#and abruptly change the coloring back to what they used in early seasons

[acesammy]

I keep seeing that ‘spn is so yellow now’ post and it’s so wild to me that this show reached such a point of self-parody that they started unironically using in every episode the coloring they used in ‘it’s a terrible life’ to denote that the life Sam and Dean were living in that ep was fake

[no-droids]

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gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn��t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[sepublic]

TOH deserves better

           Y’know what?

           Now that I’ve… Had time to really focus and think and process about the news for The Owl House and its shortened Season 3, now that I’ve really dealt with other things in my life, I’m…

           I’m angry. I’m genuinely MAD…

           The Owl House has always been a comfort show for me! It’s a show I’ve loved, its characters and worldbuilding and mystery is fascinating to me and it’s inspired me! When Season 1 ended... I was excited. I was prepared. I braced myself for the story that Dana Terrace and the writers intended to tell us. I knew we had at LEAST two more full seasons to go, based on Dana’s comment about a third season.

           Season 2 would’ve been a safe season in a sense. A season where we’re in the middle of the action, where we can get onto things that have been planned and set up; But at the same time, it’s not the final season! It’s not the end. There would’ve been an entire, full season, twenty or something episodes after that. I could’ve sat back and enjoyed Season 2 in all its entirety, as another phase of the story set in the middle, and when it was all said and done, I could speculate and hope and wish and think about this final third season; Assuming we wouldn’t even get a fourth!

           But no… NO, Season 3 is literally just. THREE episodes, each twice the normal length, so like six episodes; But still, it’s obvious with how it’s formatted into a trio that Season 3 will be less a season, and more the final battle and climax of the show, the culmination of everything else! Which means for all intents and purposes… Season 2 IS the final season of the show. That everything we want to see, we hope to see; It can only happen in Season 2, because Season 3 is the final battle in a sense.

           Warning: A LOT of text and upset ramblings below!!!

           And that deeply angers me. I’ve done the calculations and there are fourteen episodes we’re missing out on, due to Season 3 being cut down. Fourteen episodes to do any wide variety of things; To focus on side characters, to flesh out lore and plot. To extend and focus on character arcs, to introduce and establish things; Fourteen episodes to introduce, develop, and finish various arcs and smaller plots! There’s SO much to do in fourteen episodes, especially in regards to relationships, and even representation as we talk about Luz and Amity and everyone else!

           And out of NOWHERE, out of the blue- We don’t get that! Dana Terrace herself admitted on Twitter that she left in December to focus on the news. I’m not entirely sure on how production works, but I imagine she and the crew were working on Season 2A when they got this news… Which means they’re going to have to COMPLETELY rehaul and rehash their plans for Season 2B as a result. They’re going to have to hastily pull together and rush the arcs they had planned out, so it can lead up to Season 3.

           They expected fourteen episodes of development; And now they have to resolve that within the remaining ten or so episodes of Season 2, which is already jam-packed with the original plans. At this point, any criticisms for the show’s writing or pacing that might come later down the line… I can’t take it seriously in good faith. Not when I know how Disney just screwed over Dana and the crew so suddenly, so abruptly, so HUGELY. Season 2 was supposed to be the mid-point, and you KNOW there are a bunch of arcs and little plot points that will never see the light of day, or be rushed, to accommodate the change!

           And it really angers me. Season 3 would’ve been made after a lot of fandom response- So all you fans of the Detention Kids, who would’ve liked to see more of them? Season 3 would’ve been the time for Dana and the crew to throw the fandom a bone… EXCEPT, because it’s only three/six episodes, there’s no way the Detention Kids will get focus now. Not when there’s the actual climax of the show left. There’s no room to have fun, to focus on side characters or expand even more on pre-established ones. Fourteen episodes’ worth of kind, small little moments that stand out- Gone, down the drain, never to see the light of day to begin with!

           I just… Feel so BAD for Dana and the crew; Dana fought so hard for this story! Her roommate said that nobody wanted to see a story about an old witch and her young apprentice, and you know what, Dana FOUGHT for that story and got it for us! She had to deal with censors for Lumity, but she fought for that! Dana and the crew were EXCITED to tell us, they no doubt had so much planned and in store, you can tell from the tone of the Reddit AMA and the Charity Livestream, all of which were done months before Disney told Dana and the crew about Season 3 being downsized.

           And like… Dana herself said that she’s still down to do future Owl House content. If Disney asks her to –with pushback from fans- then yeah, she could do more! We might get an epilogue or sequel series… But that doesn’t change how the pacing of the show will be disrupted. How a lot of arcs will have to be prematurely rushed through and finished, instead of having the loving time taken to develop and appreciate them.

          Characters will be rushed through, we had FOURTEEN episodes taken from us! Characters like Belos or Kikimora, or Odalia and Alador, the antagonists- They’re not guaranteed to survive or make it past the end of Season 3, so even if we got more content post-S3, it wouldn’t really be able to remedy for their drastically-shortened screen time, unless through flashbacks or resurrection or whatever. Characters, arcs, development, all are being shafted here.

           And this ANGERS me! Like I said, The Owl House is my comfort show. I finished Season 1 with the full understanding that we weren’t even halfway through yet; We still had SO much more to do, so much more to see, amidst all of the wonders that Season 1 had provided! But now I feel cheated. I feel cheated, because sike! Actually you WERE halfway through, and that changes everything about the tone, the pacing, the setting of the show. Suddenly I’m already looking forward to and anticipating the end, because the end is DIRECTLY after Season 2; And I can’t enjoy it as much, because now I have that anxiety and dread as Season 2 ends that… THIS is the final, full, regular season.

           It was just supposed to be another season for me to enjoy, to further flesh out the show- And out of nowhere, I have to approach this with a sudden sense of finality, I’m forced to really appreciate it even further, because this is it! This is all we have left, when until then, I thought we had so much more! And it’s angering. It’s abrupt. Season 2 was in many ways supposed to be carefree and hands-off…

           But now, I have to approach it in an existential sense. With the full understanding that the show is essentially ENDING by this point, with each new episode, we’re on a timer now. We’ve lost the luxury of Season 1, that Season 2 would’ve had, if it was the midpoint in the series. And now I can’t enjoy things as much because just as quickly as I got these new arcs and characters and developments, I have to watch them be quickly wrapped up. 

          I barely even got them, I was looking forward to more of it, there should’ve been more, and then bam! It’s already done, just kidding! Like it was handed to me, and then abruptly torn out of my hands barely a few seconds later, after I’d anticipated an entire day alone with it.

           I hate this. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m disappointed. I had so much wonder and joy that this was only the beginning, but now it’s actually the ending! I had so much to look forward to, so much promised- And this show was doing well! It was SUCCESSFUL, Lumity brought a HUGE influx of popularity, and you know what? The show deserves that! 

          Not just for being good in general, but also- This is SUCH a huge step forward in representation, especially given how this is DISNEY of all channels… With Luz being a bisexual, ADHD, character of color! Amity fully being a lesbian ON-SCREEN, no censors, nothing held back, her crush treated and fully indulged the way a straight person’s would’ve been!

           The Owl House deserves so much for just that alone. So much attention, and it got attention, it was arguably at a peak because now so much fans are tuning in… And Disney, those paradoxical cowards, they decide to end it early!? I’m angry. I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I was told to expect more, to just enjoy myself in the moment, but now I have to readjust my sense and perception of everything in anticipation of a sudden end.

          And I’m sure that’s what Dana and the crew have to do as well, they were so excited, no doubt planting things in Season 2A to be resolved later in Season 3… But nope, now they have to rush it through and finish it in Season 2B, along with everything else they had planned! And they might have to cut out stuff from Season 2B, to make room for the ending of those pre-established arcs!

           It’s frustrating and clumsy and sudden, and it just… ANGERS ME! It makes me genuinely mad and frustrated, like I want to punch a wall… And I hate it! And a part of me hopes and wishes that if the fans really DO give enough of a backlash and demand, maybe Disney will change its mind. 

          If we say enough, ASAP, then maybe Disney will delay Season 2B so that Season 3 can be extended back to its proper length, allowing Dana and the crew to redo Season 2B as they originally intended. I’d be fine with waiting additional time, as much as the crew needs, to redo Season 2B with the understanding that they have that full third season back!

           I’d GLADLY, happily, let the crew take their time to redo Season 2B to its original glory and plans, to better set up a full Season 3! I’d let them take their time, I wouldn’t complain at all, I’d still watch! So Disney, go ahead, change your plans abruptly AGAIN, it’s not like you have no qualms screwing over this show or other content creators with this kind of back-and-forth, look at Matt Braly having to contend with True Colors being delayed and almost censored, only for the whole thing to be useless because the original episode was leaked anyway! He had to rush out the Season 3 intro, I’m betting this RIGHT now!

           But even if it was delayed, even if it was released early… It doesn’t change the actual show itself. It doesn’t change the actual story, just how it was presented- But the story itself, it remains intact. The Owl House doesn’t even get that. Brevity can be the soul of wit, but if you’re suddenly told out of nowhere to chop it down, it’s not gonna be the soul of anything. 

          It’s just… SO UNFAIR, and it makes me genuinely pissed off. Like, I could handle True Colors being delayed by the end of the day, because the show is otherwise the exact same- But TOH being so drastically reduced, abruptly shortened, I think that’s honestly objectively worse… So I braced myself for and adapted to one bad thing, and then got another thing even MORE terrible! Much more terrible, in fact- Amazing.

           I’m just… Tired and frustrated. Like it feels like I had this happy thing in my life and it was taken away from me, I can’t even have that, I can’t have the hope and anticipation for more, that’s it! It’s already done and gone! I knew I’d have to prepare for that eventually, but in a manner that felt fleshed-out and well-rounded, like I’d really had my time to enjoy and appreciate… But just kidding! It’s like a punch in the face, and it makes me honestly depressed and sad, and I kind of don’t know what to do besides… Ask for more, and hope?

          A part of me feels like the investment, the enjoyment, was lowkey all for nothing, meaningless and worthless, now that so much was cut down- And obviously it IS worth it, it always is! But in the moment of despair, I’m asking… Is that it? It was all for nothing, then… All that effort. All of that speculation and enjoyment and anticipation. 

          All you had look forward to, all of that emotion you put in- So much of it is going to be left unresolved because how the show was so enormously cut down. And now it makes me hesitant to invest in other shows, I’m afraid, in case they get cut down like this, in case my attention is punished and deprived for engaging with the material like that to begin with.

           As a viewer and someone who loves and enjoys media, I feel like there’s a trust that’s being breached, I can’t really rely or depend on things I enjoy to last or stay there, so why bother getting invested? Why put in the effort for fandom and content if it’s going to be gone like THAT, if all plans are thrown out the window, and all attention and feedback is meaningless! 

          What’s the point of showing that you love this, of expressing yourself, if you’re going to get even LESS than what you’d cautiously hoped for? Why hope at all? There’s this bitterness left inside of me, that you shouldn’t have bothered enjoying or getting invested, or pouring yourself into this, because in the end you weren’t going to get anything close to that.

           Which, fan content is ALWAYS valid! But it’s usually done to expand on stuff that’s already there… But if there was nothing there because it got pulled last second, then why bother? Why enjoy if it’s so brief? Why invest if the conclusion is so sudden and out of nowhere? Why care at all? And I know that shouldn’t change how I feel… 

          But with Infinity Train and Amphibia, I guess I really can’t count on anything, not even the mutual solidarity of numbers, to change a thing. So why hope for and ask for more and better? Why even enjoy what I have, knowing it’ll be cut off by itself in the future because the planned arcs were forcibly dropped? I can’t enjoy an episode as part of a larger story now, just a shorter one, and now there’s this pressure.

           Pressure, that’s it- A pressure on the show. A pressure on the writers and audience. To suddenly cram in and make the most of this time. Pressure on every Season 2 episode to go above and beyond to make up for the almost complete and utter lack of Season 3; Season 2 will practically have to carry the weight of TWO seasons on its back, two condensed into one! And it just… There’s so much pressure. No time to breathe or enjoy myself or relax, because now it’s all suddenly ending and fleeting in front of my eyes when I hadn’t done that, and now I go back and yell “Come back!” 

          I wish I’d enjoyed it more knowing it was already ending, but it’s too late. I wish I could’ve done something, but what could I have done? And I really did try to appreciate and cherish this to my ability, but I did so expecting more, as I should’ve- And now it feels I didn’t do enough. I feel cheated. Like the rug was pulled under me, that my effort was rendered naught and never enough no matter how hard I tried, the game is rigged.

           I’m frantic. I’m paranoid. I’m already having to say goodbye and brace myself for the end, when I expected at least another full year to unapologetically not have to worry about that, to just be in my zone and be myself and ENJOY… To not have to worry existentially like that. I can’t have that peace, I can’t have that longing, lasting fun. 

          I knew it’d come to an end, but now I can’t have the time to properly enjoy and relax and appreciate it, to truly live it out meaningfully and deliberately… I’m going to have to laser-focus now and put aside other things, because this thing is NOW and won’t last, unlike the rest; And in a way, that kind of rush and pressure, it just ends up paradoxically making the whole thing LESS fun, even!

          So in my attempts to appreciate and enjoy it more, I enjoy it less. It’s like a punch in the face in direct retaliation for getting invested and attached, for actually being connected to the story. I’m being punished for enjoying, for letting myself feel, so why ever bother with that, ever again? Why should I get attached? I’m just punished for that, so I won’t bother. I won’t put myself out there so even if it DOES see itself through, I won’t have been there for it from justified paranoia, and then I’ll miss out when it IS there. Like I can’t win, no matter what- So why participate?

          It doesn’t matter, it’s all useless. “It makes me happy”, well, maybe that’s no longer even a reason to do and make and enjoy things anymore, huh! And now I’m just… Bitterly putting it aside. Feeling like I should’ve known better, that at least I’m being more ‘mature’. I feel like Luz in the first episode, throwing her book away, her prized hyperfixation that invigorated and brought so much meaning to her… I feel like Luz, just almost apathetically, in resignation, throwing it into the trash while someone smiles and tells me it’s okay and good and I SHOULD have done that, actually!

           It’s making me tired and exhausted. I didn’t want to have to suddenly feel and deliberate over all of this, all at once, right now- But I feel I’d regret it even more if I DIDN’T do that, and then it ended, and the time and moment, the opportunity, it passed! It’s a frantic dread and paranoia that means I can’t appreciate and enjoy properly, because every little thing I so desperately claw at and prize and treasure, but also I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, and…

          It lowkey makes me want to curl up and cry? And sob, because now that insecurity, that voice in the back of my head, it was RIGHT, I really should’ve listened to it to begin with, and not ever bothered! Don’t risk the trust in connecting with someone else’s story that’s still in process, only ever engage with stuff fully finished. 

          I can never enjoy that anticipation and hope now, of being along the ride for the journey, of just getting to look out the window and wonder; Not knowing the ending, but looking forward to it! And I can’t do that anymore, not when I’m afraid of the trip suddenly grinding to a screeching halt out of nowhere!

           But yeah, I’m just… I…

           …I’m sad. I’m angry, and now I’m sad. Depressed, outright, directly because of this, when otherwise I wouldn’t have been- And that’s painful and frustrating and makes me feel like I’m being tossed around a whirlwind, with no hope. No say or agency, just a constant bad hand I have to brace myself for. So all I can do is curl up and lie down and hope for the worst to be over, and never dare to be so ungrateful or greedy to ask or hope for more, for good things, just for the bad things to lessen or stop.

          In the end, it didn’t even matter, so I should just throw it all away, never try again; And everything I did beforehand, up until then, I’ll look back at it all, those fond and innocent memories, and I’ll look back with an eternal bitterness that will forever corrupt and scar those recollections. So even the past, which allegedly can never change, is ruined for me! The past never gets better, it only gets worse, so WHY… Why believe and hope, and love and live???

          I’m just a stupid fool for being so invested in this cartoon, in fiction, why don’t I just GROW UP and focus on REAL things that matter, huh?!? I really do feel like Luz genuinely thinking and resigning herself to the Reality Check camp, having that childlike passion and joy just whittled down and strangled, feeling it die out; Knowing it will, so just getting it over with and killing it now, before I have to mourn later.

          I shouldn’t ever put forth the trust in engaging with others’ stories, just my own because I at least have control there, I should just be alone and by myself with only my stories, and never get to connect with or experience companionship with others’ stories, ever again. Just build up my walls and hide and be alone and isolated as I’ve always been- It seems even with fiction or media, I’m STILL by myself! There’s an intimacy in reading and emotionally engaging with others’ stories, where other writers put a piece of themselves into that… Hoping others will read and respond and reciprocate, and feel the same!

           Well, maybe I shouldn’t put myself out there, either, in fears of being punished and cut off and whittled down like that! Why express myself, why be, why live? Why be invested into the soul of others, manifested in their own content, if it’ll never come to fruition, if my own soul will only hurt for connecting?! This is worse than a fave or a comfort character dying, because at least the integrity of the story itself remains and is worth it.

          There’s always the chance of a return or a revival or a flashback to appreciate, but THIS… This is real life. And it’s THE ending in the most abrupt and literal and tangible sense, of the media itself; An ending more powerful and harsh than any resolution to an arc. Because now NOTHING will ever be expected to come out from this, ever again- No new content, nothing else to enjoy. Media is like a fantasy, an escapism from real life, but even when I fully expected and accepted and saw the boundary and end between fantasy and reality… I still get punished with reality regardless! I can’t escape that real life because it WILL go out of its way to directly cut in and interfere, and ruin, what I love.

           So why escape? Why invested? Why love? Why should I ever feel comfort??? It’s all stupid. I’m stupid. Life is finite and it’s merely what’s directly in front of you, don’t dare to dream or imagine, or think or hope, just focus on what’s in front and get by and try to live… Or at least ‘survive’. Or ‘not die’, I guess.

          And now I resent real life even more for ruining this for me, when beforehand I could still like and appreciate it, even if I still needed some time away every now and then. So paradoxically, trying to get me to focus on real life, has made me detest it moreso! It’s that whole thing of don’t bother trying because you’ll just get punished for it, just passively wait and receive, don’t LIVE. Don’t stake initiative or agency.

          At least if a character dies, the universe and immersion is still intact, if not moreso because then you feel and become even MORE connected and get that emotional catharsis, everything up until then and after takes on a whole new meaning and appreciation; But if it ends in real life, the immersion is gone. The fantasy is permanently shattered, and now it’s all worthless in hindsight because you’re reminded that it was never real to begin with.

          And what little you DID get, is now ruined; And you’re not going to get anything else new, either! You can’t even KEEP things anymore… You’re just a bitter fool who’s going to get old and wither, look back, and become even MORE bitter and miserable. All of the emotion you felt, it’s been rendered worthless and meaningless, that connection once made… And I hate to see things ruined like that, so maybe don’t have things to begin with!

          I’m bitterly, enviously jealous of others who still manage to enjoy, because why are you still invested?! Why still keep trying, don’t you realize how pointless it is!? And now I’m just ruining that for them, I’m ruining THEM, in my own mind and heart and place in life. How can you still keep going!? So even that stuff they make, that fandom content that exists on its own more or less in a sense, even THAT is marred and ruined for me… And I feel like I’m internally ruining that for others, that makes me feel guilty as I loathe myself for being so awful, so why believe that I can be better? Why try to be better then?!

           I’m envious, because you guys still manage to cope and handle this in a realistic way, in a safe and mature manner. And anything others make, it’s just a cruel, cold reminder, a mockery even, of what I’ve lost, of my dashed and ruined hopes. And then I can’t bear to look at or even enjoy THAT, especially stuff made post-announcement, because you guys managed to keep making it anyway. And me, I didn’t, so what does that say about miserable old me? But then don’t make this about MYSELF…

          Seriously though, if you’re going to still enjoy and create, please do so! Don’t let this bitter fool stop you. Don’t let me hurt you. Just keep going out there and be yourself, me, I’ll… I’ll figure something out I guess? But yeah, that’s MY problem, not yours, those of you who keep creating anyway, you’re everything I admire and more! You’re all heroes in a sense, and I encourage and fully support you- If my ramblings make you hesitate or discourage you, then just throw them aside and disregard that! I’d never want to intrude or interrupt someone’s own expression, not when I mourn my own, that’s for sure!

           And y’know what? Other people who keep creating… You remind me that there IS hope. That there maybe is a point in going on and being invested, especially indie creators, because y’all have control and agency and take over what you make, and don’t have to depend or rely on, or fear, some gross corporation butting in and pulling the strings, threatening to revoke and take it all away! Thank you, I’m grateful, truly I am, I’m eternally indebted in a way I can never fully repay. Maybe I can try to make up for this by continuing to make my own things… So now this depressed, cynical rant, suddenly it takes a more hopeful turn as I write it, because of others!

           And now I’m thinking to myself… It IS worth it to connect. For those little moments of inspiration and joy and hope that others can instill. Thanks, you guys. Out of nowhere, you suddenly made it better for me, and kind of helped me overcome this depressive slump; And here I was, just thinking and resigning myself to the end! I guess it never really IS the end… And what I said about feeling like Luz, throwing away her beloved book and joy of her life? Well, she DID go back to grab that book, and in doing so, found love, found family, and happiness she couldn’t have anticipated beyond her wildest dreams!

           …Even so, wishful thinking aside, this has all been a whirlwind to me;

           I’m tired.

[tanglednlove]

Rapunzel's Pink Dress

I want to ramble about Rapunzel's dresses and why I love her final dress so much.

Rapunzel's pink dress was based off her wedding dress. Practically the exact same except for the color changes and different design on the bodice. At one point, Tangled was to end with the wedding of Rapunzel and Eugene. Luckily, the ending was changed, Rapunzel got this beautiful dress and the cute Tangled Ever After short was made.

Now to compare to her regular dress or tower dress.

The fitting of this dress seems a bit incommodious. The top and sleeves appear a bit tight and the overall length short. Rapunzel definitely has no trouble stretching, running, racing, dancing or chasing in it so my observation seems wrong. But, there are little hints that still make it plausible.

During Mother Knows Best, Mother Gothel maliciously sings 'sloppy, underdressed'....gettin' kinda chubby'. Gothel's way of keeping her 'precious flower' safe and sound while endlessly gaslighting poor Rapunzel.

When Gothel sings 'sloppy' the mirror reflects a full length view of Rapunzel. Then she pushes it down towards Rapunzel's exposed feet for the word 'underdressed.' Rapunzel reacts by bending down to cover her feet. Bare feet are definitely not appropriate for the outside world, according to Gothel.

Gothel's choice of words and mirror positioning, seem to indicate that Rapunzel is only allowed one dress until she completely outgrows it.

Honestly, it would not surprise me if Gothel had a one dress per next major growth spurt rule. Especially since she has never even changed her own dress. And, the dress Rapunzel makes for Pascal appears to be from the scraps leftover from making her current dress.

Gothel then goes on to insult Rapunzel's weight by singing 'getin' kinda chubby'. Rapunzel appears healthy with an appropriate weight. What actually seems to be happening is the dress is gettin' kinda too tight. Girls can stop growing in height around age 14. I do not think she has had it since age 14 but age 16 may be more likely. Also, breast development can end by age 18 but could continue until the early twenties. This dress appears a bit tight in that area. (Most likely not intended, but this is like a callback to Grimms' Rapunzel. In one version Rapunzel mentions her dress is tighter, but that was due to being pregnant.)

There are no patches on Rapunzel's dress. Which a few rips or tears may be expected if she has worn it for a while. In Mother Knows Best, Gothel sings Rapunzel is 'clumsy'. But, this is after she pulls the rug out from under her and makes her trip and fall down. I do not think Rapunzel is clumsy at all, hence no rips. Also, she can paint a lot without ever getting a speck of paint on her. In fact, to 'pull the rug out from under someone' means to abruptly withdraw support. There was never any support from Gothel to withdrawal but the saying still fits. Gothel would definitely take everything away from Rapuuzel for disobeying and she does just that in the end when she chains and gags her.

The whole point of Mother Knows Best was to destroy the slightest ray of sunshine in Rapunzel's confidence toward leaving the tower. A cruel yet effective way to do this is to pick out insecurities. Being sloppy, underdressed and kinda chubby would give Gothel great anxiety. Rapunzel is not shown to be vain at all. But, Gothel is trying desperately to keep Rapunzel in the tower and using any manipulating tactics necessary.

Gothel may have asked Rapunzel what colors and fabric she wanted to make this dress. And, Rapunzel most likely did all the sewing so I like to think it does represent some of her own preferences. Maybe the dress does not extend to the floor so she can easily perform her chores, hang from the ceiling, and see her feet so she does not trip on her hair. Maybe she wanted sleeves because the tower gets a little cool in the mornings. She definitely likes shades of purple, even her pink dress has lavender in the color scheme.

Quick side about the color of the tower dress. The dress and Rapunzel's golden hair represent the Corona flag- purple and yellow. But, the true color of the skirt is fandango which is a magenta-pink. Magenta falls in the purple shades as purplish-red. So, the overall color is in the purple category. While it does appear true plain purple in some light, it actually is the fandango color. The inner skirt part does appear to be true purple though.

Now I will gush about the pink dress! I do adore her tower dress, it is very beautiful. But, the pink dress completely wins me over. Best. Dress. Ever!

The one stark difference from the tower dress and her final pink dress is the corset placement. The bodice on her tower dress has the corset in the front. While the pink dress has the corset in the back. To me, this has always been an awesome metaphor. There are no sleeves on the pink dress either but the placement of the corset seems more meaningful.

As for the sleeves, I think it may just be a matter of aesthetic. Rapunzel's mother, the Queen, does wear sleeves. They look beautiful and seem to complete her look. Both of her beginning and ending dresses have sleeves. Her final dress also appears to be the same one in Tangled Ever After. Rapunzel is the princess and a sleeveless dress is a bit more youthful looking compared to her mother's. Also, the Queen has opaque sleeves while Rapunzel's were sheer. This could extend to the differences in their crowns. The Queen's crown is bigger and more grand. Rapunzel's crown has more jewels and is dainty. Although those three teardrop, or sundrop, diamonds are respectfully big and beautiful.

Back to corsets. Let me say, dresses with corsets are beautiful. They add a neat structure and design to a dress. Though Tangled is never given an exact time period, some of the concept art had 1800s written on them. So thereabouts, corset dresses were in vogue. And yes, the corset can be positioned front or back. Specifically for Rapunzel though, I find meaning on where it is placed.

Also, if she was only allowed one dress per major growth spurt, then a corset makes sense because of the adjustability.

When Rapunzel turns around at the end of Tangled and the audience can see the back of her dress, I had a moment. Rapunzel being 'tied up' and 'trapped' is now 'behind' her. She no longer has to live in fear and she can finally experience life outside the tower.

Just look at the wide and spaced ribbon on this corset. Looks comfortable and not pulled tight. In contrast, the strings on her tower dress were pulled tight to a bow at the top with big loops. Typically a tie with big loops means the strings were tied as comfortably tight as possible while there is extra string for some give. Which I still think is to accommodate her growing into a full adult body.

The back of her tower dress had a line of buttons. She was tied and buttoned into that dress. Just like the way Gothel had her locked and prisoned in the tower. No buttons on her pink dress. Just a comfortable corset and a beautiful pattern on the front. Also, appropriate structure all around.

That is it, that is why I love her pink dress so much! It represents her freedom💖 A full length shot of this dress is never shown in the movie. I like to think it either stopped at her ankles or just brushed the tops of her feet. Her wedding dress seemed to just barely brush the floor. Either way, she probably liked her feet showing or least nothing in their way.

End of rambling, yay...oh wait, then the Series happened.

When I first saw Rapunzel in her Series dress, I was disappointed. Being tied up is no longer 'in front' of her, she is free! Why put the bindings in the front again? Well, Tangled Before Ever After and the whole first season made it clear she still did not feel completely free. She was not ready to marry Eugene or become a full time princess. She needed adventure and she got it.

This dress also has sleeves which look like they were meant to be opaque. Several of the dresses she wears in the show have sleeves. I do think Rapunzel wearing sleeves as acting queen in the third season was appropriate. As mentioned, sleeves may be a queen aesthetic. Her coronation dress also had sleeves. I think her green island dress, with no sleeves and sitting just off shoulder was the best dress from the show. Especially since many concept art pieces for Tangled show her in a green dress.

Oh, the concept art of all the different green dresses. So beautiful yet neglected.

So, her standard Series dress gets a pass with one exception. In the very last scene of the entire show she still is wearing it! Maybe it was animation budget and they simply could not add in a new dress design but what a crime that was! She needed to be in her pink dress or either a similar design.

Anyway, I still love her pink dress the best because of what I think it represents. 💖💚

Bonus: This is her picture hanging in the Princess Fairytale Hall at Walt Disney World.

I would love to see her face character wearing this! It would even look lovely with the flower braid. This dress deserves so much more love, admiration and promotion. Honestly, her tower dress has been lumped in the princess rags or commoner look category before. So, why not put her in this beautiful, lovely pink princess dress? And look! She has her bare foot sticking out!💖

[yongiefilms]

FILM | Together Alone

BASED ON | The NCT secret santa collaboration feature done by bumblebeenct and lucaswithnoshirt studios over @neoculturechristmas​ headquarters 

DEDICATED TO | My own precious secret santa, @sly-merlin​! This one is for you my love. I hope I did you justice for the type of fic you requested and I hope you like it! By the way I apologize for getting your present to you late.

STARRING | Huang Renjun and Female Reader

FEATURING | Lee Donghyuck 

GENRE | Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Business centred, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | Thematic elements, suggestive references and implications, crude humor, language, mentions of death, a deceased parent, drinking, alcohol, and other adult themes

PLOT | Everyone knew him. The heir to the multimillion dollar company. Next in line to inherit the top pharmaceutical business in all of China and South Korea. For being only 20 years old he was the most accomplished person of his age. Set to become the CEO at age 21 on his birthday, nearly a few months away, there was nothing that could deter him down the road for further success. They say he’s envied by most, yet loved all the same. If only people knew who Huang Renjun really was without his family’s name plastered against the walls of society that gave him fame and fortune. Only one would have the chance to find out the truth of his reality and sometimes when that comes near the end of a year shutting close, not everything can end pleasant like one hoped. OR Happy endings might not exist in this messed up world.

RUNNING TIME | 6.4k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Happy Holidays, my loves! This work is in honor of you all and the amazing year you all gave me with your immense love as well as support. I appreciate every single one of you more than you will ever know so I wish happy days among you this season and new year. I love you and please enjoy! Also, shout out to my lovely proofreader, @dvrlingrenjun​, you’re the best.

1, 2, 3 Now Rolling...

“Fuck them all!” Huang Renjun yells out in frustration, leaning back abruptly in his black cushioned chair, his hands clutching tightly at his dark strands of hair.

The younger boy smirks at him, leaning against the pillar by his office. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A glare was sent in his direction in retaliation. “Shut up, Donghyuck.”

“Sure, big guy,” he dismisses, the jab made at the older visible with the way his words cut through the air. “Still doesn’t render the fact that you have to go to this event like you always do.”

Renjun groans, his right hand going around his left wrist to play with the gold Cartier bracelet that rested there. A gift given to him when he turned the legal age of eighteen a few years ago. A gift given to him by his father, on behalf of his mother or so it was said. One that was a promise of luxury and achievement if he continued down the path they set out for him. His decision then when he was an adult to decide his fate, but that was only a lie. The bracelet was only a bribe for a materialistic life where he could be well off and if he stepped away then he would be stripped of everything that made him who he was. 

“I know, okay? We do it every year but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Perhaps his father was a part of that.

“Well,” Donghyuck drawls, shrugging his shoulders when he lifts his body off the pillar to take long strides in order to reach the other boy. “At least it’s out of town this year so I’m down...I mean free vacation.” He gives a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling of juvenescence and a thrill for adventure, mystery, excitement. At least one of them still had a childlike soul and a more or less normal life while the other was forced to grow up too fast in the spotlight where eyes were scrutinizing his every move before he could even walk.

They called it maturity, but Renjun calls it loss of youth. 

“You’re such a freeloader,” Renjun mutters, his hands stopping from playing with the bracelet to glance up in exasperation.

“Says the boy inheriting an almost billion dollar company without batting an eye,” Donghyuck snorts with an eye roll, picking at his nails that now gained all of his attentiveness.

It was true after all.

Renjun laughs in mockery. “You’re just jealous, so I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

Donghyuck sighs loudly for effect. “Cous, I wouldn’t want your life even if I tried. Some horrifying shit.” He shakes his head, obviously disturbed by the notion.

Renjun’s voice becomes small, yet firm. “It isn’t that bad...”

Donghyuck finally stops twiddling with his fingers to give the other the time of day with a look of obvious reluctance. “Uncle is scary, can you blame me?”

“Guess not, that man is my father.”

“Exactly and as much as I would love to continue this conversation,” Donghyuck glances at his crisp navy steel Bulgari watch, seeing the time half past noon. “I got to run, meeting with the boys soon and I just needed to deliver the message before that. Little pit stop if you will.” His hands flair out in a theatrical motion as if he were giving a bow.

“Oh?” Renjun raises an eyebrow, hands reaching out to get started on the stack of papers placed at the edge of his desk by his receptionist before Donghyuck’s surprised arrival. “Say hi to them for me.” He pauses in afterthought, knowing the younger’s antics. “Or not.”

Donghyuck’s boisterous laugh rings. He knew him so well. “Very funny, but oh, wait!” 

The increase in his tone attracts the older’s regard who was beginning to read through the proposal. “Yes?”

“Here,” Donghyuck states, reaching into the back pocket of his chinos to pull out a small black velvet box with gold edging. “An early present of sorts. I assumed you might like it.” He slides the box over on the desk where it is caught in the grasp of delicate hands.

“Proposing are we? You know we are related right?” Renjun smiles snidely, running his fingers over the soft velvet in wonder. It was rare to get a gift from Lee Donghyuck himself and with the right intentions at that. 

“It would be an honor and privilege to marry me, thank you, but no it’s just...open it when I leave. I’m not into that sappy shit as you know. I have a matching one too, but yeah merry early Christmas and New Years.” His easy grin widens as he winks to take backward steps to the exit of the office. Always one for a dramatic flare.

“Matching...we can’t be a couple either, Hyuck,” Renjun says, shaking his head while he puts the box down on his desk in wait.

Donghyuck flips him off and grits out a reply. “Shut up and be grateful for once.”

Turning his head back to his papers, he mutters, “Oh, I am.”

“Anyways, bye you fucker. Don’t drown in work,” Donghyuck lets out once he turns his back.

“Thank you for caring, delivery boy,” Renjun shouts as his cousin finally opens the door to exit after his much longer than anticipated stay.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the silver knob before he can fully push the door. “When don’t I? If you’re gone then that means I would have to inherit the company and as much as I would love the money, the fame, the attention, maybe even the girls...I don’t want that responsibility. You get me?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, spinning the black ballpoint pen between his index and ring finger. “Just say you’re lazy and go.”

“I am going!” Donghyuck exclaims while he turns his head over his shoulder, shooting the boy sitting at the desk that didn’t quite fit him well, another wink. “Bye for real, Junnie!”

The door at last closes and he is gone in a blur of colors.

Renjun mumbles under his breath. “I told you not to call me that.” 

His mother used to call him that and she didn’t have the chance to stay long in this world. Taken too soon is what they say, but maybe she was blessed before everything turned to stone. 

With Donghyuck’s departure, Renjun looks over at the lone box that was gifted to him, perhaps not a gift like the others that held no meaning, for this one was an outlier in the equation. Donghyuck never gave without meaning or gain so it had to be special.

He places his pen down and picks up the box, undoing the clasp that held it close. The box opens to a sight he has gotten used to, yet there was a disparity. In between the cushion of the velvet laid a beautiful silver Chopard ring. The band was simple in design, yet intricate with the signature ice cubes filled with small sparkling diamonds across the entire width. Renjun handles the ring with care once it is taken out of the box to inspect every detail. Not only was the brand engraved in stunning cursive on the inside, but Donghyuck had gotten the ring customized with the word family in the same writing on the opposite side of the inner circle. 

Renjun runs his fingers over the engraving, the words rough under his calloused hands. He hums in thought as he slips the ring on his middle finger, the radiance seeping in from the windows catching the precious metal. “Family...family...I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The truth is he had, has, but he was too blind to see. 

Family is not just those that are immediate, composing of a father and mother or even siblings. Family can also entail the greater extent from cousins to aunts to grandparents. Family can even be those that are not blood related like the friends a person surrounds themselves by. 

Renjun has family. If only he could acknowledge them before they too left him utterly alone. 

Alone was something Renjun was not for the days to come. 

A week later after his cousin delivered the news about the annual holiday vacation and company sponsored events that his family has been hosting since his late teen years, he was flown in a private plane against his will to a remote town near Busan, far off from the heart of Seoul. He would rather spend the holidays in the city where he grew up like all those past seasons ago, but his father decided there was a need for change, a mirror of one forthcoming in virtually three months. Usually those that made the trip came for the designated three days they were given which still involved work communications with scant room for relaxation depending on the schedules of selected individuals. However, if one was a Huang, which Renjun was the only one left along with his father that were at least part of the business, then departure and stay differed. Intermingled was the Huang winter vacation with that of business affairs, a factor that was born when the tradition started. His father always said to kill two birds with one stone when given the chance and this very situation was one he took hold of to morph into a personal gain. 

Nothing was ever as it seemed with his father, nor himself. One characteristic they shared among a hundred to a thousand polarities.

Albeit this time around, Renjun had fought against his father’s wants, which was not the first instance, but was one that ended in surprising success. Success he tasted on the daily, even if all was bitter with no room for happiness. However, this success was sweet with contentment, ending with an awfully horrid aftertaste. Convincing his father to fly him out along with the others on the 23rd of December instead of the 20th was a victory no less. At least he didn’t have to spend unwanted days in the presence of his old man longer than necessary. 

He arrives in wealth and social standing like he always did for once his black A.Testoni dress shoes hit the white tiled floor of the airport’s general aviation ramp building, everyone within his general vicinity, even those afar, are taking heed to his every need, that as of now are limited. 

A slightly older woman who he deems as his assistant, comes into view, her black Prada heels clicking loudly against the tile as she advances with a clipboard and her trusty cell in her hands to the boy. She cheerful speaks into the empty building, her smile unwavering. “Mr. Huang, I am glad you had a safe flight. I printed your itinerary for the next couple of days that I will hand to you once we are in the limo. Considering it is…” She glances at her Apple Watch Series 6 to check the time. “Two forty three as of now, we can drop off your luggage at the Lodge and get you settled into your room before your three fifteen lunch with Mr. Kim and his wife at the Yongsusan Café. You will be with them for an hour before the rest of the afternoon is yours to spend productively. Then at six o’clock the maids and stylists will come by to get you ready for the business meeting at seven thirty, following with a small dinner party with those same individuals, including their wives and children. Sounds good?”

Renjun does not even have time to reply before his assistant speaks again. 

“Yes, okay! Let’s get going then.” She turns on her heel abruptly, yet with expertise without room for error and begins taking steps away from the plane to the left. “The limo should be this way, follow me while your luggage gets loaded. The drive should not take more than ten minutes.” 

He has no choice but to accompany her as he would not be able to make a run for it, he will be caught within seconds. He tried once and that was only one failure amongst little to none in his book. 

His strides are slow and lousy as if he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, when he in fact did not, far from it in actuality. Even so before he knows it he reaches the limo and is lurched forward in motion towards his destination for the next few days. The place his dad selected oozes with sumptuous intent, being a gorgeous mid-century modern wooden lodge that nearly looked like a manor upon inspection. As the limo pulls up to the front, Renjun is able to see the beauty up close that he is entranced by even if he seems unfazed. New places and people excite him more than he lets on for his life is dull, lacking fulfillment of an unknown tomorrow. 

The porter, who is situated in patience by the front doors, strides forward to open the door of the limo, permitting Renjun to step out with the authority and grace bestowed upon him. 

When he crosses the threshold into the Lodge he is met with an even better interior that rivaled that on the outside, but he is not allowed to ponder too much on the design before the head manager greets him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang, it is certainly a pleasure for you to stay with us at the Lodge this fine holiday season. I am Gwan Jang-Mi and I will be showing you to your room today along with giving you a small tour of this place in order to familiarize yourself with the setting. If you look here to your left…”

Her speech is drowned out into obscurity as Renjun’s awareness shifts to another woman, one so stunning that he is surprised he did not take notice sooner. When sauntering through the entryway into the resting room that will be cleared out in the next couple of hours, a bar is situated to the left where you stand, arranging countless bottles of liquor to wine on the counter, no doubt for the little party later or for the meeting. Those men were heavy drinkers and needed alcohol to make it through the rest of the evening. Renjun did drink to drown his sorrows, worry, and anxiousness away, but he was not one to throw himself down a spiraling hole of darkness nor chaos that he could not get out of, for those consequences were ones he did not want to reap.

The soft sunlight peaks through the high guarded windows, shining down on your face that enunciates your features. For simply being in a black polo and khaki pants, you made it work and drew all attention to yourself without even knowing the power you held. 

The moment of admiration comes to a close when Renjun is ushered away from the ground floor to make way to his room in the upper levels, leaving you behind.

Yet that would not be the last time.

Time goes by slowly when there is no purpose, no meaning to the daily workings of one person in the masses of others. Renjun has experience in that regard, time always goes by slowly for him and exhausts him a great deal like a rotary clock that seeks no end. 

He was worn out by the time he got back to the Lodge in the early evening due to the stay with the Kims went longer than necessary and he was called elsewhere upon emergency to discuss future matters. He did not have time for himself like his assistant had plainly made known so there he was, collapsed head first into his silk covers, ten minutes to six. 

Instead of taking a long awaited nap he is ushered up and into more formal wear after a cleanse from the bustle of bodies that barge into his room. 

No privacy. No sense of normality. 

That is the normal. 

The next few hours go by in blur from him sitting in front of a mirror to have his hair styled to sitting in front of burly old men that were associates and inventors of the company in a grad meeting room with locked doors and the finest assortment of liquor that money can buy. 

He is out of the confines in no time, not even bothering to say one final hurrah before he lurches himself out the door and into the now cleared out resting room. One of the servers comes by then dressed in all black attire that was nothing of the typical black and white uniform, edging towards a usual guest. Renjun snatches a glass of sparkling champagne and gulps it down in one go off their silver platter, discreetly of course, for he has to look composed—sober throughout the entire affair. He always could hold his alcohol without a problem and he felt blessed to have that advantage. One thing he is proud of. 

He is whisked away not even moments after by one of the older investors, Mr. Han, to moreover chew over the end of the year budget and his stance on future decisions to be made in the new year. From the corner of his eye while listening to the man talk in a flamboyant manner, he sees his father standing with a glass of white wine happily talking to another investor, a more influential one, the most influential one of them all and his wife along with their daughter who was not even carefully surveying the room in search of someone.

Renjun’s eyes widen in shock, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”

Mr. Han stops the flow of words out his mouth, his eyebrows rumpling together. He did not hear the swear word the boy uttered, yet he heard something in passing. “Pardon?”

Renjun shakes his head vaguely, bringing his third glass of champagne in the air as a sign of departure. “Ah excuse me, Mr. Han, but it seems I have been beckoned elsewhere.” His eyes shift over to his father who was not making direct eye contact with him, but Mr. Han did not need to know that little detail as he observes Renjun’s line of sight. 

Mr. Han chuckles brightly. “I see, well I must not keep you from your father.”

Renjun smiles. “No, you must not, but we shall continue this conversation later, Mr. Han. I am sure you have much more to say and I will happily discuss further with you.”

Mr. Han waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “We shall. Now off you go.” 

Renjun nods his head, his lips still quirked up in a smile, this one more genuine than the last, as he makes a beeline towards his father to make everything seem more believable. Though once he no longer feels the eyes of Mr. Han on his retreating back he switches routes, going to the left rather than straight ahead. He circles around the opposite side, catching a stark mop of washed out red hair amongst the crowd in the process—Donghyuck. His cousin is not alone, however, talking rather freely with a girl he could not quite see in his peripheral vision. The grin on Donghyuck’s face is undeniable even with his back turned and the way Renjun hears the tiny giggles you are emitting, all is too familiar, which is the perfect cause for a disruption.

Renjun does not acknowledge his cousin when he arrives at the bar, the younger boy too immersed in conversation so he signals for the other worker that comes becking to his call. 

“A Negroni, on the rocks.”

The girl nods in understanding and turns to prepare the drink while Donghyuck still has not noticed his presence. The younger boy always did focus on what was in front of him rather than on his surroundings, contrary to his cousin that saw the whole picture. Two contrasting people surely with unlike futures ahead of them. 

The frosted glass with the reddish-orange liquid and topped with orange shavings is served to him a minute later, placed in front of him on a matching glass coaster.

He clears his throat loudly in an attempt to catch Donghyuck’s attention. “Thank you.” 

A method that proves effective since the younger boy finally turns his head to the right to see Renjun sitting on the barstool next to him, sipping casually on his high class Negroni. 

His eyes are wide, but he masks his shock with a subtle smirk. “Jun! Well, well, if it isn’t the mini man himself. How long have you been sitting there?” 

Renjun snorts into his glass, shaking his head at the dig Donghyuck made at his height, always one out for blood. “Far too long to have noticed your flirting from across the room, Hyuck.” It is now his turn to smirk, but Donghyuck’s own is still unfaltering.

“I take pride in my skills, glad you gave your time of day to notice.” He elevates his glass up then, filled most likely with a Nicolashka, his favorite holiday drink to date, and takes a sip himself, a move Renjun mimics.

Then your voice interrupts. “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get back to work. You’ve been distracting me for the last ten minutes, mister.” Your stern gaze is directed at Donghyuck from the latter statement. Although once your words are uttered, Renjun focuses his eyes on you, scrutinizing your appearance. The very girl he saw earlier today, the girl Donghyuck so happened to have a chance with before him—you.

Donghyuck laughs, the smirk morphing into a shiteating grin. “I told you, call me Hyuck.”

“Well, Hyuck, I have to get back to work...plus I am sure you want to talk to your friend.” Your gaze flickers to Renjun in that instance and lingers there longer than necessary that has him laughing to himself. 

Donghyuck’s charm only goes so far. 

The younger boy peers at Renjun when you utter out friend, and he smiles small in remorse. “Sadly, but do not let me keep you from your work.”

You turn your back on him, your eyes catching Renjun’s in the process before you look away from the intensity of the dark orbs. “I wasn’t planning on it.” 

You leave the bar area then most likely to put on an apron that Renjun noticed you had not worn throughout the entire duration. Donghyuck simply distracted you before the start of your shift and after, not a good trait to inherit. 

Donghyuck hums, but let’s the remark go as he fully turns to Renjun to start up that conversation. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you always keep me from having fun?” 

Renjun shrugs his shoulders, swishing the liquid in his glass. “Not always, but I was saving that girl from misery. You should be thankful that I care enough.” 

Donghyuck taunts. “Oh wow I feel so special.”

Renjun sternly eyes him, his voice lowering. “You should.”

Donghyuck’s lips open to retort a response, but no words are spoken on his end for his eyes look over the older boy’s shoulders and he catches sight of someone none of them truly like or have liked after the incident. He sees her.

“Well fuck, here comes the devil,” is all he makes out and the phrase enough has Renjun turning his own head hastily to see who he was watching. Such is when he sees his ex-girlfriend, Cha Yeona, prowling straight towards their way.

“I’m going to go...so good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” Donghyuck pats Renjun’s shoulder in departure and his gesture of sympathy, leaving him in the wake of a girl he really did not wish to see or converse with. 

Once he leaves the bar in quick speed, you come in at that exact moment, your eyes zoning in on the way Yeona’s dainty hand latches onto Renjun’s forearm in greeting. You turn away from the image, busying yourself with wiping down the glasses. 

“Oh! What a lovely surprise,” Yeona voices, letting her hand maneuver down to place on top of Renjun’s hand in which she gives him a faint squeeze thereof. He flinches from the contact, retracting his hand to slip into the pocket of his Burberry blazer while the other rims his glass. 

He peers at her intently, a potency that has her giggling nervously. His looks could kill whenever he was serious with a blank face and austere hollows of eyes. “Hello, Yeona.”

She sits down gracefully on the stool next to him, crossing her long unblemished legs over each other, her hands placed in her lap. Her smile is bright and makes him want to pull out his hair. She was always two-faced. “Hi Jun Jun! How have you been?”

He lets the pet name go, but does not glance at her again, looking over her head at the white lights strung outside. “Good.”

Silence engulfs them that has her fidgeting out of discomfort. He evidently did not want to talk. She reaches her hand out to touch him once more that has him leaning away. She sighs in defeat, retreating from the gesture. She would have to reach him some other way. “Well...I—”

He cuts her off from continuing, drowning the last contents of his drink before he pushes the glass away towards the server at the end of the counter. He puts a hand up. “Save it. I have no reason to talk to you again. Leave.” 

He arches his eyebrow when he sees she makes no move to leave and he chuckles darkly. “Do I have to tell you again? Or should I have security escort you out?”

She flinches from the tone of his voice and gulps, her throat becoming exceptionally dry. She hurriedly stands up, almost ripping over her heels and departs without a goodbye, not that he wished to get one from her. Her slim body covered in a blood red dress slips into the crowd and Renjun finally releases the breath he was holding. 

He tugs at the strands of his gelled back hair. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, lifting a finger in the air to signal for another drink that the server speedily moves to make. 

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Renjun lifts his eyes to see you gaping at him, an eyebrow uplifted in fascination as you finally were in your uniform, a white cloth draped over your shoulders. Renjun runs his hand through his hair and scoffs from the remark thereafter. He was sure the stylists would be upset to see him dishevel their mighty work, but he could care less.

He shakes his head, the strands of hair rustling. “No, I think not. She deserves it.”

“Wow. Again, harsh.” You laugh mockingly and grab his drink that was slid over by your coworker to clean the glass again. You place the beverage down on the coaster which he takes with pleasure, muttering a small thank you that you can barely hear amidst the classical music playing in the background. Your hands make contact for a split second that has tingles erupting on your end, in a rather cliche response, yet he made no move of the feeling. 

There is quietness again that makes you flustered since you were never one to enjoy the muted scenery, always wanting a sound ringing in your ears. While Renjun enjoyed the still, always wanting a sound that faded in the wind and never made a comeback appearance. 

In a desperate attempt to keep conversation while making yourself busy by fixing up the bottles of alcohol, you propose a question that invades his privacy, whilst he never had privacy to begin with, a factor you were left in the dark about.

“So...um...your girlfriend?” You ask, in regards to Yeona that left some minutes ago. 

Renjun snorts, placing down his glass and interlocks his hand to rest his chin on, a move to focus solely on you. “Right. She’s my ex-girlfriend actually so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You mumble out a quiet, “Oh.” It was not your business to know his affairs after all, yet there was a voice nagging within that made you curious to find out every part of him.

The tranquility hugs the both of you once more, until he questions you out of the blue. 

“You want to get out of here?”

To say you are shocked is an understatement, since you are in fact bamboozled beyond belief. He says the declaration with so much firmness and certainty, it has your heart twisting on the inside.

You lightly laugh to mask the shock and turn around to really look at him, a look that he reciprocates. “I don’t even know you.”

A keen smile is visible on his lips. “Exactly the point. You have nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, leaning against the counter of the bar to stare into his eyes that look so lifeless, yet beautiful. “Maybe, but this is my job. I can’t just bail.” 

He leans his head closer to you, an act that allows you to a whiff of the Christian Dior Ambre Nuit cologne he wears and his minty fresh breath. “Of course you can.” His soothing voice turns teasing as he smirks. “Don’t worry I won’t tell.” 

You scoff to yourself, surprised by his mannerisms of outforwardness. You look around then to see if anyone is watching the two of you, but all eyes are elsewhere and you let out a sigh of relief. Another girl comes into the bar when you glance to the side, most likely to cover the next shift that was not yours quite yet, be that as it may you did have a break coming up. 

Renjun outstretches his hand in patience, his smirk slowly growing, even if it was borderlining a smile that you could see right through. He hums in anticipation and you give in.

“Okay fine, but not for too long,” you say as you rest your hand in his. The cold of your fingers meet his warm ones and you latch on for dear life, afraid to let go. 

He grins at you and squeezes your hand. “No promises.” 

Then he proceeds to drag you out of the bar, tugging you to who knows where. The tingle of a secret keeps you on your toes and you become giddy, laughing along the halls as he steers you left, right, straight, left, right, up...a never ending cycle of adventure.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” You ask after gaining the courage. He is intimidating in some regards, the thought of how he acted towards his ex-girlfriend as visible as day in your mind.

He shrugs, finally slowing down. “Who knows. Could be outside in the cold or near a fireplace in the warm. You will just have to see.”

“That certainly gives me no direction at all.”

He turns his head to look at you and stops suddenly, having you nearly crash into his back before he tugs you to the other side. He chuckles when he sees your horrified face from almost busting your nose. “That was the point, darling.”

You huff in annoyance when he continues walking, the pressure of his fingers around your own feels heavier as time drags on and your heart has no sense of calm, constricting with the name of endearment that slipped past his slim lips.

“Okay, we are here!” He announces and lets go of your hand, the bareness of his heat leaving you shivering. You take a step back from planting your feet firmly on the floor and glance around the room in which he stopped. It was one of the upper level rooms with strict access only to the most wealthy of the associates and investors. His family must be one of those highly regarded, if only you knew how highly regarded his family is, being the ones with the most status, the most affluent lifestyle. However, you would remain clueless.

“Oh, wow. The view up here is amazing.”

Renjun laughs, placing his hands in the front pocket of his slacks as he strolls around the room, glancing at the glowing fire that was left on and the books that were sealed shut. “Trust me, I am well aware. Why do you think I brought you up here?” He gives you an exasperated stare, peering past at the giant window you stood in front of that showcased the whole town, now covered in sleek white snow. It must have snowed while he was conversing with others at the party for when he arrived at the meeting hours ago, the land was void.

The white flakes are still falling outside, delicately covering everything in one uniform color that leaves you in awe and he is left admiring you, how at peace you are. How free you look, an emotion he never held onto in his entire life.

“So besides admiring this view, what are we doing up here?” You ask, your fingertips grazing the cool frosted glass of the window, seeing beyond to the endless landscape and twinkling stars along with lights of the houses nearby.

Renjun answers bluntly. “Admiring the view.”

You can’t stop the titters from escaping you and you roll your eyes, an action he sees through the reflection.

He steps forward, coming up besides your figure to look more clearly at the breathtaking scenery of a winter wonderland. “No, I’m joking...at least partially.” 

You giggle some more, interlocking your hands in front of you. “I didn’t know you had it in you to joke.”

It is now his turn to laugh. “Darling, I have a lot in me that you don’t know.”

You sigh solemnly, taking a step back to turn around, examining the other objects around the room. “Oh, I’m sure.” 

He is an enigma waiting to be unraveled, but you would not be the one to solve his case and that alone is an idea that scares you. 

Before you can get farther away, his hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from escape. You peer down at his hand then up to his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching together in perplexity.

He does not speak, only drags you into him to where you are now chest to chest, only an inch of distance between your bodies. The closeness between the two of you leaves you breathless and gasping for air. His thumb carrasses your arm and runs down to the palm of your hand, enveloping his fingers around your skin. Your eyes are trailing the movements and you take a sharp intake of breath, curious as to what can happen next. He hooks his other free index finger under your chin to lift your face up so he can see you in distinct luminosity.

You have gazed at his eyes practically all evening, but nothing has prepared you for seeing him up close. He is even more handsome in full definition from the lines on his soft pink lips to his perfectly tousled hair. 

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb running along your cupid’s bow. “Absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful.”

You gulp, the words drying up in your throat for what could you say to his compliment?

Then everything happens at once.

His hand moves to wrap around the back of your head and he tugs you closer by the other until you are pressed up against each other. He lightly pushes your head forward and contact is made. 

Lips against lips. Moving and moving against each other, taking all your breath away for the second time within a span of a few seconds. 

He lets go of holding your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, to pull you closer if such is even possible. To make the contact more tender and desirable.

You suppose desire is that which allows the moment to escalate further. From a mere innocent kiss to a fiery passion of craving for more. 

When your lips separate, he does not think twice before grabbing your hand once more and dragging you down the long corridor to arrive at his secluded room around the corner.

He opens the door with haste as you come tumbling in after him, grabbing, pulling, tugging until all that is left is just you and him.

The frantic beats of two hearts. 

The heat of skin pressed against skin. 

Simply two bodies that became one all due to the desire floating around the room and pushing you to the limit. 

You lost yourself in him that night and he in you. 

Lost to the pure ecstasy of pleasure during the season of joy and love.

Yet the season could also be one for giving and taking.

You wake to a cold bed the next morning.

Gone is the warmth of a boy who made you feel like you were on top of the world, someone special enough to demand notice and have anything that is asked for. 

Gone is the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear, the words of assurance, comfort, and false love that made you feel worth it and simply protected.

Gone is the long lingering touches of his fingers pressing into you and dancing along the lines of your body to explore and learn.

Gone is the feeling of his lips on your skin that was enough to ignite you ablaze and leave you seeing all the colors of the rainbow.

Gone is he—Huang Renjun. 

All that remains of the remembrance from the night is the note he left by the oak bedside table, one that crushed the dream of longing and hope within. One that slapped you with the crude reality of who he truly was, is, in a place that you did not belong to and never would. 

Thanks for last night, but it’s a one time thing. You can see yourself out. Happy holidays.

He signed the note with his initials, H.R. and his family’s embroidered seal. 

Then you realize in that moment, your bare body covered in his silk covers in the large suite he had all to himself, that the holidays are not for everyone. 

You can either be together with someone else or alone by yourself. 

Never the two. 

Always one or the other. 

You had hoped to be together yet alone with him in privacy to make your own memories away from prying eyes, but at the end of the day you were by yourself and he was too.

That is how life works in this sick, twisted world.

Men against men. Women against women. Everyone against everyone.

Alone.

Never together. 

Like he and you.

[mkkhaikyuu]

Autumn Skies: Chapter 5

previous | chapter 5 | next | masterlist

summary:  You were best friends with Kuroo Tetsurou since middle school. You loved him but he only had eyes for someone else. Years later, you come back to Tokyo as a new person. What do the stars have in store for your relationship?

Autumn Skies Chapter 5: ‘Tis the Season 

warnings: some swearing, lmk if i missed anything

As you walked to class, you stopped by at the restroom real quick to freshen up. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you can see dark, albeit faint, circles under your eyes. Your complexion was ashen, lips and cheeks pale and dry from the cold, devoid of the glow that they used to wear. However, thanks to Yaku and Kenma and the coffee, you didn’t feel as weary as you looked.

Fishing out the makeup kit from your bag, you put on some light makeup to make yourself look a little decent. With a touch of foundation, light blush and tinted lip balm, you started to feel more like your old self.

You resumed your journey to your classroom, ready to take on the rest of the day.

Entering the room, your eyes landed upon something that immediately halted you in your tracks, the spring in your step interrupted like a joyous orchestra that abruptly stopped. 

In her seat was Hana, proudly wearing Kuroo’s red track jacket, like she often does. Your thoughts and your heart started to race, making you dizzy. With faltering steps, you made your way to your seat, setting down your bag unceremoniously and plopping down on the chair. 

You could’ve sworn you saw Kuroo’s jacket at the clubroom just mere minutes ago. You almost bit your nails at the thought of Hana or Kuroo overhearing the conversation you had with Kenma and Yaku at the clubroom.

Maybe you were mistaken and the jacket at the clubroom wasn’t Kuroo’s? But the initials on the lining clearly indicated that it was. It was probably just an extra jacket of his, you tried to reassure yourself. 

The door swung open at the teacher’s arrival, pulling you out from your spiral of thoughts. 

As the teacher droned on about some announcement for next week’s exams, your gaze fell upon Hana, then shifted to Kuroo. So far they haven’t been acting out of the ordinary, no indication that either of them ever heard of the conversation. But then again you were in class so you couldn’t tell for sure. Sighing, you willed yourself to push the matter to the back of your mind and just deal with it later. 

---

Later, when your last class for the day ended, you stayed and waited around at the classroom for a bit. For what, you weren’t so sure. Maybe a confrontation from Hana of some sort? A rejection from Kuroo? Maybe just to see if they knew? 

In any case, you wanted to clear the air with them if they ever knew. You had absolutely no intention of getting in the way of their relationship and you wanted them to know that.

You stood awkwardly by the window, hands gripping at the straps of your bag, trying not to make it seem too obvious that you were waiting. Yaku suddenly walks up to you, sending you a questioning look laced with concern, wondering what you were up to. You only gave him a reassuring smile and a slight shake of your head. 

Confused, Yaku also watches as Hana and Kuroo as they gathered up their things. Your other classmates were filtering out of the room one by one, and soon, Kuroo and Hana were ready to go, too, with Kuroo draping an arm around Hana’s shoulders.

You see Kuroo and Hana turn sideways towards you, the anticipation making things seem like they were in slow motion. And you thought, this is it. The moment of truth. The confrontation. 

You braced yourself.

“Hey, aren’t you guys coming to practice?” Kuroo asks, raising his eyebrows.

Huh? 

You looked at the couple disbelievingly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open just slightly. Did you worry yourself over nothing? 

Beside you, Yaku clicked his tongue. “Of course, we are! We’ve got less than a month ‘til the Nationals. We need all the practice we can get.”

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah, we do. Well then, see you guys later!” he says as he and Hana started walking out of the room. Hana quickly gave the two of you a little wave of goodbye.

Once the two were out of sight, you slumped over with relief, hands braced on your knees. You started laughing under your breath both in relief and at how stupid you were for getting worked up about nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Yaku asks, slightly creeped out. Standing back up, you fixed your bag and started walking with Yaku following closely behind you.

As you walked to the gym, you told Yaku about Kuroo’s jacket that you found at the clubroom, how Hana was wearing it in class, and how worried you were at the possibility that one or both of them heard everything you talked about at the clubroom earlier.

With a laugh, Yaku told you, “It was probably just one of his extra jackets. You know we have at least two.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, laughing lightly, feeling better because of Yaku’s words. And with that, every bit of concern you had on the matter disappeared.

---

The rest of the week went by in a blur and finally, Saturday, the day of the party was here. However, since the national tournament will take place early in January, that meant that the team spent most of their time practicing at the gym. 

So here you were, cozily wrapped in your favorite jacket, busily keeping score on the team’s practice games against each other. Your eyes fleetingly scanned the expanse of the gym. The boys did their part in helping with the party preparations like they promised. 

Some hanging Christmas decorations in an assortment of colors adorned the walls, placed there by the first years before practice began. A few tables brought in by the rest of the team were lined off to the far side along with a couple of chairs and benches. The rest of your party essentials were waiting at the clubroom. You and Hana, meanwhile, were in charge of the food and beverages.

Last night, your hands were full with baking a bunch of festive desserts: a cake, some cookies, and an apple pie specially made for Kenma. You couldn't wait until practice ended so the party could begin. The thought of all the delicious food you were going to have later made you hungry.

---

Finally, practice was over. The boys immediately freshened up and changed into clean clothes and you and Hana took this opportunity to finish preparing for the party.

Opening the door of the gym, the cold winter breeze kissed the skin on your face, making you shiver.

A light dusting of snow covered the surroundings outside, and the afternoon sun bathed the white blanket of snow in a fusion of pink, purple, and orange sunset colors until it disappeared under the horizon.

Hana was busy dressing the tables for the season with festive tablecloths and placemats. You, on the other hand, went to get the midsized Christmas tree from the clubroom. 

You set the tree near the tables and fussed around with its ornaments until you were satisfied. Once you were done with that, you went to and from the clubroom to fetch the gifts and place them under the tree. Some of the boys started helping out wherever they can as well; cleaning up the gym, helping you transport all the food and drinks from the clubroom to the tables at the gym, hanging Christmas lights on the wall, and setting up the speaker.

Little by little, the stars peeked out from their hiding spot in the winter blue skies and glittered above you as you carried the last of the food to the gym.  A Christmas song could be faintly heard coming from the gym, getting louder as you got closer.

On regular days, nighttime signaled the culmination of the day’s activities in the form of an exhale as things winded down. In the holiday season, however, the arrival of nighttime serves as a cue that the festivities were just about to begin. Sometimes the shorter days and longer nights of winter were comforting, you suppose. 

The boys were already seated around the table once you arrived back at the gym. The cacophony of idle chatter and laughter from the team rose above the music blasting from the speakers and you smiled to yourself as you set the last tray of food down at the table.

“OH! LOOK AT ALL THESE FOOD!” yells Lev, making Yaku hit him lightly on the head for being so loud.

“Man, I’m starving! Can we eat now?” Yamamoto also says.

Coach Nekomata and Coach Naoi just laughed at them, waiting for your cue. Knowing that they were starving after a brutal practice session, you didn’t wait any longer to tell them that they could start eating. And with that, the hungry volleyball players dug into the assortment of food like they hadn’t eaten in days. 

You sat between Yaku and Kenma while Kuroo and Hana sat across from you.

“Cam I fweafe hafe fome feherts mow?” Lev asked after some time, as he chewed his food.

“Lev! Don’t talk when your mouth is full! That’s disgusting!” Yaku scolds him.

“You’ll get to eat them after your play,” you snickered. “You did practice, right?” 

Kenma snorted beside you while Kuroo laughed. Yamamoto and the first-years blanched, regretting ever bringing up a play when you were planning for the party. It was originally Yamamoto’s idea and he had Fukunaga and the first-years to play along. But Yamamoto was not one to back down.

“Lev, hurry up! Let’s get the play going!” he announces and gets up. Inuoka, Shibayama, Teshiro looked at each other as they reluctantly stood up. Fukunaga, ever one to go with the flow, just ambles along.

“W-wait!” Lev quickly gulped down his juice then scrambled to where Yamamoto and the others were gathered.

A few minutes later, they emerged from behind the curtains of the stage. Yamamoto donned a Santa Claus costume. Fukunaga was a Christmas tree, and Inuoka, Shibayama and Teshiro were reindeers. Lev, however...

“Is he supposed to be a snowman?” Kuroo turned to ask you incredulously, his finger pointing towards Lev. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” you shrugged.

“Oi, Lev! This is Christmas, not Halloween!” Yaku yelled.

“Maybe he’s the spirit of Christmas?” Kai asked.

By this point, everyone at the table was snickering at how Lev looked more like a ghost than a snowman.

“S-shut up! I’m a snowman!” Lev announces.

“Oi, Lev, your line!” Yamamoto scolds him.

“Oh, right!” 

And so, the play began. 

It was chaos up on the stage. You have no idea whether they actually practiced a script or they were just winging it on stage. 

At the moment, Fukunaga was riding on the back of Inuoka across the stage while Yamamoto, who was Santa Claus, was having a candy cane sword fight with Lev. Off to the side of the stage, Shibayama and Teshiro, the rest of the reindeers, were dancing lousily with their tambourines to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock. It was a mess.

Kuroo and Yaku were laughing so hard that they started tearing up, banging their fists on the table. 

“Kenma, you should’ve joined them.” Coach Nekomata said as he laughed mirthfully, to which Kenma, who was already happily munching on a slice of apple pie, frowned.

The thought of Kenma joining in on the chaos that was happening onstage only made the rest of you laugh harder. 

“I would never,” Kenma mutters.

“Kuroo, you should probably stop them now before they end up hurting themselves,” you tell him, although you were laughing at the play yourself.

“Right, right,” Kuroo concedes, shaking his head as he tried to calm down from the laughter.

“Aww but this is so much fun!” Yaku said, “But yeah, we can’t allow any injuries,” he sighed regretfully.

With that, Kuroo stood up, “Oi! What the hell are you guys doing? You’re going to hurt yourselves!” The boys immediately listened to their captain and stopped, embarrassed. 

Shaking your head, you excused yourself, telling them that you’ll be right back.

You ran to the clubroom to get the yule log cake that you made as a surprise for the team. Yule log cakes were apparently eaten for good luck and you wanted to wish your team good luck for the upcoming tournament.

You slid the door to the clubroom open halfway and went in. You didn’t bother to turn on the lights in the room as there was enough light coming from the lamppost outside to allow you to maneuver.

You pulled the box of cake carefully from the paper bag you hid it in on the shelf. Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, making goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

---

Unbeknownst to you, Kuroo also made his way to the clubroom when he found out that you went out. Ever the perceptive guy, he had the sneaking suspicion that you had a surprise planned out and went to check and maybe help you out. 

When he got to the clubroom, he wondered why it was dark. But the door was open so he guessed that you were there. Peeking in, he watched as you reached up to get something on the shelf.

Smirking, he went to sneak up behind you to scare you, like he always did when he sees the perfect opportunity.

You were so focused on not dropping the cake and being too excited to present it to the team that you failed to notice Kuroo approaching until he was right behind you.

Kuroo reached his hands out to place over your eyes when you suddenly whirled around to face whoever was about to get you. Kuroo wasn’t expecting you to notice and he ended up poking you in the eye.

"Ow! Fuck!" you hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut and stayed still, leaning against the shelf, careful not to make any sudden movements that could ruin the cake you were holding.

"Shit, y/n, I'm sorry!" Kuroo said frantically. He held your face in his hands as he tried to get a good look at your eye which he accidentally poked. You blinked your eyes furiously to rid of the uncomfortable sensation. 

"I’m so sorry," he whispers, trying to calm you down. 

He was so close, closer than you two ever were before. The proximity made it hard for you to breathe. Your skin burned in the places he touched, a striking contrast to the winter chill that surrounded you. It looked almost like he was going to kiss you.

“N-no, I’m fine,” you tell him, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. You tried to shrug him off with a shake of your shoulders but he wouldn’t budge.

“Please, let me take a look. I shouldn’t have done tha-”

“Kuroo?” All of a sudden, brightness flooded the room and Hana stood by the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Hana! It’s not what it looks like!” Kuroo immediately stepped away from you, explanations spilling from his lips. “I tried to scare her and accidentally poked her in the eye!”

Hana looks over at you and hums. “I see. Well then, let’s all go back to the party. Everyone’s waiting.”

With that, she turns around and walks out.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” Kuroo apologizes a final time, rubbing the back of his head, before following after Hana.

With a sharp exhale, you also headed back to the gym, turning off the lights and closing the door to the clubroom. 

You didn’t miss the way Hana looked at you. There was a silent warning behind that stare. Sighing, you cursed Kuroo and his foolishness. 

taglist is still open!

disclaimer: kuroo tetsurou, haikyu!! and other haikyu!! characters belong to haruichi furudate.

a/n: Merry Christmas! 

💖: @elianetsantana @literaleftist  @yeehawslap @starry-magicshop @atsunflower @saturnfarie @sakurahoshizora @kellyyween @donica95 @kyomihann  @roseestuosity @brattyshirabuismybff @rirk-ke @-doublezero @yafriendlyfangirl @kagebunshiin @julie-ackerman  @acsycharm @fmwaifu @piii-chan @melodyofroses @kageyamakock @postsfromthe6 @chrisrue15​ 

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @from-aldebaran​

Snow Angel

    As grey dawn broke over the streets of Paris, the Opera Ghost stood high atop the roof of the Palais Garnier, surveying the thick snowfall that had settled over the city in the night, snow still falling, perfect flakes settling on his cloak, their crystalline shapes unmarred, becoming bright additions to the subtle jet beadwork adorning his collar and shoulders.

Erik had suspected this change in the weather when he had completed his rounds last evening with a final stop on the roof.  The air had smelled of impending snow, reminding him of days long ago on the road in Russia, where learning the signs and portents of the weather’s whims had been a matter of life or death.

The light-bejeweled city had been beautiful from the heights last night and was even more so now, all ugliness revealed by the daylight hidden beneath smooth snowy white curves, like the mask which shielded the malformed side of his face from the horrified gaze of the world.  And this was not winter in Russia.  His life no longer danced upon a knife’s edge from day to day.  He stood here, atop his Opera House, warmth and beauty and home within, snow kept safely without, waiting for the dancers and musicians and singers to come fill his halls with bright life and music, which he shaped as always subtly from the shadows.  

Well, and there was no more time to stand here gawking while snow collected at an impressive rate on the brim of his hat.  There was much to be done this day, before the Palais emptied for the Christmas holiday, with a concert by the Opéra Populaire scheduled after, for the holiday season, and a new production starting in the coming year.  The day would hold Christine’s early morning vocal lesson, a full concert ensemble rehearsal on stage at noon, with  breakout practices and recitals in the afternoon.

The Opera House always bustled with life during the day, but never more so than at the holiday times.  The artists, young and old, were caught up in what Erik understood to be the spirit of fellowship of the season, exchanging gifts, holding impromptu gatherings, filled with Christmas cheer, and above all, anxiously awaiting the time away from their work that the Christmas break provided.  The days leading up to Christmas were filled with a palpable energy, waiting to be released as the company headed out on holiday. 

Then, ah, for him a few days of what had used to be blessed solitude, when he could roam the halls at will, mindful only of the few beleaguered guards tasked to work the holidays.  Never very happy about it, they typically stayed close to the main guard station, leaving the gilded halls free for him to enjoy in peace, to marvel at the beauty contained within the Palais and of course to attend to more practical matters, ensuring seldom used secret access points remained in working order.  Yes, the holidays were a perfect time for a survey of his Opera House, top to bottom, drifting purposefully alone through the long winter nights.

But this year was somehow different.  Sweet solitude held less allure.  He had grown accustomed to the new lessons with Christine, their daily interactions.  Seeing her progress, shaping her voice into a beautiful reliable instrument to serve her all her days.  Speaking with her on matters musical and personal.  Using his guise as an angel to gain perspective on facets of human behavior that he had either been unaware of or which had somehow eluded him completely.  Not that he truly cared, mind, nor would he have much occasion to put this newfound knowledge into practice, being the solitary creature he was. 

Still, she fascinated him…that is, what she had to say fascinated him. 

It was a good thing, then, that the work to be done in the Opera House, still and empty and quiet for the next few days, would occupy his time so completely.

Erik turned to go, his footprints from his earlier traverse already erased by the snow, leaving no doubt his new footprints would be obscured as well.  He swept his hat off, releasing a sudden tiny blizzard into the wind.  He felt the unexpected kiss of snowflakes on his cheek, and a warm flurry of sensation in his chest which he recognized with surprise as anticipation, anticipation of a pleasant day indeed, with all proceeding according to plan.

*****

Christine was late.  Very late.  Christine had never been so much as a minute late before, not for their morning lessons.

Erik fretted behind the mirror until the moment when the door to the dressing room flew open and Christine burst in, her arms full of bags and parcels, her blue cloak damp about her, her usual outside-of-the-opera upswept coiffure fallen, sending her auburn curls cascading about her shoulders, sparkling with snow.  The vacant tableau of her dressing room came to vibrant life with her entrance, her cheeks and lips rosy with color as she spun to close the door behind her, calling for him immediately.

“Angel, oh Angel, I am so sorry!  Are you here, did you stay?”

He had not the heart to make her wait a moment for his answer, though her calls for him were their own sweet music.

“My child, I am here.  What befell you?  And what is it that you carry there?”

“Oh, Angel,” Christine began, as she set her various burdens down on the vanity, easing woolen mittens from her hands, unfastening her cloak and tossing it over the dressing screen to dry. She perched her mittens precariously atop the screen as well.  “It has snowed, have you seen, a very great snow, the most here in Paris in years and years!”  She pulled a small pair of hair combs from the pockets of her dress, trying in vain to roll the snow-dampened curls of her hair and secure them away from her face.  

“I did see, and this delayed you somehow?”  He felt like a fool.  He seldom had to go abroad from the Opera House in inclement weather, unless he wished to, and he had not even considered the snow as a reason for the lateness of her arrival.

“Well, yes, it is not only snow, but ice beneath and walking is treacherous, especially for those not accustomed to snow!  I daresay I spent more time helping people up this morning than I did on my own journey here.”  Christine laughed, adding with sudden astuteness, in apparent consideration of his angelic nature and his potential ignorance about the meaning of her northern origins— “I am Swedish, you see, and used to the snow!” 

She busied herself sorting various packages that she fished from the bags she had carried, explaining as she worked.  “We exchange gifts with each other for Christmas, the ballet girls do, and these are the presents I have brought with me to give.”

Of course.  Gifts were customary at this season, he thought, as his chest inexplicably tightened.

Her hair came loose from the combs again and she pulled them free, rummaging in her vanity.  “These are entirely too small, they always have been.  I simply need to get larger ones, and give these away.”

She pulled a larger pair of combs from the drawer, evidently much used by the battered look of them and was finally able to set her hair away from her face to her satisfaction, though the rest of the snow-swept curls she left free, here in the confines of the Opera House, where the rules governing a young lady’s expected hair arrangement were a moot point at best among the bohemian members of the Opéra Populaire.

His eyes caught on her face as she peered into her vanity mirror, and he was struck suddenly that beneath the rosy glow imparted by the winter weather, she was pale, and somehow drawn, with faint lilac shadows beneath her eyes. 

It was not like her to complain about anything, especially something so inconsequential as a set of hair combs.  Perhaps…

“Are you well?  Are you agreeable to our lesson today?” he enquired. 

He drove her very hard, came the abrupt thought, as his gaze traced the stark line of her cheek, with these lessons in addition to the not insignificant demands of her duties in the company, singing in the chorus and dancing as well, under the also quite strict supervision of Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry respectively. 

For all that she held these responsibilities, and for all that she had been through these past years—things she had shared with him during the time of their lessons and on other occasions when she called to him and he was able to answer—she was, he suddenly realized, still quite young. 

Young in a way he had never been allowed to be, and with a sudden hollowness expanding in his chest, he wondered if he was complicit in rushing her into adulthood with his stern expectations.

“Oh, yes,” Christine said, shaking her hair back one last time and coming to stand in the center of the room, poising herself for her warmups.  “Some of us had hoped…well, had thought, that the day’s rehearsals might be cancelled due to the weather, but—” a look approaching worry crossed her face—“but I would never miss a lesson with you, Angel.  And as it turns out, the day’s full schedule remains firmly in place.”  Here her lip quivered, just slightly, and she cast her gaze down in what looked very like disappointment.

Oh dear.  Abruptly, he was at a loss.  He cast about for what to do and decided he needed more information.

“My child,” he said, “you know we have discussed before how I am ignorant of many things in this mortal world, and that I rely on you to be my guide in such matters.”

Christine  lifted her head, nodding to the corner of the room where he had sent his voice to speak from.

“You must tell me truthfully, Christine.  What had you and your companions hoped for this day?  And please, dear one, sit down.  Warm yourself before you even think of warming your voice.”

Christine crossed to the vanity and settled upon the little chair there, chafing her hands together and tucking them in the folds of her skirt.  “Well, it seems so silly to say aloud, especially to you, Angel.  Such trivial matters to concern you with, and really of no importance.”

“We have had this discussion before as well.  There is nothing you cannot lay before me.  Music is not made just with the voice, you will recall, but with the spirit.  If the spirit is troubled or,” and here he paused, to rid his voice of any emotion save comfort, “or the body is tired, you must tell me, Christine.  I am not always able to discern these things without your help.”

She shifted on the little chair, and then spoke.  “Well, it is just, yes, we are tired, all of us, and we had hoped to be able to go out…and play.”  She flushed, her pale features pinking in the soft light of the dressing room to match the high color of her cheeks and lips.

Play.  In the snow?

Erik considered her in silence, information and observations assuming new configurations in his mind, Christine again leading him to a new perspective.  He had anticipated a high level of energy from the company today, this he had observed before during previous holiday seasons.  People with their minds on future plans, on gatherings with loved ones, eager to be done with their work.

But this morning, the Opera House fairly vibrated with the company’s restrained energy, and at last he understood—it was due to the snow! 

And Christine—not just his promising student, but a member of that company, a member of humanity in a way that he was far removed from, in a way that he had utterly failed to take into account.

Erik pulled in a deep breath in his place behind the mirror, letting it out slowly and quietly as he gripped his hands tightly together.  She would work herself to exhaustion, catch her death of cold, to not miss a lesson from him.  Her health could take a turn, due to illness or overwork, two things he himself was never troubled by—and he would be responsible.

He could not and should not hold her to his impossibly warped standards.

And he—he had had no consideration for her at all, none, not even arranging for something as simple as a holiday gift…

It simply would not do.

Perhaps there was something that could be done, to make amends.  He addressed her, sending his voice again from the corner of the room.

“Play?”  He hoped he did not sound nearly as confused as he felt. 

“In the snow, you know.  It happens so rarely here!”

“Ah,” he said wisely, feeling thoroughly unenlightened.  “And how, exactly, does one play in the snow?”

“Oh!” She leaned forward, clasping her hands, her voice animated and eyes bright.  “There’s sledding of course, and snow forts, and snowmen, and snowballs…oh, and snow angels!”  Here she laughed again. 

“I see,” he said, though he saw nothing of the sort.  He remembered looking out of his shuttered window as a child, at a group of children throwing balls of snow at one another in the street, and from his Russian travels he knew what sleds were, but all else was mystery.  His tone must have conveyed more than his words, because Christine continued, explaining.

“Well, sledding is riding something smooth down a hillside covered in snow.  Snowmen are figures made out of large balls of snow, stacked with a bottom and middle and a top for a head.  You can add branches for arms, buttons or coal for eyes, and a carrot for a nose.  And then things like scarves and hats if you like.  Oh, and snow forts are like walls made of snow, or sometimes square or domed houses.  To play in, you see, or hide behind, especially in a snowball fight.” 

Christine tipped her chin down, shaking her head slightly, yet still smiling.  “Snowball fights sound very mean when explaining them to an angel, but I promise you they are very fun!  You make fist sized balls out of snow and throw them at one another.  If you are feeling very wicked, you can pack them tightly, so they sting your target a bit.” 

She raised her eyes, skin coloring once more, and brought the subject back round to virtue. “Snow angels are when you flop down in a field of soft snow, flat on your back, and then you move your arms and legs to make shapes.  The legs, see, make a robe and your arms make the wings.  At least—” and she glanced again at the corner his voice issued from “—that is what we think angels look like, though we have no way to be sure they look anything at all like what we have imagined.”

Well, and time to change that topic.  It all seemed very silly…but perhaps that was what was needed here.  Some time not to be serious.  Some time to simply…play.  At the very least, he would cut this lesson short and give the girl a break this morning.  She had dance practice very soon and then the full run through of the holiday concert with the whole company, dancers, chorus, and orchestra assembled on the stage. 

Today was the last day before the brief holiday break, and the show to commence very soon after everyone returned.  They were already well practiced though, he had seen it for himself.  The management could have made a different decision and called today’s rehearsals off altogether with no harm done.  They were clearly as foolish as he himself had been.

It was time for that to change.  And, he thought, his mind a whirl of ideas, time to share the lesson he had just learned. 

“Christine, a few scales please and that will suffice for today.  Warm up properly prior to your rehearsal later this morning.  You will want to be well prepared for anything.”

She rose from her seat to move to the center of the room again.  “Oh, Angel, are you certain?  I can do anything that you ask.”

“I am very certain, dear one.  Sing today, then go from here and rest your voice, body and spirit until you return again next week.  You have given me the lesson today, Christine, one this angel had not considered, that people need time to rest and play, to stay well for their work.  I shall not forget it.”

*****

Erik lounged in casual repose in the flies high above the stage, which hummed with activity dozens of feet below.  The flies were empty save for himself; there was only one backdrop needed for the post- Christmas concert the Opéra Populaire was preparing to rehearse, and that already in place, leaving the stagehands to concentrate on ground level tasks.  Joseph Buquet’s many little nests of old drop cloths, where he napped away the hours hidden safely from view above the stage, were empty, Buquet himself busy sharing a flask of holiday cheer with the dayshift guards at their station.  This set of circumstances had saved Erik quite a bit of time in dealing with unwanted attention, and ensured he had no audience for the completion of the project that had consumed his morning hours, and gave him also an excellent vantage from which to observe today’s proceedings.

He had been right about the effect of the holidays, and Christine’s observations about the snowfall enabled him to see even more clearly…no one wanted to be here today.  They wished to be out, in the snow, left to their own devices

Idly, Erik observed the rehearsal layout.  The orchestra was ensconced in the pit, doing their warm-ups as the conductor, Monsieur Desplat, presided in dreamy, absent-minded glory, bent over his sheet music, his hair a cottony white nimbus about his head.  Desplat lived fully in the world of music, which condition Erik could understand, but alas, the music in Monsieur Desplat’s head often drowned out the real world shortcomings of several members of his orchestra. 

As if on cue, the Third Trombone hit a particularly sour note, causing Erik’s fingers to clench.  And of course, the Second Trombone’s chair was empty, the man over in the string section, pressing his dubious attention upon one of the violinists—it scarcely mattered to Erik which one, nor, he suspected, did it matter much to the Second Trombone, whose criteria in choice of partners boiled down to alive and available.

Stage left stood the twittering semicircle of the chorus, no uniformity to their dress as they were not yet outfitted in full Christmas costume.  Monsieur Reyer as usual strutted before them like a bantam cock, all nervous energy and sharp movement, his incessant frustration confined only by his perpetually too-tight jacket and too-small hat.  Erik had to admit that the man knew his business, else Erik would have made it his business to have the répétiteur replaced years ago.  No, Reyer was quite competent, and then some, despite a distressing tendency towards favoritism and inclination to fawn over said favorites, resulting in a failure to correct their slide into bad form.

And there stood the favorites themselves, La Carlotta and her partner Signor Piangi, at the downstage end of the chorus’s semicircle.  La Carlotta, true to her character, alternated between looking bored and disdainful, while Piangi’s good nature asserted itself as he chatted with chorus members, yet, with the ease of long practice, and perhaps a well-developed sense of self-preservation, he remained constantly aware of and attentive to the ever-changing moods of his lady diva.  As usual, Piangi had done a thorough warm-up, his pleasant tenor an accompaniment to Erik’s morning efforts in the flies, and also as usual, La Carlotta found warm-ups beneath her, which contributed to the daily erosion of her once supreme talent.

Stage right, a drift of tulle and satin, the ballet dancers fully costumed in their holiday concert regalia, complete with tall tiaras each adorned at the highest point with a glittering golden star, in sharp contrast to the stern black-clad presence of Madame Giry, staff at the ready.  And there, speaking animatedly with Madame Giry’s blonde-haired daughter Meg, was Christine.  Erik narrowed his eyes—he had heard Christine warming up as he worked and knew she had no dance role in this concert.  If she were not careful, she would risk—

“Daaé!”

And there it was, Monsieur Reyer’s nasal voice rising above the sounds of the orchestra and sending Christine rushing across the stage to her place in the chorus.  One would think, Erik mused, that a vocal coach of some renown would have made some effort towards making his own speaking voice less of an assault on the ear, but sadly, this was not the case.  One of the ballerinas, a particularly unpleasant girl with dark eyes and scornful brows, far too aware of her own beauty, laughed and muttered something to her compatriots, while Meg frowned fiercely at her.  Erik cocked his head, and made a mental note of the scoffer’s position. 

All in good time.

He settled back to wait for the rehearsal to begin.

*****

The company was restive, there was no doubt of it.  Errors in previously solid performances abounded.  The ballet girls had missed their cue again and stood sullenly until a broad overblown note from the First Bassoon, a young man relatively new to the orchestra, sent them into a fit of giggles which seemed to set them more at ease.  A deliberately overblown note, thought Erik, knowing a player of that caliber and on that fine of an instrument would have to work at producing such a sound. 

Yes, and that reminded him, strings and woodwinds.  Special consideration would have to be taken for strings and woodwinds...

The chorus was also off, and Monsieur Reyer was growing more and more heated, stopping the songs, launching into his familiar tirade of “No, no, no!  Nearly, but no!” repeatedly, which was ostensibly supposed to be both helpful and comforting and which in reality was neither.

Erik caught sight of Christine’s pale, strained face amongst the chorus as the rehearsal moved forward into the third selection.  Three selections out of twenty, and at this rate hours upon hours of work for the beleaguered members of the company, and every bit of this realization showing in her expression.

It was time for the lesson to begin.  As taught by Christine to her Angel, thence from Angel to Opera Ghost, and now, with very great pleasure, from Opera Ghost to the whole of the Opéra Populaire…

The ensemble was several bars in, orchestra, chorus, and dancers striving for synchronicity, when Monsieur Desplat was roused from his world of music by the sight and sound of his woodwind section and his string section ceasing their play, and standing to put away their instruments with some haste.

“Here, now,” he sputtered, as the brass played gamely on, the singers and dancers onstage continuing, determined, it seemed, to make it through this song come what may.  “What are you doing?”

The First Violin spoke up.  “Why sir, only what you told us!  You said rehearsal’s off, to pack our things and go!”

“I said no such thing!” Desplat declaimed, as the strings and woodwinds persisted, that no, they had all heard it, plain as day, as though he had spoken right in their very  ears…

On stage, the chorus gamely continued, but the lack of complete accompaniment and the distraction of the many standing figures in the pit finally threw them off, and Reyer brought them to an uneven halt as per usual.

“No, no, no!  Nearly, but—”

SPLAT!

Seemingly out of nowhere, Reyer was hit in the back of the head by a wickedly accurate snowball, which knocked his hat off amid a spectacular spray of glittering snow.

A second whizzing sphere smacked the headdress off of a particular ballerina, icy cold snow wiping the ever-present smug expression off of her face.

In the stunned silence which followed, an odd sound was heard, dozens of ropes passing through dozens of pulleys, as an equal number of buckets descended rapidly to every far flung area of the stage, coming quietly to rest amidst the company.

Each bucket was heaped to overflowing with snowballs.

And it was on.

High above the fray, Erik rocked with silent laughter as the stage devolved into a battlefield.

The orchestra wasted no time in storming the stage and commandeering ammunition, the strings and woodwinds with their instruments safely stowed (thanks to the early warning they had received) versus the later arriving brass section, all of them at one point joining forces to pelt Monsieur Desplat rather mercilessly until he seized a music stand as a shield and made his way out of the orchestra pit to the safety of the far reaches of the auditorium.

Madame Giry made a small attempt to control the corps de ballet and might have done so, had not her canny instincts led her to glance upward at the flies, where Erik allowed her to see him.  He waggled a snowball at her from his own private stash, and she sighed, stepping back and releasing the ballet dancers to do their worst.

The chorus, who rather sportingly had not attacked the still recovering Monsieur Reyer, and who had instead turned gleefully on each other, solidified into a unit when faced with the raging attack of the ballerinas.  Reyer’s immunity was short lived as he was caught in a blistering crossfire, not at all by accident, as Erik was able to discern from his superior vantage point. He noted with both surprise and delight that Christine got in a few hits on him herself.

In fact, Erik’s one concern, for Christine’s safety, had  dissolved immediately as he saw her good Swedish instincts and good Swedish arm turn her into a smiling yet fierce combatant.  She was well-liked by the company and not the malicious target of anyone that Erik could tell, save the scornful ballerina who, while she was a talented dancer, had no arm at all.  Her mistaken attack on Christine was decisively countered and Erik added a hard packed ice ball to the middle of her back for good measure as she attempted to flee the stage.

Piangi, an enormous but well-liked target, was spared and used his seeming immunity to shield Carlotta, who huffed in red-faced outrage as he attempted to maneuver her off the stage before the worst happened.

And he would have made it, too, thought Erik, as he considered trajectories for a hit on Carlotta which proved impossible due to Piangi’s intercession—until the stagehands arrived.  Arming themselves from a row of untouched buckets at the back of the stage, they fired at will, and with enviable accuracy, at La Carlotta, their bane and tormentor for many long seasons, reducing her despite Piangi’s shielding presence to a sodden bedraggled state in a matter of mere seconds.

Erik sought out a few especially irritating company members for his own strikes from above, and had then turned to amusing himself by lobbing high arcing shots into the orchestra pit, sending snowball after snowball into the bell of the abandoned tuba, when he caught sight of a particular nemesis, the Second Trombone, heading away from the fray towards the far backstage.

The man was a menace, his insatiable nature and never ending supply of willing partners resulting in innumerable trysts, and Erik had grown tired of stumbling across him all throughout the Opera House in the most unexpected places…and positions.

Sure enough, the Second Trombone had again seized the day with one of the violinists, and as the couple prepared to conduct a private symphony of their own backstage, Erik took great delight in dumping a full bucket of icy snowball melt upon them from the great height of the flies, bringing their performance to a chilling conclusion.

Satisfied, Erik returned to his perch above the stage.  The battle still raged.  Christine had switched allegiances back to the corps de ballet, and stood now shoulder to shoulder with Meg.  They dodged and weaved incoming missiles with dancer’s grace, laughing all the while.

Never had he seen Christine so animated, so vibrant.  So simply happy.  His fingers, icy cold from snow, warmed as he pressed his hands to his chest, feeling his heart alive beneath his palms.

His attention was drawn away to Monsieur Lefèvre arriving stage left.  Erik watched in astonished bemusement as Madame Giry made her way serenely from stage right, through the pitched battle, not one single member of the Opéra  Populaire so much as daring to dream of throwing a snowball anywhere near her, to confer briefly with him.   The two concluded their conference, Lefèvre threw his hands up and stalked away, and Madame Giry turned, striking her staff sharply upon the stage twice, bringing an immediate cessation of hostilities.

“Rehearsals for the day are concluded,” she announced.  “We will reconvene next week, after the break.”

She silently surveyed the wet and disheveled assemblage of supposed professionals before her.

“Merry Christmas,” she intoned, and she sighed.

*****

Erik returned to the roof in time to see the liberated company, now hastily clad in their winter gear, spill out onto the front plaza of the Opera House.  The snowball fight was quickly rejoined and spread out along the sidewalks and across the streets, and grew in intensity with the addition of staid bankers and stolid businessmen to the combat, grinning madly beneath their top hats and homburgs.  Mesdames and mademoiselles joined in as well, in plain spun aprons or hats the height of fashion.  Snowballs made equals of them all.

But there—there she was, Christine, with Meg, joining in the snowball fight.

Even at this distance he could see the silver and blue glint in her hair that meant she had found his gift when she returned to the dressing room for her cloak and mittens.

Hair combs, a pair, a design of intricately carved silver set with sapphires that matched her cloak and her eyes.

Erik cast his mind back to the warm Persian night, as far from the crisp air and glittering snow-covered streets of Paris as could be conceived, when he had been gifted the combs.  There had been a boy, missing a leg above the knee, and Erik had had a thought of something that could be constructed, jointed at knee and foot, to allow the boy to walk.  So simple really, it had taken him mere days to construct.  His parents had been overjoyed, and the mother had offered the combs in gratitude.  Erik had made to protest but ultimately had been unable to refuse and really, despite their uselessness to him, the combs were so beautiful they were hard to resist. 

The combs had made their way back here with him, surviving the travels and adventures he had had since leaving Persia long ago.  It had been a simple matter, among his tasks this morning, to return to his home beneath the Opera House and fetch some things away, the combs, a bit of pretty paper to wrap them in and a few other oddments that were here with him now in a cloth bag tucked by his feet.

Writing a note to accompany the gift had been quite a bit harder.  He had decided against lengthy explanations of how an Angel could possibly gift a material object…if the subject were broached later, he would come up with something.  Disguising his handwriting was old hat—his own handwriting was often rushed and scrawled as it attempted to keep up with the flow of his mind’s ideas.  The Opera Ghost had very different penmanship indeed than his own.  And so must the Angel, in a hand differing from both.

It was the sentiment that eluded him.  He settled upon writing that he would see her upon her return after the Christmas break, to remind again she needn’t show up for their lessons for those few days.  And then he thought to finish with “Merry Christmas” and realized he had never written, or spoken those words for that matter, in all the many and varied years of his life…

A sharp gust of wind that threatened to snap the edges of his cloak from his grasp brought him back to the rooftop.  Clearly the gift and note had been found and must have been passable, for Christine had already set the combs in her lush curls.  She was closer now, on the crowded sidewalk below, snowballs flying as a lone bicyclist, head down, rode close enough to become an instantly popular target, pelted with a will by all parties, save Christine.  The cyclist fell, knocking his cap loose, as his bicycle slid beneath him on the icy street. 

The bombardment was merciless as he attempted to retrieve his bicycle from where it had fallen…until Christine, arms raised, stepped next to him.  The assailants, seemingly chagrined, turned their attentions back to each other as Christine brushed the bicyclist off, retrieved his cap for him and sent him peaceably on his way.

Erik shook his head, his hands unaccountably warming again.  He would know her anywhere, he thought, simply by her actions.  A merciful, caring young woman, who would forgive her poor Angel for not understanding that people needed to play and rest.

The combs, silver and sapphire, sparkled in her hair. 

He was glad to have been able to gift her some laughter today as well.

She and Meg made their way to the front plaza to join a group constructing figures out of snow.  Ah, these must be snowmen, and snow ladies as well, for the figures were those of the principals of the Opéra  Populaire.  Simple shapes, made of three large snowballs stacked atop one another; nevertheless, due to the accompanying accessories it was easy to tell who was supposed to be who.  Christine and Meg helped with a figure of Piangi, a very large snowman indeed.

After a time, the girls left the group, and started, he knew, on their way to their homes.  Madame Giry drifted gracefully out to join them, and they began their walk.  Meg suddenly stopped, pulling her mother’s hands to stop her too, and she and Christine made their way over to an untroubled patch of snow.  Laughing, they flung themselves backward, arms sweeping vigorously from their sides to above their heads and the position of their feet indicating that their legs described arcs worthy of da Vinci as well.  Carefully rising so as not to disturb the patterns they had made, they hopped back to the sidewalk to admire their handiwork.  There, in the snowfield, two angels now appeared.  Christine patted at her hair, checking for her new combs, he fancied, and the trio, after some dusting off, continued on their way, to their waiting homes.

Erik watched until she was out of sight, watching longer still as the day began to fade toward evening.  The snowfall, which had continued on and off throughout the day, was on again, lazy flakes riding the wind and spiraling down like falling stars.

And now, he supposed, it was time for his own lesson. 

For Erik and the boy he had never had a chance to be.

He looked around the snowy expanse of the rooftop, and thought of Christine’s list.  The snowball fight had been accomplished.  Sledding…was not an option.  Oh, it would be quite possible on the higher, steeper pitched portions of the roof of the Palais Garnier, but the inevitable conclusion must give one pause.

Snow forts….again he considered the snow-covered Opera House.  Well, and he already had the grandest snow fort anyone could imagine.

That left only two items on the list, and he set to the snowmen with a will that surprised him.

In short order, he had two figures, one tall, one smaller.  He eyed the bag he had brought with him.  It contained buttons for eyes, blue for Christine, brown and blue for himself.  For his own figure, he had brought a hat, unused since a midnight sortie some months back had gone rather awry and he and the hat had had to make a quick detour into the Seine.  And for Christine’s, well, he had brought away the small unwanted hair combs when he had delivered his gift to her dressing room.  They would be returned of course, as the snow melted.

But…even with these accoutrements accounted for in the final design, the figures struck him as clumsy and unrefined. 

If he was meant to be having fun, damn it, it should be fun for him, not an assault on his artistic sensibilities.

He set to the figures again, shaping, sculpting, a dress here, a cloak there, adding snow as needed until the figures took on a fuller semblance of life.

He finished Christine first, her face taking shape beneath his hands, her hair now tumbling about her shoulders, a cascade of sparkling snow.  He stepped back, to consider.  Yes, this was recognizable as Christine to anyone who had even a passing acquaintance with her. Soft yet strong.  Demure yet commanding attention.  Graceful even at rest.

The buttons for eyes did not suit this sculpt, but the combs...  Carefully, he set them amid the snowy waves of her hair, and was pleased with the result.

His own form took shape even more quickly, lean straight lines, the billows of his cloak, long hands with icy frozen fingers of snow, shining slicked back hair.

The  face…  He sculpted the left side first, smooth unmarred features, half of a firm-lipped mouth, the long straight line of one side of his nose, jaw and cheekbone and brow sharp and defined.

And then he stopped, eyes closed, brow furrowed and surely it was only melting snow he felt upon his cheeks...

The decision reached, he faced himself again and with trembling hands worked on the right side of his face, sculpting not a mask, but a semblance which matched the left, his face as it should have been, in some world out of time where he had been born a boy who could go outdoors, who had learned how to play, who had known the joys of family and home and love.

Stepping back, he saw a man he did not know, but somehow wished to.  And next to the man, the girl who was fast becoming his teacher, perhaps leading him to come to know this strange version of himself at her side.

Shaking his head at his odd evening fancies, Erik delved into the bag, finding the hat, well suited to the figure before him, the hat having seen and been through much and lived to tell the tale.  Settling it on the figure’s head, he tipped it low on the right side, as he wore his own, and acting on some instinctual impulse, with his finger he drew a line on the snowy visage, slanting from the left forehead to the right corner of the mouth, which he found comforting in some unknowable way.

Well.  That left only one item on the list. 

Removing his cloak and hat, he sat in the snow some small distance from the snow people, and laying back, moved his arms and legs in great sweeping, freeing arcs, his length of limb creating a startling large angel when he stood and inspected it.

An Angel of Music. 

Something he and Christine genuinely had in common.  Long before he came into her sphere, she had been visited by the Angel of Music; it was evident in her talent and passion and power. 

And despite the vagaries of his life and birth, one thing he was truly grateful for, one thing that had saved him time and again, one thing that he believed in above all else, was his own visit from the very same angel.

It seemed fitting that these snow versions of himself and Christine had their own angel, as well. 

He drew a staff in the snow between angel and student and teacher and with careful touches from the toes of his shoes, wrote a song in the snow for them to share.  Although at this point, on this day, on this night, it was really rather moot now as to who was the student and who the teacher.

Erik dusted himself off, donning cloak and hat again, rolling the bag of buttons small enough to tuck into his pocket, and strode to the edge of the roof to look out over the city.

Paris lay covered in an absolution of pure white snow, a forgiveness of drifts that gleamed and glittered in the city lights below.

Snow swirled in the wind, and he knew by morning, his and Christine’s snow features would be blurred into generality, the angel windswept to a soft impression of the powerful muse he knew, the snow song unreadable and unknown except to those who had been there when it was written. 

All fading into the past, leaving only tomorrow in view.

He felt again a tingle that he recognized as anticipation.  The break would not be too long.  Christine would return.  Their mutual lessons would resume.  Who knew what they would learn together?

Leaning out, over the roof’s edge, he spoke, and watched his words turn to mist, carried off by the ghost of an evening breeze.

“Merry Christmas, Christine…”

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

BONUS by @gracie-p8-officialblog​

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I Learned That From You: Two

You sat at the counter and stared out the front window of your shop, debating the merits of closing up early. No one had been in all day, though that was surprising. The spring tourist season hadn’t started yet. There was still too much snow in the mountains for anyone but seriously outdoorsy people and those people didn’t usually come to antique stores in search of curios and depression glass. 

“What do ya say, Rocky?” you hum at the mutt, sunning himself in the window and idly watching to trickle of foot traffic, “Are we gonna head home?”

At the sound of your voice his head turned and he eyed you lazily, yawning. 

“Silly boy,” you sigh, picking up his leather leash, “C’mon. Maybe a treat.”

The word treat was, like always, a magic word. And the elderly beagle hauled himself to his feet with a soft woof and a swish of his tail. When he sits, waiting patiently for you to shove the money in your safe, you keep a running string of commentary up for him. Partly because with the shop being empty you got lonely. And partly because… well. You needed to talk but. Who else were you going to talk to? It’s not like you had a man waiting for you at home. 

“Did I tell you I saw him on the news again?” you ask the dog. 

He doesn’t answer, but he does cock his head listening. 

“Yeah. There was some fancy party or something. He looked good. Tired, though.” You sigh and glance at the dog. His big brown eyes looked, to you, slightly judgmental. “I know but…” you stop. You aren’t sure why you’re explaining yourself to someone that licks his own ass. But. You’ve never met a dog with such judgy eyebrows. “I loved him, ya know? Still love him.”

The soft grumbles from the dog make you chuckle and rub his ears. “Don’t worry, Rock,” you tell him, kissing his head, “You’re the number one man in my life… Besides. He knew me a long time ago. And I’m pretty sure he’s gotta beat women off with a stick.”

The dog huffed at you and you shook your head, “Tinder hook ups don’t count,” you snort. “I could stand on the porch and yell “come get it! And they’d line up. Especially here.”

If dogs could roll their eyes, you were sure Rocky would have and you smiled. “Let’s go, huh?”

And he didn’t need telling twice as you clipped the leash to his collar and tugged you out the door. 

You paused at the door, taking the time to engage the security system and lock it before letting Rocky pull you insistently towards the doggie boutique where they had treats he found especially tasty. “Ready for your paycheck?” you ask him, laughing as his tongue lolls out. 

Six months ago, he’d been in a shelter. Someone had dropped him off to make room for a baby or a puppy or some damn thing and because of his age, no one had wanted to take him home. But. His calm demeanor and the coloring on his eyes that made him look like he had eyebrows had been… just what you didn’t know you needed. And it had only taken a couple weeks for him to get comfortable being a shop dog. And more comfortable still getting gourmet treats and a heated doggie bed. He was old. And spoiled. And you were reasonably certain he might be your favorite person. 

“There’s my favorite customer!” The woman behind the counter said laughing, easing herself off of a stool and going to get Rocky’s favorite biscuit. “Closing up early today?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling two bottles of water from a cold case and your money out of your bag, “No tourists to sell to,” you snort. 

“Isn’t it just the pits?” she sighed, “Honestly I wish they’d hurry up.”

You smile, “No joke, Mari, no joke. Sure. Online business is fine but… god I hate the post office.”

She made a sympatheic noise, “Did you ever figure out how to ship that end table?”

You nod, grinning, “In one piece even.”

Rocky made a soft grumpy sound on the floor and you roll your eyes, taking the treat from the other woman, “Alright, ya old grump,” you tell him, “here’s your paycheck.” You hold it out to him and he takes it from your hand gently before crunching down happily.

“Ah, Happy crunching sounds,” Mari giggled, “And another satisfied customer.” She turns and goes to ring out the order. “Hey!” she said abruptly, “I just remembered. Mom wanted me to ask if you’d take a look at the old wash tub in her shed. See if you could make it into a planter or something.”

“She’s not going to use it in the produce stand any more?” you ask taking your change. 

“It’s too heave to lift,” Mari said shaking her head, “She almost threw her back out last year trying to get it set up.”

You make a soft sound of understanding and nod, “I’ll take a look at it… I may be able to some up with a good planter. Put some nice perennials in there. Make it less fuss.”

“Perfect! I’ll have her give you a call.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” you tell her with a wave as Rocky, now done with everyone now that he’d had a treat, started towards the door. Making you laugh, “See you tomorrow!”

_________

At home, you sit in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. You aren’t entirely sure why but, the kitchen has always been your favorite room in this house. Maybe, it was because you’d spent time crafting it in to your dream kitchen. One that felt like it came from a fairytale while still having modern comforts. 

And against your better judgment you pull out your laptop. 

You’d wondered what would become of Clint. Worried for him. Cried over him. Even though you’d been the one to leave. You had grieved. The fairytale that could have been. The boy you’d loved. And now? He was a hero now… And. You’d be lying if you said that that didn’t hurt. That you weren’t reason enough to change. 

But. As your scrolled through pictures and articles, you couldn’t help but be proud. He wasn’t the boy you knew anymore. But. He was a man with a purpose. And you hoped he was happy.

[sithhoplite]

First Date

They had danced around each other for the past couple of months, enjoying lunch and acting as the feelings for one another were not growing but tonight Lak was going to go on her first date with Andriy. He had asked her as they got off work yesterday if she would accompany him on a dinner date and she agreed, a little too quickly she realized.

Putting in her ear rings the doorbell rang which would be her date arriving. Opening the door she was stunned at how handsome he looked. He was dressed in a suit with a vest, tie and coat. Suddenly she felt under dressed for the evening.

“Come in, I was just getting my sandals on. Looking at you, and you look good, do you I need to change into something more formal?”

“No, you look fantastic Lak. If you enjoy dancing you might want to wear shoes that will not irritate your feet. You like to dance do you not?” Andriy asked suddenly realizing while he knew some about Lak he didn’t actually know a whole lot

“Yes, I rather enjoy dancing but rarely find a good partner. There seemed to be a shortage in the Rim and I haven’t gone out much since coming to Kaas City.”

“Have no fear then, I have been dancing since I was 9 and am pretty damn good.”

Offering his arm they made their way to the Nexus. Being seated they ordered their meal and relaxed. Lak looked at him and smiled, he was a handsome man no doubts about that. His green eyes were the color of emeralds with a gold ring around them. The growing smirk on his face told her he knew good and well she was looking at him and he was enjoying it.

“So tell me Lak, what is it like to be adopted into one of the most powerful families in the Empire?”

“It’s different to say the least from where I come from and a little intimidating as well. Learning all the do and don’ts is a pain. My sister hates me, my younger brothers are at the Academy so I’m not sure their take on me. Let’s just say the first year was rough for us all as I acclimated to high society, some of which still hate me and always will due to the circumstances of my birth.”

“You were born a slave correct?”

“I was, is that a problem?” she asked wanting to know if the date was going to end abruptly or not

“Not at all, my family may be high up but they are not as into “blood purity” as others. If it was I would never have asked you out. Care to dance?”

Tilting her head she smiled, “I would love too.”

He offered her his hand and she gladly took it. Putting her hand in his she ignored the fluttering of her stomach but it came roaring back when she felt his hand on the small of her back. Looking up at him she grinned.

They moved gracefully on the floor, him leading with her in his arms. She enjoyed his arms around her and the way he led her on the floor, she wondered if he was this confident in bed. Quickly pushing that thought aside he spun her then dipped her at the end of the dance.

“You make a good partner Lak and fit perfectly into my arms.” looking over and seeing their food had been brought out, “Shall we eat…dinner.”

Small talk was made inquiring about their respective jobs as the plates emptied and the wine glasses refilled more than once. The room began to empty as the night changed into the early morning and Andriy knew as much as he didn’t wish for this to be over it was time to walk her home. Helping her into her jacket he proffered her arm which she gladly took and they began the walk back to her apartment. Stopping at her front door he looked down slightly shy and unsure of himself.

“I greatly enjoyed tonight and I hope you did as well. You are wonderful company. I was hoping, well will you accompany me to the opening show this weekend for Opera season. I have two tickets and would like you on my arm if you wish.”

“I also enjoyed the night, talking to you is fun and I want to know more. I would love to go with you this weekend. What time should I be ready?”

“I will be here at 1900.” he answered a large smile crossing his face

“I’ll be ready. Don’t worry I will be suitable dressed to be presentable on your arm. Thank you for tonight, it was lovely.”

Leaning down he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek then a less chaste on on her lips. It too all her will power to not deepen it.

“Good night Lak, sleep well tonight.”

“Good night Andriy, you as well. I look forward to lunch tomorrow.”

Reluctantly turning Andriy walked to the elevator and back home. Lak put her head against the door once inside and smiled. It had been a long while since she had these feelings for another man and it was exciting. She didn’t know if this would turn into something more serious but was eager to find out.  

[razorblade180]

Light Sparring

Vacou, early morning. The sun had barely started to rise and the heat hadn't attacked the desert sands yet; the perfect time for some light sparring for Carmine. The sixteen year old stood with her hands stretched up high about thirty feet away from her home. In front of her, Jaune, her very tired father. The man yawned loudly as his daughter patiently waited for him to loosen up. “I take it, you are ready?” He said.

“Yep!” She grabbed her sword, holding it with both hands directly in front of her. “Just waiting on you. Come at me whenever.”

“Pretty sure that’s my line. Remember the rules, there aren’t any. Just come at me with the intent to kill.” Yep, just another day of training. Time to get things started. Jaune was still mid stretch as Carmine began running at him. The seasoned huntsman sidestepped to the left, avoiding a downward slash. The blade then swung at his ankles and missed when Jaune leapt over it. He watched Carmine pull Stamen back before thrusting it towards his chest. Jaune took another sidestep and placed his hand on Crocea Mor’s hilt.

“Uh oh.”Carmine gasped, flipping backwards several feet. She took off in a mad dash around Jaune as he drew his blade. Carmine could feel herself getting excited. She’s never bested her father, or any of the heroes of Remnant. She was good, but not that good. Plenty of experience has really progressed her skills to an insane degree; today, she was feeling pretty damn good about her efforts.

“You scared!?” Jaune smiled. Carmine laughed, “Ha! Of a cereal endorser? Not a chance!” Carmine sent an aura slash right in his direction. Jaune countered with his own, making a sand cloud form for Carmine to jump out of; in an effort to leave Jaune open. The strategy was pointless. Her sword clashed with his perfectly, shaking the ground below them. Right, lefty, upward, downward; the blades would meet each other before their users. The constant back and forth made sparks fly around them. It was almost rhythmic, with Carmine leading their waltz with Jaune defending flawlessly. Jaune could feel the weight behind each attack. The shifting flow of the curved blade as his daughter spun and twirled to keep a steady momentum while making it tricky to land a direct blow.

Carmine went for a right slash mid twirl. She watched carefully to see her old man ready to counter. “Now’s my chance.” Carmine thought. She leaned into the swing more until her blade was centimeters away, then whipped her body in the opposite direction. She made contact with Jaune right side, sending him sliding back from the ballpark swing. “Keep the pressure going. Keep him guessing!” Carmine flung her sword overhead and sped off after him. Jaune could only see a flash of red like a lens flare, his daughter zigzagging towards him. Ruby would’ve been proud.

Jaune brought his shield out and raised it to protect his chest. “She’s either gonna be tempted to flank me now, or…” He watched Carmine go into a cartwheel when she closed the distance. Her feet slammed against his shield and she bounced off it like a springboard, grabbing Stamen as she flew past it. Jaune readied himself to go on the offensive until the sound of gunshots made him put his shield back up to block slug shots. He peeked from behind it to see Carmine pointing her tactical baton, Pistil, aimed right at him. Fresh smoke coming out of the barrel before another round was shot into the air to send her back to the sand. Another was shot behind her so the recoil could send Carmine right back into close combat.

The beginning of a fight was vital. Carmine knew she couldn’t let Jaune do as he pleased. In a contest of aura, he had her beat. She had to chip away at it while remaining as unharmed as possible. Jaune knew this. That’s why neither of them used their semblances yet. A deficit between their aura consumption could change things. Carmine had it rough though. Not only did she have to remain aggressive to control the flow, but Jaune had to stay close or he could easily start regenerating his. Stamina consumption was all on her.

Jaune’s sword clashed with Carmine’s in another flurry of swings while his shield arm was busy blocking the attacks from Pistil. He ducked a slash then jumped another leg swipe. Carmine made a complete 360 with her left scraping the ground, flinging sand his way. “Agh!” Jaune was forced to squint and raised his shield higher but quickly regretted it when Carmine shot his right thigh, making him buckle.

“Now…” Carmine went to slash his other leg but Jaune was too quick. He raised his foot just enough to wedge the blade between it and the ground. Carmine abandoned the blade all together in less than a second. Another gunshot sent her set up a shoulder bash that pressed his shield against his chest, knocking Jaune completely off balance by the sudden force. If she wanted to win then she had to get a little brolic with her old man. Carmine was only an inch shorter than Jaune and rock solid. She gave him a quick headbutt to put more of a lean on his body then struck the underside of his chin with a right jab. Jaune started falling backwards but not before swinging his sword at her exposed midriff, forcing her to dodge backwards. It barely grazed her, but she wasn’t expecting another aura slash to come off of it and send her flying away until she landed right on her back. “Damn! Got careless!”

Carmine jumped off but wasn’t ready to see Jaune right in front of her. There was no time to react to the slash that struck across her body diagonal, then went up in the same reaction. Carmine tried swinging Pistil but Jaune grabbed her by the rest.

“Too slow-” Jaune also got careless. He forgot just how scrappy his own daughter was. He didn’t even get to finish speaking before Carmine jumped straight up with his hand still on her. She grabbed his arms and pulled herself forward, wrapping her legs around his neck tightly. Jaune raised his sword to strike her back but Carmine flung her weight to shift everything on the leg she had just shot.The sudden change sent them both to the ground hard. Jaune landed on his shield while Carmine had already gotten up and took his sword that had slipped out of his hand. He instantly rolled away, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw Carmine stabbing the ground where he was. “Now I know I said with the intent to kill…”

Carmine was already smacking tempered steel against his shield and armor again. She might as well have been a cat on a scratching post. Crocea Mor was lighter than Stamen by a wide margin. Combined with the swings of Pistil, Jaune couldn’t block all the attacks. Every third strike or so manages to graze him or hit his armor. It wasn’t heavy damage by any means, but every bit helps. The relentless assault was starting to wind her unfortunately. “Come on!” She shouted, “Just one good hit!” Carmine took Pistil and wrapped her left arm around her waist, having the gone pointed horizontally behind her and sligh pointing forward on the other side of hip. One gunshot sent the girl spinning like a top. Each rotation brought the sword buzz sawing against Jaune’s shield. Sparks flew out like full blown fireworks.

“Paying for ballet lessons was worth every penny.” Jaune thought to himself. It was not about to make him lose though. Jaune tilted his shield up to direct the blade slice at an angle. This gave him room to kick Carmine, hard. She spun out, but what came next was unexpected and terrifying. Jaune was going to follow up with a bash but his daughter turned into petals instead of falling. He bested a clone. “When did- the fall we took!”

A long, curved black blade shot out from over his right shoulder and was coming backwards to give the definition of a close shave. Jaune put his hand up and let it catch the blade instead of his neck. White aura flowed through the hand to negate any damage as he gripped it. Jaune flung the rest of the scythe in front of him with Carmine holding on to the end. Carmine smiled, “cool as always.” The bottom half of the scythe detached to revert back into Pistil. She had another clear shot, time to play mind games. Jaune’s shield followed it to block his leg from another bullet. Too bad that was a faint. Carmine kept her arm moving in that direction but bent her wrist to aim for his face. “This won’t tickle…” the slug hit him right in his face, craning his head back. She saw his aura flicker from that hit. Anybody would take massive damage from a thing like that, except Jaune and Yang. Her aunt would’ve just been pissed and melted the bullet. Her father? He put his head down and his body became enveloped in total white. Jaune held the bullet in between his teeth and smirked as he spat it out. Yep, cool as always. Carmine had no response to him chucking her sword at her at insane speed. She managed to grab it but not before the tip stabbed her abruptly.

Sweat started forming on her brow. Dealing with Jaune with his semblance activated usually spelled the end, usually. Carmine transformed her weapons back into Rosebud while Jaune made his great sword by adding his shield to his sword. He watched Carmine slowly back up, her red aura outlining her body. Their eyes were locked onto each other’s every movement. It was time for the fun part.

“You’re improving leaps and bounds.” Jaune praised her. “All of your mixups are keeping me on my toes.”

“Then prepare to dance…”

“I’d love to.” Those were his words before Carmine saw only a ball of light dashing everywhere around the desert. Turning a support semblance into an all around boost to himself was the kind of out of the box thinking that proved to Carmine how she shares more than hair color with her father. If it wasn’t for Ruby, Carmine couldn’t imagine keeping up with such movement; but Jaune’s speed was not on that level. He was fast, not near instantaneous. Carmine felt his presence close in from the right, before going around to the front. Carmine raised Rosebud up and slammed it hard on the sand. The force pushed out a shockwave that made a massive dust cloud. The two clashed inside of it, the visibility only good a few feet ahead of them.

Each swing Jaune did disturbed the sand and his speed would mean sand would defend get in his way, but the stinging was relieved by his aura constantly. That wasn’t an issue; Carmine’s rapidly spinning scythe was! It was hard to tell the exact length like this. The girl embodied the grace of her mother as Rosebud swung constantly. The weapon went around her arm before Carmine popped it up with a flex, continuing to spin as it went around her neck and down to her hips like a lethal hula hoop that still countered another sword swing. Carmine raised her knee to bop it up. The poll hooked around her leg once before she grabbed it with her hands again swiped Jaune away. On the way down, the tip lined up with his back step and she shot him in the chest.

From the outside of the cloud, the only thing visible was the flash from the gunshot and Jaune’s shining body moving sporadically. A real testament to just how much the two were moving was the constant shifting sands. Stray aura slashes of red and white flew out, carving the ground. Ruby, who had been watching from the porch, was enjoying the spectacle. However… “When will they learn that thirty feet is still too close to the house!” She said, bouncing her four year old son on her knee as he was still sleeping. A few gunshots woke him up early but quickly meant nothing to the boy’s drive to sleep.

Jaune wishes he was sleeping right now. If there was one thing consistent about training with Carmine was she was unpredictable. He wasn’t that tired but all the overwhelming back and forth was keeping him on edge. He’d been in a world of pain if he slipped up. This sandstorm had to go. Jaune gripped his blade until his knuckles turned white, swinging it with enough force to blow the storm away along with Carmine. He could barely see her get swept away like a tumbleweed. He couldn’t rest though, not by a long shot. That storm served two purposes apparently. Disguising weapon length, and the flowers made around him; four red and six yellow.

The yellow ones bursted first. Six Carmine’s with pure blonde hair and yellow eyes were armed and ready. Jaune gulped, immediately retreating at high speed. “Yellow means…” The sudden sound of electricity made him jump in the air. Six currents of voltage danced around him in an energetic chase. The moment one got near, it formed back into a clone to attack before having to catch up again. Two branched off towards the original to form a ring around her and the four identical clones.

“I don’t care how much stamina you have. It has to run out.” Carmine said, catching her breath. Her clones were made hastily. The distribution of aura was completely off and the attacks Jaune landed earlier didn’t help. Her aura had to be at least 40% by now. She knew Jaune would stop the moment it would drop below ten. “Alright me, let’s get to work!”

“Leave it to us!” The clones shouted. Two regular clones were picked up by the lightning ones, then rushed towards Jaune. The man had been running in a straight line in order to keep his pursuers roughly in one spot. He let them get closer and closer before suddenly stopping as they formed two weren’t ready to stop and got close lined. Jaune immediately destroyed one wby stabbing it. He grabbed the other one by the leg then threw it at a third. Grabbing his sword would take too much time so he opted for the Xiao Long approach, axe kicking the two tangled clones hard enough to burst. The fourth went to rush him with her scythe, but Jaune was ready to catch it, pitting it in a struggle of strength it was quickly losing. The clone tried her best to push back but he wasn’t budging.

“Gah! Come one, not even an inch!?” It cried out!

Jaune chuckled, “Arm wrestle your aunt and god mom, then try pushing me like this.” Nora and Yang had groomed an absolute wall. Jaune was not losing like this. Carmine grunted . “I’ll put it on the to do list! But for now….” The two other lightning clones caught up and formed a triangle around him. “Bye!” All three exploded simultaneously. Intense currents of electricity went through Jaune, stunning him as he dropped his weapons. He was left at the mercy of the other two regular clones descending from above.

One carried two swords while the other had the batons. Jaune could only stand still as the dual swords came straight down him and proceeded to give him a series of slashes. One after another cut through the amplified aura until it flew dimmer, a good sign that he was returning to normal. However, the attacks knocked the feeling back into his body. Jaune grabbed a cross slash then was immediately shot in the back. He winced in agitation. “She’s really covered all her bases!”

The dual wielder broke free and drove her knee upward to his chin. It brought the swords back down on top of Jaune’s shoulders. Jaune returned the headbutt from early with five times the amount of force, but the clone remained. It was only after grabbing it to use it as a bullet shield did it fade away. The other doomed followed with a sudden low tackle that Jaune used to scoop up the clone and slammed it right into the ground, hard enough to make it tremble. Finally, he could breathe. “Thank the gods, that was hell!” He said to himself, while retrieving his sword. Now he was getting tired. The fact that Nora could get shocked by lightning and smile about it became that much more terrifying. Nothing about that experience was nice! It downright sucked! He looked across the sand dunes. Carmine had been busy. He saw what he assumed to be his daughter, two clones with the same weapon setup that he just beat, ten blazing red roses on the ground by their feet, a light green eyed clone with matching tips to the far left, and a light blue eyed clone to the far right. Clearly a plan had been set into motion yet again, but what? Carmine was a girl who had her bases covered. That’s why she was so amazing, beating her meant you were simply better; something he was by a long shot, but apples tend not to fall far from trees. Underestimating his own flesh and blood would be stupid.

“Standing here means I can let my aura charge, but she’s obviously doing the same thing. More clones mean more ideas, more possibilities. It would be a drawn out battle to say the least.” Jaune groaned at that idea. He's in tip top shape, but teenagers are way too scrappy for their own good. Food fights and adventure taught him that. “Guess that only leaves one option, overwhelming force!” The man took off at high speed. From Carmine’s perspective, all she saw was a trail sand shooting high into the air like a geyser. Quickly getting closer.

All the active Carmines ready themselves. “Bring it on. Where are you headed!?” Jaune got closer and closer to the center until he darted off towards the blue clone. She gasped, startled by the approaching threat. The sight of her father’s sword coming for her face made her duck. The clone reached into her pocket and pulled out a hidden blazing rose.

“What!?” Jaune gasped.

“No matter the direction, the plan remained unchanged…” The blazing rose exploded into flames, taking out the clone and knocking back Jaune. The very ground beneath turned into heated glass. From behind, ten other blazing roses had turned into scarlet red haired versions of Carmine. All ten ran around Jaune in an instant, including an extra one that the green one had. The clones exploded as well to create an even bigger explosion that added more glass and did damage.

In the middle, Carmine herself pulled out a vile of fine grained ice dust. She placed it between her palms to form an ice blue rose that burst into another light blue version of herself. “You know what to do.” Carmine said, dropping to her knees exhausted.

“Ma’am!” The clone said, taking off towards the glass. It showed no fear in sliding across it, chilling the material before reaching Jaune to explode,trapping his feet in ice.

Jaune was completely thrown for a loop. She’s never gotten this elaborate before. He broke out of the ice easily but the two regular clones were already on top of him, coming from above. Jaune went back to using his shield to block the rain of bullets headed his way, but each one missed. On purpose. The target was breaking the glass, the second accomplished that by striking his shield from above with both blades. The impact shattered all of it nice and easily. “Cover your eyes tight.” The clone said, actual concern was present in its voice before both of the clones exploded into petals. The shockwave knocked the shattered glass into the air, along with his shield. Jaune got a good look at the green clone closing the distance.

“Oh…” was all Jaune could say before covering his eyes tightly. He understood the warning. The sound of the clone exploding was faint, but the massive gust of wind sounded like a train. The wind pushed and swirled the shards of glass around Jaune. Each piece scratched and stabbed him again and again like a thousand cuts that finally shredded his aura far passed returning him to his normal fighting state. The assault lasted for a couple of minutes until the wind started to go down.

Carmine waited patiently for her moment to strike, when the wind stopped, it would be game over for him. That’s what she thought anyways. The gust had made a small cyclone of glass like she wanted, but it also swirled sand into the mix. Carmine had expected Jaune to be standing there with his eyes still covered, but he wasn’t. Jaune was gone entirely. He had used the sand cyclone to slip away. “What!?” Carmine looked around frantically. “How did- Where did he go!?”

“Behind you…” Jaune whispered. Carmine only turned around to receive a punch right in her gut. The air in her escaped in the form of a heavy cough as she hunched over in pain. Her began to flicker before it finally broke.

Jaune let out a sigh and bent down to comfort her. “Match over. Good j-aaaah!” He screamed as the ground beneath his feet sank until he was buried up to his ribs. “What!?” he shouted. Carmine let out a pained laugh as she fell down by him. Her amused laugh trailed off as she passed out. He really did knock the wind out of her. Another patch of sand moved, rising from the ground. It was another clone. One with brown dyed tips and brown eyes. She held her Scythe comfortably before putting the blade around Jaune’s neck. He couldn’t believe this insanity. “When did you make the earth clone!?”

“I’ve been hiding since the time the real me put you in that leg lock and flung you the ground. She made a clone that fought you while she ran to grab Stamen, then made me while you were still distracted.” The earth clone explained. “You have got to keep a better eye on me. I’ll pull a fast one the moment you aren’t looking. Not that it matters.”

She swung her scythe without holding back. The blade definitely hurt Jaune’s neck but it also broke, turning into brown petals. “I was made with basically nothing and you knocked me out. I could grab the real weapons but I’m guessing you still have aura to spare.”

“Yeah if I had to guess I’d say about 45, maybe 50 percent.” Jaune said as he wiggled out of his sand prison to get on his feet.

The clone let out a long sigh, “Of course, why wouldn’t you still have half a tank? If I had a bit more time and control I could’ve made another 23 clones no problem on top of 27 I already did.”

Jaune didn’t want to think about fighting that many clones. He picked up his real daughter and stared at her tattoo of the Arc crest right above the left side of her waist. “I’m surprised you didn’t use this.”

“It’s a pain to have it on cool down and training isn’t life or death. Even if the intent was to try and kill you. Speaking of which…”

“I didn’t mean to punch you that hard.” He laughed nervously, “Ruby might have a fit about this.”

“I’m fine. Tell her I was tired. Get ready for next time! One of these days I’m beating you and mom. That’ll be the day I’ll use every hat trick in the book. Making glass is just the start.”

“You knew how to make glass but you can’t get above a C in science?”

The clone started to fade away. “What? I can’t hear you, I’m out cold. Byyyyyeeee…..” Jaune only shook his head as the clone completely turned into petals and was carried by the wind.

“Well then, let’s get you safe and sound on the-” He lost his train of thought the moment Ruby appeared in front of him. “.......”

Ruby put her hands on her hips. “I know that silence. It’s the silence you do whenever you wanna fib, but you love me and think you should come clean.”

“I...I uh, hit her a little harder than I meant to”

“I saw that.” Ruby took Carmine, carrying her daughter like a piggyback ride. “She’ll probably wake up hungry, frustrated, and thinking it was cool.”

“Yeah, she is your beautiful kid after all.” Jaune said, smiling to ease any wrath that could happen. Ruby gave him that classic “you’re a dork” look and gave him a peck on the lips.

“She’s our beautiful kid, and now she’s gonna miss breakfast thanks to this. I don’t cook eggs for them to get cold, you know!?”

“Hehe, I will make her fresh ones when she wakes up.”

“You better. Now get your butt home, breakfast is done, if that wasn’t clear.” Ruby darted off back to the house. Jaune picked up all the weapons and started the walk. If this was his punishment then he could live with this easily. Yep, just another day of light training.

[emeraldeyes23]

Fictober Fantober2020 -

Day 16 - Pumpkin Patch🎃

"A trip to Hokkaido?"

Ash looked at Eiji in surprise. "Why do you want to go there? And why now?"

"Because Hokkaido is famous for its beautiful landscape and its fall leaves in the most beautiful colors. There's even a National Park with a lake that changes into five different colors. I could take some great photos there for my photo projects."Eiji patiently explained to him.

"And the best time to see the beautiful leaves in fall in mid-to-late October. There's also a beautiful mountain similar to Mt. Fuji. You can see it from the lake, but only if the sky and the air are crystal clear, especially in the mornings.", Eiji added, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"That sounds beautiful.", Ash replied. "But what are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing. It's just... we have to fly there. It's 800 km away from here." When Ash's eye widened in surprise, and he looked utterly shocked, Eiji continued quickly.

"But it's still summer break, and we should enjoy it. It's the last weekend before college starts again. Besides, I promised you to show you my country."

"It's that far away? Japan always looks so small on a map. Compared to the US, I mean."

"It is, but we have many little islands. Hokkaido is the northernmost of Japan's main islands. It's also known for its volcanoes, natural hot springs and ski areas. The flight takes 3 hours to New Chitose Airport."

"Fine, let's go then.", Ash said.

"Really, you mean it?", Eiji beamed at him. "I thought it would be harder to convince you.", he admitted honestly.

"Well, you're right. It's the last weekend before our summer break is over. Besides, I can't say no to you if you're so enthusiastic and excited about something. And I'd really like to see more of Japan."

_____________________________

When they arrived in Hokkaido, the weather was great, so they enjoyed the sun and made a little walk through Akan National Park, where he took a lot of photos, and Ash admired the park's surroundings. The National Park offered leaves in all shapes and colors, which looked beautiful. Still, fall arrived here the earliest, so he was relieved that Ash had listened to him and had taken a warm coat with him. The wind was colder here, and the sun didn't spend as much warmth anymore.

The next day, Eiji dragged Ash out of bed early and had breakfast with a grumpy cat. However, it was worth it since the best view of the mountain was when the morning air was crystal clear. Later, clouds would cover most of the mountain, and it would be impossible to take some fantastic shots with his new camera.

Eiji took some photos of the mountain in perfect weather while Ash was more or less sleepwalking but slowly started looking around with interest. He stared at the Mt. Fuji look-alike and the lake in front of him.

"So, what do you think? Wasn't it a great idea to come here? I think it's the perfect end of our summer break." Eiji pinched his cheek when he didn't answer.

"Ouch! What was that for?", Ash complained, rubbing his cheek.

"To check if you're still alive and capable of understanding human speech.", Eiji grinned in amusement at him. "Wake up, ok? The area is too beautiful to miss it. Let's walk around for a bit.", he suggested while Ash rubbed his eyes. Eiji put an arm around his waist, and they walked along the lake and enjoyed the sun.

"Wow, it's true that the lake has different colors. It depends on the time of day and from which angle the sun reflects the water. It's so beautiful." Ash smiled at him.

"I hope my mood wasn't that bad.", he apologized to him. "You know I'm not an early riser."

"Yes, I know that, but don't worry. I'll get my revenge soon.", Eiji smirked at him devilishly before he took some more photos of the lake. Ash looked questioningly at him but didn't ask him what he had meant by that.

"Let's take a photo of us together, ok? A great photo of our trip together that we can hang in our apartment. I'd like to create countless precious memories together with you."

After a while, they left the National Park and took the train to a town near Sapporo. Eiji had read about a fall festival that was celebrated there. With regional and seasonal food, arts and crafts, music and much more. They walked through the town, and Ash saw that many stalls and products had pumpkins on them. "Eiji, what's with all the pumpkins here?", he asked anxiously, walking faster and gripping his hand more tightly. Eiji wondered if that had been such a good idea to bring Ash here. But the pumpkin patches here were an incredible sight, and he wanted to take some photos. At the same time, he wondered if Ash's fear of pumpkins was just superficial and based on a bad memory or if he would panic when spotting them. He didn't know how he'd react because the pumpkins in Hokkaido looked different from those in the US. They were much smaller, so he thought Ash would be ok. He had always wanted to come here, to Hokkaido, but he also knew that Hokkaido was famous for its pumpkins. Everyone knew that in Japan. However, he had failed to mention that little detail to Ash... "Hokkaido is also famous for its pumpkins.", Eiji explained, feeling guilty at once. "I'm sorry that I haven't told you. I thought you'd say no to this trip if you knew.", Eiji explained it to him honestly. Ash let go of his hand and turned around to him, fists clenched and eyes burning dangerously before he gave up controlling his temper. "I knew it! That there was something you were hiding!", Ash burst out furiously. "And of course I would have said no; those damn things sent shivers down my spine. I want them as far away from me as possi - " Ash abruptly stopped mid-sentence and stood there, frozen up, staring at the field ahead of them that had just come into view. While walking on through the little town, they had reached the outskirts where many different things were cultivated and harvested. In front of them lay a vast pumpkin patch. Ok, to be honest, pumpkin patch was a massive understatement. Nearly all the fields in front of them were covered in pumpkins. It looked more like a sea of pumpkins. The pumpkin patches were endlessly and reached as far as the eye could see. Eiji had noticed that Ash had frozen up entirely and stared at the sight in front of him in disbelief, his eyes wide open in shock. Eiji watched him carefully. He wasn't any less surprised. He had assumed that they had some smaller pumpkin patches here, but he hadn't expected they would stretch that far. He would have warned Ash or wouldn't have brought him here if he had known. He felt like the worst person on the planet right now. What had he done? "Please tell me I imagine that, Eiji. That's a p-p-pumpkin patch. And not one, but the whole area is full of pumpkins. They're everywhere.", Ash exclaimed, clenching his hands into fists so hard they were shaking. "No, you don't imagine it. I thought it would help you overcome your fear of them if I brought you here. But I didn't know there would be so many. I'm so sorry, Ash." "I don't want to overcome my damn fear!", Ash scowled at him angrily. Ash stubbornly turned around and went back the way he had come. Eiji ran after him and took his hand. That's when he noticed that his hand was sweaty and that Ash looked even paler than usual. He was shivering and looked uncomfortable as his eyes darted nervously around for a way to escape. His whole posture screamed that he wanted to get out of here. Eiji hugged him tightly. "It's fine, Ash. Please calm down. Do you want to leave?" Ash nodded at him quietly while a single tear ran down his face. Eiji gently stroked the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Ash. I didn't know there would be so many here. I assumed it would be a small pumpkin patch.", he apologized honestly to him. " "I didn't know that you were that afraid of pumpkins. To me, you're the strongest and bravest person I know. So I didn't take your fear of pumpkins seriously. He pulled out of the hug and instead grabbed his hand again. "Let's go somewhere else, ok?”

[shadedrose01]

Only Us

Ship: Parksborn (Peter Parker/Harry Osborn)

Authors Note: A fluffy drabble I wrote quickly for fun. Based off the Spider-Man 2017 cartoon, not edited. Hope you guys enjoy! ❤💞❤

Edit: I'm stupid and forgot to add a spoiler warning. Spoilers for season 1 of the cartoon!!

--

It'll be us, it'll be us

And only us

And what came before, wont count anymore

Or matter. Can we try that?

"Cya!!"

"Get home safe, you two!"

"We will, bye!" Harry calls over his shoulder, to their three friends sitting on the steps Horizon High, Gwen and Anya in their fancy blue and red gowns, respectively, and Miles slicked back in his full black tux.

Peter echoes his words as he matches their steps, trying not to stumble as his attention shifts into the same thing it has been all damn night, Harry fricken Osborn himself and his goddamn suit. Because, while the rest of their friend group had dressed up nicely, him included in his burgundy hand me down vest and pants from his Uncle Ben and nice white dress shirt, Harry had outbeaten them all. To Peter, anyways.

The taller boy was wearing a dark navy blue velvet tux, with a bright white shirt tucked into his pants and a matching tie to bring it all together, and man is it doing things to Peter he'd rather not admit. It fits him in all of the right places, most likely tailored to him (unlike Peter's too big around the shoulders coat and rolled up pants), and the darker color brings out the lightness of his eyes, almost a cool gray in the light of the moon and yellow from the street lamps, while simultaneously meshing with his jet black hair, mostly slicked back except for the front, which had puffed back up in the hours of stuffy heat and the jumping that he had called dancing, combed back into a quiff only by his hands, messy and unmade but still so unbelievably perfect to Peter. It makes him forget how to breath, the ethereal beauty that is Harry Osborn, the perfection of the diamond that had escaped from the heat and pressure of Norman Osborn's clutches, and he barely notices that he's walking right towards a light post until he's right in front of it, and jerks out of the way at the last second.

Harry snorts of a laugh, and places a hand onto his arm to help steady him and help him keep up with the steady trot they've started. "You alright, Pete? You didn't sneak in some alcohol behind my back and didn't tell me, did ya?"

Peter turns to retort, to give back some snarky response as he always does, but then he's staring at harry again, into his bright, shining orbs and wide grin and raised eyebrow and his words dissolve on his tongue, his breath mysterious gone again. "Uhm, n-no?"

"You sure about that?" The taller boy starts at him quizzitively, but there's a hint of something else, of concern in his gaze. "You've been acting kinda weird tonight."

Peter feels his stomach twist with a guilt he hasn't felt around Harry in a while, since he had told Harry about Spider-Man honestly. After his biggest secret (or, what had been his biggest secret) had come to light, and the inevitable fight that came after was over, the two friends had been closer than ever, thicker than thieves, and they had promised to tell each other everything. No more secrets, no more lies. And Peter had broken that.

At least, for the past few months. He didn't mean to! Not really. He hadn't even noticed that he was gaining feelings, and feeling more for his childhood best friend until Anya and Gwen had cornered him in the lab and asked how long they'd been together, why they hadn't told them. After they talked, and he figured out he liked- no loved, its love at this point (oh god)- Harry, he didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to tell him that? When there was no sign that Harry felt the same (no matter how many times the girls, and then Miles too once he caught onto it, told him otherwise), when it could ruin everything between them. He didn't want to lose his best friend. Not again.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? The last time Peter had kept a secret this big away from Harry, it had almost ended in them severing, in the loss of their friendship, and Peter couldn't handle that. He couldn't lose him, not completely.

So, he had gathered up his courage, as much of it as he could muster being Peter Parker and not Spider-Man, and told himself and his friends that he was gonna do it tonight. He had planned to do it before the party, and then at the party, and then during the dance, and had proceeded to chicken out each and every time. But he knew he had to do it. He had to. And it had to be tonight.

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure." He breathes out, glancing anywhere but at the boy beside him, matching him step for step, inhale and exhale, heart beating at almost the same time, Peter's only slightly quicker in his nerves. "I'm okay, Harry, I promise."

"Okay, if you're sure." Harry shrugs it off, as he always does, something he truly, utterly loves about the boy. He knows when to back down, and trusts that Peter will tell him whatever he needs to know. Its the simple, whole hearted faith in him that makes Peter's heart swell, and his face warm, even in the slight chill of the early summer night. They take a few more steps, their feet crunching in the light frost coating the pavement sidewalks beneath their feet until he speaks up again, his voice light, barely a sigh, almost a whisper, a shy truth. "Today was amazing. I almost don't want it to end."

"Me neither," Peter murmurs honestly, his heart stuttering as he realizes his time for telling the truth is running out. He spots the shadow of a jungle jim in the distance, the shine of the street lights reflecting off of the metal slide, dented and scratched up with use, and stops. "Maybe it doesn’t have to, yet."

Harry stops beside him, basically as soon as he does, so in tune with Peters sudden antics that it happens almost subconsciously, leaning on his right side as his eyebrows furrow. "But we already texted Aunt May, she's probably waiting on you to come home-"

"She can wait, she'll understand." He rushes forward, then, glances quickly both ways before running across the street and towards the playground, hearing Harry bark out a laugh and a "Peter!" before his lighter footsteps trail behind him. Peter just chuckles with a grin, flipping around to stare at his best friend and ignoring the stutter in his heart. "Don't you remember this place? We used to play here all the time!"

"Oh I remember," Harry grins as he catches up to him, "You used to push me off the slide all the time."

Peter scoffs playfully, and shoves him roughly with his shoulder. "Yeah, but only because you would do it first."

"Not true!"

"Absolutely true, and you know it!" He sticks out his tongue just as the reach the swings, the bright red paint of the seats almost a pink now due to sun exposure, and peeling, the metal chains holding them up rusty and old. "And these babies!" He exclaims, practically jumping onto the seat and hearing it creek dangerously under his weight, and holding his breath, releasing it only when the swing holds. "We used to play on these all the time."

"See who could go the highest." Harry agrees, sitting on the one beside him with much more ease and caution than Peter had. "Who could go the furthest when they jumped off." There's a hint of sadness, of melancholy in his voice now that Peter hates, hates so so much that he has to turn and face him, to see what was wrong, to see if he could make it better.

But Harry wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was staring up at the sky, at the galaxies and stars barely noticeable throughout the clouds of smoke and smog of the New York City skies, with a hint of a frown tilting his lips, and the multitude of worlds shimmering in his eyes. He's still beautiful, stunning even with the etch of sorrow and nostalgia on his features, his hair swaying slightly in the faint breeze. "It was so easy, back then." His voice is soft, again, barely audible to normal ears but crystal clear to Peter's inhanced ones. He thinks he would've heard him either way, as all of his focus is now captured, captivated by the boy. "We didn't have a care in the world. No stress of saving New York, no fears of- of dying, no pressures of taking over the Osborn Mantel. Just-" He pauses, taking a shuttering breath. "Just innocence. Naivety. Just... us."

"At least that hasn't changed, hey?" Peter murmurs, trying to lighten the mood, and beams when he hears Harry laugh. A faint chuckle, but its a start either way.

"Yeah, yeah." The light smile fades just as fast as it came, the light twinkle disappearing from his eye. "I hope it never does."

"It won't." Peter states, sitting up abruptly, his heart and mind racing as Harry gaze drops from the sky and looks over to him, swirling with so much pain, grief, loss, fear that it makes Peter ache, and he knows what he has to do, knows what he can do to hopefully wipe all those fears away. He just hopes his friends are right, and that it doesn't make everything so much worse.

The smaller boy leans forward, giving plenty of time for the taller to lean back, or move away, giving him plenty of chance to escape this situation if this isn't what he truly wants. But... Harry stays. He stays put, watching intensely as Peter moves closer and closer, his pupils growing as their shaking breath starts to mix, as their noses brush and eyelashes flutter shut, as their lips gently press together with ease, fitting together perfectly almost like two pieces of the same puzzle, almost as if they were made for each other. And then, he's leaning forward too, grasping at the collar of Peter's blazer and pulling him closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as Peter grabs at his arms and holds him there, hoping, longing to stay here, in this moment for as long as they possibly can, all of the worries for the future and sorrows of the past disappear in the heat and warmth of the now.

But all too soon, Peter's lungs start to ache, so he eases back just as Harry does, still so in sync even at a moment like this, resting their foreheads against one another as they breathe the same air, Peter's eyes fluttering open to see Harry already staring back, the storm grays turning into bright summer skies, so full of light and warmth and excitement, so full of hope that it makes Peter's heart sing and his chest warm, making a wide smile break onto his face. "It won't." Peter reiterates now, bumping his nose with Harry's just to hear him giggle, light and breathy.

"It better not." Harry warns, his nose scrunching playfully, gaze teasing. "You better not be the type to kiss and leave, Parker."

Peter bursts out laughing, leaning back heavily and causing him to swing slightly as Harry follows suit, chuckling beside him. Once settled down a bit, he glances over with a warm, bashful look. "I wouldn't even dream of it. Not for the world." Harry's face flushes at that, and he glances away shyly, a wide smile on his face.

They don't discuss titles, or what they are, really. But they don't have to. Both of them know, now, that no matter what comes their way, no matter what life throws at them, they'll get through it, together. And thats all that matters.

The world falls away...

The world falls away...

And its only us

[lovemesomesurveys]

[yourheaventonight]

How often do you clean your room? I just pick up as needed as I go to keep it clean. However, it really doesn’t require a whole lot considering I spend majority of my time in bed. The most that typically happens is medical supply boxes sometimes build up that just need to be gathered and taken out.

Does Mommy still do your laundry? She actually does thank you very much, but due to my disability I require help with some things and that’s one of those things.

Any movies coming out soon that you want to see? More Marvel movies for sure.

Have you ever heard of Dana Carvey? Yeah.

How often do you say 'rad'? Not often at all.

Do you like beer? Nope. Or any alcohol.

Do you sip your shots or down ‘em all at once? Back when I used to drink I could never down ‘em all at once. I could do like half, stop, and then finish the other half.

Have you ever counted your scars? I’ve attempted to before, but there’s too many and I can’t see all of them.

^What was the grand total? I just know it’s a lot.

What's the best thing about waking up early? The only good thing is if someone is handing me a Starbucks and bringing my favorite breakfast food, ha.

What was the last fear you overcame? I don’t know.

Do you drink tea? Not often. I’ve been wanting to start drinking Chamomile tea before bed, but I haven’t so far.

Cappuccino or Frappuccino? Cappuccino. Thirteen year old me would have been alllll over that frappuccino. 

Have you ever hurt yourself trying to crack a body part? Nooo. I’m always afraid of seeing someone get hurt when they crack their neck.

Any songs you can listen to over and over and never get tired of? There’s a lot of songs like that.

What do you think "one-eyed trouser snake" is a metaphor for? I know what it is.

Who gives you tummyflies? No one, just anxiety.

What bands do you consider "metal"? I don’t listen to metal.

What's the worst part about winter? Nothing, I love winter.

Summer? Ugh, the miserable heat.

Spring? The worst is that it means summer is right around the corner and it starts getting warm here in spring. 

Fall? Nothing, I love fall.

Are you allergic to anything? Tangerines and seasonal allergies.

How many times have you changed a diaper in your life? A few. Ew.

Ever feel like someone's watching you? No.

What color is the carpet in your house? Tan.

Do you watch Headbanger's Ball on MTV? No. I don’t think that’s still a thing.

How big is your tv anyway? The one in my room is a 40 something inch.

Do your lips get chapped easily? Yes. 

Have you ever had a sinus infection? Yeah. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve had one, thankfully.

What's the best part about Halloween in your opinion? It’s spooky season.

Which country has the most fascinating culture? Each country has it’s own fascinating foods and cultural traditions or holidays that I enjoy learning about. <<<

Who does your favorite song? I have numerous favorite songs.

When was the last time you wore makeup? It’s been like 4 years.

Do you prefer males or females or both? I’m attracted to males.

Where in your town do you do when you wanna chill with a few friends? I don’t have friends or go anywhere anymore, but back in the day the common places were the mall, coffee shops, and getting food.

Where's the best place to get coffee? I just go to the Starbucks. I like it. *shrug*

McDonald's Frappe is crappe, yes? I don’t think I’ve tried their frappes. 

Have you ever seen someone struggle with an addiction? Several people.

Global warming: real or fake? It’s real.

Who do you look up to? My mom.

When was the last time someone gave you flowers? My birthday a few years ago.

Have you ever made a survey? I made one many, many, many years ago.

Do you like cranberry juice? Blech, no.

Have you taken/are you taking chemistry? I took it my senior year in high school.

When was the last time you brushed your hair? Yesterday.

Do you type the "correct" way or have you developed your own method? I like to use proper grammar for the most part. Sometimes when I’m really rambling and venting I just go on and on and punctuation goes out the window. 

Recommend a kickass song. I don’t feel like thinking.

Do you have a favorite author? If yes, who is it? If no, why not? I have many.

Where's your favorite place to buy books? For the past few years I’ve been using the Kindle Unlimited app on my phone for books.

What was the last creepy movie you watched? Hm. I don’t remember.

Do you play any zombie-killing video games? No.

What is the dominating genre on your mp3 player / iPod? I use Spotify on my phone for music, but anyway I don’t feel like checking. I like a lot of variety.

Do you have a bookshelf? Yes.

What website do you spend way too much time on? I’m on Tumblr and YouTube a lot.

Do you like wind chimes? They can sound pretty and relaxing.

Do you have a fetish? No.

Do you have a pet fish? No.

Do you like kettle corn? (That sweet and salty popcorn.) Yes.

Have you ever heard of Chimaira? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Do you enjoy classic rock? Yeah, some.

Where did you get the underwear you're wearing? Probably JCP.

When was the last time you went for a walk, just cause? I don’t do that. 

Do your hands get dry in the winter? They get dry throughout the year, but definitely worse during the winter.

Would you rather be a ninja or a pirate? Neither.

Robot or dinosaur? Nether.

Have you ever been on iGod? I don’t know what that is.

Do you listen to Type O Negative? No.

Do you have any fillings or cavities? Yeah.

Have you gotten your wisdom teeth taken out yet? Yeah, a long time ago.

Don't you hate it when surveys end abruptly? It’s whatever. On to the next.

[cordytriestowrite]

Cupcake

Bucky Barnes x Reader

One Shot

Summary: All it takes is time and cupcakes (post-Endgame)

Cupcakes. You had awoken well into the night with the urge to bake cupcakes. This wasn't the first time you had shot up from a dead sleep with a rapid heartbeat and the need to whip up something sweet for the others to rise to. Sam said it was your way of processing everything post snap and as you pulled yourself out of bed and slipped into your slippers you thought about just how ridiculous that sounded.

No one else was awake, though there weren't many of you anymore. Your sleepy shuffle brought you past what had been Wanda's room up until two days ago when she had solemnly packed her bags and bid you farewell. You used to hear her around this time, gut wrenching sobs that would make you rush past her door lest you break down with your own despair. You still hurried to pass her open door and empty room. Your heart still squeezed with her sadness. 

The other doors were closed, as they always were at this time. You didn't know if the people behind them were asleep or awake but you compiled your ingredients as quietly as possible. Mixing bowls and pans you found easily by the light of the open refrigerator. Measuring spoons and cups sat clean in the sink, never put back to their shelf after you had made a bit too much noise bringing them down the first time. 

Eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and then a debate of flavor: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, pumpkin? This was the part that didn't make sense to you when Sam said you used this time to process grief. Your thoughts never strayed to the five years you missed and if your mind ever even tried to dwell on Tony or Nat or Steve-

Pumpkin, you resolved with a firm nod. Pumpkin was in season and with the distinct lack of seasonal cheer within the house the smell of pumpkin cupcakes in the early dawn could be perfect. 

Cream cheese frosting too. Sprinkles perhaps, if you had any appropriately colored sprinkles. You could feel a bloom of energy open below your breastbone and flutter like wings at the base of your throat tickling you to smile.

You followed no recipe, having done this so many times now the ratios came naturally to you. You dipped a clean finger into the batter, curious to taste the pumpkin flavor and spontaneous pinch of cinnamon. Just as your lips were to close upon your batter covered digit you noticed a glint of metal in the weak light of the still open refrigerator door. Your body involuntarily spasmed with surprise, sending your finger across your cheek instead of into your mouth. Instinct brought your other hand to your hip to grab a weapon that wasn't there. 

The overhead light flicked on and your eyes clenched closed at the onslaught. It felt wrong to have the room so bright at this hour and once you took in the intruder you plunged both of you into darkness once more. 

"Jesus, Bucky, you scared the shit outta me."

Your words came out as a whisper as your eyes darted in the direction of the closed doors, except you couldn't see them in the dimness. 

Bucky was silent, his chin rested heavily in his metal palm. He looked tired, which made sense due to the hour, but it didn't look like he planned to move from the stool he now occupied on the other side of the counter. You shrugged and turned away wiping desperately at your face, then pouring the batter into tins once you were sure your cheek was batter-free. 

The process went all too quickly from there. As you slid the pan into the oven you felt a sudden drop in mood. Eighteen minutes you would have to wait for the runny batter to rise and thicken into a dense, moist cupcake. Eighteen minutes you would sit in silence and watch the clock, counting the seconds in your head as if you and the digital clock on the oven were competing for best capture of each minute. It was either that or falling asleep in the silence of the still hour and subsequently burning down the only home you had. 

You turned around, intending to sit yourself on a stool and begin your competitive time-keeping only to be suddenly reminded there was someone else in the room with you. Bucky had not moved an inch since you had acknowledged him. His bright blue eyes pierced through the darkness with an unsettling alertness and you shivered at the vulnerability he had thrust upon you. The hand that had shot to your chest was resting over a decelerating heartbeat. There was something instinctively you still feared about Bucky due to the lack of time you'd spent with him. It was in his eyes, you thought, or maybe the slight frown his lips came to rest in naturally. Maybe it was all in your head, your mind unable to separate the man before you with the Winter Soldier of HYDRA. 

Time did not stop even if you had your back turned to it. The stare that had you locked in place allowed you passage as Bucky glanced to the clock behind you. Your breath came out long and heavy and your lips tingled in gratitude at the influx of oxygen. Looking at the ground you crossed kitchen and around the counter to the stool beside him. Lips mimed the counting of seconds.

"How long?"

You lost count and the question sounded too loud in your ears. You glanced over to Bucky and quickly turned back to stare ahead, fidgeting in your seat as another sensation of unease rolled down your spine. 

"Seventeen more minutes."

It was too long. Too long to be spending with the man next to you. You swallowed and drummed your fingers against the counter. This minute was lost to you and you would have to wait for the next one to start counting again. The muscles in your neck cried for movement but you didn't dare spare yourself to turn your head in his direction. 

You wondered if Bucky knew you were afraid of him, if he knew how your body filled with adrenaline at his very presence. You wondered how it made him feel, if he cared at all. After so many sleepless nights alone in the kitchen you could not come to any conclusion as to why he was here with you this time. Unless you had made too much noise.

"Sorry if I woke you."

Your voice cracked. In your attempt to keep your voice low you had lost it all together. Despite this Bucky seemed to have caught the essence of your statement. You allowed yourself a quick glance of him. With his head down and eyes averted you felt safe to actually observe him.

His hair was short now making him look more handsome than feral. His strong jaw was on display to you now, clean shaven and marking an appealing path to his cleft chin and pouty lips. Bucky's profile sent a jolt through your system of a different kind, one that warmed you from belly to cheeks. He turned his unreadable eyes to you and that warmth abruptly faded. 

"Spent too long sleepin' anyway."

He might not have meant for the words to sound so ominous but the weight of them brought a cold sweat to your brow. The urge was there to comfort him, to wrap your arms around him and feel something from him other than wave after wave of detachment and disinterest. You stood slowly and like an out of body experience you felt you had no control over your actions. You watched your feet hit the floor between you and bring you ever closer to Bucky Barnes and in a last minute shuffle felt your mind gain back control.

"Want to help me make the frosting?"

Your voice was too loud again, the words said by you but not the way you intended. You were going to say 'I should make the frosting' with no 'we' involved. 

Bucky's eyebrows rose and with it the veil of intimidation. His eyes seemed brighter now that they weren't hidden under furrowed brows and the way his mouth parted in what could only be disbelief let the hard lines around his lips relax. With a single question he seemed younger and, with a sigh of relief on your end, less terrifying. The kitchen had shifted on its axis with both of you trying to right yourselves and adapt to its new position and maybe that's why Bucky decided to shift it all again and throw you both back to the ground.

"Sure."

He's off his stool, standing in the not-enough-space-for-the-two-of-you spot you were already occupying. Your chests were brushing, breaths mingling, eyes glancing then looking away again. You had no control and Bucky's eyes were so different now. So open and blue with a hint of astonishment pushing through anguish and anger. And those eyes, when they landed on you, it's like they were seeing you for the first time. It was all too much, making your breath swell in your chest like a balloon on the verge of bursting and you were afraid the loud pop of it would wake the house. 

"Ten minutes."

Air rushed from your lungs with Bucky's words and suddenly you felt very empty and stretched with exhaustion. You let out an undignified noise of confused to which Bucky reacted in a way so uncharacteristic of him your jaw would have dropped if it wasn't cradled in his hand. 

He was pointing your chin in the direction of the clock set into the stove. Ten minutes until the cupcakes were done. So much had changed in seven minutes making you momentarily suspicious that the clock had stopped. Nine minutes and everything was real again, including the fingers against your skin. You wanted to look at him, to see his expression and let him see yours, wanting him to see the confusion written on your face and receive an answer to how you had gotten to this point in seven minutes. Instead you kept your eyes trained on the clock and counted down another minute.

"We should get started."

You could hear the humor in his voice, a foreign lilt to your ears but a welcome song nonetheless. You smiled and nodded loosening what little grip he had on you. He moved away first and rounded the counter, standing to the side of it and allowing you to walk before him and take the lead. You tactically removed a mixing bowl from the crowded cupboard and grouped your ingredients to the side of it. 

You were used to working in silence and not so much used to giving instructions so you measured and dumped ingredients in without explanation, but Bucky didn't seem to need any. He stirred the contents of the bowl as you added more to it, working in a silent but effective tandem to create the smooth and fluffy frosting. With Bucky left to his mixing you glanced at the clock and excitedly donned the oven mits. You thought you might've heard a soft exhale of air behind you but paid it no mind as you opened the oven door.

The scent of pumpkin wafted in swells of heat and you breathed in deeply as you pricked the top of a few cakes with a toothpick which came out clean each time. With pan in hand you closed the door to the oven and turned it off, then set the pan on the stovetop. Smiling you turned to your unexpected, but not unwelcome, baking companion.

"Those will need to cool before we can- fingers out of the batter mister!"

Too loud, too demanding, too playful. If you could you would catch those words on your fingers and pop them back into your mouth the way Bucky was doing the frosting. His eyes were wide again and hopelessly blue but streaked with deviousness and guilt giving them a dimension you had never seen. His index finger pulled from his lips to give you a knee-weakening smile. 

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

He sounded anything but sorry. The smirk on his lips and the way his tongue darted out to gather a bit of frosting smeared across his bottom lip told you it wasn't safe to turn away from him again. You were afraid of him, but not for the reasons you were before. This wasn't the Winter Soldier who stared at you with empty eyes somehow seeing you and seeing through you. This was Bucky, the Bucky your Captain used to talk about, who flirts with all the dames and drags you on vomit inducing rollercoasters and is with you 'til the end of the line. He was there this whole time, under months of grief and mourning he was there, uncovered in only seventeen minutes, and you felt like a fool for not finding him sooner.

You felt it in your throat first. The bulge of a sob against your larynx that traveled up and out of your quivering lips. Too loud. Bucky was in front of your before the tears could spill so when they started to his thumbs were in place to wipe them away. Too loud. You were wailing like a lonely spirit, like you were watching it all over again on the battlefield, like the weight of your loss had finally slammed against your heart and cut it up, leaving it hurt and bleeding and expected to still beat. 

"I'm sorry, Bucky. I'm so sorry I didn't see you before."

He was shushing you, holding you. His heart torn and bleeding with yours. You could feel it in the way his chest convulsed with the sobs he was managing to keep at bay. 

"I miss them so much. I've missed so much."

Bucky guided your head to his shoulder but it was too late.

Too loud. Too bright. You weren't just wrapped in one pair of arms anymore. You couldn't see with your face buried in Bucky's shoulder but you could feel them holding you tight, sniffling, whispering. 

"Let it all out." Sam's voice cut through it all.

"You're finally letting it all out."

There was no clock to tell you how long you all stood together, no room in your brain to count the seconds. It was lighter outside and brighter inside, noises weren't too loud and voices weren't lowered. Your cheek rested against the tear soaked fabric covering Bucky's shoulder; he was the only one who hadn't drawn away from you yet. With tired eyes you watched Bruce pluck the edge of a cupcake liner in his large green forefinger and thumb. With his one good hand he maneuvers the cupcake upside down and proceeds to dip it into the bowl of frosting. You let out an indignant squeal as he raises it back up messy and dripping. A soft chuckle flutters the hair above your ear while a gentle palm stokes the back of your head.

"That's not how the frosting - oh forget it."

Arms squeezing a little tighter around Bucky's waist you rest your chin on his cold, wet shoulder, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and begin to count the seconds that you began to feel okay again. You knew you'd lose count soon enough, especially when you could feel the man wrapped around you extend a hand to dip into the mixing bowl again.

"Bucky, don't you dare!"

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[artificialqueens]

There's No One There, 6/14 (Group Fic) - Marmalade

Summary: One student missing multiple classes without warning can be explained away but when more girls start disappearing, it can’t be dismissed. Jaida, Jackie, Gigi, and Crystal may not be friends but if it’s to figure out what’s going on, they’re willing to work together.

A/N: Yeah, last time I estimated that this would be 9 chapters, I organized everything I wanted to happen by chapter and then broke my own system first chapter I wrote after making it so 14 will maybe be closer to the final result.

As far as the girls could gleam from the photograph, they could gather that it was taken from the top floor of the school. Getting to the top floor, however, was not that simple. The halls on the upper level were largely unused and had been for some time. There was some story about a problem with ventilation or the ceiling that was keeping the floor under renovation so none of them had been able to venture there before.

Initially the group had assumed that getting to the fifth floor would be as simple as stepping past a ‘Do not pass’ sign but that proved not to be the case when they peered around the corner and saw a security guard standing by the stair well. This forced them to delay their plan until dinner where they snuck out early and waited for the guards to change shift, before taking advantage of the small window. Though the season was firmly in the arms of spring, winter lurked stubbornly and kept the days short. There was sunlight spilling in the windows now but they knew that it was only a matter of time before sunset came and went.

The hall was cold, the walls were a yellow color that hadn’t been repainted in nearly two decades and a heavy tarp clung to a section of the wall with dust and debris decorating the floor beneath it but otherwise- it was just a hallway.

Crystal shivered and turned to look back; the hall seemed to stretch on endlessly in the dark. Jackie and Gigi had come prepared with flashlights that they had raided from the custodian’s supply closest, illuminating what wasn’t caught by traces of moonlight that showed through the windows. Crystal didn’t know where the supply closest but she had taken Jaida’s snide remark earlier to heart and came equipped with a pencil and a notepad.

“The hall should loop around in a big square like the rest of the school so all we need to do is hug the outer wall until we get back here.” Jackie reasoned, shining her flashlight down either end of the hall. “There should be another stairwell on the opposite side, if two of us go in each direction then we can meet in the middle and cut our time in half.”

After a moment of deliberation, they broke off with Jackie and Jaida going one way and Crystal and Gigi going the other.

-

“You didn’t go into a whole lot of detail about what happened with Aiden in the library.”

“Honestly like- it was so unexpected that in the moment, I didn’t even know what to think.”

The first pair had just rounded the corner, trying every door they could but finding most of them locked. It was a worrying sign but the large windows that line the hall gave them hope that they would still be able to catch a glimpse of the building.

“She was just like so focused on what she was doing and then next time I see her, the bitch is like tearing into books for no reason.”

Jackie pressed her lips into a thin line, racking her brain for a rational explanation. “…Maybe Aiden takes literature super seriously and she thought the author was a hack?” That answer illicit a laugh from Jaida but she couldn’t find herself accepting it as the truth.

“Jackie, listen, when I tell you the bitch looked lost when she got caught, I mean the bitch looked lost.”

“A ploy for attention maybe? Albeit one she didn’t think through and got tongue tied when faced with repercussions?”

“You weren’t there.” Jaida quickened her pace to approach the next window and pressed her hand against it as she peered out. She could see the track and the trees that laid beyond it but nothing that suggested the shed. A chill crept over her shoulder and as Jaida looked up, she could faintly make of the reflection of a face over her shoulder. Jaida was going to tell Jackie that she didn’t have to stand so close to her but as soon as she turned around Jaida saw Jackie standing a few feet away, inspecting a photograph of a long since graduated class.

Jaida stepped out towards the center of the hall; mouth ajar as she looked around which Jackie took note of.

“What?”

“I- bitch- I saw a face in the window.” It was clear from her dry expression that Jackie didn’t believe her. “I did!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just your own reflection?”

“Jackie. Look me in my god damn eyes and tell me you think I’m the type a bitch who can’t recognize her own reflection.”

Before Jackie could respond the sound of a distant thud caused both girls to swivel their heads to look down the hall. The first thought that either girl had was that it was Gigi and Crystal but they had gone the other direction and it seemed doubtful that they would have made it all the way back around.

Both girls made a brisk walk further down the hall to investigate but they could find nothing that would have made the noise. They even peered in through the windows on doors and tried to handles but nothing budged. Jackie kept walking but Jaida slowed to a stop. Her heart was racing and she had no idea why. She wanted to keep walking but Jaida couldn’t shake the inexplicable urge to turn around.

The hall was empty. Jaida held her gaze and her breath. A frame fell from the wall and shattered against the floor.

“Fuck!” Jaida jumped back. She felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly jerked her elbow back before realizing that the hand belonged to Jackie.

“Jaida! What is going on with you today?” Jaida slowly lowered her arms and straightened her back.

“I don’t know, okay? Like, weird shit keeps happening you keep not seeing it so can we please just keep going before the sun goes down so we don’t have to come back and do this all again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I think we should be almost at the end of our half, so at this rate the shed’s probably on Gigi and Crystal’s side.” They pressed on but as they turned the corner, where should have been another long hall was a wall with a large mural about world peace painted over it, dying rays of sunlight casting it in an orange hue. Jackie shone her flashlight all over the mural.

“I don’t get it! What’s this wall doing here?” Jackie was usually the one providing a logical explanation and yet it was something as mundane as a wall where there shouldn’t have been that was confounding her. As if on que, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them, heavy and unfamiliar.

“You hear that too, right?” Jaida whispered, Jackie just nodded in response and they both slowly turned to see a figure moving towards them.

-

“Can I ask you something?”

Crystal and Gigi’s side of the search had been admittedly slower paced and filled with intermitted conversation about how Gigi couldn’t comprehend how anyone thought that this shade of yellow would look good painted on the walls.

“You already did.” Gigi replied wryly as she looked out the window. “No shed from thith view either.” Crystal nodded and wrote something down in her notepad before holding it close to her chest.

“Um, did you bite your tongue or something today? You’ve been kinda lispy.” Gigi’s blood ran cold and she peeled away from the window with wide eyes.

“It’th-“ Gigi glanced around and cupped her hand next to her mouth, whispering even though they were alone. “It’th that noticeable?”

“What’s going on?” Crystal whispered back. Gigi pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“Okay but don’t tell anyone this. I…wear a retainer?” Crystal couldn’t help but crack a smile that she hid behind her notepad.

“That’s it?

“That’s it? No- I- hhhh. I had to wear head gear for a long time, everyone used to call me Metal Mouth, the big reathon why I wanted to come here was becauthe no one knew me and I could finally be the cool one. When I downgraded to my retainer, I practiced enunciating all summer long but it’th getting warn down. I wath at the orthadontitht yesterday but I have to wait until I go home to get my new retainer, some insurance bullshit.” Gigi huffed and folded her arms, before glancing back towards Crystal. “Promithe you won’t go around judging me or telling people?”

“Judge you? I gave myself a mullet in a communal bathroom, I don’t think I legally can.” A small smile formed on Gigi’s face and she let her arms fall to her sides. “Plus- I think we’ve put in enough mystery hunting hours together to be considered friends. Your secret’s safe with me!”

“If we’re friends does that mean I can borrow your jacket?” Gigi asked half-jokingly.

“No, I need it, it’s freezing up here.”

“I know! No one even uses this floor; are they air conditioning it? Isn’t heat the one that riseth?”

“I dooon’t remember?”

Their increasingly off topic conversation came to an end when Gigi abruptly turned back to the window, sure that she just saw movement. The grounds below were empty and it had happened so quickly that Gigi couldn’t even define a shape from it, just the direction that it had gone. Having the faintest bit of a haunch, Gigi took off at a brisk pace down the hall in the hopes of catching the figure from another window.

“Wait- don’t leave me here alone!” Crystal cried as she went after her.

Gigi would slow her pace to look closely out the windows but never stilled, each time she caught the shape just as it moved out of view. She kept her eyes trained on the windows until her view very suddenly shifted to the ground. A chair had been moved against the wall and in Gigi’s fixation on catching sight of the shape she had neglected to look forward, she ran into the chair and her legs were swept out from under her and over her head as she careened to the floor, taking the chair with her with a loud clang.

She never lost consciousness, at least not to her knowledge, but Gigi spent a good while on the floor in a daze- awake but her limbs felt too heavy to raise. The daze finally began to ebb away and Gigi found it in herself to begin pulling herself off the ground, a slow set of footsteps gaining volume behind her before stopping.

“Mind helping me up, Crys?” Gigi rubbed her head as she untangled her legs from the overturned chair, she could imagine the bruises that she would wake up with. There was no response from Crystal, not her lending Gigi a hand or saying anything. Gigi turned to look over her shoulder to see that Crystal wasn’t standing there, no one was.

She got up slowly, fixing the chair before she used it as leverage to stand. The sun was much lower now, dark blues just starting to bleed into the hues of sunset and it wouldn’t be long before night came to mask everything from view.

Gigi didn’t see Crystal down the hall, but there was a single door open that Gigi didn’t recall being open before. She walked towards it with her head held high and ignored the raw feeling on her knee, confident that that was where Crystal had gone. Footsteps picked up behind her. Gigi stopped and spun around, still no one there. She slowly began walking again. Footsteps, heavy and rapid, followed. Gigi practically ran to the door and skidded to stop at the door.

There stood Crystal, her back to Gigi as she looked out the window.

“Earth to Planet Crystal, did you not hear me fall and the footstepth?” Gigi called out but Crystal didn’t seem to react. Gigi stepped inside and realized that Crystal wasn’t actually looking out the window. Her head was low, focused on the notepad in her hands as she wrote something down. “Crystal?” Gigi walked up beside her before she looked out the window. She squinted her eyes and leaned close to the glass before spotting a light-colored slab peeking through the distant tree brush. “Oh my god, ith that it? Crystal you found it!” Gigi pressed her hands against the glass and leaned to try and gauge any landmarks. “What ith that, the theater? And on that side the- track, right?”

Crystal had yet to put her pencil down or do anything else that would acknowledge Gigi’s existence. Gigi pursed her lips and ran her tongue along her teeth before she reached out and tried to pull the notepad from Crystal’s hands. That finally managed to get her attention, Crystal tightened her grip on the notepad and attempted to pull it back in a manner that caught Gigi off guard. Crystal said something harshly in Spanish that Gigi couldn’t understand. The notepad fell from their hands onto the floor and both reached to pick it up, banging their heads together in the process.

“Oww.” Crystal rubbed her forehead while Gigi grabbed the notepad.

“Oh, that got your attention? Glad to know that if I got knocked out, you would be off drawing trees. Can we go find Jackie and Jaida now? I wanna be anywhere that won’t freeze my noise off.” Crystal nodded, Gigi was quick on her heels to turn and exit. Almost as soon as she walked into the hall, Gigi made two big steps back into the classroom.

“There’s a thecurity guard in the hall, I don’t think he thaw me.” Gigi whispered as she pressed herself against the wall. If she felt like she was in a spy movie before, now she was feeling it tenfold.

“Maybe he will pass.” Crystal replied, it could have just been because she was whispering back but her voice lacked its usual squeakiness. Their eyes feel onto the teacher’s desk at the same time and they quietly crept as quickly as possible to it, Crystal ducking under first and moving to make room for Gigi. Just as she was kneeling down to climb under, the ray of a flashlight poured over her.

“What are you doing up here?” The security guard asked firmly, she had never so much as heard one of the guards speak before, it was almost jarring. Gigi stood up, eyes wide and lips tightly pressed together as she pressed her hands flat on the desk.

“I…” Gigi gritted her teeth as she looked around. When she realized how futile the effort was her entire face scrunched up and she buried it in her hands.

“Out here, now.” Gigi flipped the notepad closed and took a step back, Crystal stayed rooted in her hiding spot. “Now. I already found the rest of your little group.” Gigi did as he said and once in the hall the guard grabbed her by the arm and began marching her back towards the stairs. Gigi looked back over her shoulder to see Crystal now peering out of the door way with an empty expression. Gigi made it very clear on her face she was not amused but said nothing as the guard took her away.