t even there.” You said only despondently to yourself, shoulders drooping, though Taehyung didn’t miss it. 

“You don’t like roses?”

Your eyes flashed towards him with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he heard your comment. You straightened up before shrugging back a response. “I like peonies.” 

Taehyung looked at your side profile as you turned away, finding the conversation turning more sorrowful than he liked. He allowed some silence to linger as you leaned your chin against your palm, boringly watching the bustling streets.  

He decided to change the subject.

“So you don’t think I’m an asshole, huh?” 

“What?”

“You said you always see ‘asshole CEO’s’ getting people to drive them around. But I don’t, so I’m not an asshole to you?” Taehyung halved his attention between you and the road, glancing in your direction with one hand working the steering wheel.

You thought the question over, “No, you’re not an asshole.” You said simply, distracted by the thoughts that previously occupied your mind. 

“I see.” Taehyung pursed his lips. Another beat of silence passed through the downcast air before Taehyung perked up again.

“Is it just the driving? Or do you have other criteria?” Taehyung asked inquisitively, leaning back into his seat as he observed you. 

You could detect from the corner of your eyes the way his stance drew attention to his legs, thighs broad as he sat. “I guess there is.” 

“Like what?”

You didn’t really know why Taehyung was so curious. You thought it was common knowledge what the stereotypical asshole CEO was like; they were nearly all jerks with horrible one-percenter mentalities and treated people like gravel.  

You scoffed a bit. “They’re usually so full of themselves. They act like they own the place all the time, which makes sense at their own companies but not everywhere else. It’s like the position gets to their heads. Even the way they talk is condescending, belittling, or straight up rude to anyone not on their level. It wouldn’t kill to be nice.” You revealed almost too eagerly, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung as you viewed the traffic on the road ahead, remembering he was a CEO himself. 

Long story short, you’ve had your fair share of experiences meeting them as you grew up during the beginnings of your father’s company. They were quick to skew your opinion ever since you watched the way they treated your father all due to having a start-up, for simply being small in name or reputation. They acted like he was less than, some even daring to behave as though his company would simply never make it. 

It always boiled your blood, left an extremely distasteful image of CEOs and the business world in your head. 

And you were certain it all sucked after that. 

“Understandable.” Taehyung nodded agreeably. “But you think I don’t fit any of that?” He rested a hand against his thigh, sitting laxed as he spread his legs apart further. This time it was definitely hard to miss the way they appeared, all laid out and long as your eyes drank him in, following up his thighs all the way to his-

“You don’t. I thought maybe since you’re super successful you’d be full of yourself. But you’re not, really.” You snapped yourself out of whatever the hell you were doing, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ah, seems like a stepping stone.” 

“Stepping stone? Towards what?”

“Towards you not hating me.” His voice came out with a more solemn timbre than you expected, his jaw tightening for a mere second. 

Taehyung only thought such a thing because even if he decided you didn’t harbour negative feelings towards him, there was no way of him determining whether that was true or not without your real input. 

“I don’t hate you, Taehyung. I don’t.. think I can.” You claimed with poignancy, his statement causing you to reflect on your own feelings about him. 

You don’t hate Taehyung, you couldn’t because he did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. He was dragged in just like you were. You only despised the unfairness of the arrangement, not him. 

There wasn’t much to hate about him.  

“So you’re saying you like me then, aren’t you?” Taehyung suddenly teased light-heartedly, all smug as his amused eyes flickered to you. 

“Shut up, I never said that.” You turned away, scandalized by his remark. 

“I’m kidding. But, why do you think you can’t hate me? I pretty much.. ruined your life.” Taehyung internally felt his chest tighten at the words, remembering the exact thoughts from where he stood no less than 24 hours ago, seconds from lawfully marrying you. 

“And I didn’t ruin yours?” This time you turned your gaze towards Taehyung, meaningfully. Your eyes instinctively communicated your emotions as they locked with his for a moment, Taehyung all attentive. 

“I took away from you just as much you took away from me. We both ruined each other’s lives, there’s no use in blaming each other. That’s why I can’t hate you.” You finalized, crossing your arms and opting to watch the passing buildings through your window again. 

Taehyung absorbed your sudden confession with reason, realizing that in a sense, you two were partners in this unfortunate case. Even if your matrimony constituted a forced partnership neither of you liked, there seemed to be a natural comradery in having to deal with the aftermath of that forced partnership. 

Trying to accept it. 

“I don’t think I can hate you, either.” Taehyung admitted, ending the more miserable part of the conversation as you fell silent. You thought he was done until he decided to bother you again. 

“I think you’re still saying you like me, though.” 

You turned to him half-appalled before pointing towards the road, eyes narrowed. “Just drive us home, will you?” 

Taehyung laughed at the moment and pressed down on the accelerator, internally grinning at the fact you never said no to his statement. 

“This is your house?” You found yourself gawking again at something that belonged to Taehyung, stepping inside a luxury home you’ve only ever dreamed of living in. Sure, you lived with your parents until you were 18, though your father was still starting out with his company for most of those years, not exactly owning anything too luxurious until after you permanently moved out.

So as you stood trying to prop your heels off yourself, your jaw dropped at the sheer elegance and high-status look to the interior of Taehyung’s home. You had already done enough gawking at the exterior, but being inside and processing the fact that you were now to inhabit this home for the rest of your life sent another wave of shock. 

You immediately observed Taehyung was the type who decorated his home with only the finest, his taste easily identifiable. Aesthetic, lavish, charming. He seemed like a man of utter simplicity though his home said otherwise, showcasing an artistic, exquisite feel you never really expected from him. 

“When will you stop saying that?” He titled his head and smiled through a laugh, removing his shoes and slipping into his indoor slippers. 

“Right, sorry.” You were still struggling for normalcy, somehow forgetting almost every hour Taehyung’s wealth and only registering it once you saw something that indicated it. 

Taehyung sauntered inside and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of his abode. He enjoyed nothing more than being home, in the comfort of his own space. Especially for someone who worked so busily, he found pleasure in doing the bare minimum at home. Relishing in the feeling right now, he pressed his lips together in a smile before glancing back at your struggling figure, catching sight of your size. 

His eyebrows shot up to the sky. “Woah, you’re short.” 

“Huh?” 

“I think I’ve only ever seen you in heels.” Taehyung informed. “Now that you’re not wearing them you’re a lot shorter than I thought. You’re tiny.” He pointed out as he eyed you from head to toe, processing the amount of height you lost simply from removing your shoes. 

“I mean, that’s kind of what heels do, you know, they add height.” You deadpanned, stating the obvious for him. 

“Sorry, it’s just..” Kind of cute, he thought, though fought for another response. “I could probably throw you.” 

Nice save. 

“Excuse me? It’s not my fault you’re so tall.” You scowled at him. “Besides, you’re all height and no muscle, you probably can’t even carry me.” 

“Wanna see me try?” Taehyung was already coming towards you with his arms held out and you sputtered immediately, “No, no, no.” you held your hands up defensively. “Let’s just start the house tour, yeah?” you offered a smile for compromise. 

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes coyly and turned on his heel, signaling you to follow him. 

What you realized strolling through the home as Taehyung discussed its details was that it emphatically represented him like an open book. Even if Taehyung was predominantly unreadable and seemed to always hide a mystery behind his eyes, you could see nearly all of him reflected in his home. 

You often found valuable trinkets or sentiments scattered around the house. It seemed like he cherished a lot of things in his life, namely memories or people. It would also be hard to miss the exquisite selection of paintings and embellishments he draped the walls with, all harbouring their own charm and adding to the overall artistic feel of his home. 

There were famous works consisting of Vincent Van Gogh all the way to local Korean artists you’ve never heard of, though admired their work. 

It seemed as though he selected the paintings himself. 

Another large aspect you couldn’t miss were the many photos he kept, calling to question whether they were of his own work. 

“Did you take these?” You approached a shelf in one of his grand hallways on the second floor, hand brushing the wooden frame of a captured photo; six men including Taehyung himself posing comfortably, like they were extremely close, backdrop reflecting what seemed to be a trip.  

“I took all of them.” He stated casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he eyed the shelf along with you. 

“All?” 

He simply nodded and didn’t elaborate further as he watched you admire the photos, yourself impressed by his adeptness for photography. 

“You’re really good.” You complimented absentmindedly, enjoying the other photos of not only people but scenery, empty streets, candid shots from what looked to be his own little adventures. 

“Thanks.” Was all Taehyung could manage, trying to mask the sheer gratitude he felt hearing the first ever person to admire his work; something that wasn’t related to being a CEO or a businessman. 

He also felt slightly embarrassed you’d seen a small part of him he usually hid.

Taehyung continued walking down the hallway until he reached the end, revealing what you could tell was the largest room in the house. You were thrown off by just how unnecessarily large it was. It seriously reminded you of an extravagant hotel suite, more like the grandest one among them. 

“This is our room.” Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards its interior. 

“Our?” 

Taehyung nodded “I should’ve told you earlier but I wanted us to sleep in the same room. If we slept apart our marriage wouldn’t look convincing to my two housekeepers. I trust them but I don’t want any information about us getting out to the public, not over my dead body.” Taehyung stated in earnest as he relayed the information, wandering further into the room. 

“You really care that much about publicity?” you genuinely questioned. 

Taehyung scoffed. “Not me, I couldn’t care less about what people think.” He denied instantly, almost laughably. “It’s my father. He hates bad press, especially concerning our family or the company.” 

“I thought bad press is still press, so it’s good.” You suggested as you followed him further into the room, admiring that though large, his room held a sense of comfort to it. Quite frankly, all of his home felt rather welcoming and cozy, surprising of a CEO who ran such a monstrously successful company.

“My father doesn’t think so. Kim Enterprises has always been generational, each of our CEO positions strictly kept within the family. Our name is our brand and pride, it alone accounts for at least half of our success. We’re extremely well-known for our high status, it’s just plain fact in the upper social circles of Korea. We can’t afford to taint our name with petty things like bad press or corruption, our reputation is too valuable.” Taehyung stated this all nonchalantly as he adjusted his suit jacket in his mirror, like it was something he’s grown accustomed to and has known all his life. 

You found your opinion impeding his words.  

“So you can never just, escape this life? As long as you’re a Kim you’re bound to this company?” You found the concept wildly restrictive, clearly shackling down any person that would run the business and you felt a disagreeing shiver shoot through your spine. 

“Of course, why would you want anything else?” Taehyung tiled his head to the side, eyeing you in genuine questioning and your entire being was trying to bite back the desire to correct him, tell him there’s so much more to life than just some company your family owns. Though you opted for changing the subject instead, unwilling to step on his toes and dictate his life when you knew next to nothing about it. 

It wasn’t your place. 

“Woah, you have a balcony?!” You exclaimed with a simper, eyes flickering towards the curtains that revealed two ajar French doors leading to an open space.

You made towards it excitedly and stopped just in the middle of the platform, enjoying the breeze of the fresh air.

“It’s my favourite part of the house.” You didn’t even realize Taehyung followed you until his towering figure stood directly behind you, feeling his proximity permeate through your body. 

You swallowed. 

“Why don’t you look at the view?” Taehyung cocked his head towards the railing of the balcony, though you didn’t move a step. 

You weren’t about to tell Taehyung you’re terribly afraid of heights.

“I-I can see from here. Wow, looks beautiful.” You perked up superficially, trying to throw him off and changing the subject again. “By the way, what’s our closet situation gonna look like?” 

“Ah, let me show you.” Taehyung strided back into the room towards the sliding double doors you spotted earlier. He almost theatrically glided both dark wooden panels open and your jaw dropped for the 47th time today. 

You were welcomed by a ridiculously large walk-in closet, enough to be renovated into its own bedroom. You simply couldn’t normalize its size, especially after registering every suit, tie, watch or accessory Taehyung stored in the gracious space. 

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money lied in here. 

“Oh my God.” Was all you could manage, meandering in sparingly as you viewed each and every expensive piece he owned in the room, no doubt of the highest quality designers, finest of men’s fashion. 

“You don’t have to worry about unpacking and moving in here, the housekeepers will do that for you.” Taehyung watched as you looked upon in awe, finding the way your eyes sparkled with emotion very similar to that of Bambi’s.  

“How will I fit-”

“I specifically made space for you, there’s enough.” Taehyung stated, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’d resolved a while ago he really would try to take this marriage seriously, victoriously achieve the work-life balance his father kept preaching. 

He saw giving up his closet space as the first step. 

It was indeed so because Taehyung thoroughly enjoyed fashion. He genuinely adored every suit, accessory and outfit in his collection, though if he wanted to reach this new goal of balance, successfully add you to his list of priorities, then he had to be willing to cut down. 

Even if that meant reallocating a third of his exorbitant wardrobe just for you, he’d try not to mind. 

“Are you sure? I could just use another room’s-” 

“I want to.” Taehyung finalized as his eyes turned unreadable from across the room, locking his gaze with yours and you were only left to look back impressed, his generosity unforeseen. 

“Thank you.” You voiced a little weak, still shy by the suffocating nature of his stare. 

“Don’t mention it.” He offered plainly, propping himself off the wall. He looked off to the side eyeing the empty pockets of space he left for you, until your voice called out to him.  

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?” He snapped his vision back to you. 

You wanted to ask him something, more so a favour and you were unsure how to word the request. “Um.. I didn’t want to ask so openly, but..” You found yourself beating around the bush, timid of what his response would be. 

“Go on.” 

“Um, so it seemed like there were a lot of empty rooms in this house, and I was just wondering if I could maybe.. transform one of them into an art studio for myself?” You winced at your own request. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just I had one at my old place and it really grew on me. I would get most of my work done in that room and gained a lot of inspiration from it. I have a lot of art supplies and designed often in that studio, so I need a home for all my supplies and it would suck getting rid of it all. I’m sorry it means I would have to steal one of your rooms in the house, if you don’t want me to then-” 

Taehyung couldn’t help but break out into a small grin as he watched you ramble on, shyly fidget with your fingers, so apprehensive of asking him for something and it reminded him why he was so eager to provide you with anything you wanted. 

You spent too long trying to do everything on your own, achieve everything on your own, relying solely on yourself. Taehyung could see this all as plain as day, quite enjoying of how he’s never really met someone like you, and wanted you to know you didn’t always have to be so independent.  

Especially with him. 

“Y/N.” He called out to you with the same honey-coloured tone from last night, stopping you. Your eyes flickered to his, awaiting his next sentence and Taehyung already found himself having a thing for your doe-eyes. 

Fuck. 

“Of course you can have a room. You can have anything in this house. It’s yours.” Taehyung stated with a degree of assurance, his eyes locking with yours in earnest. 

You both shared a look as your lips curved into a gracious smile, biting your lip to contain it. His stare wasn’t so much intimidating as it was merely.. calm. Gazing at you for the sole purpose of gazing, and you found some heat rushing to your face under his scrutiny. 

Taehyung seemed to realize he was staring and immediately cleared his throat, turning a little nervous as he began another conversation. “So um, I’m sorry to say this,” he began with unease, almost apprehensive and you didn’t know what he was so sorry about. “But I have work today.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Taehyung internally winced at your reaction, hands finding his pockets. “I took some time off for the wedding, so now I have twice the amount of work left behind. I need to complete it.” He informed straightforwardly. 

“Our wedding was just yesterday, though, aren’t you tired?” You were only taken aback because you were slightly concerned for his wellbeing, wasn’t he tired from yesterday? You recalled him knocking out almost immediately upon hitting the pillow of your hotel bed last night, snoozing away. 

“Maybe, but I can’t afford to rest. I’ll only have more to complete if I do, so I won’t be spending anymore time with you today.” Taehyung relayed the information, readying himself for the even greater disappointing news he’d be passing on. 

“Actually, we won’t be able to go on our honeymoon, either.” Taehyung thought it was best to slip in all the bad news, growing more and more unrelaxed as he was unsure of how you’d react. 

Though what you said next had him nearly floored.

“Honeymoon? Taehyung, that’s the least of my concerns, you should at least rest a day before getting back to work. That’s not really healthy.” You chastised him as lightly as possible, still afraid to be stepping on his toes when you didn’t know his life. 

Taehyung was certain you’d hate having been stripped of a beautiful vacation where you could’ve relaxed in the sun and tropics of Cancun. Your father had mentioned to him you’ve always longed to visit the breath-taking city in Mexico, its clear waters and tropical air as a means to truly get away from your stifling life. 

So when he found you disregarding the trip altogether and instead focusing on him, more precisely his health, he was left damn well speechless. 

There you were again paying attention to the littlest things about him he didn’t care much for; he still had that bandage you offered him a month ago tucked into one of his pockets, not wanting to use the adhesive just yet. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry we can’t go on the vacation because of me, it would’ve been nice, you know?” Taehyung apologized, feeling genuinely guilty for having ruined the honeymoon. Even if you two weren’t going to travel as some lovey-dovey couple, you both simply could’ve enjoyed the time off.

“It’s okay, just, at least work from home today. Heading to the office would be too much.” You suggested for the sake of the fatigue you could discern on him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be home for the next few days since everyone thinks we’ll be on our honeymoon.” 

“Oh. That’s.. good.” You nodded faintly, half at the idea you two were even faking your honeymoon and half at the blasphemous energy he had to work after yesterday. 

The sleep from last night was nearly not enough to recharge from the antics of the wedding, having drained your batteries for the next few days. You were certain his were drained too; he was half the damn couple. 

“I should get going. I’ll send Mrs. Choi and Seo up with your things. They’re probably finished with lunch too, you should eat.” Taehyung advised as he stepped out of the walk-in closet, running a hand through his gorgeous hair and you couldn’t help but ogle at the sexy way his strands fell back on him. 

“Okay.” You voiced as you followed him out, watching him near the room’s door and just about to vacate the premise before you spoke up. “Taehyung.” 

He stopped in his tracks, peering back at you. “Yes?” 

“You should eat something, too.”

Taehyung half-smiled at you with a nod “Sure”, before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone. 

And you couldn’t help but kind of like the way he smiles. 

It was well into the evening now, bordering dinner time as you helped the last of your clothes into Taehyung’s closet, refusing to let the older housekeepers do all the work by themselves considering it was your own luggage. 

You also tried to occupy Taehyung’s room as scarcely as you could with your belongings, feeling odd about suddenly moving in with all your might and changing things around. It just didn’t feel appropriate, like you were invading his space and so you opted for scattering only your necessary items.

“That should be the last of it, Mrs. Choi.” You retrieved your last piece of clothing from the rather soft-spoken housekeeper, tucking the blazer away among the rest. You were satisfied to see not only your wardrobe neatly organized now, but fit just about right with Taehyung’s things. 

He was right about space, there was enough.

“Mrs. Kim, please rest. You didn't have to move a muscle at all for us.” Mrs. Choi remarked, genuinely concerned for you. 

“Yes, please, Mrs. Kim. We can finish up with the little things. I’ve just finished preparing dinner downstairs, you should eat.” Mrs. Seo chimed in as she entered the walk-in closet, gesturing towards the door. 

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Mrs. Kim, you’re very kind for offering your help, we’re very grateful you’ve done so. Though we are Mr. Kim’s housekeepers, we are meant to care for his home and his lovely wife. You need not worry about helping us.” Mrs. Choi stated with an earnest tone, speaking respectfully as she addressed you. 

You were going to protest again before you considered her words, registering that if you indeed helped them, it would technically negate the entire purpose of their work. 

You bit back your reply as a result, crafting a new one. 

“I see, I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo, Mrs. Choi. I’m just.. very used to doing things on my own,” you looked towards the ground. “I apologize.” You almost dipped for a bow until Mrs. Choi rapidly cautioned you, scrambling towards your figure. 

“Oh dear, Mrs. Kim! You do not need to bow to us, you’re Mr. Kim’s wife, you are the one who is bowed to.” 

“Yes, you do not need to apologize either, we appreciate your help, it was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Seo added with a warm smile, bowing to you instead. “Please go for dinner downstairs, I’ve also informed Mr. Kim for dinner, though I’m unsure if he has made his way down yet.” She added on, urging you towards the room's exit and you recognized it was probably better to listen to her. 

Even if all this high-class, status stuff had yet to sink in or make sense to you after being away for so long, you understood there was an eventual tolerance you had to build for it. Just as Mrs. Choi said, you’re Kim Taehyung’s wife now, and that came with a hell lot of status you hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet.

You could already tell it was going to be a pain in the ass. 

“I suppose I should. I’ll get going, then.” You smiled graciously at both women, appreciative of their kindness and began vacating the closet. You just about pulled the room door open before Mrs. Seo suddenly came to you.

“Oh! Mrs. Kim,” she halted you. “I was informed by Mr. Kim to provide this to you. He would have done so himself though he’s quite busy at the moment.” Mrs. Seo extended her hand and presented a pristine looking card, black and incredibly sleek in design. Your eyebrows furrowed until you noticed the telltale symbols, almost ominously minimal branding indicating a rare card only those with some of the highest networths in Korea could own. 

Your eyes widened in horror. 

The Black Card. 

“P-pardon?” You needed her to reiterate, there was no way Kim Taehyung was giving you a black card, the same card that was limitless on credit and only exclusively owned by the affluent one-percenters of society. 

“He’s informed me this belongs to you now, and that you’re to keep it in your possession.” Mrs. Seo elaborated, smiling through the mental whiplash you were currently experiencing.  

“Belongs to.. me? This is mine?” You were still having trouble processing, why would Taehyung be gifting you this? Who’s account was it even attached to? Was it yours and he’s decided to graciously pay all the expensive fees, or worse, was it joined with his own account? 

Don’t tell me it’s joined with his account.  

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. It’s yours.” Mrs. Seo held it out more outwardly, nudging it in your direction. 

Your mouth fell agape for another second before you mentally collected yourself, quickly grabbing the card and thanking her as you made your exit, marching through the house for Taehyung’s unbelievable ass. 

Taehyung could not be providing you with this card. It was irrational, simply had to have been a decision he made with at least two bottles of soju in him, right? You didn’t care what his reasoning would be, you were denying and returning this. There was no way in hell you’d accept this card, especially if he linked his own personal account to it. 

You tried loosely recalling where Taehyung mentioned his study, logically assuming he was working there. You inspected majority of the second floor, working your way through the halls until you finally caught sight of the familiar wooden doors with glass panels, slightly ajar, light bleeding through.

You made for the room quickly and stormed in without a care, attempting to steady your breathing from all the rushing around. You caught Taehyung completely off guard, having shredded his suit jacket to instead sport the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, adorning black-rimmed, designer glasses. 

He looked 100x hotter than he should’ve. 

Taehyung suddenly propped up from the leaned-back position he’d assumed on his chair, expression caught by surprise. “Y/N?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing. 

You held up the card and addressed him immediately. “Taehyung, what’s this? Why are you giving this to me?” You huffed, looking at him incredulously. 

“The card? For you to use..?” Taehyung responded cooperatively, confused as to why you seemed so frazzled. 

“But why, Taehyung? This is a black card, the annual fees on this are insane and I can’t pay-” 

“You’re not paying for them, I am.” Taehyung cut in, shutting the binder he was holding and placing it on his desk. 

“What? No, no way. If it’s my account then I should be the one-”

“It’s not your account, either, it’s mine.” Taehyung brought his elbows to his desk, hands clasped together in front of his lips. It was now he gave you that same intimidating stare he did back when you first met him, calculative and devoid of expression. 

It seemed he did this when he got serious. 

“Your account? But-Taehyung, this is your money, I can’t just have it. Please, take this back.” You stepped towards his desk to return the card eagerly, but Taehyung’s firm tone stopped you. 

“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you to keep.” His words held this underlying sense of authority, scratch that, dominance when he spoke seriously, resolute. You could instantly tell he possessed a natural sense of alpha male characteristics, enough that even though he wasn’t being harsh or looming, his words and the tone he coated them with held more power than you could manifest. 

You almost cowered, but remained adamant on returning the card. It was worse with the card attached to his account, you couldn’t just keep Taehyung’s money like it was your own, it simply wasn’t. Your money sat ordinarily in a separate account on a separate card, which you were happy enough to use. You weren’t going to mooch off of him, it went against every principle that made up your very being. 

“This is your money, Taehyung. I have no right to use it.” 

“You’re my wife. You have every right in the world to use it.” Taehyung countered with no emotion, or at least any you could discern, uncertain what was running through his mind with only his eyes as a guide towards the answer. 

And you knew his eyes didn’t tell. 

“Taehyung, this doesn’t feel right to me. This isn’t my money and I can’t use it.” You emphasized more strongly, drawing closer to his desk though halting your actions once he spoke again. 

“My money is your money, you can always use it.” You knew he was relaxed, appearing practically unbothered as he leaned onto his desk and eyed you. Though with the intense look in his eyes, his aura screaming for anyone within the vicinity to submit to him, he could easily seem frustrated with the situation, namely you. 

And it made you want to crawl into a hole.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve already intruded your home, taken your closet, your room and even an extra one just for myself. I will not take your money either. Please, take this back.” You held out the card more prominently, desperate to have him understand you.

Taehyung wasn’t necessarily frustrated by you, no, he was slightly pissed you kept referring to everything as just his and not yours, that he was the only one considering you two as a married couple now while you still viewed each other separately.

Did you not see him as your husband yet?

He also disliked the fact that you seemed scared of him, or unable to trust him like last night. He could see you fighting back the urge to cower away, genuinely upsetting him you still held a degree of fear and unsureness in your eyes. 

Why are you so afraid of me? 

“Y/N, everything isn’t just mine anymore, it’s yours, too. We’re a married couple, husband and wife. What’s mine is yours.” Taehyung tried to reason, loosening himself up more to seem less intimidating, more approachable.

“But money, Taehyung-it’s different. I didn’t even want to take my own father’s money, there’s no way I’ll take yours, please.” Pleading leaked into your tone as you lips started doing that thing where they just about pout, emphasizing their plushiness and Taehyung couldn’t help but notice it again. 

He started growing frustrated as he removed his glasses, placing them on his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed like he was digesting the situation, searching for the best approach.

“Y/N, look. I know the kind of situation you had with your father, but I’m not him. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Choi and Seo addressed you as?” 

You thought it over, unknowing of where he was taking this. “They.. called me Mrs. Kim.”

“Exactly. Even my last name is yours, everything I have is yours. I’m your husband, I’m always going to provide you with things from now on. That card is just one of many.” Taehyung offered his best explanation, making sure his tone wasn’t as serious to sidetrack any fear you still had.

“I understand. But this is a black card, Taehyung, and it’s your hard-earned money, not mine. It feels wrong even just having it.” You couldn’t fight your inner turmoil, you genuinely believed this to be wrong. After spending almost a decade trying to work for yourself, pay for yourself, seldom seeking the help of another, this just left a disagreeing feeling to churn in your stomach.

Taehyung sighed heavily before pushing his chair back, rising from his seat. He made his way over to you where you grew unintentionally defensive, retracting from him slightly as he neared you. He noticed it and pursed his lips, reaching out for your upper arms and taking them warmly, tenderly, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he spoke to you.

“Y/N, do you remember what I said before I kissed you yesterday?”

Your eyes widened having been reminded of the intimate moment, nodding at him innocently. Taehyung witnessed you trying to avoid eye contact and found himself softening. 

“I didn’t say that without reason. I meant it when I said I would take care of you. Your father is a different story, if you don’t want to use his money, I respect that. But I’m your husband, and I want to be a good one. I want to give you things.. do things for you simply because I want to.” Taehyung reasoned, gripping you lightly. “I want you to use my money, you’re allowed to use it.” He tried voicing with sincerity, earnestly, hoping he could change your mind.

He saw you still hesitating to accept the offer, however, deciding on a compromise.

“Look, you don’t have to use it all the time. You can still use your own card, but you can use mine here and there. Seriously, Y/N, using it won’t even make a dent on me. I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, use it at your discretion.” Taehyung could practically see your gears shifting, searching for your eyes as he wished you’d understand him. 

He saw this as a second step towards work-life balance, only feeling the responsibility and genuine desire to be the good husband in spite of the unfortunate nature of your marriage. He didn’t want any doubt concerning his ability to be a good husband, either.

After all, when Taehyung did something, he always did the best he possibly could.

“Okay, I guess you’re right. But I do have my own money, and I’ll be using that 100x more often than yours.” You relaxed and oddly let him hold you, looking down at the black card that rested in your hand and clutching it to your palm.

Taehyung realized he was still holding you and let go, retiring to fluff his hair instead. You caught a glimpse of his bicep underneath his rolled up sleeve as he did so, and you truly hated you chose a time like this to find him stunningly attractive.

“You should come downstairs, Mrs. Seo prepared dinner.” You ignored your thoughts.

“You go first, I’ll be down in a second.”

You nodded agreeably and turned away, leaving his study. You took a second look at the card in your hand, then glanced around the house as you strolled through it, trying to embed what Taehyung said into the crevices of your resistant thinking.

Everything I have is yours, you reiterated, registering that Taehyung had in fact grown accustomed to the idea of you two as a couple already. He’s accepted it, embraced it, even enforced it now with his earlier declarations and this black card. You automatically felt behind, like you were the tortoise in the race and needed to pick up your pace.

If Taehyung had already come to terms with your marriage, it was only a matter of time before you did as well. Marriage is a two-way street, and if you wanted to make this easier on both yourself and Taehyung, you would compromise with him, accept the true sense of partnership that entailed your status as husband and wife.

Thus was the exact mantra that played in your head as you fiddled with the card, remembering the way his big hands held you.

Warm.

It was night. 

You could say it was like any other ordinary night, though that would be a gargantuan lie. 

This night was the first time Taehyung and yourself were going to sleep in the same bed.

In your own home. 

The hotel suite left you both with your own space and privacy since it was a random, public room with no personality or attachment to it whatsoever, making it easier and comfortable to sleep with him.

So when you emerged from your walk-in closet in a thin camisole, loose pajama shorts and without a bra, you were cursing yourself. God damn you for needing to sleep in minimal clothing for comfort. You’d slept in a loose t-shirt and bottoms at the suite last night since it was a public room, and long story short, it left you tossing and turning more than you liked. 

You had no clue prior to arriving here that you’d be sharing a room with Taehyung. You’d expected to sleep in a different one, in the privacy of your own room where you could prance around as you wished and as a result packed your usual sleepwear. 

But now that you were left having to slumber with Taehyung, clothes on the more revealing side, there was no turning back. 

And what there was truly no turning back from, was when you opened the closet door and your eyes landed on Taehyung’s shirtless, wet self drying his hair after a shower. 

You immediately malfunctioned.

Your eyes fell to his bare back, ruffling his wet hair as his plaid pajama pants hung loosely at his hips. You immediately exclaimed and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to shut yourself up. 

You did not expect at all for Taehyung to have such honey-coloured skin. It was like it naturally glowed, a healthy tone that made him appear all the more delectable. It certainly didn’t help that his shoulders were broader than you first observed, sincerely an other-worldly experience when he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

You also got an all-access view of his trap muscles, adding to the width of his shoulders overall and when Taehyung turned around to the sound of the closet door opening, gaze locking with yours, you could confirm his neck, chest and collarbones were indeed crafted to perfection.

Taehyung’s eyes widened momentarily drinking you in, not expecting your light sleepwear when just last night he witnessed you in a full pajama set. Not to mention, and he hated that he could tell, but you weren't wearing a bra. 

And the camisole did nothing to hide that. 

Taehyung straightened himself up realizing you two were practically gawking at each other, resting the towel around his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s what you sleep in?” 

“That’s what you sleep in?” You retorted, arms over your chest. 

“Guys usually sleep shirtless, this is normal.” Taehyung gestured towards his own body and you had half a mind to floor yourself. It’s like Taehyung knew but also didn’t know he was hot, knew the effect he had on people though never grew cocky or proud enough to purposefully parade it around. 

And it frustrated you even more; he was fairly humble about being a sexy Greek God. 

“Girls sleep like this too, this is normal.” You copied him, looking off to the side. 

“I was kidding, I only sleep shirtless sometimes. Just get in bed.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he gestured towards the sheets, returning to his palace of a bathroom to toss his towel in the hamper and pull a t-shirt over his head. 

You wanted to move, feet just about ready to carry you but you never abandoned your spot. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line contemplating that sharing a bed with Taehyung, in clothes like this and in such proximity, all held a degree of intimacy you didn’t know you two shared yet. 

It’s only been a day. 

So when Taehyung returned to your unmoving figure, arms holding your chest and avoiding eye contact with him, he was quick to get the message. 

“Um.. if you really don’t want to sleep here, I can give you another room.” Taehyung offered, figuring himself this may be too soon. 

“No, it’s okay, that’d be kind of a hassle.” You waved him off. “Besides, your bed looks comfy.”

You were honestly trying to live up to your acceptance that Taehyung was the man you’d spend your life with now, so you’d better start getting use to him. You’d sleep next to him for numerous nights, spend endless days together and share a multitude of things; this would simply just be a first of many first times. 

So you paddled over to the bed and removed the covers to snuggle yourself in, the bed’s coolness sending a shiver through you before you hugged the blanket to yourself. Taehyung stood with a smile before crawling in himself, adjusting the covers to his liking. 

He felt at peace in a matter of seconds, the feeling of his own bed lulling him into a state of slumber already. He reached his arm out to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the room pitch dark and only his digital clock and balcony as a light source. 

You began to cower a bit in the darkness, thankful for the sheer curtains that allowed the moonlight to spill into the room. 

You felt another shiver run through your body when you shifted, realizing you were cold even under the sheets. You tried warming up on your own by shimmying the blanket around more comfortably, but it didn't do much. 

You were left lying on the bed trying to think warm thoughts, unintentionally breathing in the constant scent of Taehyung from his bed; his cologne, his aftershave, his body wash all filling your nostrils.

It was intoxicating, absolutely distracting and sleep began to slip your mind. It didn’t help that you were still cold too, moving around and turning onto your side where you now faced Taehyung. 

He seemed to have already dozed off, face tranquil as he slept soundlessly on his back. You couldn't help but admire his side-profile, the sparse moonlight illuminating his features. It was hard to not stretch your hand out and nearly run a touch along his cheek, like he was a rare work of art that naturally called for admiration.

You realized turning towards him that he radiated a wave of warmth from his body, remembering boys were pretty much furnaces while girls usually froze.

How wonderful it is to be a woman. 

You desired some of that heat and shuffled just a little closer to Taehyung, nearing the center of the bed. You discerned he was indeed warm and maneuvered slightly closer, just about stopping at the center of the bed. You fought back the urge to shimmy any closer, leaving a mindful gap between you two. 

You were seconds from catching a peace of mind until Taehyung unexpectedly spoke in the silence of the night, startling you. 

“You can come closer, I don’t bite.” The smirk in his voice was obvious, making you scrunch your nose and snap back at him. 

“Shut up, I’m not getting closer to you.” 

“You should, I’m really warm, and I can tell you’re cold.” There he was again teasing, his tone coy as he kept his eyes shut, unbothered. 

“Over my dead body.” You mocked him from earlier, turning away from him abruptly and pulling the covers over your head. 

Coffee was probably your favourite thing life had to offer. One of the couple things you’d fight someone over; coffee and your independence, if you wanted to be specific. 

So it made you genuinely happy Taehyung had such a wide selection of coffee to choose from, ranging from all kinds of beans to instant coffee, cappuccinos, lattes, mochas, you name it. It took no time for you to craft a cup to your liking, shuffle into a seat on the island and begin picking at the breakfast the housekeepers had whipped up earlier this morning. 

You’d woken up early today keeping in mind the day you had planned. You decided this to be another move-in day as part of your studio setup project you’ve entertained for the last week. The granted time off due to your odd honeymoon farce with Taehyung proved to actually come in handy, thankfully. 

It had been another peaceful morning for you, having woken up with sunlight gracing the walls, certain you could hear birds chirping as if you were in a Disney film and little mice would come out to start sewing the gown you’d wear as a princess. 

It had been a peaceful morning indeed, but when you stretched out to loosen your stiff muscles, the chaos that met you was anything but peaceful. Even if it’s occurred at least 5 times now, you kept forgetting that you shared a bed with someone else now, and that said someone had somehow always founds a way to gravitate towards you during the night, even daringly cast an arm over you sometimes. 

It left you in a state of panic registering that Taehyung’s, dare you say warm and cozy body would be just behind you, his chest mere centimeters from your back. You would stay still for some time, calculating the optimal way to remove yourself from his hold until he eventually stirred enough to loosen his grip, darting right out of bed. 

Other times, he’d wake earlier than you and you wondered what would cross his mind once he registered your oddly proximal bodies. 

Did it ever bother him?

Nonetheless, it brought a mischievous smile to your face thinking about the fact that Taehyung had such a perfectly human habit like cuddling. He was always so serious, so put together and a near machine at everything he did, seeming as though he wouldn’t give anything romantic the time of day. 

But it was hard to forget the fluffy feeling that blossomed in your chest when you would sense his proximity, maybe inviting a liking to it. You had always slept alone, only yourself and the darkness to keep you company in your lonely bed, in your lonely home. 

So sleeping next to someone, namely Kim Taehyung left an impression on you you couldn’t quite shake. It was difficult to erase the image of his calm, sleeping face after the handful of times witnessing it. Long eyelashes delicately pressed to the skin under his eyes, lips plush as he seemed to naturally pout in his sleep. The sunlight only accentuated his honey-coloured skin, adding a glow to his features that made him appear prettier than he already was. 

It was nice to think you’d wake up to that every morning. 

You found your mind still playing around with the idea until you snapped yourself out of it, questioning why the hell you always ventured off whenever you thought about him. 

Weird. 

You were scolding yourself until your eyes caught Taehyung strolling into the kitchen with his phone in is hand. He’d foregone a jacket today, black shirt sleeves folded to mid-forearm paired with black slacks.  

You were normal until you almost spat your coffee seeing he wasn’t wearing a tie but instead had the first few buttons of his shirt open, revealing a generous view of his neck and the beginnings of his chest. 

Fucking hell.

You were staring stupidly until Taehyung peeked up at you, smiling “Morning.” 

“M-morning.” you stuttered.

He seemed unsuspecting as he returned his attention to his phone, proceeding to the kitchen counter and retrieving a cup to fix himself a drink. He appeared to be reading something conscientiously on his device, never taking his eyes off and you quickly became bored, ready to use the weapon you’d acquired. 

“So.. you’re a cuddler, huh?”

Taehyung nearly dropped his cup.  

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re a cuddler when you sleep. Cute.” You rested your chin in your palm, playful smile on your face. 

“I think you’re mistaken, I am not a cuddler. And I’m not cute.” Taehyung denied as he only focused on the cup, his back to you. You then watched him reach for his selection of tea and purposefully evade the coffee, your eyes lighting up with mischief.  

“Wait, you’re a cuddler and you drink tea instead of coffee? Very cute.” You pulled on his leg, chuckling as you brought your mug to your lips

This was going to be fun.

“Shut up, I don’t like the taste and tea is healthier.” Taehyung practically sneered back, harshly ripping the packet of his tea bag.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re a cuddler.” You sipped on your coffee, unbothered as you swung your legs back and fourth. 

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you like it.” 

You nearly spat your drink. 

“What?” 

“I remember a certain someone that shuffles closer to me for warmth, no?” Taehyung snapped back as he returned to his phone and popped his tea into the microwave, his shoulders high to the sky. You could imagine his smug face proud of his remark while searching for your own, realizing that Taehyung was damn good at arguing and you’d really have to upgrade your comeback game to counter him. 

He was unfortunately your match.

“Even if I were one, which I’m not, It’s not like I’m committing a crime.” Taehyung suddenly finalized with a snippy tone, and you realized you may have hurt his ego. 

Men. 

“I never said it was a bad thing.” You commented under your breath and looked away, popping a raspberry into your mouth. 

Taehyung bit back a smirk as he retrieved his cup of tea, taking a sip as he returned to his phone and took a seat across from you. He began compiling his plate of breakfast as he worked his device, typing away with one hand as if he was drafting the Magna Carta. 

You became bored again.

“Why do you have so much coffee if you don’t like it?” You genuinely felt like inquiring, if he didn’t like the taste why would he have so much? 

“For my housekeepers, they drink it.” He took a sip of his tea, all attention on his phone. 

You nodded understandingly. “Why do you have two housekeepers, by the way? Isn’t one enough?” 

“So they can keep each other company.” He answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone as he bit a piece of his toast. You really hated that he wasn’t actively interacting with you because it only left room to stare at him, and that was never any good.  

He looked illegally attractive with the unbuttoned part of his shirt, your mind profusely bugging out over the exposed bit of his chest. You were reminded of the full view from last night, and began pondering how long you’d survive having to see that for the rest of your life. 

“O-oh, that’s nice.” You stuttered back a reply, squashing your previous thought.

You were actually quite impressed by the kindness Taehyung showed behind that decision, noticing he had these small moments where he was caring, considerate, all hidden behind his unreadable face and seriousness when it came to business. 

It was quite interesting. 

You were mindlessly eating until Taehyung spoke up, eyes flickering towards you. “What are you going to do today?” 

You swallowed your fruit. “I was planning on moving more stuff in again, start finishing my studio setup. Thank you again for the room, by the way.” You expressed your gratitude once more, forking some eggs into your mouth. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“What are you doing today?” you echoed his question, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m working again. If you need anything I’ll be in my study.” Taehyung sent you a half-smile before snatching up his plate, bringing his phone to his ear as he stepped out of the kitchen. 

You sighed heavily only being left to think about your day, which would be majorly spent unpacking and arranging things. You had a plethora of art supplies, design tools and canvases to set up in your studio, leaving you constantly thinking of how to even begin. 

It would be a mission alone to sort through everything you had left, knowing you didn’t exactly label out of sheer laziness and would have to individually unbox and organize everything . 

It was this exact task that took up most of your day, time having slipped by in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t easy when you had to be rummaging through your belongings and situating them where you thought appropriate, also trying to envision a new look for your studio. 

You hadn’t realized 3 hours had passed until the ring of the front doorbell caused you to check your phone, curious as to who would be visiting your home in the middle of the day. You assumed it be one of the housekeepers and abandoned your work, cascading down the staircase and striding towards the grand entrance. 

You drew towards the monitor Taehyung had showed you just yesterday, explaining it to be your home security system. Taehyung detailed it had a camera for your front porch that detected movement and the doorbell alike, so you peered at the monitor to see the stranger outside your home. 

Your eyebrows furrowed registering a woman, her back turned towards the door as she fidgeted nervously with her purse in her hand. 

Sheer curiosity took you over and you paddled towards the door, unlocking it. You wore a smile on your face as you swung the door open, though it was immediately wiped off taking in the last person on earth you ever wanted to see. 

“Mother?”

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tags : @thedarkwinterrose @ayujaded @couldbeyourlast @ladyarmanto @anpanman-sonyeondan @apollukee @blueevelvt @taesluttt @scalubera​ @laurynne5​ @dreamsindreamss​ @thequeen-kat​ @awsome-small-k​ @wrecklesssly​ @kweenhu​ @jalexad​ @staerify​ @bangforever​ @dyriddle​ @aianloveseven​ @waves-and-woods​ @hoefortaeshands​ @veronawrites​ @nightapple4jk​ @wataemelonz​ @aomi-nabi​

[the-cult-of-russo]

Hues of Gold

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader 

Request : do a billy russo x reader with the reader having an art job and them meeting due to that somehow

Warnings: none 

A/N: Here it is, my first Billy x Reader. I'll be getting to the prompts in my inbox too but still feel free to send me more requests. You don't need to pick from the prompt lists, if you have an idea then just send it on over. Nothing is off limits and I write for every type of Billy. S1 Billy, S2 Billy, pre-show Billy, all the AU Billy's you can think of lmao Gimme them all.

You tilted your head a little, eyes sweeping across the paint on the easel in front of you. The piece was coming together nicely. You'd started at humble beginnings with your artwork as a street artist. You hadn't been able to afford art school and you didn't feel like people needed to if they just felt it. And you did. You'd been a hit with your expressionist art and before you knew it, you were getting wealthy clients and more money. Now you had your own little studio with an apartment on top. It wasn't flashy but it was yours and you loved it. The work you thought was good enough for your new clients would go up on your website, they'd buy them and then you'd send them off to their new home. It was simple and you got to spend every day painting to your heart's content. 

You bit your lip as you mixed two golds together to get the perfect shade you were after. Some of your pieces were weirder than others, others being more realistic or using average colors. Some of them were darker in theme or used more vibrant colors with looser shapes. It was all dependent on how you felt when making it. The one currently being worked on wasn't finished by any means. Oil paint often required many layers and getting it to dry in between time. But if someone was to gauge your mood by this one, well… they'd say you were most likely sexually frustrated. It was a naked woman laying on her back on rumpled sheets, just her torso and a bit of her leg to leave the rest to the imagination. Her male counterpart was pressed up against her as the bodies melded together, his hand gripping her thigh. The colors you'd picked for this were hues of red, orange, yellow and gold, making it look like the couple were set ablaze. The epitome of passion. It was coming along nicely. 

Your work cell rang breaking you from your thoughts. You gave your hand a quick wipe on the ratty towel next to you as you picked it up, answering with your full name. 

"Hi, I'm lookin' for some art and I've heard you're the girl to go to," a smooth voice came through the phone. The fact that someone recommended this guy to you made you smile. It always did. It meant people were pleased with your work. 

"I am. Have you checked the website? That's where my current pieces are," you murmured softly.

"I did but… I haven't really found the one yet. And a friend of mine tells me you've got a bunch of exclusive stuff at your studio," he replied.

You glanced around your studio. He wasn't wrong entirely although you wouldn't call them exclusives. You'd call them rejects if you were honest. Your new clientele were more demanding and it made you second guess your pieces more often than you'd like to admit. This led to many of them finding a home in your studio instead. You were unsure who the man's friend was as typically you didn't have people come to the studio. It was a very rare occurrence and you couldn't imagine him being interested in any of these pieces. But a customer was a customer.

"You're more than welcome to come down and look at them. I'm not sure you'll find what you're looking for though, I've kept them offline because they're in the reject pile," you snorted wryly. His smooth chuckle was soothing as it hit your ears and you nibbled on your lower lip.

"Well I'll be the judge of that," you didn't know what he looked like but you could hear the smirk in his voice. You told him the address before hanging up.

You were a little nervous of someone coming into your space and judging the art you'd already deemed not worth putting up for sale, but you decided to roll with it. It was too late now and it wouldn't be a good look for your business to tell the guy he couldn't come. You decided to continue the piece you were working on to keep your mind occupied, having no idea just when the man would decide to show, or if he would at all. 

It was an hour later when the large wooden door knocked and you called out that it was open. You stood up and wiped your hands on the towel again, not that it helped much. You were sure you had paint on every part of you, it was half the fun of making art. The man walked in and you were a little surprised by just how handsome he was. He was dressed to the nines in a suit with his hair slicked back, the sides shorter than the top. He certainly looked like your usual clients but you couldn't remember any of your fancier clients ever bothering to call you, never mind actually coming to see your other pieces. 

The smile he shot you was disarming and you replied in kind as you walked over to him. You reached out your hand to shake with his before retracting it rapidly when you noticed just how much of a poor job the towel had done. He seemed amused if his chuckle was anything to go by and you snorted.

"Uh… welcome. Feel free to look around. I haven't really got prices for these since I wasn't gonna sell them so I'll settle for whatever," you shrugged with a smile. Anything was better than nothing that you were getting by keeping them here. Besides, you were pretty sure he wouldn't even like any of them. 

You didn't want to crowd him as he looked around so you went right back to your easel and sat on the stool. He walked around leisurely, stopping at each piece and looking at them. Your eyes kept flitting to him without meaning to, you weren't sure if it was how attractive he was or the nerves of having someone assessing your work this way. Maybe both. He didn't strike you as an art kind of guy honestly. Most of the rich clients weren't, they just wanted a statement piece for their walls for people to talk about. There wasn't anything wrong with that of course, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't miss it back as a street artist when people bought a piece simply because it spoke to them and they loved it. Onwards and upwards though, right? 

"So… who's the friend? That told you I had stuff here?" You asked after a moment, unable not to because your curiosity was getting the better of you. He glanced over at you from where he stood and smiled. 

"Curtis," he replied. Your eyebrows raised a little with that information. You'd met Curtis back when you were a street artist and he bought something for the group he was running. He was a nice guy and he checked in every so often with you. You wouldn't say you were friends but you really liked him and you had some good conversations. You couldn't imagine Curtis being friends with this man though.

Noticing the shock on your face, the man chuckled.

"We served together when I was in the marines. He's a good guy, one of my closest friends," he supplied. 

"You were a marine?" You hadn't meant to ask like it was such an absurd notion but it came out anyway. You just hadn't expected it He looked amused though and he nodded.

"Yeah. When I got out I set up my own private military firm, ex military people with no purpose. I give 'em somethin' to fight for. A brotherhood. We're doin' pretty well," he had a bright smile on his face, gesturing to his suit when he said they were doing well and you found yourself smiling back. 

"You must be really proud. It's amazing that you're doing that for them. I mean… I never served or anything but Curtis tells me about some of the guys from his group sometimes. I bet you really help them," you said sincerely. You had no clue what it must be like to serve and you knew you didn't have the stomach for it. But some of the things Curtis had told you had made you sad and you were impressed that the man had set up something like this on his own. Something to help others just like him. He shot you another smile before going back to looking at the artwork and you couldn't take your eyes off him. 

Figuring he'd catch you looking at him, you forced yourself to focus on adding more gold to the art you were working on. You weren't sure how long had passed until he spoke again and it startled you. You'd almost forgotten he was there.

"This one is… interesting. I like this one," he mused, eyes on the work on your easel as he stood beside you. Your cheeks tinged a little pink at the phrasing he used but you recovered quickly. 

"Thanks. I like this one too but… it won't end up on the website. The last erotic piece I put on there apparently offended people," you said with a wry grin. He laughed, the sound low and short but his eyes went to you then. Holy shit, his eyes are… wow. 

"Well it definitely doesn't offend me. How long will it take to finish?" He asked as his obsidian orbs went back to the painting.

"A couple of days at most. It's almost done and then it needs to dry and be sealed," it was nice talking about your work with someone, even as mundane as when it would be complete. You missed that interaction since you got the studio.

"I'll take it. How much?" he flashed you a smile that made your stomach flip around on you and you bit your lip with a smile back. 

"That's up to you," you shrugged. You never bothered putting prices on pieces you knew you wouldn't sell and you hadn't expected to sell this piece. Even the prices on the website felt too much for you but it was born from the first wealthy clients and what they thought your pieces were worth. You just rolled with it, it wasn't like they'd miss it, right? 

He hummed, the sound deep in his throat as he got out his wallet. You mused he must want it mailed to him when it was done for him to pay now rather than later but you were happy it was cash and not card. He handed you some bills and you counted it quickly, eyes widening as you blinked up at him.

"I can't take this. This is more than the pieces online," you frowned, holding out the money back to him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders.

"You said it was up to me," he replied with an easy smirk. Would you really sit there and argue with him about getting more money for it? No. But you were shocked he thought it was worth that much. 

"I… thank you, sir," you smiled, stuffing the money into your pocket. 

"Billy," he clarified, smirk still in place. 

"Billy," you corrected with a shy smile. Something glittered in his dark eyes as you tested the sound of his name and he raked his teeth over his lower lip. Despite the fact you'd already given him your full name on the phone, you gave him your first name again  and he mimicked you as he tested it out. Why did it sound so good coming from his mouth? 

You cleared your throat, his intense stare was getting a little too much and you stood, walking over to the big table against the wall, grabbing a pen and pad. 

"You can leave your details, I can mail it to you when it's done," you handed them to him and he twirled the pen around in his long fingers with ease.

"I'll leave my number. I'd like to come pick it up when it's done, if that's okay?" He asked as he scribbled his name and digits down. 

"Are you sure? It's not an issue shipping it out," you replied as he passed you back the pen and pad. 

"I'm sure. It gives me an excuse to see you again," he smirked, dark eyes boring into yours as your cheeks turned pink. He chuckled and with that he was out the door and you were left stood there gaping where he went. Did he really just…? 

You stood there a moment longer, a smile working its way onto your face before you shook your head and sat back down at your easel. You glanced at the painting before setting to work and getting it finished. You couldn't wait for it to be done so Billy would come back. He was intriguing and you found yourself thinking of him as you continued your work. 

[anxioussweasley]

hi! so i saw you were asking for requests so could i please request a fluff fred au with prompts 9 and 19 from the fluff part of the list? like reader and fred aren't dating but everyone knows they love each other and fred and reader kinda confess to each other while reader braids freds hair (he has it long like in goblet of fire)? some best friends to lovers kinda thing 🥺 thank you in advance, i love your writing!!

Braiding sessions and confessions

9. “Will you braid my hair?”

19. “We’d be a cute couple, don’t you think?”

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, unedited

Word count: 2.1k

Masterlist

A/n: Thank you for the request love! I really hope you like this, sorry I didn’t edit it lol.

“Well, hello love,” Fred greets as he sits next to you in the great hall. His twin following on the other side of the table, sitting across from him. As Fred gets settled he puts his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“Hi Fred,” you mumble as you lay your head on his shoulder. Tired from the long night you spent doing assignments so you wouldn’t have any to do over the weekend.

“You two are gross y’know that?” George rolls his eyes, letting out a small chuckle when you and his twin's faces blush over. Fred retracted his arm from you to flip his brother off and you hurriedly sat up straight again.

“Oh shove off George, I know you're as emotionally stunted as a mandrake root but it is completely normal for friends to be affectionate,” Fred jokes, putting his arm back around you.

George only rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “yeah whatever you say.” His sarcasm radiating off of him.

You just giggle at the boy's antics, before turning back to fixing your breakfast plate.

As you fix your breakfast plate you try to reach across the table to grab the pitcher of pumpkin juice, but before your hand can clasp around the handle, Fred is reaching out and snatching it up with little effort. The boy gives you a warm smile, muttering an “I’ve got it,” before grabbing your cup and filling it up, placing it back down in front of you and filling his own cup.

“Thanks Freddie,” you smile shyly, reaching out for the cup and taking a sip. Small gestures like these were starting to confuse you. Fred was your best friend, so why did your heart flutter when he put his arm around you, or filled your cup for you, or winked at you, or sat by you, or looked at you, or basically existed in the same room as you. Well, you knew why… you just didn’t want to realize it yet.

“Aw what a cute couple,” George teased.

“George, I mean it. Shove. Off,”

“Are you going to hogsmeade today?” George directed at you, while shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.

“I’m not sure. Why?” You answered him, quirking your eyebrow at the question.

“Well, you see,” George started, Fred’s face already becoming hot with embarrassment, “Freddie here got caught while we were pranking filch last night. So he’s been banned from the trip. So I was just curious.” George gives you a knowing look, understanding that even if going to hogsmeade was your greatest wish in life, you would stay at hogwarts for Fred.

“George has already decided he’s going without me, and although I would love to just seek out, McGonagall said if I get caught she’ll be forced to kick me off the quidditch team. So I figured I’d just stay here and relax,” Fred informed. Hoping more than anything that you would offer to stay with him. The truth is he could easily sneak to Hogsmeade, but the idea of spending the day alone with you sounded much more appealing.

“I’ll stay here with you, if you want,” you suggested, heart warming at the thought of spending the day alone with Fred.

“Oh wow I never saw that coming,” George joked, his tongue laced with sarcasm. “You two should just admit you're in love already. You're so obvious even oblivious little ronnikens knows!” George exclaims making a big hand gesture down the table to Ron. Ron sits up straight, his mouth full of eggs, “what?” He questions looking between the three of you. Noticing how close you and Fred are sitting and the blush on your faces he quickly processes what George had said. “Oh, yeah, you two should get a room,” the younger ginger teases before going back to stuffing his face with breakfast. Fred glares at the younger boy for a minute as George quickly finishes his plate and leaves the great hall with Lee Jordan, before you or Fred can respond to his smug remark

A moment passes as you and Fred watch George leave and then you burst into a fit of giggles, “your brother is a real git sometimes.” Fred let out a loud laugh at that, nodding his head.

The two of you continued to eat breakfast, sitting shoulder to shoulder, laughing and joking. After a particularly loud laugh from you at one of Fred’s jokes, you looked around quickly to see if you had caught anyone’s attention. You noticed a group of girls glaring at you, and before you could brush it off as thinking you were annoying, you noticed they weren’t so much glaring at you as they were glaring at Fred’s arm around you. It had happened before. Girls glaring at you and Fred’s closeness, starting jealous rumors about you and Fred’s relationship. You have even had girls rudely ask if you were dating Fred, and when you promptly answer ‘no’, sweetly ask you to put in a good word for them. Despite your growing familiarity with the girls jealous stares. You started to feel uncomfortable as you looked back down at the table, unconsciously scooting away from Fred.

Fred noticed your sudden change in demeanor, glaring in the direction you were just looking, being met with the smug faces of a group of girls. Fred’s frown deepened before turning back to you and lightly bumping your shoulder with his arm. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” His voice was soft, contrasting the glare he sent the group of girls over your shoulder.

“Yeah.” You answered quickly with a small nod. Fred stood up then, and offered his hand out to you, helping you off the bench and slinging his arm back around you as he led you to the Gryffindor common room.

“Sorry about all that,” Fred mumbled as you two strolled through the halls of hogwarts. He hated all the unwanted attention you got from being his friend. He knew his popularity among their peers, particularly their female peers, was a downside to your friendship with him.

“It’s not your fault, actually I’m starting to get used to it, I mean it’s been like this ever since you joined the quidditch team and got away with pranking Snape,” you giggle slightly at the memory of seeing the greasy professor in pink robes.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it,” Fred sighed, “I mean we’re not- '' Fred”

paused, honestly saddened by what he was planning to say. “I guess, well, we’re not even together. They should leave you alone.” He finished, shaking his head, to hide his blushed cheeks behind his hair.

“It’s okay Freddie. really. Honestly I’m more concerned about how long your hairs getting,” you joke trying to lighten the mood.

Fred laughs, giving you a smug smirk, “oh, don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“Trust me, love,” you giggle, “I don’t like it.” You try to finish your statement with a straight face but are unable to control your giggles.

“You wound me,” Fred joked dramatically, holding his hands up over his heart. Well you thought he was being dramatic, really he moved his hands to his chest because his heart felt like it was about to explode at you calling him love.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to bruise your ego there,” you taunt before softening your voice and saying, “I’m just kidding Fred, I do like your hair long, it suits you.”

Fred's face broke into a wide grin as he thanked you before suggesting that the two of you go hang out in his dorm considering that the common room was possessed by a very loud group of first and second years playing exploding snaps.

You and Fred made it up to the dorm room in comfortable silence, the two of you making yourselves comfortable on his bed. Fred pulled out one of the twins' inventions fiddling with it as you mindlessly braided a small piece of your hair.

Fred couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to you, he knew his brother was right, you and him act like you loved each other. Fred knew he loved you, but what if you didn’t love him? He could never risk losing your friendship over something like that. Could never risk losing you, no matter how much he wanted you to know how he felt. He watched you silently hoping you wouldn’t notice as you focused on braiding your hair.

“Ginny use to ask us to do that,” Fred murmured with a chuckle.

“What? Braid her hair?” You answered your own question.

Fred nodded scooting closer to you. “Yeah, all of us tried to learn how, George was good at it, I got the hang of it eventually but Bill was the best, Charlie was okay at it, Percy could do like the special kind. French braiding? Is that what it’s called?” You nodded. “Ron couldn't get the hang of it to save his life, not that he really wanted to.” Fred smiled warmly at the memories of when Bill tried to teach him how to braid Ginny's hair when she asked him. “I don’t even remember how anymore.”

“It’s sweet that you all tried to learn for your sister,” you said as you finished the small braid in your hair.

“Yeah I guess. Will you braid my hair?” Fred mumbled, as he realized that his hair now might be long enough for it.

A big smile spread across your face as you sat up. “Of course Freddie, come here,” you patted the place on the bed in front of you, Fred moving to sit there with his back towards you.

You ran your hands through his hair checking for tangles. “Your hair is so soft,” you giggle, in awe of how soft the ginger's hair was. As you braided Fred’s hair you started humming softly. A warm feeling spreading through you as you realized just how much you wanted to be like this all the time. You wanted to tell Fred how you felt, but you didn’t know how.

Fred was having the same tug of war in his mind. A shiver running down his spine each time your skin brushed his. He loved the feeling of your hands in his hair, he loved having you in his room, in his bed, just being close to you.

“Thanks for doing this Y/n,” Fred mumbled tiredly, your hands softly braiding his hair and the soft humming of your voice making him sleepy. “I’m sorry about my brother earlier by the way, and the girls in the great hall.”

“I already told you it's okay Freddie. And your brother was just teasing,” you answered.

“Yeah but he was right though. We’d be a cute couple, don’t you think?” The words had escaped Fred’s mouth before he could even process what he was saying. His heart dropped to his stomach when you quickly pulled your hands away from his hair.

He sat up straight, quickly turning to you, to gauge your reaction. When his eyes landed on you, you were staring back at him with wide eyes. “You- you think we’d be a cute couple?” You whispered breathless.

When Fred realized that your initial reaction was not automatic rejection, the sinking feeling in his stomach lessened as he decided to summon all the courage he had. “Yeah, I really do. Y/n, George was right when he said I loved you.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what to think. Fred was your best friend and you were in love with him, and here he is confessing to you. You didn’t snap out of your awe until you registered a sad disheartened look crossing Fred’s face. You cursed yourself for being quiet for too long. So you reached out your hands, cupping Fred’s face and bringing him closer to you. “I love you too, Freddie.” And with that you crashed your lips on his.

After the kiss Fred asked you to be his girlfriend, and after you happily accepted, you finished braiding his hair. The two of you lounged around his dorm for the rest of the day holding each other and wishing you hadn’t waited so long to confess.

“I knew it!” George yelled as he entered the room finding you and Fred snuggled up on Fred’s bed. Lee laughed at George’s loud remark. “I swear if you two look me in the eye now and say you're just friends I’m going to lose it!” George exclaimed, making everyone in the room laugh.

“We’re not just friends.”

[beann-e]

Arranged Marriages With Stoic Guys

female pronouns used for this one !

“ y/n you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to “

“ are you stupid of course I have to “ you snapped at your father who stood hovering over you a slight smirk on his face “ eh thought you’d want to hear what you wanna hear “

you scoffed trying to push his arm off your shoulders this was all stupid you didn’t want to do any of this

“ honestly i’m doing what’s best for you y/n you need this — we need this “ he sighed “ I mean don’t you want to help your family and yourself think about how well set up you’ll be “his eyes went stone on yours “ you need this “

you flinched at the way his sureness slipped into his tone there was no way you were gonna get out of this “ no you need this there is no we right now “

his face hardened as he held out his arm for you to grab “ shut up and grab my arm “

“ i’m not going out there with you “

“ yes “ his voice was threatening and quiet “ you are “

“ I said im no— “

“ look you’ve been weighing this family down for years yet, we’ve said nothing— and now you finally have the chance to help us — to show you belong in this world and you won’t ? are you serious “

His face flew up into a look of annoyance “ you have no other purpose than to help us that is why you were born to be shoved into a family rich enough to secure your own and your families needs and now you mean to tell me you don’t want to do what you were created for “

your mouth snapped shut at his claims

“ are you that disgusting that you can’t even help your family “

you felt your body go cold as he continued to press into you

“ you preach how we’re the bad people yet you do evil shit like this“

he scoffed looking down on you “ i feel nothing but pure disgust to even have to go out there and call you my daughter “

he shook his head in disappointment before putting his arm out for you to grab again “ grab it “ his voice raised “ and you better go out there and put on that glorious look of innocence his father liked “

you gulped as he directed you quickly out the doors and draped the piece of fabric that you wore on your head. Placing it over your eyes and walking you down the aisle that had been so beautifully decorated

you were suppose to be getting married today not that you wanted to but, you had to.

you were the only girl in a family full of knuckle headed boys who just weren’t smart enough for an arranged marriage.

This was your fourth time being close enough to being married off though you hated the other 2 there was one that stuck out to you and that was number three

Your third boyfriend was one your family never liked they saw him as disgusting, vile, and too dirty with his language.

To you he was caring and open and rarely ever talked too harshly to you as long as you managed to never piss him off. You were happy with him and he was the only one you could ever see yourself settling down with until he told you He would take care of you and only you.

That was the nail in the coffin when you brought him over to dinner one night and out of the blue he spoke loudly so everyone could hear him “ look — with this whole marriage thing when I do marry your shitty daughter “

his eyes coming over to look at you and sending a look of reassurance your way making sure you knew he didn’t mean it. Them falling back to look at everyone around the dinner table who moved comfortably in their seats not caring how he talked to you as long as they would get to live lavish

“ i’m not taking care of you guys “ he scooped up the leftover food on his plate “ i’m only going out of the way for her and her only — the rest of you are on your own “

he shoveled the food in his mouth speaking carefully and making sure to watch his words knowing how serious he had to be with them in order for him to be heard by your parents “ you guys are using her for money and I don’t like that i’m not taking care of shitty parents and two brothers who act like they can’t even tell me how to spell yen “

him laughing and turning to your eldest brother a small smile on his face “ hey jerk face “

“ uh huh “ your brothers body wiggled in excitement to be acknowledged “ what’s up “

“ spell yen for me real quick “

“ babe don—“

“ shutup needa prove a point for your asshole parents “

“ hmmm “ your brother thought out loud as your other one jumped in the conversation “ hey dude what’s yen anyways “

your boyfriends mouth flying open as he slammed his hand on the table “ actually scratch that — i’m gonna pay for them both to go to elementary school and be two tall ass bodyguards that talk and say dumb shit like this to scare the kids into learning “

he pushed himself out of his chair kissing you softly before leaving the room. The door slamming as your father followed him anger swirling off his body at not only your boyfriends attitude for not wanting to help them but for coming in his house and making a fool of his family

you never got any of what your third boyfriend promised because he never got the opportunity to come back and your father made sure to have you cut off all contact with him.

So lucky you

free wedding , new guy

“ smile “ you felt your face do what you were told immediately as your feet shuffled down the aisle anyone could tell this was painful or at least anyone who actually knew you and not the 100 paid citizens of japan who sat in your wedding chairs

The guy you were marrying is a hero so, you can see how easy this is for him to pay for. He had to keep this little ordeal in the papers but only so, his father could stay relevant or at least that’s how they explained it to you no one explained that this was your e—

“ y/n“ your fathers voice was sharp “ take his hand“ you blinked finally realizing you were at the end of the carefully laid out carpet “ pay attention don’t make us look stupid “

you smiled carefully at the male before you dragged your foot stepping up and using his outstretched hand across from you “ thank—thank you “

it was silent which you immediately understood you knew he felt no need to talk to you ‘ maybe he’s not that into talking in public maybe he’s a private kind of person ‘

yeah he was so private that he said nothing but his I do’s and his occasional mhmm’s when you tried to get to know him with this continuing all night you never got to. This was all set up between his father and your own. you and him had no knowledge you were getting married today from what your father told you

“ so how— how is hero work “ you questioned as you two sat in the busy hall waiting for the doors to open up to allow people outside into the courtyard for pictures “ I hear you are one — a hero I mean “

you looked up to him as he faced forward his mouth making no attempt to move “ what really no it’s that hard ? “ you looked off speaking to yourself “ wouldnt think hero work could ever be hard“

“ did i just witness you ask and answer your own question “

your body shook as you felt heat rise up in your body your temperature high hands starting to feel sweaty “ oh uh “

“ if we have to get you checked for mental health problems i’d like to do so early “ he never broke his gaze from in front of him even when the doors opened “ I do not want to wake up with a knife to my chest or walk in on you talking to your imaginary friend after work “

you face dropped you understanding you were getting no where in communication with this man. You grabbed his outstretched hand and let him weave you carefully through the many people you didn’t know finally he stopped only to grip your hand tightly “ don’t move and wait quietly please“

you nodded your head as you watched him talk to the photographer guessing they were discussing where you were gonna take your pictures

“ hello there y/n “ you heard a booming voice say turning around only to bump square into a hard chest

“ or should I say daughter in law “ his voice scared you it was something about the way he was so sure of himself something felt wrong here

“ oh um do I— I know you “

“ of course you do “ he pointed to your new husband smiling “ you married my son an hour ago “

you shook your head uncomfortable with being left alone with now not only one person you didn’t know but also two plus a room full of people you couldn’t even name “ excuse me if I seem a bit “

“— lost , ditzy, bimbo like “

“ w-what bimbo? excuse me “

“ it’s ok as long as your quirk is as good as your father tells me I am fine with your intelligence level not being up to par my son is fully equipped with the knowledge to take care of a woman and provide like a man should “

“ I-“ you thought for a moment deciding on if you should go all out on the male that stood before you retracting into yourself when you thought of your father

“ oh y/n i know — it’s the bimbo tendencies? yeah here i’ll make it easier for you is there something you wanted to say“

you flinched at the statement smiling and presenting yourself happily as he smirked down on you ‘ he knows what hes doing ‘

“ no no nothing at all “ you said feeling his large hand pat you on your back “ good girl— get over there my sons kinda dense when it comes to talking to people “

you smiled to hold all the hostility in your voice “ yes i’ve seen so much of his density in our one hour together I find myself wondering how he can provide for me without proper communication skills “

the males eyebrow raising at your ability to speak back to an elder “ hmm he suffers with interaction due to lack of affection— childhood trauma as people your age like to say “

his smile tight and not fully reaching his ears “ I do expect that you’ll show him the proper amount of affection no matter if you got dragged into this or not “

you turned on your heel leaving the annoyed male to his own thoughts your hands coming up to interlock over your new ‘husbands’ shoulders “ hi shoto “

he bristled at your touch his shoulder moving to drop your hands as he pretended to stretch his arm in a small circle side eyeing you carefully alerting you to not touch him without permission again before he turned back to the male in front of him voice low “ I do not understand why I cannot take the photos the way I want to “

“ your father sai— “

“ their my spouse ? “ he was direct with everything he said “ it’s my wedding “

you could feel the questioning in every word he said voice low almost threatening the male in front of you “are you going to believe a 90 year old geezer who just found out beating kids is wrong or are you going to believe your beloved pro hero ? “

you could hear the teasing he held at the very end that even made you want to move just as fast as the photographer in front of you and follow after him

“ how do you want to take the photos y/n “ Shotos eyes looked down on you expectedly as you shook your head in confusion ‘ how did I end up picking our poses he wanted to change the generic one that was preplanned‘

you looked into his face as his eyes morphed into a look you couldn’t quite figure out “ i’m guessing you did this for me ? “

he shook his head slightly “ oh so you thought I would want something different from the basic ph— ok um “ you smiled as you turned to the front “ can we just do a um — maybe a hug but he hugs my waist that’s always a pretty marriage picture “

you moved to look back at him as the photographer agreed shoto moving carefully to stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist hesitantly “ you can — it’s ok “ you felt as his shaky arms snaked around and sat in the spot that you guided them to your arms moving over them as your hands tried to soothe his jumpy ones

“ hey calm down “ you laughed “ just a picture — not me waging war on you family “

he looked down on your smiling face his own going through so many emotions not able to tell which one he wanted to show “ at least not the rest of them — your father maybe “ he watched as you turned back around the camera clicking as a genuine look of interest for you passed over his face

“ do you guys want to take another one “

“ um I think we’re good he doesn’t um— he doesn’t seem like a photo- e guy and i’m not very photogenic “

the photographer shook his head in understanding letting out a sigh of relief that he held as you moved to walk off your husbands grip tightening on you “ hey I — you can let go now sh— “

“ do you remember earlier “ he questioned “ when I told you to stay put “

your body flamed as you knew you’d done something wrong immediately feeling like you should try to defend yourself

“ why did you walk off “ his eyebrows furrowed “ how — why did you disobey orders “

“ I just—- I didn’t — your father— he — he came up and he— “

“ either way you didn’t listen you moved from the spot I placed you in” his eyes were staring holes into yours daggers really “so no matter who spoke to you — you were in the wrong “

“ I — it’s my body I can move “

“ yes you can in the spot I placed you “

“ I don’t even know you I don’t have t— “

“ that’s how it works “ his voice roared looking to the ground eyebrows furrowed as he was trying so desperately to understand you “ that is how it works in a marriage you listen to me —when I tell you to do something you do it and when I tel— “

“ no it’s not what — I” your face made up in confusion “ who told you these things —- this is ? i’m not a kid I am your wife now—we’re on two equal playing fiel— “

“ no “ you gnawed at your lip as he waited for a rebuttal seeing as though you had been answering him back after everything he said standing up straighter when he seen your tightly closed mouth “ i’m done with this argument I was just curious of something and you answered it “ he unwrapped himself from your body and turned to leave tugging at his suit

you not knowing wether to follow him or leave him be choosing the first option when he turned over his shoulder and stopped his movement

voice coming out short you were so confused with your new ‘husbands’ behavior he expected almost everything from you as if you could read his mind without words “ sorry — sorry “

he shook his head in understanding as he went to get his car from the valet opening the door for you as he opened his own getting in and setting himself up properly for a nice drive

your back hitting the seat hard when he took off your mind racing thinking this may be punishment for your words and anger towards him earlier.

‘ maybe he’s gonna play fast and furious while i’m In the car to get me to shut up ‘

“ I do not intend to scare you if that is what you are thinking “

he looked into his side mirror as he got over into another lane “ but I do intend to build structure where I see there is none “

you knew you should be quiet right now is not the time to fight for your rights in this new relationship not when he was driving like he’d never heard of a car accident

“ and I am not sure about you but I do feel right now is the best time to set that in place seeing as though I don’t know you and I doubt you even want to know me “

he waited on your answer “ when I stop talking that signifies you may speak “

“ sorry yes— no I do want—want to know you “

“ that’s interesting “ he sat back in the drivers seat as he eyed the road carefully slowing down a bit when taking in your answer “ i’d like to think that we were both forced into this “

“ ye-“

“ but that is simply not true “

your eyes refused to blink “ neither of us were “ he slowed the car down even more as he pulled into an underground parking garage “ you were handpicked by myself because I was asked to find a spouse to spark some uproar in the headlines or else i’d lose my title of number three hero and I am not too keen on giving that up right now with my father being number four and only living to climb the ranks “

he turned his car off as he turned to you “ i do not want to give him that enjoyment— “ he sighed “ you are not necessarily wanted nor needed— the only thing I can ask of you is to uphold this facade out there and i will give you and your family— everything i originally signed to in the contract“

he opened his car door as he stood fixing his suit again “ in here — my house you either follow my set of rules or you will be asked to leave and id honestly hate to ask you to leave “

you heart fluttered so he was interested in you

“ because then i’d have to talk to the media and I do hate when they ask me questions they have the material to supply themselves an answer with “

you heard the slam of the car door as you got out yourself hearing the two beeps from his car when locking it following him up the stairs as your eyes blinked several times

no

no no

no

you followed him up the elevator images flashing In your mind as you looked to the buttons remembering the number all too clear as he stepped out and onto the floor opening the door to the pent house your sweaty hands fiddling with the bottom half of your dress

“ shoto”

“ todoroki inside please my love — also “ he moved to his kitchen stripping off his jacket “ baby goes for me —my love goes for you in or out I don’t care — but do not overuse it — you will only annoy me “

you smiled softly trying to rush to ask your overwhelming question that was buzzing around inyour mind “ baby do you um— by any chance do you happen to have a rooma — “

“ who the fuck left the door open “ you heard the voice your ears had missed so much your body wanting to drop to the floor after hearing it “ shitty icy hot always coming in places and just leaving shit open— it’s like you don’t even know privacy “

“ well that is true I have never been awarded such thing as privacy I was off throwing up on tile after a long hard restless day of beatings “

“tch always so quick to spill your shitty trauma — wheres the bitch you set yourself up to marry “ he scoffed as you heard him nearing the kitchen “ marry for hire I mean “

shoto nodded as if the male could see it closing his fridge making his way over to you pushing you to follow him towards the loud deep voice “ she’s here actually though she’s going to be busy in a moment — you’ll have some time to meet her afterwards I promise “

“ god — if it goes on all night I swear — still can’t believe you hired some weird bitch to marry you and the whor—holy fuck “

Your eyes rose to meet his as you saw the tall blond drop his grenades he held in his gloved hands the loud clang echoing throughout the house “ my god I do ask bakugou if we’re going to stay together due to the department , that you do watch how you mess up our house , you have free range to destroy anything you want inside your own room “

“ shut —shut the fuck up ice tray“ his eyes narrowed on yours as he pointed at you “ this is the — the bitch you went to marry today — the one you picked out “

“ yes — I — is there a problem “ shoto turned to look you up and down “ though I did suspect some mental health challenges earlier i’m sure you can’t notice them up front right “

bakugous body shivered as he took a step back from you his body prepared to run

“ bakugou i’ve never seen you this “ your grip tightened on your dress pulling it up in the back hand dipping low to grab at your cell phone knowing you would have to call for help if he decided to be the bakugou you knew and kill you your ears listening closely as shoto spoke “ this afraid it’s quite eventful “

“ you— you dumbass “ he kept his eyes on you “ get the fuck out this isn’t the place for you— go back to your run down shitty cottage or something “

shoto stood confused as bakugou ran to grab you his hand tight on your arm his body stopping eyes made up in sadness face dropping as he felt himself wanting to scream and cry all at the same time. Hand only gripping harder onto your figure

“ what is the meaning of this —- I find this disgustingly rude — bakugou “

he shook his head eyes dropping to the floor your heart breaking he won’t even look at you that’s how bad your father screwed things up for you

Him pushing you away from him and towards the door as he spoke low hurt and pain ripping through his voice “ she’s gotta go “ his body moving to walk away “ now “ he screamed “ unmarry her or some shit—I don’t wanna see that bitch when I come back out here “

“ katsu— “

“ don’t you dare say my name not like that not with tears in your fucking eyes and sounding all sad and shit the last time you said it was the best time dont make me forget that shit “

your body shook in fear as his eyes weighed heavy on you shotos voice pouring out “ god bakugou please what are you saying your just being a bit of an— excuse my language my love but an — asshole aren’t you ? “

his body stalling when he thought back to a few moments ago “ wait how — how do you know his name “

your heart broke as you looked between the two men.

Just your luck that you would have to choose between a man who would most likely give you nothing but pure gentle love and supply your family the same only for one small thing in return or one that you missed so much every night you went to sleep

then again you would have no choice but to be married to someone that you’d already signed away your life to in a binding contract that stated your family and yourself would be very well taken care of and who were you to choose love over protection ?

[misterewrites]

Threads of Fate 2: Electric Boogaloo (Jason Todd X reader)

Hello everyone, E here with another story! this time it’s part 2 for the story i wrote for my good friend @hains-mae last year for her birthday! so naturally it’s her birthday again cuz that’s how they work! Red Hoodie X reader. I hope you all have an amazing week. I will be trying to write my original story and post it sometime this/next week but we’ll see what happens. Stay safe, take care of yourself, for the love of all that is holy stay inside! wear masks! PLEASE! GET THE FLIPPING VACCINE IF YOU CAN!

E out, byeeeeeee! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAE!

Here’s both parts conveniently in one place for you (cuz tumblr hates me and my tags)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955270/chapters/73737858

“Romeo and Juliet? You’re so cliché that troupes are rolling their eyes at you.”

I shoot him a dirty glare “Says the guy that has Pride and Prejudice in his jacket pocket. Yeah yeah” I cut him off before he begins to throw out excuses “I know you say it’s thick enough to stop bullets but you’re not fooling me. You love some classic romance.”

“You’re no Lizzy Bennet” he grumbles behind his mask.

“And you no Mr. Darcy yet I tolerate you all the same.”

“It’s for my charming personality.”

“Certainly not for your face.” I playfully throw back “Smooth, featureless and red isn’t exactly my type.”

“I’m surprise you have a type given your lack of taste in books.”

I roll my eyes “Oh great now the former crime lord is giving me crap about my tastes in book.”

He rose his hands in surrender “Hey, that was my edgy phase.”

“Was? You’re still dressing like a goon from indie action film.”

“You kidding? Goons wish they looked this good.”

“I don’t think any respectable goon would shop at the thrift store.”

“Low blow. Low blow.”

I give the costumed vigilante a sideways smile as we settle into a comfortable silence.

It’s been about two years since Red Hood decided to intrude my quiet life (well as quiet as life could be in Gotham) and we have developed this strange friendship.

Every moment he wasn’t on patrol or at a briefing (coughfamilymeetingcough) he spent here. At first, I thought it was just him checking up on me like some overburdening mother worried their child couldn’t handle a minute in the backyard but I soon realized this became some sort of haven for him, a place for him to just exist. Not quite relax and let his guard down but just to be. No appearances of brutality to keep up, no disappointed glances from his estranged father figure. Just him picking on me because he’s a jerk.

But then again so am I.

I nervously glance at the red string tied snugly around my finger. It pulled off to the side though not too much further from me as its other end was wrapped around Red’s finger.

Strings of fate mom used to call it. My power to see the threads of destiny tying two people deeply together. At first I thought it was love or something junk like that but now I’m thinking maybe it just leads you to someone you need and someone that needs you back.

Or maybe it is love, what do I know? All I know about my power is it makes walking the streets harder than it needs to be. Ever see those old pictures of cities with powerlines just in every freaking direction? The strings are at least ten times worse than that! Luckily they’re not real? Well more an abstract concept that I see and not physical and you know what don’t worry about it.

“So” Red spoke up after a moment “Hungry?”

“After you insulting my taste in books?” I gave a fake pout “Starving. Oh shoot, I forgot to go to the store.”

Red chuckled “You didn’t forget, Penguin decided to try to extort it for protection money.”

“Oh” I blush in embarrassment “Right.”

“And you fell back asleep.”

I waved him off “Sometimes you just wake up, see the news and decide it’s not worth it.”

“I never get to sleep in.” Red rose to his feet “but honestly I’ve always had trouble sleeping.”

The nightmares. He mentioned it once in an off hand comment when he asked me why I toss and turn at loud noises. Gotham just does that too you. Eventually you learn to get ready to bolt at any loud noises over 190 decibels. Fun fact, that’s the noise level of a shotgun fired by your ear or a rocket taking off.

Or Joker laughing on the roof of your apartment building. Let me tell you, nothing’s louder than that madman. Thunder sounds like cats and dogs once you hear the Joker’s manic chuckle just a few feet away from you. One time years ago and I can still feel the chills run down my back whenever I think of it.

“So are you going to order pizza or what?” I asked quizzically “Since you’re aware I don’t have any in the fridge.”

I could practically hear the sarcasm dripping in every word out of his mouth as he held a bag of groceries aloft “I was trained by Batman. I’m always prepared.”  

Batman. Whatever his relationship with the dark knight currently is, he always spoke of him with a soft, gentle voice. A quiet pride that out of everyone in the world, the Bat chose him. But with that pride was a hint of shame. Everyone knew Red Hood hadn’t exactly made it easy on the old bat and while Hoodie was changing his ways, there was still some friction between them.

I didn’t say anything though. No point. He knew where he stood with his father figure and bringing it up would just make him sully. Besides I was way too curious to know how good of a cook he was.

I marveled in an awe silence as he expertly placed the various ingredients across my messy counter. He chuckled to himself as he cleared it to make space for dinner. I could feel my cheeks burn.

Watching him was oddly mesmerizing: His movements were precise yet graceful for someone with his build. He glided across the floor effortlessly, smoothly dicing whatever he brought one moment then by the time I blinked, he was warming up the frying pan by the stove.  

Soon an incredible smell filled the air while the sizzling of meat practically had me drooling.

“Your chin.” Red motioned to my lip with a spatula. I brought up my hand and flinched at how moist it was. Okay so it was drool. Sue me! You’d be drooling too if you had to deal with waiting for whatever heavenly meal he was cooking, okay?

Desperate to change the subject, I piped up “Should be I concern how well you handle that knife?”

He gave a casual wave with said instrument  “I hold the power of destruction and creation in my hand.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

Red coughed loudly “I’ve trained with various weapons knives included. You’d be surprised how much overlap happens between cooking and weapons handling.”

“Right. Sure. That’s a totally normal statement.”

“What about me” He gestured to himself “Is normal?”

“Fair point.” I conceded.

-----

“Am I forgiven?”

I grumbled a half answer as I tried not to let on how delicious this meal was. I don’t make the best money and let me tell you before this the fanciest thing I ever ate was some overpriced pasta from some restaurant chain.  This easily beat anything I have ever tasted except mom’s cooking but I hadn’t had that in years.

Red snorted, his voice smooth and melodic not filtered through some robotic alternation. I didn’t really had a dining room or a dinner table so we sat comfortably on my couch, tv playing some nonsense in the background as we both took in the sight of the city beyond my modest window. The lower part of his mask retracted backwards via some kind of high tech witchcraft and allowed him to eat his food without needing to show the rest of his handsome face.

I mean I think it was handsome. I assumed it was handsome given I accidentally figured out who was under the whole persona he set up for himself. I never told him that I knew though I suspect he knew that I figured it out. He was smart even if he acted like an idiot and it really was for the best. Plausible deniability. If I never asked, he never needed to answer.

“You know if you want me to cook again, you need to forgive me. Otherwise I’m not gonna waste my time anymore.” Red threatened with a tease.

I let out an exasperated groan “Fine, fine! It’s good. It’s the best food I’ve ever had! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Naturally. Though I could never compete with Alfred. He has no equal in the kitchen. Better than my brothers though. They can’t cook to save their lives. Tim practically lives on fast food.”

I stopped shoving food into my maw as an icy chill ran through my body. The comfy silence that filled my humble apartment turned tense.

One of those names I could pretend away: Tim? Alfred? Every day common names. But together? Tim AND Alfred. Everyone knew every member of the Wayne family because they were the only rich family in Gotham who didn’t want to screw everyone else over. And he brought up his brothers. That was the final nail in the coffin.

I put down my fork slowly. I could feel myself breath heavily but I refused to see him. I refused to meet his mask with nothing but my own shocked reflection to look back at me.

“I know you know who I am.” He said simply.

I could feel the syrupy urge to look at him ebbing at my resolve.

I swallowed uneasily “What now? What happens to me?”

‘Us’ I left unasked.

Silence.

“I don’t know”

I tried to calm my breathing but I could feel panic grip at me: Does this mean he’s not going to come anymore? Does this mean I have to go into witness protection? Is Batman going to scold me?!

“But I want to.”

I couldn’t help myself. I turned to him and for one of the few times in my life I was left speechless.

I was not staring at Red Hood. I found myself not looking at the smooth, featureless mask I had grown accustom to these last two years but Jason Todd.

Out of all of Bruce Wayne’s children, Jason was the one who seemed to just fall off the face of the Earth. There was a rumor he had died a few years back but those were debunked when he appeared without warning, just walking the streets of Gotham like he went on an extended vacation.

There wasn’t too many pictures of the enigmatic Mister Todd but that quick glance I had gotten forever ago did not do him justice: He was my age. His eyes were a piercing blue that I did not know could be that shade. I know it’s cliché but I felt like he was staring directly into my soul. His face was rugged, rough but still handsome. His hair was a messy jet black but there was few streaks of white that looked too natural to be dyed.

“I….didn’t see anything?” I offered helpfully, giving him a chance to put the mask on and pretend this none of this ever happened.

His nose wrinkled as he gave me a playful scoff. I could feel my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

“I’m not that ugly. Better looking than Dick.” he joked playfully.

“I dunno. Dick’s got the better ass.” I mumbled out, still too caught guard from the whole reveal.

“But I got the muscles.”

“Yes you do.” I eyed his body carefully then flushed a bright pink.

That knocked me out of my stupor.

“Are you sure you want me to know?” I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice “I mean I didn’t mind pretending I didn’t know.”

“I do.”

His face soften and for a moment he didn’t look like Jason Todd, wayward son of Bruce Wayne or the Red Hood, moral gray compress of the batfam.

He just look like a regular guy who needed someone.

Evidently me it seemed.

I took a calming breath and offered my hand. He stared at me like I’m crazy but I kept it outstretched.

He took it gingerly and shook carefully, still unsure what was going on.

“Hello Jason Todd.” I beamed cheerfully “It’s nice to meet you!”

He said nothing, instead opting to smile softly.

“Nice to meet you too.”

I stared at the metaphysical string that tied us so neatly together.

I have never seen it that red before. And has it always been that thick?

I wonder what that means.

Eh, it’s probably nothing. I had other things to worry about.

[love-dreams]

days a-laughing

vernon/reader | long distance!au | bittersweet, fluff, crack

synopsis: the days over the phone were still filled with laughter between the two of you.

content: kinda angsty actually, a lot of bad jokes and puns, clubbing and alcohol consumption, fluff ending, overwatch game, joy from red velvet

wc: 3k

note: thank you for 100 followers!! i can’t believe it, reading my own fics is so cringe for me and i can’t comprehend how 100 people liked my work enough to follow me. thank you and i will continue to work hard and improve. 

Day 1

“Hey..” Vernon murmured. 

“Yeah, Vern?” you whispered back.

“The phone hurts against my cheek, baby. What do I do.”

You snorted against the pillow, tilting the bright screen towards you, illuminating your exhausted face. “Maybe we should just hang up now. You’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow anyway..”

Through the horrible lighting and quality of the video call, you could still make out Vernon shaking his head, mumbling out, “I can’t. I can’t sleep without you here.” 

You smiled tiredly, feeling a prick of heartbreak at the lengths the two of you would go just to see each other. “I know babe, but you’re going to have to manage, okay? You need to sleep now, I’m hanging up now Vernon, goodnight.”

Once you heard a muffled, “Goodnight” come from his side as well, you promptly pressed the red button, and set your phone down on the dresser beside you.

Sighing, you rolled over onto your back, arms and legs splayed out across the entire expanse of the bed with a thin blanket covering your body. 

The bed felt so much larger without Vernon sleeping beside you. 

Day 2

“It’s raining a lot over here,” you remarked one day, watching the water droplets stream down the glass window of your dorm room. 

“Yeah, it’s like...really wet.”

“How would you know? You’re not standing outside are you?”

Vernon hummed, “It’s wet inside my brain. With all my brain juices, you know?”

By the end of his sentence, you were already reeling over in laughter, clutching your stomach as rolls of laughter came out of your mouth. 

“Oh my gosh, Vern, you are so lame,” you said in between bouts of laughter. “What the heck are ‘brain juices?’” You finally caught your breath after tears starting pricking at the edges of your eyes, sucking in deep gulps of air to even out your breathing. You could hear hoarse laughter from his side as well.

“I’m glad I could make you laugh.”

You smiled at Vernon, throwing the bed covers over you as you got comfortable. You stretched out your legs, settling into your plush pillows even more. 

“You always make me laugh,” you whispered.

Day 3

Vernon was busy on this day, so the two of you didn’t have a chance to call. Instead, you texted him, “Good luck on your performance!” and watched the live stream by yourself on the couch with proud tears prickling at your eyes.

Day 4

Vernon had just finished up his first performance, so you decided to go out with some friends in the evening instead of calling him. You figured he was probably exhausted and needed some of that well-deserved sleep. 

You dressed up for the first time in months and went out into a club. Checking your reflection in the mirror, you twirled a bit in your outfit, feeling dolled up and confident. 

Would Vernon like this? You automatically thought, turning your body sideways to look at your exposed back. 

Smiling at the thought of your dorky boyfriend, you nodded confidently, grabbing your things to head out of the door. 

“Y/N!”

You looked around at the sound of your name, trying to pinpoint the location of your friend.

“Girl, over here!” 

You laughed at Joy waving her arms from the bar, taking long strides toward her. 

“Oh, you look so pretty, Y/N,” she commented as you sat down, evoking a soft blush to overcome your face. 

“Look in the mirror, Joy,” you laughed. 

Joy winked flirtatiously, “I know, I’m absolutely beautiful.” 

The two of you sat together for a while, making light-hearted conversation before ordering some drinks. The bartender slid you your shots and you firmly gripped it, staring at the amber liquid. 

Joy raised her glass, clinking it with you, before downing it in one shot. You did the same, copying your friend. 

“So how’s it going with Vernon?”

You blinked, a little taken aback at the sudden question. “Oh, we’re fine. He just went overseas for a tour actually.”

Joy nodded, “Yeah, Seventeen’s really getting out there, huh. Well, I’m glad that the two of you have communication, y’all are a good couple.”

You nodded shyly, reaching for another drink. “Let’s not talk about boyfriends, and just have a little fun, shall we?”

Joy blinked before heartily agreeing, “Yes ma’am!”

Day 5

“Arghh,” you groaned, smashing your face back into the pillow. You reached blindly for your phone, raising it closer to you due to your blurry vision.

5 missed calls from Vernon

You called him back, flopping back onto the mattress, arms and legs widely spread. 

“Y/N?”

“Who else,” you groaned, flipping your body back to your original position again. 

Vernon chuckled, “Joy told me that you two went out. If you can’t take your alcohol, you shouldn’t have started drinking anyway.”

You snuggled deeper into your pillow, whining out, “Yes, I can. Plus, we got home alright, so no worries.”

You hear Vernon sigh on the other side of the line, “Nah, you can’t drink.”

“Can too!”

“Then why the hell are you so hungover?” Vernon laughed, teasing you.

You propped yourself up, pointing drunkenly at the phone, “Hansol Vernon Chwe, once you come back to Korea, I’ll show you!”

Vernon roared with boisterous laughter, “A drinking match? You?”

You snorted, snickering as well. “Yes me, dummy, who else would drink with you?”

“Okay, whatever you say. Take care of yourself Y/N, take some painkillers too. I’m going to hang up now.”

You nodded sleepily, “Goodnight, Vernon.”

“Y/N...it’s morning.”

Day 6

Your eyes shot open at the sound of your alarm, body tensing as rigid as a board. Your head throbbed with an incessant headache, but it wasn’t unbearable. You mentally thanked Vernon for reminding you of the painkillers. Reaching over for your phone, you realized that it was the sixth day of tour for Vernon, meaning that there was still a concert going on on the other side of the world. 

As you got ready and made breakfast, you scrolled through your social media to find the concert videos, clicking on them to watch your boyfriend perform. Watching the passion and energy in Vernon’s eyes automatically evoked a smile tugging at your lips even in the early morning.

Sending Vernon a, “Good job!” text, you headed out of your apartment for the day.

Day 7

Vernon was too exhausted from the tour to check his phone for your texts.

Day 8 

“I can’t believe it’s already been a week,” you whispered.

Vernon nodded, chewing on his takeout, “We’re going back to Asia soon though, and then Korea.”

You smiled bittersweetly, “Only 20 more weeks to go! You got this baby.”

“...”

“Vernon?”

“You searched that up didn’t you?”

Day 13

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how can you be so bad at Overwatch. It’s actually insane.”

Vernon made a strangled-type noise over the phone, not bothering to refute your statement. 

“You’re hacking,” he irritably retorted after another round, eyebrows scrunching up in frustration. 

You laughed, setting the controller aside after the home screen popped back up. Reaching to turn off the monitor, you leaned back into the couch. 

Hearing your silence on the other end, Vernon quickly piped up, “That was a joke, Y/N. Don’t take it so seriously.”

You smiled at the blinking phone beside you, retracting your legs onto the couch. You curled up in a ball, head resting on top of your knees. 

“I know, Vern. I just miss playing with you.”

“But you are playing with me.”

“You know it’s not the same.” 

“Yeah..” Vernon trailed off. “20 more weeks did you say?”

You nodded, humming slightly. 

“The last few weeks will be in Korea, so you don’t have to worry, you’ll see me earlier than 20 weeks.”

You didn’t respond, eyes fluttering shut. “Please come back soon, Vernon. I miss you.”

Day 17

“So, how was it?”

You smiled at Vernon’s face through the screen. He looked tired and exhausted, but his signature dimpled smile refused to be overshadowed. 

“Amazing. And that’s just the first concert, I can’t wait for the rest.”

You nodded along with him, “I watched the first one actually.”

Vernon grinned wider at you, “How was it? Did I look handsome on camera?”

You giggled, “Nah, sorry but my focus was on Soonyoung.”

He pouted, “Ouch, you can go facetime Soonyoung then.”

You looked down at your fiddling hands, anxiety racking through your body. “You’ll come back right?”

Vernon tilted his head, “What do you mean ‘come back?’ Of course I’m going back to Korea, I live there.”

You nodded, shaking off your shoddy worries, “Yeah, sorry. I’m being stupid.”

Vernon huffed, “Yeah, you are being stupid if you thought that I wasn’t going back to my beautiful, amazing, kickass girlfriend.”

You winked flirtatiously, “Any more?”

“Video game hacker.”

“Oh my gosh, Vernon, I said I wasn’t cheating!”

Day 18

“I just realized that you never said it back the other night.”

“What?”

“What kind of amazing boyfriend I am.”

You snorted, “Okay, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Vernon rolled onto his back to hold up the phone above his face, “Well, it is night and hearing your voice will help me sleep.” 

You winked at Vernon, “Come on, Vern, you already know what I’m going to say.”

Vernon pouted up at you until-

“Oof!”

You burst out in laughter, watching the phone fall onto Vernon’s face and his exclamation of pain afterward. Clutching the side of the table, you covered your face with your hand, trying to hide the laughs wracking your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the phone stabilize in Vernon’s hands

“Shut up, Y/N. I’m in pain!”

You doubled over, holding the phone closer to you so Vernon could see you laughing in his face. 

“Shaking my head, Y/N, honestly.”

You held out a hand in front of you as a pause button, then slowly tried to even out your breathing.

“Okay I swear- I swear I’m okay now. I’m okay.”

“Whatever,” huffed Vernon, “Well, my face isn’t okay.”

Day 24

“It’s your 3-week old grave,” you said sorrowfully, wiping at your eyes. “It’s such a tragedy, seriously. We miss you lots and hope you are having a blessed life in the unknown.” Tissues littered your blankets and you were dressed in your comfiest pajamas. “I won’t ever forget you, I promise.”

“... Y/N did you actually throw me a funeral made of my Guardians of the Galaxy movies?”

You giggled, breaking out of character, “I’m bored and I didn’t lie, I do miss you.”

Vernon sighed, running a hand through his sandy-blonde locks. You could see the shadows of a lamp casted onto his face and the eye bags present under his eyes. He seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, staring at something beyond the phone.

“Yoohoo? I know I’m very romantic with my words but you don’t have to be so starstruck.”

In a second his eyes were back onto the screen, a lazy grin spreading across his face. Vernon yawned and leaned back on the headboard.

“Of course I’m starstruck. My beautiful girlfriend said she misses me. How could I not be?”

“...”

He cheekily smiled, “Get roasted, I love you too.”

“Vernon, what the hell? That’s not even the right- You know what? No you.” 

Day 56 

“Do you miss me?” you murmured, “We’re not even halfway through and I’m already tired.”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about studying for exams or tour.”

You groaned, lightly slamming your face into your open textbook. “Maybe I’m talking about both, I’m very good at multitasking, you know.”

Vernon chuckled, “Is that why you called me at,” he checked his phone, “1:00 in the morning?”

You huffed, straightening up to look straight into Vernon’s eyes. “Don’t expose me.”

“Bye! Love you and good luck on your exams, don’t stay up too late!”

Day 62

You collapsed onto your bed the minute you arrived back at your university dorm. It had been an exhausting, sleep-deprived week of finals and you had finally been liberated from your responsibilities as a student. 

Reaching to grab your phone, you noted that it was only 5:00 in the afternoon, leaving you with a couple hours of spare time before your routine check in with Vernon. 

“Well what am I going to do now,” you muttered to yourself. 

Checking the time again, you sighed and reluctantly sat up on your bed, checking your roommate’s room first before heading into the kitchen. You sluggishly opened the refrigerator, rifling through the assortment of foods in there before grabbing a yogurt and shutting the refrigerator door. 

You changed into a comfortable set of pajamas, sighing in content when you leaned back into the plush pillows on top of your bed. 

“Good job on being such a mature and responsible adult,” you congratulated yourself, licking your lips as you tore off the plastic sealing of the yogurt. You opened your computer and settled on a classic Marvel movie. Too bad Vern’s not here, you thought, a twinge of sadness striking your stomach. 

In the midst of binging the series, your phone started ringing, causing you to pause your movie and reach over to grab it. 

“Y/N?”

“You interrupted me and my love, what do you want?”

Vernon paused, confusion wracking his head. “Your what now?”

“And we were just getting to the good part!”

Vernon was speechless from shock for a second before regaining his senses. “Oh? Tell me more.”

You sighed dramatically, “Me and my baes were just chilling before you rudely interrupted us!”

Vernon snorted, “Y/N, first off, I can see the Netflix tab on your computer. Second, how could you watch a Marvel movie without me? I thought that was our thing?”

You moaned out loud, dropping your poor facade. “Sorry baby, but I’m bored and you just woke up and I’m finally done with exams.” 

Vernon groaned too, wiping his face with his dry hands. His hair was a mess, like a bird’s nest with all its twigs sticking out. 

You inspected him, “Did you even brush your teeth?”

Vernon stayed silent, peeking through his fingers mischievously. “Maybe?”

You let out a groan, closing your laptop shut and wagged your finger at the screen in mock disgust. “Hansol Vernon Chwe, next time call me after you’ve freshened up.”

Vernon let go of his hand, a grin present on his face. “Whatever, I’m handsome either way.” 

You smugly smiled, “Sure baby, now go brush your damn teeth.”

Day 107

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath, hands frantically turning over furniture in your dorm, panicked adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Hey, Wendy, did you see my phone anywhere?”

Your roommate popped her head out of her room, “Did you check the bathroom?”

You threw your head back in embarrassment, “Oh my god you’re right, I am literally so dumb.”

Wendy chuckled softly before closing the door.

You rushed out of your dorm with all of your things, hurrying into the cab. It was the one hundred and seventh day of living without your boyfriend and truth be told, you were far too ready for it to end. By now you were aching to feel the arms of your boyfriend wrapped around you and the warmth of his body beside you. You missed the movie marathons and the silly inside jokes the two of you shared. 

Sighing, you took out your phone, scrolling through your latest messages with the members. 

“11:25,” you murmured to yourself, “Terminal B.” 

When the taxi pulled to a stop, you eagerly stepped out, searching frantically for the large bold letters. When you finally noticed the sign, you quickly weaved around the swarms of people and suitcases, walking through the sliding doors into the heated airport. 

You pulled out your phone and called Vernon’s phone number. You stood motionless in the tornado of noise and chaos around you. 

You heard him pick up: “Y/N?”

You took in a deep breath, “I’m at the terminal, I’m freaking out, what do I do.”

“Wait, are you at the entrance? I’ll go find you.”

“Okay,” you meekly answered, still a little overwhelmed by all the movement around you. “Wait,” you brusquely cut.

“Yeah?”

“Stay on the phone, just in case I get lost I have you.”

Vernon chuckled and you could hear the background noise of footsteps. “You’re not going to die in the airport Y/N. Worst comes to worst we’ll have the security search for you.”

You physically shuttered at the thought, choosing to bide your time by leaning against one of the airport’s pillars, trying to shield yourself from the crowds of people. “Nah, just let me die of embarrassment then. That’s what moms looking for their four year old kids do.”

You could only hear his short breaths on the other side of the phone mixed in with the ambience of the airport. You exhaled disappointedly at his lack of a reaction, picking at the fabric of your jacket. “Vern, you there-”

“Y/N!”

Suddenly you heard the shout of your name. You looked up in surprise, almost dropping your phone.

Then you saw him. Bundled in a scarf with his jacket hanging over his arm, was Vernon. He was still holding his phone as well, his other hand pulling his suitcase along with him. The morning sunlight hit his face perfectly, making his sandy locks glow in the sun. He had a beaming smile on his face, small dimples present with crescent eyes. It was like a scene from a drama, even though there were people rushing past the two of you, they were all blurred out of focus. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion afterward. You don’t notice the first teardrop gliding down your skin until Vernon cups your cheek gently, brushing it off with his thumb. 

He stared lovingly into your eyes, “Missed me?”

You buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face, “Always.”

[austarus]

Nash Wells x Reader The Beguilement of Barry Allen

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @moonymartell​

*Yes, I’ve finally gotten around to writing for Nash. Ya’ll are really in for a treat~ Back to studying for my Medical School Admissions exam. Wish me luck

Word Count: 3870

“Ah!” Nash yelped, recoiling from your touch.

“Sorry,” You cringed at his wincing, placing the H2O2-soaked cotton ball back on the cuts on the side of his face. Ragdoll really did a number on the geological explorer earlier that night. You proceeded with patching Nash up with the first aid kit that you kept at home. Sanitizing the cuts on his arm, you made sure to roll up his sleeves to remain comfortably around his elbow. “I told you it would sting.” I mean, hydrogen peroxide is a powerful liquid formula to eradicate bacteria on cuts and wounds. The pain just means that it’s working.

“Anything from Barry on Joe?”

“No, last I heard was that Joe was transport safely out of the city.”

Nash ran a hand through his brown hair, his body aching with every movement. You handed him some pain medication and a bottle of water to help alleviate the pain reverberating throughout his body. “Good, I’m just happy that- that contortionist meta’s put away. I don’t know what I would have done if I knew he got away.” You knew what he was referring to.

“Tonight, you did your best- protecting her from Ragdoll.”

“He still ended up getting to Allegra, knocked her out and everything. If only-”

“Nash,” You cupped his face gingerly to get him to fully look at you. He stopped rambling at the softness in your voice, “that mind of yours can go on for years on the ‘what if’s’ of every situation with Allegra and her safety, but the results will end up being the same.”

“Did… Did I not do enough?”

A heartbroken look crossed through his blue eyes as he lowered his face slightly in your gentle grasp. His sullen expression crushed your heart, but you stood strong. For him. “No, Nash. You did everything in your power. Allegra… She just needs to recognize that she can’t just judge or be angry at you without understanding your reasoning on why you kept her doppelganger a secret.”

“I-I want to explain everything to her, but she-”

“I know. You just… need to give her some more time, I guess. As frustrating as that sounds. Patience just seems to be the key now. Allegra will have to look at this like an adult.” Rather than acting out every time he tried to interact with her. Honestly, it frustrates me.

“Not gonna stop?”

“Never.”

“You Wells men and your stubborn attitude.” You started putting the equipment of the first aid kit away, mentally noting that you’d have to bandage him right before bed as to not waste supplies. “Have you asked Harry?”

“For what? About Allegra?”

“Yeah? Has he not told you about Jesse?”

“I don’t- really like hanging around Harry too much… in my mind. If anything, it’s a miracle if I can get some peace and quiet. They’re all so rowdy.”

You giggled at his quieting voice with each statement he made. “Jesse was Earth-2’s own Flash. Incredibly bright and determined like her father, but so high-spirited. She was truly a force to be reckoned with, especially with all of us with her.” You sighed, retracting your hand as you spoke about the young speedster. Nash gingerly held your hand, knowing that you were close with the two Earth-2 beings. “Harry’s a father too. You never know when his advice can actually swing things around for your approach to handling Allegra.”

“I know she’s not Maya. Allegra’s her own person, but… I can’t help but feel the need to protect her. I wasn’t able to protect Maya, even after all those years of taking her in and keeping her around.”

“This is your penance for Maya?”

Nash nodded, you gave him a sympathetic smile as he answered you, “I can work through the fact that Allegra can hate me, but I will never be able to live it down if I let anything happen to her.” His blue eyes seemed to pierce right through you, rubbing his thumb over the patch of skin on the back of your hand. “Or you.” Your breath hitched a bit.

“Don’t worry you about me. I can handle myself just fine.” You grinned with twinkling eyes and rouge cheeks. “Besides, a charming adventurer gave me one of these in case I needed to make a hasty escape.” You pulled out the smoke bomb he had given you. Nash smiled proudly to himself that you opted to keep what he had given you.

“I should teach you how to make them, it’s fairly easy.”

“Maybe when we don’t have a secret organization backed by one of the biggest and richest labs in the city trying to kill us. Then you can teach me whatever you want.”

You pecked his lips causing the brown-haired man to cheekily smile down at you. “As long as I get more of those, precious.”

“Deal.” You stood up and stretched out both hands to the taller man, curling your fingers to him. Nash took your hands and allowed you to pull him up, towering over you. You tilted our head to the direction of your bedroom. “Now let’s go get ready for bed. I think a shower and beauty sleep is long overdue.”

“Babe, you shower every night though.” Nash quirked a confused eyebrow at you.

“I know. Want to shower with me?”

“No,” the Wells doppelganger deadpanned. Never again. “You turn up the water all the way and it made me feel like I was swimming in one of the deep, rocky pockets of lava within the pits of Hell. I thought my skin was going to melt off my body.”

You blinked at Nash as the both of you entered your bedroom. “I’m not even going to ask why you know and vividly described the environment in Hell. Anyway, I get really cold and the heat helps with it.”

“How do you not feel like you’re getting suffocated from the steam?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, the heat just feels really nice on my skin.” You pointed to the bathroom connected to your bedroom. “Why don’t you shower first?” You normally take quick showers anyway.

“With pleasure,” Nash padded towards the drawers that kept some spare clothes he leaves at your place when he plans to sleep over. You flopped onto your bed, mentally pulling out your change of clothes while he had entered the bathroom for his shower. The days that Nash doesn’t stay the night usually ends up with you cuddling up to a pillow in bed while wearing his shirts or long-sleeves. Goodness, you love the way his cologne and earthy musk mixed together to cling on his clothes. Nash, of course, knew of your secret guilty pleasure, but makes no complaint of it.

You blinked your eyes languidly a few times, the sounds of rushing water soothing you. One thing you noticed was that Nash doesn’t really wear any suits or dress shirts, a stark contrast to the other Wells doppelgangers you’d met. Curiosity fluttered around within you as you attempted to conjure up an image of him in a suit tailored to his own tastes. Nah, that won’t work either. Maybe formal wear just isn’t for him? I mean, I’ve yet to actually see him in casual wear either. Getting bored, you started flipping through your phone before settling on Netflix. You knew you shouldn’t be starting a new series with Nash over, but damn were you tempted to start ‘The Umbrella Academy’. And that’s exactly what you did while Nash showered.

In less than 10 minutes, Nash had finished up. Upon exiting the misty bathroom, he found you laying on your bed with your legs kicking in the air as your upper body inclined on a pillow with your phone propped up on another. Hair mused up messily than it had been all night. A soft smile plastered itself onto his face as he dried his hair. The taller man could only guess that you gave into Cisco and Barry’s whining on starting a new TV series. Tapping on your screen, you paused the pilot episode. You turned your head when you noticed his figure step into the room from your peripheral. Cheeks automatically heating seeing him adorn a fitting short-sleeve shirt that wonderfully showed off his biceps and pajama pants.

“Like what you see, precious?” He called in a low voice, intentionally doing a little arm flex as he continued to dry his hair. Nash knew you had a thing for his muscled arms… And literally everything else about him.

“A dork in his pajama’s? Yeah, I guess the view’s alright.” You teased him, earning a playful scowl.

“You wound me.” You just smiled cheekily at him, heading to take up the rest of the hot water for the night. Bumping into him on purpose before silently indicated you wanted a kiss, Nash leaned down and kissed your forehead. Before entering for your shower, you had already instructed your boyfriend to apply a bacterial ointment along with bandaging himself up. To which the brown-haired man pouted, wanting to watch you do that for him instead. What a dork. Smiling happily, you shut the door behind you with a content sigh. You started up Spotify, the song Diamonds by Megan The Stallion and Normani played before stepping in under the hot water. “I’m super shero bitch, don’t try me hoe-” You hummed heatedly in the shower, escaping into a music video of your own. Nash snickered to himself as he heard you sing through the thin walls.

***

Padding out of your heated shower, heart appeased with the intense temperature of your shower. You had a towel turban on your head and another one wrapped around your body like a dress. Your eyes spotted Nash, his eyes moving back and forth between two areas in your room before he let out a rough sigh and shut his eyes tiredly. “Nash?”

“Hm?” The blue-eyed man cracked his eyes open and tilted his head towards you as you stood by the door-frame.

“Where you with the boys? Do I need to-” You gestured to yourself.

“They just left to respect your privacy,” I, however, will not look away.

“Oh, okay.” You shrugged, stepping over to the other side of the bedroom as you slowly shed off the towel. Nash’s eyes followed you, eyes darkening a bit and a wily smile on his face. You knew he was watching you. Nash did every time, so you decided to give him a bit of a show. Swaying your hips as you started to lowly hum a song that came to mind, bending over when you needed to get something before fully getting dressed in your sunflower-printed pajama shorts and shirt set. Turning around, you gave him a seductive wink before re-entering the bathroom to commence with your skin-care routine.

“You know,” Nash spoke up as he stood and strode up beside you. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I still think you’re a beauty without all those skin-care products, right?” He pointed to the corner of the skin filled with dermatologist approved products.

“As flattering as that is, you won’t be thinking that when you see me with dry and cracked skin all over my face like a dried-up zombie from those old movies.”

“Bet.”

“I’m not taking that bet.” You frowned, shaking the bottle before pausing. Then you shook it more vigorously. Nash inwardly laughed at your frustration to get what seemed to be the last remnants of the skin care solution.

“Do you need me to go get you that hydrating cleanser tomorrow?”

“Yeah… I think I’m out.”

Nash snickered before pulling you to bed with him after the two of you washed up for bed. You beamed up at the geological myth-buster when he had followed your instructions to bandage himself up. Your eyes caught Nash staring, going off into his mind and wandering thoughts.

“Nash.”

“Hm.”

“You’re thinking about it again.”

“I-I can’t help it. I…” He trailed off. “I should have been better. Done more. For her and Maya.”

You ran a hand through your damp hair before pushing him onto his back and straddling his hips to fully draw his attention away from his thoughts momentarily. His blue eyes widened slightly as his hands gently grasped your hips. “What do I need to do to make you think that you’re enough? That what you’ve done is enough?”

“I can think of a few things currently.”

“…You’re an idiot.”

“That I am not.”

“Yup, you are,” you tapped his nose before cupping his face and giving him a couple of sweet kisses. The Wells doppelganger hummed cheerily against your lips. “What’s done is done. We can only look to the next day and focus on how to better ourselves. It’s just a hard lesson we all need to learn.”

“Speaking of hard-”

“-Let me finish, then we can continue what we started earlier.” By earlier, you meant this morning. You glanced over at the clock. You meant yesterday morning. You had gotten the smart- and by smart, you mean dumb- idea to sleep over at the labs with him. That morning the two of you were… feeling particularly frisky with one another. Bottom line, the two of you almost ended up almost getting caught thanks to Nash biting down a particular sensitive spot on your neck while thrusting himself in. The both of you had to stop when your phone went off which caused you to push Nash off you and accidentally off the bed while you attempted to silence your phone. They can never know, or they’d hold it over my head forever. Especially Iris and Cisco. “Living in the past won’t do you any good, ok?” Nash reluctantly nodded, bringing one of your hands up to kiss.

I’ll try to be good. To be better. For Maya, Allegra, and You. My precious gem. Nash sighed through his nose as you saw raw emotion take over, darkening those baby blue eyes with a certain haziness. “Now can we bang?” The blood rushed to your cheeks at his imminent question before nodding subtly at your horny boyfriend. Well, I mean I’m pretty horny too. Especially since we both never got to finish and today just happened to become the longest day ever. A wide, mischievous grin laced itself onto his face as he pulled you down for more than a couple of kisses.

***

Vrr, vrrrr

Who the fuck needs me up this late? You scrunched your nose grumpily, shutting your eyes even tighter until your mind registered the sounds from your phone. Laying on your stomach, your leg was hooked over a fluffy pillow while your arm was under the pillow beneath your head. “Mmm,” you groaned in annoyance at the noise, haphazardly reaching for your phone from on the bedside counter and cracking an eye open at the sudden brightness of the screen. The phone revealed Barry’s number and goofy pic on the caller ID that you had set. You blinked a few times before swiping on the screen. Um?

“Barry?” You croaked, wincing at the hoarseness of you voice from… earlier activities with your boyfriend. You were greeted by a somber-toned voice, one that didn’t match the happy-go-lucky speedster’s persona.

“(Y/N), C-can you open the door? Please.”

“Yeah, give me one second.”

You heard his soft sniffling as you ended the line, you brain kicking into overdrive as you tripped in the dark to find something to put on. You ignored the echoing dull ache of your body as you moved. Luckily in the dim light that your phone had provided you were able to find Nash’s shirt.

“Hm, what’s wrong?” Nash groaned, waking from the movement and noise before turning to lay on his back. He rose his head to look at you as you got dressed, blinking a few times to fight back the haziness of sleep.

“I don’t know but stay put.” You padded over to leave your room, closing it behind you. Please go back to sleep. You had to make sure Barry didn’t find any trace of the myth-busting explorer.

You hurriedly went to unlock your front door and opened it. What you saw broke your heart. Barry, your closest friend, in tears and puffy, red eyes. “Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You pulled the Scarlet Speedster into your humble abode as you turned on the lights. Locking the door, you brought him into your living room area.

“Did I come at a bad time?” 

“No, of course not. I’m here whenever you need me.”

“Are you sure? You look...” Barry trailed off, subtly gesturing to you causing you to look down. Your cheeks flushed at the amount of marks visibly littering your body.

“D-don’t worry about that”

Barry awkwardly nodded. “It’s Iris, she-”

“Babe, who was at the door?” Nash yawned as he ran a hand through his brown locks, walking in sleepily and shirtless before freezing in his spot. You froze at the voice. The taller man blinked a few times, his mind starting to work now. Your eyes widened as the two men made eye contact. You were screaming internally at the awkwardness that had filled the air between the three of you. “Hi,” Nash did a subtle wave.

“Wells?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit~ “I can explain-” You started. Oh my god, I want to crawl in a hole and die. The thing is, with everything going on you and Nash decided to stay a secret because it’s really irrelevant with the Carver situation and Barry trying to deal with his lack of speed.

“You and Nash? What? When? How long??” The speedster was mind-blown, giving you an incredulous and stunned look. “Why didn’t either of you say anything? How did I even miss this?”

To be fair, you are pretty oblivious at times Barr. “Barry, focus. Iris first.” You stopped the speedster in his tracks before he rambled on a series of other questions. Turning around, you pointed at Nash with a finger and frown. “And you, we are so going to have a talk later.”

“I welcome it.” Nash grinned cheekily and took a seat next, watching you face-palm in response.

This smooth fucker. “Of course you do-

“-Ew-” Barry cringed at the two of you.

“Ignore him. Anyway- Barry, what happened?”

Barry went on to explain what happened that night. How he did his best to protect Joe and Cecile. How Iris had went off at him for not doing enough for Joe. About his powers and Carver. That he wasn’t there to protect her. How her words had carved a hole in his heart as she kicked him out of their home. “I’m barely hanging on with my powers. She- She said I wasn’t her home anymore. But… that’s the abnormality. Iris- We’d work through it. We’d try to talk it over. She- she wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I’m sorry Barr,” You patted his shoulder as he was seated beside you. You shook your head, mind mulling over everything he had just told you. You were essentially Barry’s confidant when it came to things like this from Iris because he knew he needed another person’s point of view so he wouldn’t be jumping head into anything and risk screwing things up even more. “I fucking knew something was off.”

“What do you mean?” Nash questioned beside you.

“The odd behavior towards you, starring off into space at oddly random times, encouraging you,” you gestured to Barry, “to do things you’d normally never do, the cooking all of a sudden-”

“-Thank you!-”

“-Barry, that’s not your wife. I don’t know who or what that is or why they’re doing this. But that’s not your Iris, Barr.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do. What am I going to say to the others? How do I act? Where do I go from here? How am I going to protect the others if I can’t even see the anomaly in front of me? I mean, what if she intentionally sabotages our work to stopping Carver.” Barry started rambling again, his speed gauge watch starting to blink.

“Barry-” You tried to stop his train of thought.

“How did I miss the signs? I was living with an imposter for God knows how long. How am I so gullible?”

“Barry, Nash finally called out. The speedster looked up at him and pursed his lips from his rapid-fire free fall of worrisome thoughts and guilt. “Slow down. Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Tonight, you need to need to rest. This took a lot out of you, and your anxiety is fueling your speed to be use up.” His speed gauge watch was blinking an orange-scarlet color. “I have a spare bed in the guestroom, you can spend the night here and the three of us can brainstorm. How does that sound?”

Barry nodded at your words, avoiding your eyes as he wrung his fingers together in anticipation.

Nash spoke up, “Allen, I have some clothes you can-”

“Ah-I-I’m good. I’ll just sleep in these and get some clothes from Joe’s tomorrow morning.” You watched with a look and raised eyebrow as Barry walked into a random direction of your home before coming back to where you and Nash were seated. Smooth, Flash. A sheepish look was on the speedster’s face. “Where’s your guest room?”

“Down the hall to the left.”

“Right.”

Once you both heard the door shut Nash leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “It’s a good thing we decided not to keep our nightly activities an all-night this time. Love the new look, who’d you steal it from?” His veiny, but prominent hand had reached over you, lightly trailing the tips of his fingers on your hip under his shirt.

You lightly hit his shoulder, as he snickered at you, “I told you to stay put.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Nash pouted slightly before smirking, “And it’s not like he wasn’t going to find out. My bag is sitting right there by the couch. I mean I’m not much of an artist, but-” The Wells doppelganger trailed a hand over the love-bites on your neck, causing you to shiver. “Even I know that those hickeys were painted beautifully on your skin.”

“And I returned that favor two-fold.” You gingerly grasped his strong jaw with an innocent look on your face. “How’s your back by the way?” You asked him tauntingly.

But Nash didn’t back down, instead his grin widened as he turned his head to kiss the inside of your palm. “Deliciously aching from a precious kitty’s claws. How are those bruises on your hips?”

“Oh hush, you!” Your cheeks burned as the memories of earlier resurfaced. Nash chuckled at you, wrapping his strong arms around you before picking you up and heading back to the bedroom. The multi-versal explorer placed a sweet kiss on top of your head with that smug-ass grin on his face. “Let’s just hope, he doesn’t decide to tell anyone tomorrow,” you muttered to your boyfriend, already secretly dreading what the day will bring.

[cryxmercy]

Backdraft || Mercy & Arthur

When: A couple of weeks before New Year’s Eve. Immediately following this. Where: Arthur’s office @ the University. Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake

TW: one mention of preventing potential head trauma, but no actual head trauma; possible memory loss tw (for a few brief moments of confusion)

Sometimes the simplest solution is not the right one. 

By the time Mercy had driven the distance from the house to the University, she’d managed to pull her scattered thoughts into some small semblance of order. She could still feel the unsettling pins and needles sensation across the skin of her arm, and her anxiety thrummed like a swarm of angry bees, but the former had at least faded a bit as she’d distanced herself from the cause. For now at least.

She didn’t linger too long in the parking lot, but also tried not to look hurried as she made her way towards Arthur’s office. As always, she entered without knocking, except this time she closed and locked the door before settling heavily into the chair opposite his desk. Mercy sat there, legs crossed, foot shaking up and down as she worried her lip with her teeth. 

“How’s marking?” she asked after a bit, indicating the enormous pile of papers on his desk (and promptly avoiding the real reason for her visit). “Want some help?” 

Arthur reclined in the aged leather chair a crisp winter breeze stirring some of the coursework papers stacked in piles upon his desk. His eyes tracked back and forth across each line of text as he read, still and quiet save for the lo-fi music drifting out of a bluetooth speaker on the shelf. Occasionally the stillness was broken with a reach for his fourth freshly brewed cup of coffee, a sip before its return to the ornate coffee mat off to one side of the desk. 

The process was methodical, reading through the coursework before a second read through was taken with pen to paper marking addendums or eliminations of unnecessary or particularly insightful details. And then the tedious task of checking each citation list for formatting errors - the most boring part of the process admittedly.

It wasn’t surprising for Mercy to arrive unannounced and deposit herself in the chair opposite and Arthur didn’t look up initially though the click of the lock was different. A flicker of his eyes followed, a quick track from the door to Mercy and then back in a fraction of a second until he finished reading and set the paper aside. “Honestly I’m actually almost done with them,” it wasn’t entirely true but it was clear as day she was skirting around something. “I’m surprised you came down. I’m almost done for the day to be honest.”

Mercy wasn’t bothered when Arthur didn’t immediately look up from his marking. It wasn’t as if her presence was anything unusual at this point, even if her behavior was slightly out of the ordinary this time. His decline of her offer to help was acknowledged with a distracted hum instead of Mercy’s usual sarcasm or witty retort, and although the rest of what Arthur said wasn’t phrased as a question, they had known each other long enough to know when one was being asked.  

This time it was Mercy’s gaze that flickered towards Arthur before sliding over the papers on his desk, and then to the other neatly stacked piles of letters and correspondence that sat here and there. She even glanced towards the rubbish bin, but there was nothing that caught her eye. Best get on with it then. 

“A letter came for me today.” At first, it sounded like nothing unusual. Everyone received letters in the mail on occasion. It was the addendum to that statement that made all the difference. 

“A Black Letter.” 

Arthur knew it was simply a matter of time, he didn’t need to probe or ask to know that eventually an answer to why she was here would present itself. He waited, giving her time to process and search for the words she wanted to put together, and as expected it came not much later. A letter. Not all that strange but he was sure there would be something that set this mail apart. 

The scratch of his fountain pen stilled with the further clarification; a dark blot staining the paper as the ink bled out his hesitation. The stark proof of his conflicted thoughts and feelings towards this revelation laid bare. 

Firstly: relief over the simple fact he hadn’t received such a notification himself. Wasn’t apparently still bound to a contract he too had signed and agreed to.

Secondly: ire that Mercy was still beholden to a contract signed such a long period of time ago which was somehow being seen as something she was beholden to act upon. It was nonsensical and illogical and made his blood steam in his veins. 

The ink continued to run for several long moments before Arthur finally retracted the pen and set it aside, cracking his knuckles individually as he finally looked at Mercy across the desk. “What do they want?”

A small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow as she watched the ink blot spread across the paper. Further proof that Arthur hadn’t received a letter of his own. If he had, he would have already been aware of the fact. So she knew he had to be relieved. Why wouldn’t he be? He was a different person now, wasn’t he? The man that had signed that contract so many years ago now had long since died and been reborn. Many times over. 

Unlike Mercy. Who was as she’d always been. And always would be. 

But even so… surely there was a statute of limitations on such a thing? Surely she wasn’t beholden to a contract signed nearly half a millennium ago. Surely there was some mistake. 

The ache in her arm told her otherwise. 

So Mercy waited as Arthur absorbed the information. All the while, a voice in her head whispered ‘See? It doesn’t matter what you do… or who you try to be… how you try to live… you will never find peace… you will never be free…’ 

Fingers pressed against her temple as she forced the voice into silence. As she did, Arthur asked his question, to which Mercy could only shake her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch it yet.” Her hand flexed. “I thought you might’ve-” But she stopped short, letting out a sharp huff of air. Mercy set her jaw, her next words coming far steadier than she herself felt. “But I don’t suppose you would’ve. That’s good. That’s-” She nodded once, flexed her hand again. “- good.” And it was. She wouldn’t wish this on Arthur. Not ever.  

A bit of silence followed, until finally Mercy seemed to deflate.

“I don’t want to read it. I don’t… want anything to do with it.” She looked up at him finally, her eyes full of shadows. “I’m tired, Ren. I’m just… so fucking tired…”

Absentmindedly Arthur started to lightly pull at the sleeve of his jumper, worrying the fabric in thought now that his pen was out of his hand. It was an old habit, one that seemed to transcend lifetimes. To fiddle with any one of the many little knick knacks scattered across his desk and failing that stretch the sleeves of his jumpers into paws when his brain started to work overtime.

His eyes fixed on the letter, wondering just what the contents might pertain to. What they would want after all this time. Surely their contracts were done. Null and void to the dusts of time. But apparently not. How many more times would this happen across their lives? Something from centuries past cropping up to haunt them with living nightmares. “No it isn’t,” the words came out sharper than intended and a scowl marred his expression “no it isn’t good. This” he punctuated jabbing a finger at the letter “isn’t fair.” 

The silence that followed was deafening and Arthur’s scowl only deepened the more he looked at the letter.

“Then we burn it. We get rid of it. No letter no message.” It wasn’t that simple. It never was, but he had to suggest it at least. 

Mercy’s eyes drifted to Arthur’s hands, watching the familiar habit with a mixture of fondness and worry. Her thoughts moved in the same vein as his: how many more times would their past come back to haunt them? How many years - how many lifetimes - would they have to live before they were allowed to simply… be? Obviously 400 years didn’t mean that particular quota. 

It wasn’t until Arthur spoke that Mercy looked up again. Her frown deepened, and for just a moment she wanted to explain that she’d meant it was good that he hadn’t received a letter as well. But Mercy knew Arthur was perfectly aware of what she’d meant. So his anger wasn’t surprising. Part of Mercy was even glad for it… needed it even. But only because it solidified what she already knew: that they would find a way through this. Together. 

“No. It’s not.” Mercy’s scowl grew to nearly match Arthur’s as she watched him stare at the letter. 

The suggestion of simply burning the damn thing gave Mercy pause. Had they tried that before? Gods it had been so long ago… But the letter was still sealed. So whatever ‘contract’ lay inside was still inactive. Perhaps with enough of the right sort of fire, they could be shot of it. 

“It’s worth a try,” Mercy said. Though it was never that simple, was it? “We should go home. The firepit on the back porch should work fine.” Mercy stood, knowing Arthur would never be able to concentrate on his marking now, and feeling a wash of guilt - and the stirring of old fears - that couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry, Ren, I- I thought this was behind me. Behind us.” 

There was something to be said about his tactile nature, a need to always have something on his person to keep his hands occupied and distracted. On the occasions he didn’t have any such object or item to fiddle or fidget, his fingers often sought out other alternatives. Such as his jumper, though it was typically the rotating dial on his iron plated watch. Today in his distraction though the cotton stretched over his fingers as he proceeded to rub his scruff lined chin idly with his thumb. “No,” he agreed, echoing her own words in his contemplation of the scenario, “no it’s not.”

He released the sleeves with a final huff and leaned forwards, snagging the letter and bringing it up to study intensely while Mercy answered. Why couldn’t they burn it? Surely that would be enough. If the letter wasn’t opened. If it simply… ceased to be. Perhaps it would buy them time to figure out what they needed to do in the interim. “Don’t be sorry,” his eyes flickered up from the intense stare he was currently directing towards the letter, the intensity of his expression easing into something softer. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Without another word his attention returned once again to the thick folded parchment, the wax seal pressed in to hold it shut and the intensity of his focus narrowed to a pinpoint. He imagined each particle of the paper vibrating at an infinite frequency beyond what the eye could see, gradually building in frequency. He thought of the countless firesides the two of them had sat beside, sometimes in jovial jest and others in sorrowful grief, the warmth of drink in their cups and laughter in the air. But each fire began with a spark and he willed that spark to ignite here. To burn the very paper in his hands.

What Arthur failed to notice was the creeping drop in temperature, the heat being drawn forth and consumed, much as stars are crushed in the void of space. Infinite and precise, but where typically a flame would spark, curling the edges of the paper into a burning cinder his brow furrowed. 

Nothing. 

No spark. 

Absolutely nothing. 

There were few things in the world that could unsettle Mercy quite so abruptly as a Black Letter. Once, it had been a means to an end. A way to serve a purpose. A way to put her unique ‘talents’ to good use. Or so she’d thought. So they’d both thought. Arthur had been there too, right alongside her. Looking for something to help make sense out of so many lifetimes come and gone. And they had done good things back then, thievery and subterfuge aside. They had saved lives in keeping what wasn’t meant for humans out of their hands. But the altruism had eventually turned to something else. Something greedy and wicked that she and Arthur had been bound to regardless of their personal feelings. 

But they had fulfilled their contracts centuries ago. The agency was long disbanded, and the other creatures they’d worked with were long dead, barring perhaps a scant few that had been fae or undead. It simply made no sense. 

Mercy was silent again as Arthur picked up the letter. She tensed, expecting something to happen, but the letter remained quiet. Only when his gaze softened as he turned it towards her did some of that tension ease. Her expression followed suit, softening the tightness around her eyes, but she remained standing once their decision had been made. 

She’d seen Arthur do this thousands of times, and it still never ceased to amaze her. Yet in the countless lifetimes they’d spent together, Mercy had never seen him call forth the flames… and fail. Until today. The thought rested on her tongue that perhaps the letter simply couldn’t be burned. That perhaps whoever was sending it knew Arthur was with her and that he would try to destroy the letter. Perhaps it was simply charmed against phoenix fire. 

But Mercy never got the chance. 

The air she sucked into her lungs burned. Not with fire, but with ice. Mercy frowned deeply at the sensation, but it was so sudden and so frigid that it set off a violent coughing spell that left Mercy gasping for air - both hands braced against Arthur’s desk - before her healing factor kicked in. “Arthur, what -” She coughed again, and her breath rose in a white cloud as the temperature continued to drop. “- what’s happening?”

It was sudden and without warning that the snap-frost hit; sucking the very essence of warmth from the room and layering the windows in a thin striated pattern of ice crystals. It was a blast of energy, too much for his body to cope with and where typically he might’ve been able to absorb it at present it was too much. The overload caused a wrack of shivers to shudder through his frame where he sat his senses fried from the force of sudden adjustment.

The soft flutter of paper falling through the air broke the silence, brushing the wooden floor and vanishing under the desk forgotten for the moment and rather unimportant by most accounts in the moment. These strange bouts of power fluctuations had been growing increasingly more sporadic, first around the house but now any attempt to summon a flame practically short-circuited him for several hours at a time leaving him weak and so very cold.

He shuddered unable to support himself even sitting as he was and half slipped out of the chair, a rag-doll without a spine. Dark eyes slipped shut, eyelashes fluttering in sync with the chatter of his teeth and the rattle of his fingers “I- I-” but nothing more came, dissolving in a short cloud of cold breath.

The sluggish attempt of his supernatural constitution did little to help while attempting to pull himself back into the chair, trying to kickstart an engine that had presently flooded itself. All Arthur could groan, in a deep, grating rasp is “fuck.” 

The black letter was all but forgotten as Mercy watched Arthur start to crumple under the magical blowback of whatever had just gone horribly wrong. Her own breath still rose in a white cloud, but her supernatural healing factor was quickly pushing back at the cold. The same should have happened to Arthur, faster than Mercy honestly, but to her horror, it didn’t. 

“Arthur- Woah! Hey…” She bolted around the desk, trying to catch him before he could crack his skull open. He was trembling so badly that for a moment Mercy thought he was having a seizure. “Sshhh, it’s alright… don’t try to talk...” Then his eyes started to close. “No… no, hey. Ren… Hey! Stay awake…” she said, taking his face in her hands. Gods above, but he was so cold. “Just… don’t move, okay? I’ve got you.” 

She held him close, trying to warm him as best she could until whatever the hell this was passed. She tucked his arms beneath her jacket and sweater as best as she could manage with Arthur barely able to help. Then she pressed her palms to the sides of Arthur’s neck, over the great arteries that pulsed just beneath his half-frozen skin, in an attempt to keep the blood flowing to his head warm. She was shivering a bit herself, but she was still far warmer than Arthur. Though for how long?

Having spent the majority of her 1200 years with Arthur, Mercy knew how to care for all manner of things that had afflicted him over the years. But this was a first. So Mercy was at a loss. Other than trying to keep him warm. She would have to call for help if this didn’t let up. But the list of people she trusted was short. It contained two, maybe three people. Thank the gods she’d locked the door earlier. The last thing they needed was someone walking in right now. Arthur groaned, and Mercy rubbed a hand down his back.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked gently, hoping to keep him focused on staying awake if nothing else.  

As a general rule of thumb, Arthur prided himself on his resilience. The ability to withstand bad things when they happened; riding them out until they reached the other side or at least long enough until a semblance of light shone through. Right now there was naught save the bone-deep chill that had shot through his body in an instant. One moment he could recall being sat at the desk and the next he’d felt so tired and then there was a voice. Familiar yet distant.

The hands felt like searing points of heat against his skin; which itself was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Too hot. It was too hot and frantically he attempted to push her hands away, writhing and fighting between tremors of his muscles. 

Arthur could swear the room was closing in on him, the walls growing increasingly confined and constricting. Or maybe that was just his airway, it was hard to tell in the mounting panic that was sinking into his current state of consciousness. The air rushing in and out, faster and faster until his head began to spin, every frantic blink causing the room to shift first to an office, then a library, a bar and eventually a dark cell. The sudden shock to his system had him scrambling, reaching for whatever was nearest (Frey’s arm if he had any recollection or understanding in his panic).

Each breath felt more laboured than the last, struggling to fill his lungs as he clawed and gasped. Please. Please. Oh Gods make it stop.

Mercy didn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of it. Other than it was all wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Only the scar on her hand throbbed and flared as it always did when Arthur was in distress, though the fact brought little comfort.  

She didn’t know her touch was hurting him, and could only assume that in his bleariness he was confused and frightened as he seemed to fight against her hold. But then as suddenly as he’d been trying to push her away, something shifted, and he was grasping for purchase instead. His clawing, scrambling hands seeking anything to hold onto, anything that would hold him steady as the world spun out of control and he started to panic. Sucking in lungfuls of air that would never be enough to satiate his shell-shocked body’s desperate need for oxygen. 

“Breathe, Aren…” Mercy said, holding onto him as best she could without making anything worse. “Breathe for me…” She clasped his hands and pressed them to her chest as she spoke, hoping the deliberately slow  rise and fall of her breathing would help him slow his own. “Breathe in…” Inhale. “Breathe out…” Exhale. Mercy would’ve used her power to try and influence his psychological state, but her Fury magic had never affected him. So she didn’t waste her energy. “Breathe in… breathe out… I’ve got you… you’re safe…” Mercy would repeat the mantra as long as she needed to. As long as it took to bring him back to right. 

The panic was instantaneous as shock began to set in, bewilderment at his own sheer inability to control himself. The room dropped several more degrees as Arthur’s body shuddered. He was left gasping to try and draw in much needed air while utterly unable to stabilise its core temperature that was steadily beginning to creep higher and higher steam rising in the cold air of the room before it would plummet just as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “W-What’s g-going on?” 

In an instant he was plunged into the memories of a similar time of panic, an alternate dreamscape, a different time - in aid of a friend that had ultimately been for naught. For that friend was long since gone. Yet it was a time that he’d felt water for the very first time without pain, only to realise his inability to swim and almost drowned in the process.

So he clawed and grasped at the only anchor that existed in the moment, the only anchor that had ever existed across all of time until with time his mind began to quieten once more and the white noise began to fade into the rhythmic instructions of a familiar voice. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Breathe. 

Several more minutes passed until the room gradually warmed, Arthur’s breathing growing calmer until he could turn his face into her arm. Another full minute came and went before he was wracked with another bout of shivers before weakly attempting to push himself back into a sitting position. “What happened?”

Mercy opened her mouth to tell him… something… anything… that might explain what was happening. But the truth was, Mercy had no idea. As long as they’d known one another, something like this had never happened. Was it the letter? Had trying to burn it caused some… critical disruption of Arthur’s magic? But no… there had been episodes of his powers malfunctioning - for lack of a better term - for a bit now. Whatever it was, it couldn’t continue indefinitely. Mercy’s breath shuddered as the temperature dropped again, but she ignored it. She would be alright, despite the way the cold made the few scars she had ache miserably. As for his question… “We’ll figure it out, I promise… but right now you have to try and breathe, okay?” 

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours until Arthur finally seemed to stabilize. When he was breathing normally again - or as close as he was likely to get at the moment - Mercy fell quiet. She stayed by his side, gently stroking his hair and then pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature when he shivered. When he tried to sit up, she gave him a bit of space, but kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Again, came his question. This time, Mercy was honest. “I don’t know. You tried to burn the letter, and then...” She frowned, but eventually relayed the short version of what had happened. 

“How d’you feel?” she asked, though it was clear he did not feel great. Not one bit. “Does anything hurt?”

Arthur blinked slowly, his head throbbing with each breath he took to fill his lungs and he rolled his tongue across his teeth, the parchment dry space of his mouth an uncomfortable sensation as he listened to Mercy talk. He wanted a drink and yet the very thought of having anything made him feel like his stomach would turn over on itself. There was little else he could do but sit and try to do as instructed.

“No,” he answered the question after a few moments of silence, his voice cracking when he chose to speak and he had to close his eyes for a moment to fight against the wave of sudden nausea that overcame him. “I-” he shivered again pulling his jacket tighter around his body “cold and sick.” Certainly not fit to stay here, eventually he opened his eyes looking tiredly at Freyja. “can we go home, please?”

Mercy frowned, unable to keep the concern from her expression. That nothing pained him was a small blessing at least. But the fact did nothing for the tight knot of fear that twisted in her gut. Or the helplessness she felt as Arthur shivered, his normally heated skin terrifyingly cold and pale. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him sick or hurt, but this was different. “Of course…” She took off her scarf and tucked it gently around his neck. “Of course we can go home.” 

As she buttoned his jacket so it wouldn’t slip loose, Mercy refused to think about what might happen if he had another episode like this. Or gods forbid… one that was worse. Instead, she turned all her attention to the here and now. To taking Arthur home and making him better. Everything else - the letter, Arthur’s marking, and the growing ache in Mercy’s arm - could wait.

~

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Words: 5,831 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell Additional Tags: Fluff, like so much fluff, Based on a Taylor Swift Song

Summary:

Beca and Chloe weren’t in love… but at the same time, they kind of were.

A look into Beca and Chloe’s time living in New York together, inspired by Taylor Swift’s “You Are In Love”.

* * *

Time moves too fast, in Chloe’s opinion. It’s why she always takes pictures of the things going on in her life. It’s why she stayed at Barden for three extra years, trying to ignore the real world and remain a Bella for as long as possible. It’s why when Beca asks her if she wants to move to New York with her, she says yes.

Chloe never planned on living in New York; it’s never really been a dream of hers like it is for so many people. But when Beca tells her that she got a job offer from a studio there and she needs a roommate in order to afford rent-

Well, it’s not like she had any other plans worked out.

So Beca and Chloe, along with a last minute addition of Amy (“So when’s the moving van getting here, Shortstack?” “Why do you need to know… and why is all your stuff in garbage bags?” “Didn’t I mention that I was coming with you? Could’ve sworn we’d talked about it.”), pack up all their belongings and head to The Big Apple to live in a tiny studio apartment where there’s no separate bathroom and only one real bed, in a neighborhood that definitely has frequent gang-related activity.

Chloe never expected to move to New York.

But she’s with Beca, so she can’t imagine her life going any other way.

* * *

“Okay, I think that’s finally the last of the dishes put away,” Chloe says, settling heavily into one of the chairs at their tiny kitchen table. She wipes a stray hair that’s escaped from her ponytail away from her face and looks over at Beca, who’s sitting slumped by the bags containing her clothes. “How’s unpacking your clothes going, Bec?”

Beca lurches up at the sound of her name and focuses her bleary eyes on Chloe. “Uh,” she looks down at the various articles of clothing littered about around her. “…it’s going.”

Chloe sighs and glances at the time on her phone. Nearly midnight. She looks around the little apartment and takes note of all the things still left to unpack: bathroom supplies, bedding, various décor. Between getting everything settled with their new landlord, unloading everything from the moving truck, and just the general excitement about being in a new place, it took them much longer than they had anticipated to unpack all of their stuff. And the fact that Amy mysteriously disappeared halfway through the process to “meet up with her cousin” didn’t help at all.

Chloe looks at the time again, and then stands up to start putting on her coat. Beca stares up at her, confusion evident on her face. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chloe tells her, throwing a jacket at Beca. Beca flinches as the fabric hits her square in the face. “We, however, are going to get some food. We’ve been at this for hours, we haven’t bought any groceries yet, and I honestly don’t think we can get much more done in this state.”

Beca nods her head emphatically and starts putting her arms through her jacket. “Deal,” she glares at her clothes in disdain. “But I’m getting coffee, and you can’t judge me for it.”

*

They find a cute, little diner a few blocks from their apartment. Despite being in the city that never sleeps, there aren’t a lot of people there when they arrive. There’s an old man eating a sandwich in a corner booth, a small group of high school-aged kids who look like they’re just finishing up at a middle table, and a lady at the countertop typing on her laptop.

Beca and Chloe pick a booth, and as soon as they sit down a waitress comes over to get their drink orders. They both choose to get coffee, despite the late hour. When the waitress rushes off to get them their drinks, Chloe notices that Beca’s staring at her.

“What are you staring at me for, weirdo?” Chloe asks her, smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Nothing, it’s just-“ Beca’s cut off by the waitress returning to fill their orders of coffee. They both smile at her in gratitude and Chloe cups her hands around her steaming mug, turning her attention back to Beca. “It’s just,” Beca begins again, “your necklace.”

Chloe glances down at the gold chain around her neck with a little pendant attached to it. Beca had given all the Bellas identical ones right before graduation with a grumbled, “Don’t make this a big deal. It’s not a big deal.”

“What about it?” Chloe inquires, chuckling in confusion.

Beca smiles, eyes still on the necklace. “I’m just glad that you like it enough to wear it, is all.” She reveals softly, and Chloe melts. Before the moment becomes too sincere, Beca clears her throat and says, “And the light is reflecting off the chain and into my eyes, so thanks for being so inconsiderate.”

Chloe shakes her head a bit and laughs, lifting her cup of coffee up to her face. She looks at Beca over the rim of her mug and sees amusement in her eyes as well. Chloe smiles and takes a sip from her coffee, suddenly feeling really good about New York.

* * *

Chloe is sitting bundled up in her and Beca’s pull-out bed with the covers pulled all the way up to her chin when Beca gets home from work. Beca looks at her questioningly as she shuts the door behind her. “Everything alright, Chlo?”

Chloe just shrugs her shoulders and continues to stare at the spot on the bed that she’s been staring at for the past half hour.

Beca’s presses her lips together and hums a tune under her breath while she starts going about her “just got home” routine. She slips off her coat and shoes by the door, hangs her bag over the back of a kitchen chair, and dumps leftover coffee down the sink before joining Chloe on the bed. Beca slips under the covers and stares at Chloe for a moment.

Chloe remains silent.

A sigh escapes Beca at Chloe’s continued silence. “I know you want to tell me what’s wrong,” Beca says, mock exasperation in her tone. “Am I going to have to tickle it out of you, or will you tell me on your own?” Beca reaches under the covers to wiggle her fingers by Chloe’s sides to emphasize her point. Chloe twists away from the threatening fingers, façade breaking just the slightest.

Beca chuckles a little before becoming more serious. She retracts her hand and leans forward so she can see Chloe’s face. “Seriously, what’s the matter? Anything I can do to help?”

Tears start to well up in Chloe’s eyes at Beca’s obvious concern. She takes a shaky breath and buries her face in her bended knees before speaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she mumbles.

Beca’s eyebrows scrunch together and confusion laces her voice when she says, “You don’t know what you’re doing… right now? Or, you don’t know what you’re doing in a general sense, or-“

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, Beca!” Chloe bursts suddenly, interrupting Beca’s questions. Beca’s mouth snaps shut and she looks at Chloe with wide, concerned eyes. “I thought I was ready to move on from college, but we’ve been here what, a month? And I still don’t know exactly it is that I’m supposed to be doing here!” Tears are falling down Chloe’s face, but she doesn’t care enough to try to wipe them away.

“Well, what about your job at the diner?” Beca starts hesitantly. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

Chloe shakes her head furiously. “No, that’s just-just some stupid day job that helps pay the rent and keeps me busy while you’re out living your dream life with your dream job in your dream city.” Chloe rubs her hands up and down her legs as she takes a steadying breath. “I’m not mad at you for doing what you’ve always wanted to do,” she says, quieter now. Chloe finally looks over at Beca. “It’s just… you’re living your dream right now, and I don’t even have a dream. I just wish that I could figure out what I want in life so that I can feel like I have some sort of purpose again. The Bellas were all I had for so long that now I don’t even know who I am without them.”

Chloe finishes her thoughts with a defeated slump of her shoulders. She’s had these fears living in her mind for a while now, probably since her first senior year. Along with the fears, there are ghosts from her past telling her that she’ll never be able to make it in the real world; college professors who shake their head disapprovingly, aunts and uncles judging from afar. Sometimes Chloe even feels like her own parents don’t know what to do with her anymore.

“You love animals,” Beca says suddenly, interrupting Chloe’s internal self-pity.

Chloe blinks once. “What?” she questions, not understanding where Beca’s out of the blue statement came from.

“You love animals,” Beca repeats with more conviction. “Every time you see a video of a cat, or a dog, or a baby pig, or whatever animal it happens to be, you get this smile on your face that’s so big I always think it’s going to split it right in half.” Beca jostles Chloe’s shoulder a little, which gets Chloe to let out a watery laugh. “Maybe you should consider doing something with animals? Like, I don’t know… an animal shelter person? Or a vet? Or-or!” Beca gets excited suddenly, “you could train circus animals! Think about it, Chlo: you could just hang around with big, scary animals all day, but you’d be, like, their master so you wouldn’t have to be afra-“

Beca cuts herself off with an oof as a result of Chloe throwing her arms around her, her face burrowing into Beca’s neck. Chloe feels Beca’s arms wrap around her a moment later, and she feels the tension in her body start to melt away. “You’re a genius, Beca Mitchell,” she whispers.

She feels more than hears Beca chuckle quietly before saying, “Not a genius. Just your typical, average-intelligenced person trying to help out her best friend. And hey,” Beca pushes Chloe back gently so that she can look into her eyes, “Just because I’ve known what I’ve wanted for years, doesn’t mean that you have to. Lots of people don’t know what they want for a long, long time. You’re the strongest, smartest, most capable person I know. Whatever you end up doing, I know you’ll be great at it.”

Chloe fights the urge to cry again and instead just sinks back into the warm, comforting embrace of her best friend. Maybe it was time to let go of her fears and her ghosts.

* * *

Beca and Chloe always take advantage of the weekends. It’s the only time all week that they get to spend any kind of prolonged time with each other, what with Beca’s job often keeping her at work until late, and Chloe’s new internship at a veterinary clinic sapping all of her free time and energy as well.

Plus, Amy is usually gone to one place or another during the weekends, which is an added bonus.

Chloe wakes on this particular Sunday to the smell of something burning. She stretches her arms across the bed space next to her, expecting to come in contact with a warm body, but instead all her hands hit are cold sheets. Chloe sits up, confused as to why Beca Mitchell was up before she was, but finds her answer as soon as she looks in the kitchen.

Beca is standing by the stove, waving an oven mitt over a slightly smoking pan and muttering “shit shit shit” under her breath. Chloe thinks the food in the pan might be eggs, but at this point she really can’t tell because of the state they’re in.

“So I see that becoming a chef was never a dream of yours,” Chloe teases the struggling brunette, causing said brunette to turn and glare in her direction.

“I was trying to do something nice for you,” Beca grumbles, “but it seems that you’re not a very appreciative gift recipient.”

Chloe giggles and climbs out of bed. She pulls on one of Beca’s old flannel shirts that she stole from her back at Barden and makes her way over to the kitchen. Beca eyes her wearily as she approaches. “I assure you that I am one-hundred percent,” Chloe drawls, wrapping her arms around Beca’s middle from behind, “grateful for all the effort you’ve apparently put forth this morning. Thank you.”

Beca mutters something about not believing her, but leans into Chloe’s touch anyways. Chloe watches her push the charred eggs (confirmed) around the pan for a minute before she notices a few pieces of burnt toast stacked on a plate by the toaster. Giggling again, Chloe leans to the side a bit to retrieve a slice and take a bite. “I think you may have a real talent for cooking, Bec.”

Beca rolls her eyes and grumbles, but Chloe can see a small smile threatening to break through the grumpy façade. Chloe squeezes her tighter and continues to eat her toast, a smile on her own face.

* * *

“And over there are recording booths.”

“Ooooh.”

“And that’s the break room.”

“Woooow.”

“And that’s my office.”

“Your office!”

Beca starts a bit at the excitement and surprise in Chloe’s voice. “Uh, yeah. We all have offices here, dude. Not that exciting. Okay so over we have-“

“Beca!” Beca really jumps this time, turning to face Chloe. Chloe grabs Beca’s hand and starts pulling her towards her office. “You have to show me your office. This is non-negotiable.”

Beca groans. “Fine, but it’s really not all that great.”

Chloe shoots her a look that says “humor me”, so Beca shuts her mouth and opens the door.

Beca’s office really is small and uneventful. She’s got a single desk with a computer, some important looking papers, and an impressive collection of used coffee mugs on it against one wall, a sound system set up against another wall, and a window with a view of the side of the neighboring building.

Chloe takes in the entire space in about thirty seconds, but bounces over to the desk to get a closer look anyways. She holds up one of the coffee mugs to Beca with a judgmental eyebrow raised, to which Beca blushes and mumbles something about meaning to clean those up a while ago. Chloe’s eyes do another scan of the desk’s surface and she spots a lone picture frame in the corner of the desk. Intrigued, she picks it up.

The picture is from one of their first nights living in New York, a few months ago. It’s of Chloe sat on their pull-out bed, laughing at something beyond the camera. Chloe remembers Beca taking it from her spot at the kitchen table while Amy entertained Chloe with some insane story about how she ran around in a flamingo flock in Tasmania before authorities showed up and put a stop to it. Beca had uploaded it to Instagram with a cheesy caption about liking New York, but Chloe had no idea she’d had it printed out.

She turns towards Beca, picture in hand. Beca blushes again when she sees what Chloe’s holding.

“Sometimes I miss you when I’m at work,” Beca mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not a big deal.”

Chloe’s heart swells and she immediately puts down the picture before rushing to Beca and showering her face with kisses, Beca protesting vehemently and threatening her the whole time.

* * *

Beca lets out a frustrated groan. “We can’t just kick her out. Where else would she go?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “She would figure something out. It’s not like she’s ever here, anyways! Maybe she could live wherever the hell it is she spends all of her time.”

The subject of their fight is, once again, not home at the moment. Earlier in the evening Amy had asked Beca for some cash so that she could “party to get over her heartache about Bumper.” Chloe had watched, dumbfounded, as Beca had actually gone along with it, handing a wad of cash to the Aussie and telling her to make good choices. As soon as Amy left, Chloe had snapped.

She was tired of Amy leeching off the two of them all the time. Amy did nothing to contribute to the cost of rent and utilities, she was constantly borrowing and stealing money from them, and she took up half of the apartment with all her stuff even though she wasn’t home half the time.

Beca, of course, was completely against the idea of kicking Amy out. They were best friends, after all… aside from Chloe, of course. Amy had always been there for Beca, through thick and thin, so Beca couldn’t rationalize kicking her to the curb.

And now here they were, fighting. They didn’t fight often, but they spent nearly all of their free time together, so of course they were bound to fight at least once in a while. Just like at the retreat, their arguments tended to get pretty heated.

“If you’re tired of her borrowing money from you, then you don’t have to let her anymore!” Beca argues, hands flying about in exasperation. “You can just send her to get money from me! She’s been taking money from me for years; I’m used to it!”

“It’s about the principle of the whole thing, Beca,” Chloe stresses. “Obviously we make enough money to help her out and pay for everything else we need, but she shouldn’t be able to just laze around all day and expect us to take care of her like-like some sort of babysitter! If we don’t give her tough love now and tell her that she needs to go learn how to fend for herself, then who will?”

Silence hangs between the two of them where they’re standing face to face in the kitchen, neither one of them backing down. Beca narrows her eyes for a second longer, before scoffing and turning away. “So much for Bellas for life,” she murmurs under her breath.

Chloe flinches as if she’d been physically struck. “What was that?” she asks, voice dangerously quiet.

Beca opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer. She avoids looking at Chloe, instead focusing on opening her beverage. “Weren’t you the one in college that preached about always being a Bella family?” she questions. “Aren’t you the one who stayed behind because you loved all of us so much?” Beca takes a swig of beer and looks over at Chloe, suddenly seeming more unsure than angry. “What happened to Bellas for life, dude?”

Chloe opens and closes her mouth for a minute, at a loss for words. Finally, she sighs and sits down hard in a chair at the table. “I still love Amy. I never said that I didn’t love her,” she starts, tired all of a sudden. “She just… she really does need to learn how to provide for herself. What happens when we all inevitably split up one day? What’s she going to do? Go off and mooch off one of the other Bellas? Live on the street when no one will take her in? I don’t want any of that for her.”

Beca sits down in the chair across from Chloe. “And I get that. I totally understand where you’re coming from, Chlo. But isn’t kicking her out the same thing as forcing her to live on the street or pushing her to go live with one of the other girls?”

“I guess so…” Chloe trails off and puts her head in her hands. “I’m just frustrated and don’t know what else we could do.”

They sit in silence for few moments as they both calm down from their emotions. Then, Beca gently reaches up to pull Chloe’s hands away from her face so she can hold them in her own. Chloe looks up and meets her weary eyes with Beca’s steady blue ones.

“I think that kicking her out is just a hair too much too soon,” Beca says, much calmer than she was a few minutes ago. “But I do agree that something needs to be done. I’ll talk to her; try to convince her to find some sort of job that will at least pay for her own private excursions. That way she won’t need to borrow money from us anymore.” Beca rubs her thumbs over the backs of Chloe’s hands. “That sound okay to you?”

Chloe looks down at their joined hands and squeezes Beca’s a little. “Yeah, yeah I guess that sounds alright. We can start small.”

“Okay good,” Beca says. “Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Chloe assures. “We’re good.”

Beca breathes out a sigh in relief. “Good.” She stands up and uses her hold on Chloe’s hands to pull her towards their bed. “Now, pick a movie so that I can have an excuse to cuddle you to make up for fighting with you.”

Chloe laughs and allows herself to be led to the bed. True to Beca’s word, the two of them cuddle up to watch a movie until they fall asleep, their fight long forgotten.

* * *

The door flies open and slams shut so fast that it rattles the pictures on the ceiling a little. Chloe stands still for a moment with her back against the door, all bundled up in her beanie and jackets and boots.

Beca, who on the rare occasion is home before Chloe, looks up from her laptop from where she’s seated at the table. She smiles and pushes her headphones off her ears so that they hang around her neck, but her smile falls when she notices the look on Chloe’s face. “Chlo? Everything alright?”

Chloe only sighs and glances at Beca before she starts peeling off her many layers, throwing her hat and jackets onto the bed and tugging off her boots. She feels numb, like her moves are all on autopilot. After her outer layers are off, she continues on to take off her scrubs.

Beca looks pointedly away as Chloe undresses herself, and only looks at her again when Chloe places herself in the seat across from her, leggings and one of Beca’s hoodies having replaced her work scrubs.

Chloe sighs again. “We had to put down Peanut today.”

Beca’s breath catches. Peanut was Chloe’s favorite puppy at the clinic she worked at. He was a rescue, and was brought in about a month ago needing lots of medical care. His issues must have been too much for him if they’d had to put him down.

“Oh, Chloe. I’m so sorry,” Beca says sincerely. Chloe shrugs and wipes at her slightly runny nose, but doesn’t say anything more.

Beca studies Chloe for a minute before making a decision. She slips the headphones off her neck, then goes to retrieve her phone from its place on the bed and makes her way back over Chloe, thumbing at the screen. “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” starts playing a moment later, and Beca sets her phone down on the table before holding her hand out to Chloe. Chloe stares up at Beca, and Beca waggles her eyebrows down at her as she starts to sing.

“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you,” Beca wiggles her fingers and Chloe takes her hand, fighting off a smile as Beca pulls her to her feet and into her arms. They begin to dance, Beca crooning along to Frankie Valli, and Chloe’s bad mood quickly starts to dissipate. Soon enough, both of them are singing and laughing as Beca leads them in clumsy dance around their tiny kitchen; twirling Chloe around and attempting to dip her several times before giving up and letting Chloe dip her instead.

By the time the song is fading into its ending, Chloe’s side hurts from laughing and the sadness she felt earlier is all gone, replaced instead by such intense joy. Their dance slows down and their faux-swing style switches to more of a hugging while turning in a small circle as Margaret Whiting's “Time After Time” starts to play. Beca circles her arms around Chloe’s waist and Chloe’s arms go around Beca’s shoulders, one hand resting on the back of her neck and the other curled around her shoulder. Chloe leans in and rests her chin on Beca’s shoulder, sighing contently.

They sway along to the music, snow falling outside their windows, and to Chloe it feels like they’re in a snow globe because of how magical it all is. She closes her eyes and turns her head to lay her cheek on Beca’s shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent. The hand on the back of Beca’s neck strokes slow, lazy fingers along her hairline, and Beca tightens her arms around Chloe in response.

And if Chloe places the softest of kisses against Beca’s neck, and if Beca pretends not to notice? Well, no one really needs to know, do they?

* * *

Chloe glances up from her position on the bed to where Beca sits working on her laptop at the table. As if feeling eyes on her, Beca looks up as well. The two make brief eye contact for a moment, though none of them says anything to interrupt the comfortable silence that lays over them.

Beca lets a small smile cross her face before looking back down at her work. Chloe lets her eyes linger a moment longer before looking down as well, a blush rising on her cheeks for reasons unknown.

* * *

Beca slips her hand into Chloe’s on the subway ride home from dinner and smiles up at her.

Chloe smiles back.

Beca squeezes her hand.

Chloe feels her heart flutter.

* * *

The lights go out in their apartment due to a snow storm. Beca rummages around in their cupboards, trying to locate some of the candles they own. Chloe tells her she’s her hero with a teasing tone in her voice. Beca grumbles and though Chloe can’t really make out anything with no lights, she can clearly see the smile and blush on her face through the dark.

* * *

They go to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree lighting ceremony because they live in New York now, so of course they’re going to go see the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree lighting ceremony

The two of them are bundled up in multiple jackets, boots, hats, and gloves, and while Beca thought it was a bit extreme to wear so many layers, Chloe had shut down any of her attempts to wear anything less.

(“Chloe, I can’t put my arms down all the way.”

“Shut up, yes you can. Besides, I don’t want you getting cold and complaining through the entire night.”

“Ugh. Do we even have to go to this?”

“Yes! I’m offended that you’d even think about not experiencing this at least once in your life.”

“I’m only doing this because I love you, you know.”

“I know. And I love you for that.”)

Beca and Chloe fight through the crowds in order to get as close to the tree as possible. It’s about five minutes before the tree is supposed to be lit, and Chloe is practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Every time she sees something that she thinks is leading up to the lighting, she grabs onto Beca’s arm and points at it, to which Beca usually just smiles and says neat or cool.

(In all honesty, Beca couldn’t care less about all everything going on around them, but it’s making Chloe happy, so therefore it makes her happy.)

In all the excitement going on, Chloe doesn’t notice Beca staring at her until she glances at her to make sure she’s appropriately taking in everything. The intensity in her gaze causes Chloe to take pause and catches her breath for a moment.

In that moment, the crowds fall away around them. The Christmas music playing in the square becomes distant. The countdown that begins sounds muffled to Chloe’s ears.

Beca’s cheeks are rosy, and there are flakes of snow sprinkled in her hair and on her hat. She has a content smile on her face, one that Chloe has noticed is reserved only for her. Her blue eyes must be reflecting the lights above them, because Chloe has never seen them shine so bright.

So caught up in the moment is Chloe that she doesn’t even notice the tree light up, or the crowd cheering, or the choir singing. She’s so transfixed on the sight before her that she doesn’t look away until Beca glances to the side and whispers, “Look up.”

Their shoulders brush as she does, and the view she is met with makes her gasp in awe. The huge Christmas tree that they’ve been standing in front of for the past half hour is all lit up, shining loud and proud for all to see. It’s truly one of the most beautiful things Chloe has ever seen, and she does her best to take it all in.

Then Chloe looks back at Beca, and she sees the way her eyes are bright with wonder, and her mouth hangs open slightly in quiet amazement, and Chloe thinks that maybe she was wrong.

Maybe Beca is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Love fills every one of Chloe’s senses, and she doesn’t really know what to do about it, so instead of doing something rash she just reaches down and laces her fingers with Beca’s. Beca looks over at her, joy eminent on her face, and squeezes the hand in hers. Just once.

With that touch, Chloe thinks Beca might feel the same way. She has no proof, but with that one touch, she felt enough.

* * *

Beca and Chloe stumble home, slightly tipsy, after a New Year’s Eve party. They’re not drunk, but they’re buzzed just enough to use that as an excuse to walk with their arms wrapped around each other.

They had celebrated the New Year in a cozy bar with some people from the studio Beca works at. Amy had gone with them, but disappeared sometime before the clock struck midnight. Chloe and Beca weren’t concerned about her whereabouts, though. They were used to it by now. She would always appear some number of days later with food in hand and a story to tell.

Chloe tightens her grips around Beca’s waist as Beca slips on some ice, keeping her from falling down. The two erupt in giggles as they approach their apartment complex. Beca reclaims her arm from its place around Chloe’s shoulders (where it’s been for the past 45 minutes) and starts digging around in Chloe’s purse for keys.

“Why didn’t you bring your own bag to keep your stuff in again?” Chloe asks her, still giggling.

Beca hums as she continues searching. “Because I know you’re more responsible than me and are therefore less likely to lose it while partying.” She glances up at Chloe with a twinkle and her eye and winks before turning her attention back towards the purse.

Tingles zip through Chloe’s body at Beca’s wink, which is stupid, because it was just a simple wink. Chloe slows them down to a stop right in front of their apartment complex and waits for Beca to find the keys.

“Aha!” Beca victoriously pulls her hand out of the bag, key clutched in between her fingers.

Chloe chuckles at how proud Beca is with herself and is suddenly overwhelmed with affection for the small brunette. Beca looks up at Chloe, smiling, and the air between them suddenly turns serious.

Beca bites her lip and pockets the key. “You know, I think there’s one way to celebrate the new year that we haven’t done yet.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what way is that?” she asks in a teasing tone.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beca suddenly becomes shy and looks down at her feet, scraping the toe of her boot against the sidewalk. “I’m not sure I remember.”

Chloe doesn’t exactly know what’s happening at the moment, but she’s not about to lose momentum due to Beca feeling shy. “Bec,” she says softly, barely audible in the surprisingly quiet night air.

Beca looks up at Chloe, her eyes filled with too many emotions for Chloe to discern. Chloe’s breath hitches and she suddenly realizes how close they’re standing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be able to tell exactly when Beca makes up her mind.

Beca inhales deeply and takes one hesitant step forward, entering Chloe’s atmosphere. It wasn’t much, but it said enough to Chloe.

Closing the remaining distance between them, Chloe cups Beca’s face in both of her cold hands and presses her lips to Beca’s. Chloe’s eyes close and she feels Beca’s hands come to rest on her hips beneath her jacket as she kisses Chloe back.

They trade soft kisses right there, in front of their sketchy apartment building in New York City, snow falling around them on New Year’s Day. Chloe smiles into their next kiss, and she feels Beca grin as well.

Chloe’s the one to end their kiss. She watches Beca’s eyes flutter open as they stay wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Happy New Year, Beca,” Chloe whispers. Beca whispers the same words back to her before closing the gap between them again.

After they go inside, they don’t talk about the kiss. They just go about their nightly routines and go to bed. They don’t talk about it, but Chloe feels something different between them that she knows wasn’t there before.

* * *

It’s a few weeks after their kiss when Chloe wakes up in the middle of one night. She turns onto her side towards Beca and is surprised to see that she’s already awake.

Beca has a strange look on her face. They spend a moment just looking at each other before Beca opens her mouth to say something. She pauses, then says, “You’re my best friend.”

Chloe knew what it was.

Beca is in love.

Chloe slides across the few inches separating them and curls into Beca, laying her head on her chest. Beca sighs in content, wraps her arms around Chloe, and kisses the top of her head.

And just like that, Beca and Chloe were in love. There was no fanfare, no big declaration, no crazy dramatics. It was just about the easiest thing Chloe had ever known. She wasn’t confused, and neither was Beca. Yet somehow, Chloe thinks as she listens to the steady sound of Beca’s heartbeat, she always knew that things would end up this way.

[the-quiet-winds]

Fractured Hallelujah

“If you don’t hug me right now, I think I might fall apart.”

Honestly, it isn’t a surprising statement.

Catherine Parr is in tears, somehow just barely coherent, but her emotional ruin is there nonetheless.

“Please,” she pleads.

Thirty minutes earlier…

“I was hoping I could get you to eat.”

Parr turns to see none other than her godmother in the doorway, a bowl of something steaming in her hands. “I made your favorite,” Catherine says. 

With a small smile, Parr invites her in. The bowl is set on the corner of her desk and, without further hesitation, Aragon sits on the bed. 

Argyle, who had been farther up the bed, jumps down and rushes to the desk and jumps onto the small filing cabinet. He watches Catherine intently before laying down.

“What are you working on?” Aragon asks.

Parr shrugs. “The usual.”

“I don’t know what that is, love.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

No answer.

“Cathy.”

Still nothing. 

“Catherine Parr,” Aragon says, not sharply but still firm, “what is going on?”

There’s silence for a long time. Several minutes or pure silence, punctured only by the occasional rustling of Argyle shifting his position.

“Cathy, please, talk to me,” Aragon says, her voice as soft as she can make it.

After several more moments of nothing, Catherine Parr opens her mouth and mumbles something out.

“Bess’s birthday,” Aragon thinks she says.

It takes about two seconds for her to connect all the dots, and as soon as she does, she’s kicking herself for not realizing sooner.

“Oh, love-”

“Save it,” Parr hisses. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Aragon insists. “How can I help?”

“Why would you want to help?” Catherine asks, and her voice is sharp and dangerous.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Aragon responds. She gives a soft, barely perceptible sigh. “You’re my goddaughter, Cathy,” she explains, gently cupping her cheek, “I’d never leave you to suffer in silence.”

“But-”

“No buts.” Aragon runs a soft thumb over the tears beginning to spill down Cathy’s cheeks. “I’m here because I love you, and I want you to feel better.”

Parr looks down for a long time. She tries to speak, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, broken whimpers and half-words barely bubbling to the surface, before she finally can look up and meet her godmother’s eyes.

“If you don’t hug me right now, I think I might fall apart.”

Honestly, it isn’t a surprising statement.

Catherine Parr is in tears, somehow just barely coherent, but her emotional ruin is there nonetheless.

“Please,” she pleads.

Aragon retracts her hand from Cathy’s cheek and reaches for her hand, pulling her to her feet and bringing them both to the bed. 

They’ve both barely sat down when Cathy is throwing herself into her godmother’s arms, clinging to her waist like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the mortal world.

Aragon wraps her arms around the smaller woman’s frame, gently rubbing circles over her back. “I’m here, love,” she promises, “you’re alright.”

Parr makes a tiny little whimper of a sound and clings tighter, burying her face in Aragon’s shoulder. “Bess-,” she’s cut off by a choked sob, “she-”

“I know,” Aragon murmurs. She shuffles back to lay down, Parr curling up in a tiny ball against her, crying softly into her shirt. “I know you cared for her, I know. It’s okay to feel grief.”

A strangled sort of mumble escapes Parr’s mouth, indistinguishable but definitely pained. 

“I’ve got you,” Aragon promises again, moving her hand to lightly stroke over Parr’s hair. “I promise I’m not leaving.”

After a moment or two, Parr pulls away to sit up again, wiping at her cheeks and eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I just miss her and Mae and Edward. And Mary, of course.” She sighs, running a hand roughly through her tangled curls. “I can’t bring them back.”

Aragon props herself on an elbow. “No, you can’t,” she agrees, “but you can honor them. I know you do.” She nods her chin in the direction of Parr’s computer. “I know you write about them, I’ve seen what you’ve done for Anne and Jane, and the hints you’ve given me.” Catherine puts the softest hand on Parr’s shoulder, noting the tiniest shiver at the contact. “You need to let yourself feel, my love.”

Parr, for all the words she uses in a day, can’t come up with a response. Instead she meets Aragon’s eyes, feeling more tears blooming in her own, before all but lunging back into her arms, needing comfort of being held and the strength and security of Aragon’s arms.

Her godmother, of course, is more than happy to oblige.

She leans back against the headboard, letting Cathy settle her head on her chest and curl up against her.

Catherine presses a series of tiny, light kisses against her hairline, her forehead, the top of her head, wherever she could reach. “I’m right here,” she promises again, lips hovering barely a breath from Cathy’s hair. “I’ve got you, my love.”

Cathy smiles, a barely-there thing, as Catherine begins to sing a quiet song in an old Spanish, managing to slow her tears as her strength gives out and she lets her weight fully fall into the older woman’s arms.

“I love you,” she mumbles against Catherine’s shirt. She feels the soft chuckle that echoes in Aragon’s chest.

“I love you too, mi corazón,” Catherine whispers. “And I’ll always be here for you.” She hears Cathy’s tiny whimper and feels the squeeze behind her back, and presses one more kiss to Cathy’s head.

“Always.”

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[therewithasmile]

as inevitable as the sun and stars

When Felix first laid his eyes on Byleth, he was, quite honestly, underwhelmed.

But then she kicked his ass, twice, made him do homework about it, became his sparring partner, then, on the day when she was supposed to get revenge, she disappeared.

A recounting and study of early Felix, Byleth, and their relationship up until Byleth goes through her transformation.

ao3 / ffnet 

---

The first time he laid his eyes on her, Felix had expected much more. He'd been told that she was raised by mercenaries, ruthless in striking down bandit after bandit when she'd come to the lords' aids -- daughter of Jeralt, whose own reputation preceded him, legends of the knight’s captain-turned-mercenary have travelled so far that it had made its way to the Kingdom’s frigid north and onto his doorstep. Yes, when Felix first laid his eyes on Byleth, he was, quite honestly, underwhelmed. Her eyes were wide as a doe's and her skin was as smooth as fresh cream. She had full cheeks and soft arms and, really, had anyone told him that she was the one - who had saved the boar's life, by some odd joke from the four Saints had been recommended as his new teacher – he'd laugh, crudely, and demand an explanation, as it was absolutely not funny and was, if anything, pure mockery. But, she was his new teacher and she had saved the boar's life and, before he knew it, his ass hit the ground hard. Before a single breath could escape his body, she had aimed a sharpened wooden point just under the jut of his chin.

With a simple swish, his new teacher twirled the practice sword with a flourish before tucking the hilt under her elbow. "And as you can see," she said calmly, almost ruthlessly emotionless in both expression and tone, "your number one mistake is underestimating the enemy." Embarrassment burned red hot in Felix's temples and only served to highlight the throbbing ache that began to pulsate through his back. He ignored his comrades who stood off to the side, choosing to not react to a stifled snort that was undoubtedly Sylvain's and the concerned glance that was easily Ashe’s. No, he absolutely refused to let them affect him. Felix pounced onto his feet and swiveled forward, wooden blade raised high to strike-- But his teacher parried, blunt side of her sword clashing against his before her lower momentum and movement allowed her the strength and leverage to knock him aside. A sharp pain suddenly spiked near his ribs as she jabbed forward with an elbow and -- yet again -- two expert and well-aimed blows and – bam! -- he found himself on the ground yet again, chest heaving, breath shallow on his ribs, and his chin forced upwards due to the tip of her wooden weapon. "Drive and brute force isn't enough," his professor continued, undeterred, as if he hadn’t just lunged for her. Something in her feather-light voice, raspy perhaps from disuse but not at all affected by him, drove him mad. "You would be surprised at how many men who’ve gone their whole lives being strong find themselves bested by others who are simply quicker." She paused, and Felix loathed the way her skin, so soft, so creamy, remained exactly so. As if she exerted no effort. As if she hadn't completely handed his ass to him, twice, without it feeling like she tried at all. “Strength has a limit," she was saying, entire body now turned away from him, the heap on the floor, and instead towards the rest of his house. "Skill does not. Remember that. Class dismissed," she called, a little louder this time, and it was almost immediate that his housemates shifted from their observational stance and began to chatter excitedly, undoubtedly at his expense. While it wasn’t humiliation that began to settle as the foreground of his aching body, Felix absolutely did not want to give his teacher the satisfaction that he felt simmering underneath her carefully even tone. He rolled onto back over, feeling tendrils of aching pain slowly unfurling from the spot where he landed, before heaving himself onto his feet, and ready to slide around her and join his house.

That is, until her voice, just as even as ever, betraying nothing except for maybe boredom, called, “Fraldarius.”

Somewhere, deep down, a petty side that he barely knew he possessed, wanted do to nothing but stalk past her in defiance. But Felix paused nonetheless, her piercing eyes trained on his back – that much he was certain of, as just the mere thought of it caused heat to divert from his soreness and up into his ears.

There was another whirring in the air, no doubt his professor twirling the blade deftly in those soft fingers, before it stopped. “I can tell you’ve been trained in swordsmanship.”

Several impolite responses that would’ve made Mercedes gasp and even more emotions that would’ve made Ingrid lecture him flashed through his body, each one going on to simply annoy him more than the next. He only grunted in response, and if there was more she wanted to say, he pointedly ignored her, and stalked off before she could get another word.

.

It didn’t matter who the opponent was – the end result was always the same. With Dedue and all his towering imposition, all it took was a sly foot, a hard jab, and a solid hit to his side before his teacher pressed edge of her sword against his neck. With Sylvain, light on his feet and quick to chirp half taunts and flirts that fell on deaf ears, she sank down onto her haunches,  languid like water, and ducked under his outstretched arm, barreled upwards with her forearm, and Gauntier could barely swallow his swear before she poked his throat with the tip of her blade.  With Annette, whose eyes had grown wide, well, the redhead quickly passed on the lesson, stammering something about preferring to study reason. And so the professor gave a low nod, before turning to him.

“Fraldarius,” she beckoned, redundantly, and she was ever so stoic, ever so bored. As if he wasn’t paying attention, as if the sudden anticipation at the thought of beating her hadn’t fueled his steps.

They sank into a light guard stance, wooden swords drawn, and Felix breathed.

He’d been watching her recently, observing his sword technique. Sure, he could’ve convinced himself it was under the guise of learning, but really, deep down he knew he only observed to win. It would be a  statement, as it were; a statement he couldn’t fulfill now that his brother was dead, but this would have to do.

She would strike with her right hand, as she’d done with Dedue, and liked to use her upwards momentum to catch other unware, like she had with Sylvain. Felix knew that, and so he lunged forward, arm tense to move. 

As he predicted, she reached to parry with her right. Simple – all it took was a flick of the wrist, a twist of the body, and he was able to maneuver to strike out on her left. He saw her eyes widen – the sweetness of victory caressed his muscles, drove his adrenaline to spike – but then she stepped, swerved, and where he had been bracing for impact of wood to torso instead became wood to nothing.

Felix was quick to retract, before his professor could slide under him. He took a step back, and breathed.

But that was his mistake.

Suddenly she lunged for him, different from what he’d seen before – as she’d always been reactionary – and Felix found himself on the defensive.

Thwack.

The blow suddenly came from his left, her right; that much he saw coming – and he deflected.

Thwack.

Insistent, in a way, as he met her upward swing with his downward one: wood met wood, equal in momentum, evenly matched.

Felix read her intention before she could follow through – she slid forward, movement unbroken, almost laughably simple, like the next step of a dance – but he saw it coming, and he adjusted. Scooted his torso just enough away, so that her jab met nothing but air, and Felix couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that began to bloom on the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, pain blossomed from his forearm – then his elbow, and the smirk fell quickly from his mouth. Instead, an expletive made its way out before it was forced back in, from a haggard gasp he barely managed, as suddenly his right side exploded with white hot fire. It could’ve been three or four blows, at this point the shock that flooded his system hindered his ability to really tell what was going on, but then the sudden hardness of the ground striking up like lightning against his thigh, as dull pain shot its way through each muscle, more or less told him she’d bested him. Again.

His teacher stood over him, sword dangling in her left hand. “Versatility is your friend,” she said, frustratingly not to him, but to the class. “If an enemy can live to see you fight twice, at least make it a different fight the second time.”

As much as he wanted to, Felix bit back the groan as he rolled upright. Yet again, his stupid classmates watched with wide eyes, and he really didn’t want to see the reactions. Ashe’s mouth hanging open. Ingrid’s smug smile. Mercedes' concerned gaze. The boar’s undivided attention.

“Fuck,” Felix hissed, and the professor completely ignored him. Again.

“You are to devise two pages worth of theorems on how to use your preferred weapon or school of magic in a new way, to cover your own weaknesses,” his professor commanded. “And we’ll put them to the test in four days. If you are unsure of your own weaknesses, come speak to me. Class dismissed.”

And with the usual sign off, the class once again broke off into groups. And just like before, Felix blocked out the sounds of their conversation, brain whirring trying to process what had just happened.

The jab was a fake out –it had to have been. With her left elbow, she had at that point actually switched her sword over to other hand. And as he was focusing on dodging her jab, she had already gathered the momentum she needed to crush the wooden blade against his arm, and then a second time: at his elbow. Had it not been a wooden sword and this not a training session, he suspected he would’ve lost that entire limb with that maneuver. It was dirty, it was brutal, and it absolutely worked against him.

It was after the reflection did he realize she was staying back. The last student to filter out had long since done so, and suddenly he was aware it was just the two of them, and he was still a dishevelled heap on the floor. He pulled himself to his feet, sides aching, before his teacher finally turned to him, blue eyes thoughtful but otherwise unreadable.

“Good effort today, Fraldarius,” she said simply.

Good effort. But it wasn’t enough, clearly. If it was supposed to put him at ease, to reassure him he’d somehow improved, it only caused irritation to prick at his spine. Good effort wasn’t going to help him win. Good effort didn’t mean he could outmaneuver her.  Good effort wouldn’t have saved his arm had this been a real fight.

“Good effort isn’t enough,” he voiced without really thinking, and he noticed her eyebrow raise, just a bit, before he swerved around her and ducked out of the room.

.

Felix tossed the papers onto her desk, in a way that made the sheets separate ever so slightly as they made contact on her wooden surface, in a way that he wanted something – anything – to betray those impassive blue eyes and smooth cream skin. But he failed, as always, as his professor looked down. It took two jostles between her lithe fingers before his assignment was together again, and then her eyes flitted up to his own, for just a second, enough to set off another low burn of irritation in his stomach – just say something, anything – before she set her gaze back down.

The seconds seemed to stretch for minutes and then hours, as she took her sweet time reading through his notes, as if every bit of his soul, the part of it that fought, at least, was laid bare in his messy scrawl.

For the first time, the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Just a small twitch upward, and enough to send a jolt like a firecracker down his spine.

“I said differently,” she said, smoothly, as if that little bit of emotion had never happened.

“I did.” He was careful to reply just as evenly. And then, just a touch more insistently at her silence: “It is different.”

“No it’s not,” she replied. “This is still formal training.  This is still you. This is how to beat a specific person. Me, as it were,” she added, almost bored, and there it was again, the little twitch on the corner of her mouth.

Felix wanted nothing more than to snatch the papers from her clutches. He ignored the burning that suddenly ignited along the points of his cheeks. “So? It’s different. I haven’t beat you before.”

“Fraldarius,”she sighed, and for a moment, that uncomfortable heat easily transformed into indignation. She sounded like a mother scolding a child. “That wasn’t the point of the assignment. And as it stands, you won’t beat me, not with this.” She shook his assignment lithely with her hand. 

The fire burned hotter, so much so that he could feel it behind his temples, and he couldn’t help it when his voice cracked out. “How do you know?”

When he locked eyes with her, it was all he needed to know.

For a second, the mask slipped: in those aqua depths, he could almost carve out the experience of battle. The many foes she faced, and the many more she cut down. Those who claimed to be strong. Those who claimed to be talented. In the end, all the same.

Like him.

When she spoke next, it wasn’t unkind. “You’re talented, and you’ve trained with a sword from a young age. I could always tell. But you’ve learned only one way. A formal way. Very noble, actually.” Was that… sarcasm Felix detected in her voice? But as soon as he’d noticed it, it was gone and was replaced by that mask.

“But that way is…. stiff. Unchanging.” She continued, her voice hard, unreadable.  “You learn enough, sure, but is it good to take on trained mercenaries, who’ve spent their whole lives fighting Kingdom soldiers? Empire men? Alliance forces? Could you get in there with a sword against a magic user, who’d flip you over and spin you aside like a top, and then be serious about harming you? Would it be able to pierce the flesh of a wyvern, a Pegasus, when their riders have the upper-hand and ground?”

Each word pierced him like a lance, over and over, and for the first time – in a very long time – Felix allowed a trickle of doubt flood his heart.  “Alright,” he conceded, almost venomous, almost too quiet. “I get it. You don’t have to …. shove it in my face.”

He wished she was, so that he’d at least someone to pin these churning emotions on. But she wasn’t, and Felix knew that. He didn’t dare meet her eyes again, those aqua depths that were somehow both endless yet betrayed nothing at all, and didn’t move as he heard her chair scrape back and the sound of her getting on her feet.

The emotions churning in his stomach, anger – humiliation – shame – determination – took his breath away. His professor took two, maybe three steps, before he blurted: “teach me.”

She paused.

Felix inhaled hastily, the incoming surge of air doing nothing to quell the raging fire that was his emotions. “Teach me. To fight. Like you. Teach me,” he couldn’t help but to repeat, again, into her back.

“No.”

The fire grew stronger, wilder – and Felix wasn’t sure what emotion it was he was feeling, but it was all too much –

“Not until you finish your assignment. Properly, this time,” she said, as she turned around – and she was grinning, broadly, and it did something weird to his heart. “For tomorrow.”

“I’ll have it done in two hours,” he said, almost breathlessly, and she laughed. Just once, before becoming serious again.

“Then I’ll see you in two hours in the training grounds, Fraldarius.”

.

It was barely one and a half hours later when Felix arrived at the training grounds, and she was already there, sword in hand, a second by her feet, lashing once then twice into the empty air. Beat me again, he couldn’t help but to think, and he came forward, paper clutched in his hands.

From her body language, Felix could tell she was more than aware that he was there, though she made no move to turn to acknowledge him.

Instead, she sliced the air again. The motion left a sharp whir that almost seemed to echo in the absence of other sounds. “Summarize your weaknesses for me,” she said, her back still to him.

It did frustrate Felix, just a little, but if this was his ticket to improvement, it would be worth it to him. “My stance,” he stated first. “I’m too rooted. If I’m to introduce more flexibility, I’d have to be lighter on my feet.”

She hmmed at his answer, at first promising, but then she slashed twice more into nothingness, and the whirring of her wooden blade caused irritation to prick at his spine. So Felix continued onwards, swallowing down the sudden impatience that boiled in his stomach.

“The next is my sword-arm stiffness overall,” he prattled on, and she slashed the air again, the sound like a paper cut to his ears. “Sure, if I’m prepared to move away, I can be light then, but overall I need to be less stiff, ready to react.”

Yet again was that irritating hmm, three more whirs of her sword, and Felix felt his temper build.

“Then-“

“-Fraldarius,” she interrupted, and he stopped cold, words immediately dying on his throat, despite the mounting anger that he wanted nothing more to let loose. She turned then, and he found himself caught in that aqua stare – thoughtful, he found himself noting, even though it did nothing to ease the irritation in his stomach.

“You’re not incorrect with all your observations,” she said matter-of-factily, like it was entirely common knowledge from the beginning, like his entire fighting history was somehow summarized by scriers and his weaknesses highlighted in red ink. “And yet I think you have not identified the root of it all.”

“What do you mean?” Felix almost demanded. He didn’t like this, didn’t like how her aqua eyes seemed like they could see right through him, know him so thoroughly as he thought he knew her – until she had handed him onto his ass, again.

“Your weakness, summarized,” she said unhelpfully, and before Felix could even allow that temper to overtake him, to wash over the doubt that had once again begun to seep into his bones, she elaborated. “I asked you to summarize and you forgot the most crucial part: that your weakness is, simply, your training.”

The way she said it was so obvious – of course it was his training. He thought that was implied in the first place. But she raised her eyebrows, like he should’ve somehow interpreted her as being less able to inference that much, so much so that the annoyance truly did bite at him this time, layering his words with more venom than he probably intended. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“Good,” she said simply, undeterred. She tossed her blade at him, which he caught, before she kicked up the second one by her feet. She caught it deftly with one hand, and that petty part of him once again murmuring that she was just showing off. As if she could read his thoughts, something like a smug smile quirked her lip upwards. “Come at me, Fraldarius.”

“And for the four Saints sake, make it different this time.”

.

Felix stumbled into the dining room, body sore, legs aching, arms so heavy they felt like they could fall off. It was after the third lesson in private he’d had with the professor, where he’d held her off blow by blow – ‘Good, Fraldarius!’ she had claimed as she lunged from him again – and it took a solid fifteen minutes before she’d shoved her blade under his chin, a sheen of sweat beginning to form over her creamy skin. A long soak after and he was feeling positively drained, like just those mere minutes had sapped all his energy and adrenaline and left him high and dry. 

As if on cue, his stomach growled, and he glanced at the line, and swore.

It was long, that was for sure, snaking around the side and even threatening to spill to the outdoors on the other end. And yet Felix begrudgingly forced his feet forward, joining the back of the queue, glaring daggers at whomever was ahead of him, not that they were really getting any food much faster.

He swore again when he saw Manuela cut the line, as professors had the right to do, and for a split second hoped she could feel the intensity of his hunger as his eyes followed the professor to the table.

Then his eyes locked with aqua.

Felix nearly choked on his own spit.

“Fraldarius,” she said calmly, pleasantly¸ and his own Professor was quite close to him, the only time closer had been when they were sparring. A quick glance at her and it was as if he’d imagined the slight sheen on her skin, the slickness in her front bangs, the slightly laboured breaths from merely moments ago. “Join me?”

For just the briefest of indulgent seconds, Felix felt the stoking of a small fire burn at the pit of his stomach. Irritation, humiliation, hunger, or something more, he didn’t bother to confront any of it, not when she angled her body to the side – to reveal Sylvain, of all people.

 He must’ve been frowning. “Think of it as a reward for doing so well,” was her voice, but Felix could barely register it. Why Sylvain? What did he do? His stomach growled. He probably voiced that second thought out loud.  “Gauntier?” she responded, and then Felix felt his ears burn. “He’s been impressing me with his improvement in reason magic, actually. So it’s my treat, for two of the most improved.”

If it was supposed to reassure him, it only lit the firewood of irritation and then tossed it into the inferno in his stomach. Most improved? Something about that felt diminutive.  Most improved was like the consolation prize for the sorry loser who placed last in the house tournaments. Most improved was no better than better luck next time and the irritation grew stronger even as he wrenched himself out of the line and followed his professor, fuming.

Even as they stalked past the line to the food, even as he picked up his tray filled with spicy foods -- she’d somehow known, again, like he was an open book – even as Sylvain tittered at his side until Felix had shot him a withering glare, the raging fire at his stomach didn’t cease. He placed his tray down and swung his legs over, his peripherals catching that his two would-be dinner companions doing the same. And then he waited for something, anything, fire still simmering in his stomach, the smell of his meal now contributing a dull ache of hunger to compliment the rest of his annoyance, and if his professor was about to give an invitation to start, well, it never happened.

He caught her eyes there, and then – amusement hedged out in the corners of her aqua eyes. “Aren’t you hungry?” she said, and it was almost teasing.

Felix registered that somewhere, but the thought was fleeting as he was quick to load on a forkful of food. The flavours were rich and so immensely satisfying, the comfort of satiation heavy and pleasurable. The spices cut through his weariness like a knife, not enough to re-invigorate anytime soon -- that wouldn’t happen until he’d collapsed on his cot – but enough to feel the energy returning to his limbs, if only a means for him to get to said cot once he was done with his meal.

He knew Sylvain was chattering away, as he did, and Felix couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering to why the hell Gauntier wasn't as ravenous like he was. Though Felix didn’t particularly care, he caught glimpses of their conversation, something about the spice spicing up his mind, giving him new things to focus on, is that a new shirt Professor? Because it’s very flattering on you –

And there was something so very self-satisfying at her perfect mask, cream skin soft and unyielding to Sylvain’s advances. Her voice a smooth impassive as she responded to each increasingly prodding question, and then of all things, when Sylvain wasn’t looking, she caught Felix’s eye.

And she winked.

.

Then, the next time he saw her eyes, they were puffy instead. 

For a moment, one crazy moment, Felix almost stretched his hand out. To rest on her shoulder. To stop her in her tracks, tell her that he knew what she was going through, that he’d gotten through the grieving by training, that if she wanted it, he’d be there, to train with her, to help her through this.

But her eyes didn’t meet his.

Felix watched her as she passed him, as she so often once did, but this time her hair was wet from rain, and her eyes churned with darkness and regret.

.

Felix had been wrong about her. 

He knew that, of course, when she’d first handed him on his ass without so much as breaking a sweat. But everything, absolutely everything, was different than his initial impression.

So a small, very small, part of him was satisfied when he’d rightly predicted his professor would be waiting for him for their next training appointment. They’d scheduled it a couple days before deployment, and a couple days before they’d lost Jeralt. The professor was always punctual, he’d known – but perhaps too punctual, he realized, and he paused at the doorway.

Just like the first time, Felix just knew she knew he was there, even though she slashed at nothing, each whir of her training blade more vicious than the last.

The seconds stretched to what felt like minutes, and the anticipation and churning he didn’t realize had been mounting in his stomach halted when she finally spoke.

“Not feeling it, Fraldarius?” light, almost teasing – if Felix didn’t know her, heard her talk to him so much by now, he wouldn’t have picked up the roughness in her voice, the rawness that could only have come from nights crying.

For a wild second, it was absolutely unfathomable to Felix that she was here, of all places. She could be anywhere, anywhere, and it would make sense, and no one would want her elsewhere otherwise. He certainly wasn’t cruel enough to expect her presence after her father died, the four Saints be damned.

And though his thoughts simmered and raged, stirring like a storm ready to strike, his body did what it knew best – brought him over to the weapon rack, wrap its fingers around the hilt of a training blade.

She sunk into an attack stance.

In the – several – sessions they’ve had now, each time, she’d brought something different. Just as Felix had begun to learn and read what she would do, she’d change it, and he’d be back to that frustrating square one all over again. Though he felt the progress, the change in his stance, the newfound lightness in his touch and fluidity of his sword arm, it almost felt like it wasn’t enough, not when facing her.

This time, she was aggressive. Each blow he managed to block, to shift his weight and be flexible in case she’d done something nasty like switch sword hands again. Again and again she lunged, and her eyes were fierce – blazing –

Maybe somewhere, he could understand it. He wasn’t going to ask questions. He wasn’t going to coddle her, like she was broken. He wasn’t going to treat her any differently, even when working through this loss. If he was going to, he would’ve done it the first time she stalked past him, grief still fresh, as she shrugged off the hands and concerns of her other students and his housemates.

Their swords smacked as their hilts caught, and suddenly all of his strength was focused on keeping her back. She drove forward still, her expression firm, and her grip twisted and tightened, the soft arms he’d once disapproved of suddenly stiffening and rolling to reveal sturdy muscle that had roped its way around her bones. Felix hadn’t realized that the marvel of it all had distracted him; one sudden shove and he found himself blundering backwards, barely able to collect himself, let alone dodge the next hit that swung dangerously close to his ears.

“Concentrate, Fraldarius,” she snapped, and Felix had the sneaking suspicion that those words weren’t for his benefit.

And so they continued, blow by blow, each one more heavy than the last, more desperate as they raced to the point of total exhaustion. And yet she never cracked, never betrayed more than fierce concentration at the forefront of her expression, just barely covering the unending aqua ocean of turmoil that Felix could barely register, especially in the heat of their sparring.

And when he’d collapsed on the ground, heaving for breath, Felix recoiled and craned his face away from the quivering tip of her blade. He swatted it away from him and out of her hand; it clattered noisily some ways away from them.

She too, was breathing heavily, and before he knew it she doubled over, the gasping breaths loud and echoing just as noisily as her discarded weapon had. For a brief, betraying second, it was almost a marvel to look at – for so long, Felix wanted to see her like this, and claim this state as something he’d driven her to –

But the taste of victory was sour, and the smile that may have perked her lips didn’t meet her eyes.

“Beat you again, Fraldarius,” she said blithely, as if beating him was as certain as the sun rising the next day.

But for once, he didn’t feel the usual stirs of fiery motivation in his stomach. Felix could only watch as she wordlessly picked up her discarded sword, then she slid his from his hands – they had fallen limp from exhaustion just trying to maintain her thunderous pace. She placed them back onto the rack, took a breath, then left.

A week later, just a certain as the sun setting in the evening, she was there at the usual time, already swinging her sword at nothingness. And after a while, just as certain as the promised nightfall that came after both, Felix found himself staring up the length of her wooden blade, breathing heavily and battered both outside and in, the tip of her weapon pointing steadily at his throat.

.

 Felix snaked out of the way, steel sword catching the weight of the axe that had been struck down towards him. With his weight balanced on one leg, he twisted, dug down, and shoved upwards, hard, against the forearm. His opponent blundered back, arm flung back from the momentum – open –

He slashed out, quick and light, against his chest, a spurt of red blood erupting from where metal met flesh. A horrible gurgle came from his foe as he slumped over.

Perhaps it was the flurry of the battle and of movement that was quickly becoming familiar to him, but Felix could almost hear his professor’s voice: ‘Nice one, Fraldarius!’ or something to that effect. Though the compliments were scarce and her praises keep changing, it was promising. His professor was serious – and sometimes wasn’t – but one thing was sure: she didn’t hand out praise easily.

It had taken a while to get her to return to normal, and as much as he’d like to accredit himself for the more recent reversion of his Professor to her normal self, he knew it was the promise of this mission. A chance to hunt down her father’s killer; she’d more or less thrown herself into the battle preparations, the training between the two of them less instructional and more like her honing her skills, gearing for this particular fight. She’d finally shown him how to do this move – officially, and not him trying to execute her signature overturn from merely observation alone.

For a second, he was giddy, a feeling that Felix hadn’t felt for a long, long time, and for another second, that could’ve easily been eternity, he wanted to show his professor, to show that he did pick it up, finally, but he heard the whistle of her tunic and not the whir of her sword.

She was bounding forward, teal-blue hair a blur behind her, moving faster than Felix had seen before. For a brief moment, irritation – had she always held back on him, then, if this was her true speed? – but then concern chased it away. And before he could stop her, join her, she’d leapt up onto the embedded altar, lithe as a cat, and just as quickly reached out with her blade.

It was as if time had slowed, or maybe it had stopped entirely. Though Monica – no, who was that – lunged out of the way, his professor’s sword extended, then unwound, like a whip, glowing red. It lashed outwards, just past the woman’s ear, before slamming into the ground, a loud keening whistling past him before being swallowed by the trees beyond.

Felix couldn’t watch, not when he sensed movement to his left. He scrambled out of the way as an arrow whizzed past him, and then he focused his attention to the trees. A small bit of movement caught his eye, just a brief rustling of bushes that could’ve easily been missed. He darted forward, not even close to his professor’s speed, and quickly swerved to the other side, catching the archer off guard, even more so as he sunk the tip of his blade into the offender’s neck.

The archer fell to his knees first, before slumping over, red staining the grass green.

“Professor!”

Dimitri screamed – and Felix’s blood turned cold.

He ran from beyond the trees, swatting and cutting down the undergrowth that got his way, and stumbled back onto the battlefield, where no more enemies stood, and instead laid, mangled, slain by his classmates, bodies by their feet.

But the altar was purple, pulsating with vile magic, and the professor nowhere in sight.

Felix barreled forwards, sword dangling limply in loose fingers, before altogether slipping and falling, impact cushioned by the grass. But Felix hardly cared. He hardly cared at all, as he grabbed the boar’s shoulders. “Where is she? Where’s the professor?” Felix could hear his voice was hoarse, but he hardly cared. “Where is Byleth?”

“I don’t know,” Dimitri responded, stunned, broken. “She was – she was just there—“

Irritation, panic, and fear almost made Felix’s voice crack. “What do you mean she was just there –“

Dimitri’s eyes showed absolutely nothing helpful. “- I—“

“—Answer me, you boar –“

“Felix!” was Mercedes, from somewhere to his right.  She took two bounding steps forwards and, one finger at a time, pried his grip from Dimitri’s shoulders. He turned to glare at her. Her hair was askew on her face, skin flushed red, but otherwise, her eyes were kind. “You’re hurt.”

“Of course I’m hurt,” he spat back, but for all the venom he’d loaded into his words, she, too, seemed unfazed. Like Byleth. “I’ll be fine – where’s the professor?”

“We don’t know!” Annette cried from the side, and the orange-haired mage came jogging forward. “We saw that creep who was pretending to be Tomas stick his hand right into Monica or whatever—“

“—Definitely not the way to treat a lady –“ was Sylvain, somewhere, but Felix ignored him.

“—not the point, Gauntier,” Annette dismissed quickly, voicing Felix’s thoughts, “and then everything glowed purple and –“

“—she disappeared,” finished Dedue, so simply, so like Byleth, that it made Felix’s skin crawl.

Before he could get a word in, yet another arrow whizzed by his ear, and Felix whirled – Seiros help whichever sorry archer loosed that shot – but it embedded itself deeply into an enemy’s soldier chest, one he hadn’t even realized was still alive. Felix whipped his head back over to catch Ashe jogging up to them, bow slack in his hand.

A flapping of wings interrupted Ashe before he could even speak, and Ingrid slid off her mount. “No time to waste, guys. There are more reinforcements coming from the north,” she spoke quickly, urgently, eyes blazing. “We can’t let the professor’s sacrifice be in vain—“

Sacrifice?

Felix’s vision blurred, and perhaps, if he admitted it to himself, may have tainted red. Just like that, another failed promise to himself. Would they write about Byleth too, spread word of how she died heroically, protecting her students, like Glenn? Would he be forced to wander, looking for a new opponent, for someone to approve of him?

Was he about to be left alone –

—Again?

From the corner of his eyes, he could see his classmates moving – but how could they, how could they so easily move – and it was another spike of jealousy, of anger, of self-loathing; he couldn’t seem to pull it together as easily as they could when he was the one who used to set the pace and –

—and—

— a beam of light halted all their movement, and for the second time, Felix’s blood ran cold.

It must’ve been a cruel trick: on the altar, where he’d seen the professor before he’d gone off into the woods, was the source of the sudden light. At first, a beam, but then, widening, slowly, meticulously, and then – of all things – the tip of her sword.

In a bright light that didn’t seem like it would ever fade, a backlit halo of greenish hair. Then her face, her full cheeks and cream skin, those deceptive arms that were not at all soft and were instead reinforced with muscle. Each inch of skin, limb by limb, dragged on, revealing more and more of Byleth, until her feet emerged as she more or less stepped from the light and what, incredulously in Felix’s mind, must’ve been a literal rip in time…

And she turned to her students, to him, eyes a bright viridian green, hardened and commanding, ready for battle.

For the briefest, dizziest second, somewhere within the flaming heat of elation and ice cold plunge of wonder, Felix thought he’d never seen someone more beautiful.

[aspaceformyselffics09]

Pied piper - Final

A/N: So, the ending here might feel a bit rushed, sorry about that. I was actually really stuck with how to give it a proper closing. But towards the end, I may have come up with something that could work. No, honestly, I don’t really know what I wrote. I hope you all enjoy it anyway :DD

Summary: After getting spell bounded by your voice, Jungkook begins to frequent the cafe where you worked at. But when his friends, the cafe owners Jimin and Yoongi urge him to talk to you, how will things spiral out?

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (ft. Jimin and Yoongi)

Genre: Fluff, AU

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5 k

Read part 1 here

Time moved strangely. Well, stranger than it usually did. Jungkook was sitting in a bus, his hands fiddling around with his phone. Occasionally, stealing glances at his watch. Barely a minute had passed since he last checked. Time was indeed moving strangely. Or is this just a sign of his growing impatience? Sighing to himself, he looked out the window. It was a clear evening outside, the dense cloud cover that hung around until the afternoon seemed to have magically dissipated. Jungkook was thankful for that, like very thankful. He was half worried you’d have to cancel on your “meet up” due to the weather. Soon, the sun began to set and dusk cast its spell over the city. 

“Guess I got lucky,” he told Jimin over the phone, the night before, to which the other just hummed.

“I told you, she wasn’t going to reject you kook,” He said.

“This isn’t a date hyung,” Jungkook whimpered, dramatically falling into his couch, “I just helped her and she agreed to come along as a thank you. That’s all.”

“Let me take you out on a date”, Jimin sneered over the phone which makes Jungkook turn around on his couch and flop his face into the pillows, “Isn’t that what you’ve said?” He laughs.

If technology allowed him, Jeonguk would definitely like to grab Jimin’s neck through the phone and strangle it. 

One more stop before he reaches the decided place. He runs a hand through his hair, checks his reflection on his phone and falls back into his seat. He can’t seem to believe that he was about to go out on a date with a girl he pined after for months and months together. It still felt unreal that you even agreed to let him take you out on one. No no no, he corrected himself, this isn’t a date. Maybe you agreed to go out with him but it doesn’t mean it’s a date. Although he said it’s a date. In his mind, girls like you (soft looking with the voice of an angel, smelling like vanilla and cinnamon) don’t go out with guys like him (lazes around on the couch all day, eats junk food and plays video games) 

Denial until the last moment. 

To be honest, he doesn’t even know why he’s denying it when he was the one who suggested it in the first place. Way to go Jeonguk. 

Jungkook jogged his way through the vast swarm of people on the streets, into a lane that opened into a wide alley. Around him, the avenue was alive and bustling. The area sort of looked like a night market with a lot of pop up stalls and food vendors around. The air smelled like freshly baked goods and grilled meat. Jungkook liked it. For a while, he stood around looking for you. He wasn’t sure if you had reached and was about to give you a call when he spotted you, standing under a street light. You were wearing a white T - shirt with blue stripes, sleeves so large that your fingers almost disappeared at it’s tips, a ripped jeans, and a big red scarf wound around your neck. Hung behind your back  was what looked like a guitar case. Your eyes were darting all around the place, maybe a bit lost. Your hair left free was stumbling over your face. Every now and then, you tucked a stray hair behind your ear but it came loose anyway. 

 Shit.

That was all Jungkook could think.

Shit. 

You looked absolutely beautiful standing under the light. 

Shit.

Jungkook felt his heart contract in his chest.

Shit.

Jungkook was done for.

Rapidly shaking his head, Jungkook trotted over. Halting a step behind you, he tapped you on your shoulder. You turned around, quivering a little at the unexpected touch. Jungkook was standing in front of you, looking as breathtaking as ever. He was wearing a white baggy t- shirt with a black leather jacket over, paired with an equally black fitting jeans and a bucket hat over his head and some boots. You blink and stare at him for longer than a moment. Your eyes travelling all over him. His big doe eyes staring into your own. Somewhere in your chest you could feel your heart squeeze.

“Hey” Jungkook says, not quite sure what to say. He then points to your guitar case, “You play a guitar”.

It was more of a statement than a question.

“Oh,” Your eyes flicker at him and then at the guitar case hung on your shoulder, “yeah, I do.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought it along,'' You added, “I just got done with my lessons and directly came over here.”

“Oh no no,'' he says, waving his hands in front of him, “I just hope you’ll let me listen to it when you play”.

“Of course”, you smile at him, your eyes crinkling.

helpless.

You are walking now, through the avenue. Jungkook wasn’t quite sure where you were heading to or what you’d be doing. He was surprised when you asked him to let you decide the place, he was expecting that maybe you both would go to a restaurant or something and then leave. To be honest, he didn’t try to make his assumptions. But, this was a pleasant surprise. Jungkook loved the streets, he loved street food more.  

The market was crowded, but this was expected out of a weekend. Around you, smells drifted and shifted, the area here is much warmer compared to before. The number of stalls and the crowd grew inconsistent and louder. People scurried past each other, one shoulder bumping into another. The path way was so narrow amidst the hive of activity that Jungkook and you couldn’t help but get pressed against each other’s side as you walked. Jungkook turned his head, gauging your expression, feeling a bit bashful. You weren’t looking at him, your eyes were fixed on the path ahead of you, but despite all this, there was a faint coat of pink on your cheeks. And Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or because of him. He wished it was because of him.

“Here” You stop abruptly. Jungkook taken off guard bumps into you. 

It was a small ramen house seated amidst the number of stalls that littered the area. It didn’t look like something that started recently, but had an authentic Japanese feel to it. There were elaborate paintings decorating the sliding doors, several low tables were scattered across the floor and lanterns hung like stars on the ceiling. Throngs of people kept pouring in and out of it. To Jungkook it felt like a place straight out of an old folk tale. It was entrancing.

Upon stepping inside, you were guided to a small cubicle at the farthest corner of the house. It was good because it gave you some privacy. 

“This belongs to a friend of mine,” You say sitting from across him, settling your guitar down next to you, leaning it against the wall, “but, I’ll bet you my entire guitar that the ramen here is amazing!”

Jungkook chuckles at that, “I can’t wait to find out.”

You both lazily flip through the menu, chatting a bit here and there but the awkwardness between you still present and felt. 

“Found anything you like?” A familiar voice hovers above them and Jungkook looks up. His mouth drops open. Yoongi. 

From across him, you order a Miso ramen without batting an eyelash and Jungkook stares at you baffled. After taking your order, Yoongi turns to him.

“What about you?” he asks him, no change or whatsoever in his expression. Jungkook rigorously shakes his head and dives back into the menu. He orders a Shoyu Ramen. A last minute panic decision. Yoongi nods, scribbles on the small notebook he’s carrying around and looks at them again. Jungkook is still staring, his mouth wide open. 

“What?” he asks him confused.

“What’re you doing here?!” Jungkook manages to squeak out.

“Oh,” Yoongi says pointing towards the counter, “I’m just helping out for tonight, a friend of mine owns this place”.

Jungkook and You follow the direction in which Yoongi was pointing at. A tall guy with broad shoulders and an undeniably handsome face was waving at your group. You enthusiastically wave back, a small but bright smile on your face. But that was soon cut short because a group of people crowded around him and ushered him away.

“Oh, that’s my friend,” You say, giggling a little.

Jungkook’s mouth clamps shut. This has to be the whole universe scheming against him.

And when he doesn’t say anything any further, Yoongi remarks, “I see that you finally worked up some courage,” a hint of a smile was playing on his lips, “Not bad, Kook, not bad.”

With eyes widening and panic striking, Jungkook’s attention immediately snaps to you. You were staring between him and Yoongi with a quizzical expression on your face. Jungkook makes a face as if he’s warning Yoongi, “One more word”, he thinks to himself but Yoongi chooses to ignore him.

“Well, I’m just glad you decided not to run away from your feelings,” Yoongi winks at him and paddles away, leaving Jungkook mouth gapping and glaring after him. 

“What’s he talking about?” You ask as soon as Yoongi was out of earshot. For a while Jungkook doesn’t say anything but his ears were burning red. Well, thank you Yoongi. 

And thankfully you don’t probe any further either. But the awkwardness at the table seemed to have spiked up a notch higher than before or this could just be Jungkook panicking. Clearing your throat, you reached out to the glass of water in front of you, the sametime as Jungkook. Both your faces turn pink and you retract your hands almost immediately. Gosh, this is soooo awkward! Jungkook winces internally wondering if you’re actually hating how the whole thing was going so far. He wouldn’t be surprised if you gave him an excuse and left as soon as you’re done with the meal.

This is a disaster. 

And then, a distinct melody filled his ear. He looks up. You were humming, your eyes closed. Jungkook’s nerves settle down.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he says, his eyes softly gazing at you. 

“Thank you,” You nod at him, smiling, your eyes cracking open enough for you to see him.

“I’ve always watched you sing,” he adds without thinking, his mind coming to an abrupt halt, “I mean listened to you sing, I love your voice.”

You don’t say anything but continue to hum, the smile on your face widening. Jungkook thinks he can watch you smile all day long.

“Did you always liked music?” He asks, a soft smile on his face..

“Yes!” You pipe up, your eyes shining and face glowing, “I’ve always loved music ever since I can remember.”

You’re not a person who says much, Jungkook finds out. But when it comes to talking about music, your eyes sparkle and you talk. A lot. You tell him the story of how you came all the way from a small town, somewhere from y/c/n, moved to Korea, to study under your aunt who’s a medic. But you don’t really enjoy it, since it was something formerly decided by your family. Jungkook feels bad for the kind of situation you were in but also learns that, you’ve been considering ditching it and continuing to pursue music full time. 

“Meeting Jimin and Yoongi and performing at their cafe was an awakening for me,'' You tell him, “It made me discover how much I enjoy it. How it fulfills me in a way anything else can’t.”

In turn Jungkook tells you about how he’s an art major, how he loved to paint ever since he was a kid. How he had to struggle for about four years fighting with his parents to let him choose his own career and finally how he moved to Seoul. You both understand each other this way. The struggle, the passion and the pain to keep doing what you love and chase it with all your heart. You both go along this conversation for almost an hour, your ramen comes and you finish your meal, but, you can’t stop talking. There was a point in between where both of you bickered to pay but in the end Jungkook beat you to it and told you, you could pay for something else later and winked at you. You turned beet red at that.

It feels nice you think. To be able to talk so much with someone and feeling at ease about it. It had been a while.

You’re back on the street now, walking alongside each other. Somewhere in between paying and getting out, Jungkook took hold of your guitar case and hung it over his shoulders. 

“I feel cool”, he tells you, to which you giggle, “But gosh, I’ve always wanted to try playing a guitar before”.

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Oh well,” He scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t know, I actually went to some classes you know? But gave up in between. Now the guitar just rots in my home attic. Back at Busan.”

“Why did you give up?” You ask, kicking along some pebbles on the street, playing with them.

“I don’t really know I guess,'' he chuckled, “But mostly, life happened and I got busy.”

“Understandable”, you agreed. 

Behind you, the scenery shifted from the market to comparatively quieter residential streets. Somewhere along the way, you both bought some mini pancakes which you were sharing back and forth between you two. Around you, most people began to retire to their homes but you don’t stop walking. To be honest, you hardly even noticed the shift in your surroundings. No one notices the time and no one notices the place. You just keep walking, talking, playing around, blushing every time your hands brush or shoulders collide. 

“Hey Jungkook,” You called, tugging on his sleeves. Jungkook turns towards you.

“You should let me see your paintings one day.”

He smiles at that. It was blinding.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

At one point though you might have taken the road to the beach. Because right now, in front of you was a vast spread of sand and waves crashing against each other. Perhaps mirroring you two. Above you, the moon is high up in the sky, shining especially bright tonight. It casted down splinters of solomon gold making the sea crests sparkle like elf light. Jungkook and you settle down on the bleachers lined up along the entrance, facing the vast body of water in front of you. A gust of cold breeze swept from across the ocean, through your hair and disappeared into the sky above. For a while no one said anything, you just stared into the ocean.

Jungkook decided he likes how the dark blue of the sky and the ocean were reflected in your eyes. And as if feeling his gaze upon you, you turn toward him. Your eyes flickering up to look into his own. The pale moonlight and a distant street lamp were reflected on his face creating stark outlines of yellow and white in contrast to the shadows that were cast upon him. The sight looked enthralling, it took your breath away. Both Jungkook and the scenery behind him and how seamlessly he seemed to blend into it.

Jungkook probably wasn’t expecting it. Even with how close you were sitting next to each other. You had no idea what possessed you to do it. You probably weren’t thinking. One second you were lost in the boy and the scenery in front of you and another second you were leaning in and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. A look of surprise and confusion slide across Jungkook’s face and you realize a bit too late what you’ve done. As soon as the realization dawns upon you, you do a double take and your hands fly to cover your mouth.

“Ohmygod!” You gasp, your eyes wide, panic surging through your entire body, your face tinted with the brightest of reds,“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking! OHMYGOD! I’m an idiot, I fucked up! I didn’t even ask you! I’m so sorry! OHMYGOD!”

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out to you amidst your panic but you ignore him, continuing to do what you were.

“Hey y/n,” He calls again, this time, his hands found their way to your shoulders and were tightly gripping at them, “Hey y/n look at me.” 

But you hardly heed his words or pay attention to him. Your hands move to cover your face. An attempt to hide yourself away. You wonder if it’s physically possible for you to melt into the floor and disappear off this world. This is so embarrassing! But before you can blink, his hands move to your wrists and he pries them open, pulling you into his space, his lips capturing you in a kiss. For a moment you find yourself unable to say anything. Stunned wasn’t even the right word. You could hardly even register what was going on. Everything comes to a standstill as you slowly melt into the kiss. The rhythm of his lips moving against yours. Like the sound of waves crashing against each other, pulling and pushing. 

You sigh shakily into the kiss. At a point Jungkook does too. To you, he might look like he has everything under control. But only he knows how overwhelmed he was feeling. Overwhelmed with the fullness of your lips over his own, the quivering of your eyelashes, the soft hitch of your breath. His mind still reeling and realigning around the fact that yes he is kissing you, holding you. Yes, you’re here sitting under a sky full of stars, in front of the vastness of the sea and kissing. Maybe, a few minutes into the date Jungkook didn’t think anything would lead up to here. Honestly, this wasn’t even on his mind. But here he is, here you are. Here you both are. It wasn’t a deep kiss, nor was it rushed. It was slow, soft, feathery and burning. Somewhere in between, you move your hands to his neck, settling them around it, your body moving closer to his and his own  hands land on your cheeks. A while after savouring each other, you part.

Silence.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks you after a beat, carefully scrutinizing your face, trying to look for any signs of discomfort or unease.

“Yeah,” You answer him, your breath trembling, still dazed by the sudden turn of events, “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he chuckles, his hands still cupping your face, “Gosh, I wanted to do this for so long…”

“Me too.”

“You did?”

“You know,” You pause looking away and then added, “I saw you everyday, at the cafe. You were there every time I performed. I always saw you.”

“Yeah?” Jeonguk’s voice comes across as a breathy titter. His breath feels completely caught, trapped half way. His mind sent into a dreamy haze. He never thought you noticed him.  

“Whenever I felt like I was not enough, or whenever I was losing confidence in my own voice,” You continued biting your lip, “Just noticing you among the audience, day after day, listening to the same songs everyday, over and over again. It helped me regain that confidence.”

Jungkook really didn’t know what to say. He was knocked into silence.

“How could I keep away,” He finally says, “You were mesmerizing. You were like a pied piper calling me to you. Everyday, over and over again.”

“That’s cheesy,” The giggle that escapes your chest sends goosebumps all over Jungkook’s body and he couldn’t help the inevitable smile on his face. 

“But thank you,'' You added.

Finally, the initial shock fades away and you grin at each other, parting, turning yourselves to face the blue in front of you. You remain like that in silence but content. 

Then it’s midnight. 

You find yourselves walking back home. 

“Jimin is finally going to be happy,” You say sniggering behind your fist.

“Jimin? Why?” Jungkook asks you amused.

“I’ve been eating his head off since the past couple of days,'' You say in a matter of factly tone. 

“What have you been chewing him off for?”

“Well….” You trail off, trying to suppress a giggle that was trying to escape you, “I may have been bombarding him with questions in regards to a certain someone who comes by to all my performances.”

Another breath knocked right out of his windpipe. This is so unfair.

“You’re so unfair!” Jungkook exclaims, burying his face in his hands and crouching down on the floor, “So unfair!”

“Jungkook”, you poke at him, now laughing out loud, “If you continue sitting here, I’m gonna leave you behind.”

Sucking a breath back in, Jungkook lifts his head to look at you. His face adorned in a pout. 

“Well”, he sighs, “That makes two of us. Jimin will be happy.”

“Jimin will be happy.”

“You’re forgetting Yoongi.”

“Yoongi too,” You giggle.

“And we are idiots.”

“That we are.”

[balancingdiet]

Tabula Rasa

Detective Conan & Magic Kaito Characters: Shinichi/Kaito Words: 2500 ish Chapter: (1) ... (13) (14) (15)

Shinichi always finds his neighbour weird. But he didn’t expect to find his neighbour lying on a patch of grass and donned in Kaitou Kid’s costume, too.

Shinichi couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d noticed Kuroba’s house had changed since the last time he’d been here.

It could be because of the different circumstances—having your mail stolen and then finding your neighbour on the floor was definitely not a good experience, in comparison to sitting on a comfortable sofa while looking forward to a delicious dinner—but there was something else that was different too.

Shinichi stared at the coffee table in front of him. He definitely didn’t remember it being there when he slept on the same floor beside the sofa, and his memory had no recollection of the flower vase sitting on the television stand too; Kuroba’s house wasn’t as vast and spacious as before, but it wasn’t a bad thing either.

Frankly, his house felt more homely, and permanent.

Unlike some kind of temporary pit stop.

Besides the little, extra furniture that appeared around Kuroba’s home, Shinichi noticed the increase in numbers of doves too. Previously he’d witnessed three that roamed free, but now the number had doubled to six. Two were sitting on an empty wall shelf below the clock, three were spread out and perched on the wide television set, and the last one was on the back of the sofa Shinichi was sitting at. And honestly, that dove was the most threatening one to him since he wasn’t sure when it would suddenly fly and sit on his head.

He decided to save himself from worrying and leave his spot for the kitchen instead.

“Nice timing.” Kuroba glanced at Shinichi over his shoulder before pointing at the counter on the other side of the kitchen. “Can you pass me that bowl of soy sauce over there?”

Shinichi did. The heavenly smell intensified when Kuroba poured the sauce over the rice evenly, and it took Shinichi loads of effort to hold that embarrassing gulp of hunger as he stood dumbly by Kuroba’s side. He soon figured staring at Kuroba’s cooking wasn’t going to help curb his in-coming drools, so he glanced up at the window in front of them, which was coincidentally the perfect view of Kuroba's backyard.

There were three rows of perfectly trimmed rose bushes, and the colour of each rose looked way prettier and brighter than most of the flower shops Shinichi passed on the streets.

Kaitou Kid’s talents never failed to amaze Shinichi sometimes, but Kuroba Kaito wasn’t lacking in that either.

“Are all the roses cultivated for your performances?” Shinichi couldn’t help but ask.

The grin that spread across Kuroba’s cheeks told Shinichi the next thing he was going to say would be probably be stup— “And to offer them to my audiences too, provided they don’t reject them,” Kuroba said.

Shinichi rolled his eyes, and in that brief turn of head, he noticed there was a small, lone bush at the far corner of the backyard, one he didn’t realise existed until now. He squinted his eyes, trying to see what it was.

They were blue roses.

“How on earth…” Shinichi muttered.

Kuroba glanced up and followed Shinichi’s gaze, but he didn’t respond.

“Even though I’m not a fan of plants or flowers, I do know that blue roses can’t be grown naturally,” Shinichi pointed out.

“You’re definitely a genius; those blue roses aren’t grown naturally,” Kuroba said (and Shinichi also detected an underlying, mocking tone somewhere in his voice). “I made them through genetic modification by using normal rose seeds and blue forget-me-nots.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Kuroba echoed as he switched off the fire.

“That’s some really tedious work. I supposed they aren’t for your normal performances?” Shinichi elaborated as he took the two stacked plates that were on his side and handed them to Kuroba, who accepted them wordlessly. “Is it for Kaitou Kid’s use?”

“No, they’re not.”

If it wasn’t for Kid’s purposes… Shinichi supposed the conversation should probably end here—

“It’s a gift for someone,” Kuroba said.

Shinichi couldn’t help but gape at the side of Kuroba’s face as he nonchalantly scooped the rice onto the plates.

Kuroba’s glass wall was still as high and unbreakable, but for the first time, the game of flickering lights wasn’t played according to Kuroba’s bidding anymore. Instead, what Shinichi found in his hand on the opposite side of the glass was a switch.

Kuroba had given him that switch.

But Shinichi had no idea what to do with it.

Shinichi could foresee a dozen of possible conversation routes in his mind, but there was one thing he wanted more right now than seeing another of Kuroba’s vulnerable moment or getting answers to satisfy his never-ending curiosity about Kaitou Kid.

He just wanted some good fried rice.

“I see,” was all Shinichi said before he made his move and began wandering around, pulling drawers to find and set the utensils on the small dining table for two, which was in-between the kitchen and living room (speaking of which, Shinichi wasn’t sure if he remembered seeing the dining table the last time he was here too.)

Kuroba said nothing else either as he brought the plates out.

Sitting opposite of each other, they said their thanks for the food and dug in.

Just a few mouthfuls later, a dove from the television set flew and settled on Kuroba’s shoulder. It leaned towards the spoonful of rice that Kuroba was going to eat.

“No, Hiro. This isn’t for you.” Kuroba swatted it away. “Let me eat in peace.”

It pecked Kuroba’s hand.

“So...” Shinichi watched in amusement as Kuroba continued his little battle with the dove. “Is this one of the few doves you said you let out because they are obedient?”

Kuroba gave him a side-eye. “Yeah.”

Shinichi figured there was no point in expressing the very irony that was happening right now. “Did more grow obedient then?” He gestured towards the other five doves in the living room. “I see you let more of your doves out.”

“I didn’t let more out; they are the same entitled few: Hiro, Yoshi, Tamago”—Shinichi cringed at the mention—“Ryo, Sake and Wasabi,” Kuroba said, pointing at each dove briefly as he checked their names off one by one. “There’s two more, Touma and Curry, but I think they are in the garden,” he added.

Shinichi suddenly remembered their previous and almost random conversation that was brought up in a similar fashion when they were eating fried rice, but it happened in Shinichi’s house instead. “So you weren’t kidding when you said you named half of your doves as food?”

Kuroba looked offended. “I never joke about my doves.”

Shinichi barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes as he turned to glance at the doves once more, especially the one still sitting on the back of the couch. He didn’t quite catch it, but he believed that was the direction Kuroba was pointing at when he mentioned Tamago’s name—

“I guess more of them appeared in your presence because they are growing to trust you,” Kuroba suddenly said.

Shinichi shifted in his seat, unsure of what to say. “I see.”

Kuroba chuckled.

Only satisfied after Kuroba gave in and fed it a few grains of rice, Hiro finally flew back to the living room.

“Anyway, did you have a house-warming party I didn’t know of?” Kuroba asked.

Shinchi twiddled with his spoon. “There’s no house-warming party.”

Kuroba raised an eyebrow. “But Hattori Heiji was having a tour around your backyard.”

“It was for a distraction,” Shinichi said, just a second too late to realise he shouldn’t have admitted that. But there was no way to retract his statement, and with Kuroba’s curious eyes staring right at him, it was hard for him to not continue, “Hattori was... trying to distract me.”

“From?”

Shinichi had talked to Kuroba enough to pick up a skill or two at deflecting conversations, but he found himself hesitating for reasons that were not clear in his head.

“Do you remember what you said about Tabula Rasa?” Shinichi said instead.

Kuroba’s expressionless look and silence seemed to be his answer.

“I supposed it’s similar to the reason why I moved here too,” Shinichi continued, “I wanted to start anew and move on from the entire Edogawa Conan thing.”

Kuroba looked at Shinichi for a long while before lowering to gaze at his food.

“You know...” Kuroba began, “there’s a difference between hiding and starting anew.”

Shinichi blinked.

Kuroba’s eyes were still on the plate, but Shinichi could tell there was a distant look in his eyes. “You should go and find her.”

How did he... “What?”

“You can never start anew when something is still holding you back.” Kuroba glanced up. “The mere fact that you’re running away from the media already say as much.”

Shinichi parted his lips, but his tongue turned tied at the challenging look in Kuroba’s eyes.

Everything grew quiet still between them.

Then, somewhere in the living room, a dove cooed.

“You should really go and find her,” Kuroba said again.

Before the silence started to sink in, a sudden shrill of alarm echoed throughout the house, startling Shinichi out of his plan to rebuke whatever Kuroba had said.

And he still hadn’t found any point to make.

Kuroba pulled out the phone from his pocket and switched off the alarm. Every line of tension in his face was already gone, as if those moments were just a collective hallucination Shinichi had.

“Alright, time for me to go.” Kuroba stood up and carried his plate to the kitchen sink. On the way, he made a unique whistling tune, and the six doves in the living room immediately got into action and flew up to the second floor.

Shinichi didn’t want to admit this, but he was genuinely confused and... a little curious. Finishing his last few mouthfuls, Shinichi picked up his empty plate and headed to the kitchen too.

“Where are you going?” he asked when Kuroba took the plate from him to wash.

Kuroba turned and stared at him. And when Shinichi still didn’t say anything, he laughed. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

Shinichi frowned. “What?”

“I have a heist later.”

It took a couple of seconds before Shinichi registered Kuroba’s words. “You have a heist today?”

Kuroba exaggerated a sigh and showed a small pout. “I’m really hurt, Tantei-kun," Kuroba, or rather, Kaitou Kid said.

He had been so caught up in today’s moment that he’d completely forgotten. “I honestly don’t remember,” Shinichi said, and he was relieved his brain wasn’t fried enough to add an apology behind. “But if you have a heist, why did you even agree to my request?”

“In exchange of being acknowledged as your best neighbour, I find it a worthy deal.”

...What the hell?

“By the way, you’re invited to my heist,” Kuroba said as he placed the clean plates and pan on the drying rack.

Shinichi narrowed his eyes. “It’s not your call.”

“The place is an open public space. Nobody has the call.”

“Fine. Don’t regret what you said,” Shinichi warned.

Kuroba grinned before making some stupid, wooing sounds. “Should I be feeling threatened?”

“If that will keep your guard up, I suggest you should be.” Shinichi gave Kuroba’s kitchen a last glance. “I’ll thank you for the food, Kuroba. But when you’re in that white suit, I won’t recognise him as you.”

“I’d like that.” Shinichi heard Kuroba say before he headed for the door.

----

Dealing with Kid was complicated enough, let alone the feisty crowd in the large garden that the thief held his heist at, or rather the millionaire, who decided to show-off his gem by placing it on the heart of the statue fountain he publicly donated.

Shinichi had no idea how many times he was pushed and stepped on, but after witnessing Kaitou Kid’s cheeky smile as he stolen the gem and disappeared in just three seconds, it fuelled Shinichi enough to rack his brain in a speed he hadn’t done in a long while, and he figured the only direction that Kid could go to use the wings he had.

After getting pushed and stepped even more, Shinichi found his way up the small hill behind the garden. There were some police officers that were dispatched towards the hill too, but after a short while when their radio cackled to life and someone claimed he saw Kid flew away in another direction, they followed the order to return back to the garden.

Shinichi continued his own way.

The distance between the lamp posts grew bigger and bigger as Shinichi went further up the hill, but by the time he neared the top, the dark trees around him were slightly illuminated by the citylights below.

And the large moon.

And the bold and semi-glowing whiteness that Kaitou Kid’s costume showed.

In his gloved hand that was raised high under the moon was the stolen gem.

Shinichi stopped, crossing his arms as he stared at Kid’s back. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

The dark shadows under his hat covered most of Kid’s face, but Shinichi noted the tension in his shoulders. Only after a long while, Kid finally placed his arm down. He tossed the gem in the air and caught it with his other gloved hand. Then with a wave, it was gone from both.

Kid turned, finally acknowledging Shinichi’s presence and words. “What makes you think I’m looking for anything?” he said.

Shinichi looked unimpressed. “Am I wrong?”

“You sound very scary, Tantei-kun.” Kid pushed the brim of his hat up, revealing the gleam in his monocle. “Besides, I would never dare to say you’re wrong.”

As much as he wished to separate Kuroba and Kaitou Kid apart, their uncanny way to divert the conversation was just too similar.

Shinichi pointed a finger-gun at Kid. “Are you going to surrender now or what.”

There was an odd silence before Kaitou Kid suddenly burst out laughing. “Please don’t do that,” he said, but the charismatic tone that Kid always used wasn’t there. It was Kuroba speaking.

Shinichi frowned. “What?”

Kuroba pointed a finger-gun back. “You look stupid.”

A vein popped in Shinichi’s temple as he balled the same hand into a fist. “Do you want me to kill you?”

“Sorry.” Kuroba heaved a breath to calm himself. “But anyway, thanks for the fun night, despite the shortness of it.”

“There is nothing fun.” Shinichi narrowed his eyes. “And what about the jewel?”

“In safe hands.”

“Do you mean your hands—”

A sound of fluttering wings interrupted Shinichi, and he looked up, finding a dove right above him. But before he could complain about the few feathers that littered his head, the dove poofed into the gem, and it fell at the rate gravity allowed.

Shinichi caught it.

He glanced up.

Kaitou Kid was gone.

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [21/?]

The Wife || Ch 21 ~ 4.3k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13Ch14 Ch15Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 Ch20 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

Emma takes some convincing to believe that Nemo has taken no offence – has hardly noticed, if Killian is being honest – her perceived blunder.

On the other hand, their host has hardly failed to notice how well widowhood agrees with lady Belle and it takes only another walk around the estate with Emma’s hand tucked safely into his arm and her ear ready and willing to listen to all his little observations for her to agree that the old captain and Mrs Gold appear very comfortable with the minimal distance and abundant conversation between them.

“I thought it was the business of mothers and dotting aunts to make matches,” she teases him and Killian turns his head a little to the side, trying and probably failing to hide his embarrassment.

It is hard to keep his gaze away when Emma comes to a sudden halt, yanking him back with her hold on his arm. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, there is mirth in her features that Killian knows he is the cause of but all he can think about is how sweet and delectable she looks.

“You really do like it!” she exclaims and it’s more laughter than words and he does his best to look stern and affronted and not taken with her antics.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, love.”

“You like arranging matches for people,” she fires back undeterred.

“First, I have arranged nothing. I merely inquired after a friend’s well-being. Nemo’s invitation for her to dine with us and stay for a few days was completely of his own making. And, second, I have hardly made a habit of predicting, let alone promoting, romance in years.”

Emma’s eyes don’t stray for a moment and narrow dangerously towards the end of his exasperated statement – that’s how he knows he has made a mistake somewhere.

“But you did before,” she says with conviction that will be startling if he wasn’t so damn used to being surprised by her.

And yet, he can only sputter in search of words – denials – in response to her confidence and eventually settles for moving closer instead, leaning down to kiss her cheek and tuck a lock of hair that has escaped her coiffure behind her cold-tinged ear. It’s not wholly an attempt to distract her, seeing as these days he is in an almost constant state of restraining his desire to touch her in some way or other.

“If you believe me to have a flair for this sort of thing, I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you, my queen.”

Her eyes narrow again and she hums in thought that he is honestly a little apprehensive about but her gloved hand wraps more firmly around his forearm and she starts back down the path. For a few minutes they walk among the sounds of the birds that don’t mind the low temperatures and the little pebbles that Emma delights in kicking in every direction. Killian thinks himself safe. Killian is a fool.

“But you have done it before,” she waves her hand ahead of them, where Nemo and Belle are almost lost from view now.

“Emma,” he groans.

“I just find it intriguing, that’s all.”

“Oh, intriguing, is it? You mean because of how unromantic I usually am?”

“What an idea! You are the most romantic man I know.”

“You don’t know enough men then,” he says mostly just to be contradictory and their eyes meet and widen at the same time. “I immediately retract that statement.”

Her laughter comes out in a delicate white cloud.

“Good.”

“I merely meant that, just because I did not have the chance to properly woo you, does not mean I have no notion of the concept.”

“I felt plenty wooed.”

Her voice is playful and her smile coquettish and he feels the warmth of her happiness unfurl inside him and yet, he can’t help the spark of indignation at the fact that she doesn’t know how much more she should expect.

In the heyday of their romance, he took Milah to every dance, play or exhibition that a lady might wish to attend and showered her with gifts nearly every week. What is more, he felt like he knew the right thing to say or do to charm, amuse or reassure her in every situation.

He doesn’t know if it’s age or experience – if he has changed or if he merely sees himself and the world more clearly now – but something has undermined that sheer arrogance. For now he knows that there are some things that are beyond anyone’s control and some moments which words cannot quite encompass.

Then again, Emma doesn’t seem to desire a social life that he will have to strain himself to give her and, while he is finding more and more words to express his devotion to her, he thinks she doesn’t care much for what they do or say as long as they are together.

Still, part of him wishes he’d met her in a situation that allowed him to court her properly, to show her how she should’ve been treated all along, but most of him is focused on the fact that her already being his wife needn’t deter him from doing so anyway.

*****

She moves slowly at first, almost cautiously, afraid to rise too high or fall too fast, exhilarated and yet self-conscious of the power she has. She flexes her fingers over his skin and squeezes her thighs around him, letting her head drop back and her back arch as far as it will go.

Unsurprisingly, Killian was right – she likes this. It feels much more like a dance, the thrill of riding combined with the thrill of him. She opens her eyes and leans down, her hair closing around them. Killian lets go of her hip and brushes away the strands that fall on his lips, his hand slipping to the back of her neck and pulling her mouth forcefully down to his.

He likes this too. That doesn’t really surprise her either.

She never thought anyone liked having someone else in control, guiding them where they wanted to go, choosing the pace and destination. Every journey – of the world or the heart – that he has taken her on has worked to change her mind, to show her how much she can enjoy – revel in, truly – being guided by his hand.

Unconsciously, instinctively, she believed a woman could never have that power, not over a man, not to his enjoyment. He is changing her mind about that too.

It’s different when she can feel his ecstasy all the way to the end, when she can feel his groans of pleasure reverberate inside her, when she can keep him there seemingly forever. It’s better and, for the first time, Emma is certain that, if it could never be more than this, them, coming together again and again, it will be enough.

He tells her later, as they lie face to face, their skin still a little flushed and her leg thrown over his, her fingers toying with the hairs under his bellybutton and his stump fitting right in the bent of her knee.

He tells her that Elsa was introduced to him first but one look at his brother’s face at the next ball made Killian plead off dancing for the night. He tells her how uncertain Alice was about wanting and accepting more than Robin’s friendship, about the pages she filled with reasons not to listen to her heart and the ones he wrote back to her, rebutting each one.

He tells her how frustrating it felt to not be able to talk his own damn self into some semblance of happiness, how foreign and ill-fitting the concept of love became when he tried to mold it to his own life, so she pulls him into her, binding her arms around him and kissing the thoughtful lines on his face until he laughs without breath and she knows he doesn’t have to talk himself into anything now.

She tells him the concept of love and the reality of him are one and the same to her.

*****

“Why do I even bother?”

It’s the most hostile sound she has heard Mrs Gold make in the last two days, accompanied by the very unladylike manner in which she tosses her cards on the table and leans back in her chair with a groan.

It makes Emma like her more – those not so perfect quirks and motions that the other woman is beginning to let slip around her. She supposes her own much friendlier attitude might have something to do with it.

“You should know your husband is a cheat.”

Emma’s incredulous eyes fly from Belle’s pointed look to Killian’s glowering one.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t cheated once tonight.”

Emma scrutinizes him and the slight flush as he shuffles the cards one-handed.

“That doesn’t mean you never do.”

“I assure you, love, cards and dice are the only things I take liberties with.”

He winks at Emma as he tosses the cards to Captain Nemo but she feels the prickle of guilt at the nape of her neck despite his blasé attitude.

Even though they are almost the same age, Belle acts as if Killian is her little brother no less than Liam does and Emma has spent the better part of the last couple of days bouncing between feeling ridiculous and absolutely rotten for despising Belle for an evening and making Killian think that she could ever doubt his faithfulness.

“Come now, my lady,” Nemo’s amusement cuts thought the fog of her thoughts just in time for her to take the cards he hands her, while still addressing Belle. “I’m sure Killian will behave in the presence of his wife.”

Killian sends her a look that makes her swallow hastily and glower down at her cards. They will be leaving tomorrow and she is determined that they shall make the most of Captain Nemo and Mrs Gold’s company tonight.

“I have yet to win a hand so I’m tempted to encourage some misbehavior,” the words are out of her mouth before she can think them over and the way Killian’s leg bumps hers under the table feels less than deliberate.

She smiles innocently at Belle’s choked laugh and does her utmost to avoid her husband’s eyes.

When she wins the next game, there is no doubt in her mind how it came about.

*****

Emma’s been having doubts for the last half an hour, doubts she has dismissed because she has hardly travelled at all and Killian certainly knows where the house he has lived in for years is located. Except it’s been half an hour and Killian is dozing off on her shoulder and she is sure that there weren’t this many turns on the way to Captain Nemo’s estate.

“Killian,” she brushes his hair back and hesitates at the peaceful expression on his face.

Then she feels the carriage tilt a little to the side and increases her efforts to not think about the worst possible reasons why they might be going the wrong way.

“Wake up, my heart,” she strokes her fingers over the almost white hair at his temples until his eyes flutter open.

Killian press further into her and turns his head a little to kiss her shoulder, his nose skirting the edge of silk and skin.

“What’s the matter, love?”

“I’m sorry, I just… Killian, I think we are going the wrong way.”

For half a breath she feels his body go rigid against hers and her heart manages to fit three whole beats into the moment before his lips quirk against her skin. She can’t help how loud her gasp is when his teeth sink into her.

“Have I told you that you are a very clever woman, Mrs Jones?”

“I—I don’t think… you have.”

He makes a sound of displeasure, his chin leaves her shoulder and in the next moment she feels the cold point of his nose right behind her ear, sending a shiver down her entire left side.

“You are. On occasion you can be less bright and observant so I might have the chance to surprise you from time to time as well.”

“Oh,” she raises her hand to the back of his head to urge him closer still, his words not truly registering for a few seconds, except for the deep cadence of them that makes her stomach clench. “Wait, you— Oh, you know we are not going home?”

“We are. We are just taking a more scenery road back.”

“But we’re not— oh, Killian,” she hitches her skirts up even though they seem to do little to impede him. “We’re not looking at the scenery.”

He pulls back enough that she can see the mischief and teasing dancing in his eyes.

“Would you like to?”

She pulls him into a kiss.

*****

He watches her face, coveting every expression, as he helps her out of the carriage and the first strong gust of wind and spray plasters her skirts to her legs and whips her hair in every imaginable direction. He feels something soft and tickling right in the middle of his chest at she frowns and squints at first, obviously questioning his decision to make them step out into the coldness and humidity. Then she takes in the world around her – the awe-inspiring cliffs and pitch-black rocks and the water stretching out as far as the eye can see.

As her hand rises to her open mouth and her eyes widen, he grabs and tucks away every movement quicker than the best pickpocket.

“Oh.”

She glances at him with her big, bright eyes and he feels a sudden urge to drop to his knees before her. If she were not his wife already, he would have probably done so indeed. As it is, he squeezes the small hand that still rests in his and ushers her away from the dirt road and up a narrow, winding trail that leads to the top of the wide cliff.

He is ready to help her up the slight incline but completely unsurprised when she lets go of him and scrambles up ahead, her skirts darkening at the bottom with every step and her hair becoming more and more of a mess. But he is there to steady her when she gets to the top and staggers a little backwards at the fierce press of the wind. In no time at all, there are little spatters of water on her cheeks and her eyes are still as wide as he has ever seen them, her breathing a little labored from the climb and her scarf askew. Killian adjust the heavy material to cover her neck and shoulders but makes no futile attempts to arrange her hair.

“It’s… it’s so… vast and wild.”

He hums in agreement and watches her take a few steps closer to the edge, the sea spray reaches him mixed with her scent and he knows this is one of those moments memory can never quite replicate after, one of those moments that are all life and here and now and joy to be alive. He stays back for a minute or two and lives in it.

When he comes up behind her, she reaches for him without turning around and draws his arms around her waist.

“Thank you.”

He presses his lips against the side of her head and pulls his shoulders forward and around her to protect her from the chill.

“I will bring you again in the summer,” he promises. “When it’s softer and warmer and you can bury your feet in the sands below.”

She hums.

“I can think of other things we could do in the sand,” she says with laughter in her voice.

Killian groans and pulls her further into him even as he wonders if she has always been like this or if it’s him bringing out the worst in her. It seems to him that he has successfully found sea on land, for sometimes Emma is just as wild and vast as the one before them.

When she turns around in his arms, the rough winds have brought colour to her cheeks and it takes her a moment to swipe all the hair out of her eyes. He is about to ask if she wants to get back to the carriage when one of her hands slips behind his neck and the other settles on the side of his face. The upturn of her lips and her thumb running tenderly under his eyes have the kind of hypnotic effect that makes him forget there is anywhere else for them to be.

“I used to dream of the sea,” she says and he can almost feel her words on his own mouth. “The horizon is not something you can imagine, I suppose, but I thought… I thought no shade of blue could quite match yours.”

He feels his cheeks sting from something another than the cold air around them and he wants to tell her that she has to wait and see the water under the August sunshine.

“I was right.”

But then, he realizes it won’t change her mind.

*****

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this.”

“Oh, dear—“

“It’s all my fault and you have to make it all right and—“

“That’s not true at all.”

“Of course, it is. If it wasn’t for your father—“

“Yes, but you cannot possibly think he wouldn’t wish us to—“

“And what about his wife?”

“She is lovely.”

“Oh, alright, doesn’t mean she wouldn’t feel like we are intruding on—“

“Intruding!”

“Well, yes. You cannot know how she would feel about—“

“Then you should write to her.”

“Me? I don’t even know the woman!”

“It’s no matter. I would write to papa and you can enclose your letter inside.”

“I don’t— That is I—“

“Yes, this is a splendid idea actually. We should ask Emma.”

“But must I—“

“Well, it was your splendid idea.”

“Aren’t they always?”

“You like to think so.”

*****

They arrive late into the night – Killian rotating his left shoulder with a grimace and Emma moving sluggishly and tripping on the heavy skirts of her dress – but Granny is still up and waiting and, if Emma didn’t know better, she’d say she missed them.

They have a quick cup of tea to warm up but all of the cook’s attempts to find out how their trip was and what they’d like for breakfast tomorrow morning are less successful so, eventually, she just sends them to bed with a roll of her eyes and a motion that is half irritation and half indulgence.

So it’s late the next day – too late to count for breakfast – her face scrubbed clean and her limbs well-rested that Emma finally starts telling Ruby and Granny – even as she keeps coming and going and pretending to not listen to her just as attentively as her granddaughter – about Captain Nemo’s treasures, sprawling forests and wild waves. She can only give them half her attention though, as the other half is focused on ignoring Killian’s smiles and indulgent looks, lest he steals all of it.

So when he hands her a letter, she doesn’t even bother to assume if it’s from Mary Margaret or Alice or Elsa, she just sets it in her lap, playing with the edges as she tells her stories. By the time she is finished, Killian’s has retired to his study and it’s only after she looks down, unfolds the piece of paper and blinks a few times at the elegantly scrawled name there that she follows him.

His door is slightly ajar in waiting.

“Killian, I— I think there’s been some mistake.”

He looks up and gives her a quick smile – there is some emotion waiting to spread all over his features, trepidation or excitement, something expectant shimmering at the edges of his eyes.

“I was rather puzzled at first as well but after reading Alice’s letter, I can assure you this one is for you.”

“But I’ve never even met Miss Hood,” she frowns down at the white sheet and reaches blindly for the armchair behind her.

She remembers receiving another letter, what feels like years ago, from a lady that she didn’t feel was her place to correspond with. She wonders if this one will be as monumental as the last.

“Aye, she and Alice both apologize for the presumption but… they felt it paramount to write to you personally.”

“What is this about?”

Killian sighs and now she is certain there is some anxiety there and some pressing joy as well.

“Just read it, love. Then we can talk about it.”

It’s not a long letter, neither as emotional and sporadic as Alice’s, nor as genteel and well-worded as Elsa’s, but it makes something gather in Emma’s throat all the same.

“I—I don’t understand,” she mumbles as she finishes and wracks her hand through her hair, pulling a little at the roots. “Why would she write to me? This is all your…”

She is grateful that Killian makes his way to her, for she is too agitated to do much of anything other than feel uncomfortable in this position that is hers and yet more than she realized. He bends his knees and sits down at her feet, taking the hand that is still holding Miss Hood’s letter and setting it to the side so he can lace their fingers together.

“This is your home as much as mine, Emma, and—“

“That’s nonsense! You made all this, you’ve lived here for two decades, I’ve— I’ve—“

Killian frowns and sets his chin on her knee and despite the tumult of emotions inside her, her hand automatically goes to his hair.

“Did you not feel like you came home last night?”

“Of course, I did. But that’s not— I’m not—“

“You are mistress of the house, it is only right that they should ask you.”

“Not Alice. Does she truly think I would ever—“

“No, no, Emma, listen to me,” he squeezes her hand. “Of course she doesn’t. And of course I would never deny my daughter. It’s her house as much as ours but Robyn – much as I love and admire the girl – she has done very well, in my opinion, in asking you permission.”

“I— I’m sorry,” Emma shakes her head and flattens her hand against his cheek. “Of course, I— Of course, I wouldn’t mind having them here. It just felt too much to be…”

Killian lifts an eyebrow, his mouth set in a line for a moment.

“To be given the respect you deserve?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes in return.

“I don’t— It should be your decision.”

“It should be our decision but were it mine, I’d still want your opinion.”

She blinks down at him and sighs, pulling their joined hands to her lips.

“I’ve wanted to get my chance to spend time with Miss Hood since I heard her name. And I love you very much, my heart, but I do miss Alice terribly when you are away.”

Killian’s smile is brilliant and lights up the whole room for a moment before his eyes grow more thoughtful and his tongue flits restlessly over his lips.

“What is it?”

“I just… I would love to have them here. I’m glad they’ve done it properly and gathered your approval as well but…”

She frowns in confusion. Unlike Admiral Jones and Captain Nemo’s residences, their house has never felt too big and echoing with it to Emma but she would love to have it fuller still.

“I’m afraid she is doing this for everyone but herself.”

“Robyn?”

“Alice.”

“Alice?” her confusion doubles and she urges Killian to move back so she can sit down beside him, one of her hands settling over his heart.

“She writes that she thinks Robyn quite miserable and restless from being so close to the mother and city that betrayed her and she goes on how it is wasteful and unnecessary for me to be keeping up a place just for the two of them and I just… She hasn’t been here – not to stay, not indefinitely – in years, Emma. I worry that she will be the one that grows miserable and restless.”

She doesn’t respond right away, she knows it is natural that he should always worry about his daughter, even when faced with the possibility of something he himself wants so much. She supposes all the best parents do.

“My heart, what has Alice wanted most? What does she love best?”

Killian frowns at her and Emma tilts her head and smiles softly.

“You. And Robyn. Do you truly believe it will not make her happy – happier than she has ever had the chance to be – to have you both in the same place.”

“I’m just not sure it will be safe for them here.”

She knows, she knows he is not afraid of the responsibility of keeping them safe but of the failure to do so.

“There is always a risk, no matter where they are,” she acknowledges plainly. “But they know that, Killian. It’s… it’s their life. And I know they will be and feel much safer with us.”

For a few moments he just looks at her and Emma doesn’t need him to say how glad he is that she is here.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright. Would you like to write back to them, Mrs Jones?”

She smiles and pushes up on her knees to claim his lips with hers.

“It would be my pleasure.”

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