#and you know this feeling very well from almost half a decade ago. an ugly fear on your shoulder. if you know you know...

[paradigmrust]

i follow you wherever you go

[formulaocean]

Wait brocedes in persuasion makes so much sense. Expand?

Ooh okay always forget that people can perceive your tags but let’s go full on literature nerd. Sorry this is a bit late- but you’ll see why 🙃

So Persuasion at its most basic tropewise is second chance romance between two people who are soulmate level perfect for each other (“There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison“) but who have an ugly falling out over a failed marriage proposal and later reunite as strangers who no one expects to know each other and can’t even call each other by their first name anymore. Sound familiar?

“Now they were as strangers; worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted.”

It’s about pining and longing and pride, looking back on the past and seeing the good as well as the anger and a lot about the state that brocedes are currently in- pretending not to be acquainted with someone you know everything about. It’s a bit pensive, a bit more mature, and full of the masks put in place by social convention and the difference between public and private lives.

Let’s just start with this quote from the iconic letter.

“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago”

Such a classic quote and very much brocedes. Offering yourself to someone again even after they almost broke your heart nearly a decade ago? Terrifying but very them.

Here‘s some more that make me think of them!

“Time will explain.”

“but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering-“ (it wasn’t all suffering the love thus remains)

“Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death” (just because it looks like someone has moved on first…but on the INSIDE)

“His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything” (is this not Nico about Lewis when he gives a perfectly polite interview?!)

“They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the commonest civility required. Once so much to each other! Now nothing!” (Civility and conversation only via interviews!)

“She understood him. He could not forgive her,-but he could not be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past,…. It was a remainder of former sentiment; it was an impuse of pure, though unacknowledged friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.” (He could not forgive her but he could not be unfeeling!!!! Emotions compounded with pleasure and pain!!! Very much the love was there but it didn’t change anything in nature)

“There, he had seen every thing to exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost, and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown in his way.” (Just reach out!!!)

“Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands of so many, to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have much truth left.” (The media)

“She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Has he wished ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time;” (indifferent or unwilling to reunite….)

Honestly there’s a lot more but I have enough essays to write 😅

[paranoeo]

It's harder some days than others. She can still hear the distant and ugly crunch of fingers being trapped in a window, of an ankle cracking upon impact, the terror in Lou's voice when she told her to run as fast and as far away as she could. Her joints ache in the cold, sometimes, muscles screaming the same way they did nearly a decade ago when she was trying to fight her momma off. Peripheral vision can be blurred, and it's like she's seeing things coming at her when they aren't really there. (Or are they?)

Most of the time, on her return to the little cabin she's made a base out of, she feels as though she's being followed. Stalked. Thinks darkly about how it must be the same way the poor animals she hunts feel. She never is being followed, but it doesn't stop her from looking over her shoulder every few yards, ears pricked up the same way that Bear's do, on the lookout for any sign of a pursuer. Shadows dance behind her, the tree branches above sinisterly cast by the moonlight that slips through, contrasted against the snow.

It makes tracking damn easier, at the very least.

She's been on higher alert than usual since that incident before the holidays, the run-in with ... well, she's been referring to it as a basilisk in her own head ever since, even if she doesn't think that's totally right. Whatever the fucker out there is, she knows that Christmas Eve wasn't the last that any of them have seen of it. Would be foolish to expect otherwise, or wishful thinking taken to an extreme. Mabel knows that she's either one of the luckiest Mountaineers around, or one of the unluckiest—suppose it all depends on how you see a half-filled glass.

A few times she thinks she spots something more than just a shadow from a tree. Reckons she can see a faint puff of breath in the cold, one that's too far away to be her own and too high up to be any kind of animal that she's seen around here. It's too high to be a human's, either. That thought alone sets her teeth on edge. But nothing comes at her, and nothing seems to move any of the times that she looks back. It's against her own creed to go investigating where she doesn't need to, so she just hops to, knowing that once she's home safe, she's got a far better chance against whoever (or whatever) could be out there.

The snap! she hears very clearly, though. Doesn't stop her from ascending onto the porch, just slows her movements, steadies them almost. The motion floodlight is on by now, casting streams of light on the stretch just in front of her cabin: she doesn't want to turn around, doesn't want to see. It's only when she makes it to the little box bench under her front window that she dares to crane her head around, feeling safe in the knowledge that her rifle is within arm's reach.

The creature had been observing her for what felt like an eternity, concealed in the shadows of the woods. Its gaze was locked on Mabel as she gracefully moved through the trees. Each time she entered her cabin, she danced around the traps she had meticulously set, avoiding them with a skill that both baffled and captivated the creature. It was as though she possessed an innate understanding of the forest, surpassing its own knowledge, and it couldn't resist the allure of her silent precision and unwavering resolve. On this particular night, with the ground blanketed in frost and the air heavy with the chill of winter, the monster made a choice. It followed behind her, its steps light and deliberate, mirroring her every move. The snow crunched softly beneath its feet, the cold penetrating its skin as it matched her pace, maintaining just enough distance to remain undetected. It was an unsettling imitation, akin to a shadow that had gained autonomy, and it discovered a hypnotic quality in the rhythm of her journey. However, as she approached the porch, the monster's foot inadvertently snagged a concealed twig, snapping it with a sharp crack that pierced the tranquility of the night. It froze, its breath suspended, its gaze fixed on Mabel's back, uncertain if she would turn, if she would hear it - or if, perhaps, she was already aware.

@paranoeo

[beatricebidelaire]

rumour has it

Kit talks to four different people about Beatrice and Esme.

~1.1k, gen, with background relationships.

****

“I just don’t think Beatrice should let herself be so affected by - what’s her name again? Esme? You know. Beatrice’s new understudy,” Kit shakes her head, sounding disapproving. “Sure this Esme sounds quite rude, but that’s exactly why there’s no need to engage with her at all. Just ignore her. That shouldn’t be hard.”

Olaf shrugs, taking a bite of the cookie. “Beats me,” he says while chewing. “She’s dealt with ruder people. I have no idea why Esme bothers her so much. That said, if I were to hazard a guess -” he pauses, giving Kit a meaningful look.

Kit half-turns to glance at him, knowing that dramatic pauses from Olaf usually means he has dramatic gossip he’s about to announce. “Oh yeah?”

“B is attracted to her,” Olaf announces. “If I have to guess.”

“Okay, less than 5 minutes ago you were telling me Beatrice thinks this Esme is unqualified, stupid, vain, and a terrible actress,” Kit points out.

“Exactly,” Olaf drawls. “Notice that she did not call her ugly.”

“So is this Esme really as unqualified - and all those adjectives - as Beatrice said, in your opinion?”

“Oh, Esme is definitely vain,” Olaf says, swallowing the cookie before continuing, “but stupid? If she’s really stupid, Beatrice wouldn’t even pay any attention to her. You know how B likes smart people, it’s why she’s been best friends with me for a decade and half. While Esme is definitely not as clever as me, she’s at the very least clever enough to be able to continue to come up with new ways to annoy Beatrice.”

Kit snorts a little at Olaf’s ‘as clever as me’, but thinks that he probably has some point about how Esme is clever enough to annoy Beatrice. It isn’t like Beatrice - Beatrice, who knows how to handle everyone - to suddenly lose all her social queen abilities around this Esme girl.

“Is she -” Kit pauses, fishing for the right word in her mind. “Feeling threatened by this Esme? Because she fears people might think Esme is prettier or something?”

“Oh, Kit,” Olaf says. “Be careful not to say that in front of B. She’ll start throwing stuff.”

Kit raises an eyebrow. “That bad? Seriously?”

“Eh, maybe not at you,” he concedes. “She expresses more emotions around me. But still, my point stands.”

“Just how pretty is this Esme?” Kit asks, skeptical.

“Depends on what she’s wearing at the time,” Olaf replies, with a shrug. “That time when she’s in that ocean blue dress - I almost immediately invited her over for the night. Would have, too, but someone else was faster. However, when she wore that weird thing she proclaimed as ‘innest fashion of the week’ that made her look like some kind of vintage vase from the 1700s, it’s pretty much a turn-off for me.”

“Innest fashion of the week,” Kit repeats.

“Oh yeah. Forgot to mention - Esme is really into what’s ‘in’ - you know. The most fashionable thing at the moment. Read the fashion column every day.”

****

“Wait, you’re saying you have met this Esme girl - the one in B and O’s theater group?” Kit asks.

“Just that once when Jacques and I went to their rehearsal,” Bertrand says. “For the murder mystery play. Lots of Agatha Christie references.”

“What’s your take on her?”

“On Christie? Well, I think that -”

“No, not Christie,” Kit rolls her eyes. “Esme.”

He laughs, then takes a moment to consider. “See, I would tell you I think she’s rather - mean-spirited and aggressive, but.”

“But?” Kit prompts when he stops talking.

Bertrand hesitates. “But Beatrice is the exact same way when around her. Not like the Beatrice we know. Well, still like the Beatrice we know, sort of, but it’s like Esme brings out certain negative qualities in her. Magnifies them, so to speak. So - it’s possible Esme isn’t usually like this either, but just … when around Beatrice. Possibly.”

“Beatrice is our friend,” Kit says, feeling a need to defend Beatrice.

“Yes, and I like her, we all do. But, from a more objective perspective …” he trails off. “I don’t know, I’m just saying that I don’t know enough about Esme to say. Maybe she really is like that all the time.”

Kit frowns thoughtfully.

****

“Esme? You mean Baudelaire Number 2?” Georgina Orwell says. “I have only met her once and immediately knew that I have no interest in ever seeing her again, just as I do Baudelaire. She doesn’t seem to be as annoying as Baudelaire yet, but it’s already evident that Baudelaire’s influences on her are showing. I personally would want those two little girls to stay as far away from me as possible.”

“They’re 21 and 22 years old,” Kit says drily.

“Exactly,” Georgina says. “Little girls, as I said.”

Kit isn’t sure if Georgina’s opinion is worth taking into account, after hearing what she said. Georgina has a reputation for being good at reading people, but she’s very disinterested in, and one may even say annoyed by Beatrice. While Beatrice can be a little … overly energetic, Kit thinks that it’s fair to say that Georgina Orwell is a little biased towards Beatrice.

So if Georgina groups Esme into the same category as Beatrice, how much of her opinion on Esme is unibased is a big question.

****

“Esme? Oh, Beatrice and Olaf’s friend from the theater,” R says. “She doesn’t seem particularly interested in literature, but does have quite a lot to say about fashion. And I mean a lot.”

“I think Beatrice would probably say the word ‘friend’ is a bit of a stretch,” Kit comments.

R shrugs, in her own usual elegant manner. “Well, what does the word friend mean, in our line of work and volunteering? You yourself prefer the word ‘associate’ for the longest times, even when referring to your own brother. Even now.”

Kit winces. “Okay that’s - that’s not fair, R.”

“Not judging, just making an observation,” R says, lightly.

Kit makes a face. “Fine. But seriously, that’s me. It’s what I do. Beatrice is - well, Beatrice is not me. She’s Beatrice. She calls people friends. She considers many people her friend. But this Esme - from what I have heard about the two of them, I very much doubt she’s someone Beatrice considers a friend.”

“You make a valid point there,” R agrees. “I doubt Beatrice considers Esme a friend. That said,” she sighs, if just a little wistful. “I’d be very surprised if they don’t sleep together by the end of the month.”

Kit chokes on her tea.

R pats her back sympathetically.

“You’re kidding me,” Kit says finally, after she recovers.

R pours some more tea into Kit’s cup, “Oh Kit,” she says. “I wish.”

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

[sooibian]

So Let's Runaway - Prologue

photocreds @tuanzie​

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Fem!Reader ft. bff!Chanyeol

Genre / Themes: Fluff, mild angst, travel AU, road trip through Spain, travel buddies Chansoo!

Warnings: Themes of grief / loss, heartache, toxic relationships, strong language, i guess..

Description: An unlikely group of three comes together for the journey of a lifetime.

A/N: This fic is part of @supermwritersnet​ “Around the world in 31 days event”. Inspired by the Hindi movie Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Uploading prematurely so as to stop obsessing over the prologue and get cracking on the travelogue which requires a tonne of research. Let me know if you’d like a tag on the upcoming chapter(s) due for upload on 19th July 2021.

Word Count: 3k *unedited*

____________________________

Doh Kyungsoo had dragged his feet up the endless flight of stairs seeking solitude...not drama.

A stranger, just one misstep away from a fatal fall, was the last thing he’d expected to find on the rooftop of Seoul’s Park Hyatt at three in the morning. He slipped the rooftop access key card (that he’d borrowed from the security guard in exchange for a 50,000 won bill) in the back pocket of his trousers while simultaneously dwelling on the depths of the rot of corruption. He had half a mind to turn away and forget that he’d just seen someone contemplating their existence on the ledge of a highrise but there was something about you that rooted him to the spot. Dressed in fine evening wear, you’d stretched your arms out like wings as you looked up at the vast expanse of midnight blue, the wind kissing your wild, waist length hair. From his standpoint, you looked oddly at peace.

Kyungsoo had never been an idealist or a victim of the white knight syndrome. He wasn’t one to delve into the ethical and philosophical conundrums for most things in life because to him it was all just a waste of time. Seeing you on the parapet filled him with neither sympathy nor worry. It was your life after all and with it you could do whatever you deemed fit as long as you weren’t inconveniencing others. Scratch that.

As long as you weren’t inconveniencing him.

But right now, unbeknownst to you, you were inconveniencing Seoul’s hottest financial broker, Doh Kyungsoo.

He wasn’t invisible to the hotel’s security cameras and being labelled suspect in an abetment to suicide investigation wasn't exactly what he was looking for after the day he’d had. Albeit inebriated and heavy-eyed, he could effectively calculate the logistics involved in pulling you off the ledge with the cacophony of the omnipresent Seoul traffic drowning out the sound of his footsteps.

Bracing himself for superficial bruises from the impact of falling to the right side of the precipice with the weight of an adult human pressing down on his 173 cm high frame, he took off his custom tailored blazer (that had been flown in from Vietnam especially for that evening) and folded it in half, making sure that the lapels touched. Some habits are hard to shake. He put the blazer on the ground as a makeshift floorcloth for the rest of his belongings. With his back facing you, he allowed himself a moment's peace as he loosened his tie, languidly rolled the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt up to his elbows, freed himself off the Rolex Cellini on his left wrist, his Bottega Veneta fine leather wallet, and the cursed Tiffany Blue Box that he simply couldn’t bear to look at anymore and neatly placed them all on the blazer.

Letting out a deep exhale, he muttered curses under his breath before turning to your silhouette only to find it...gone.

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrowed and then immediately grew into large circles as he grappled with the shocking turn of events. An inexplicable heaviness bloomed in his chest and he felt sick to the stomach which, in a state of denial, he chalked up to the dubious mixture of spirits he’d downed not too long ago.

Before he could find his bearings and figure out what to do next, a light tap on his shoulder made him jump. His jaw went slack and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest to find you casually smiling at him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb onto the very same ledge and scream into the void but he simply stood there, mouth agape, wanting to say a million things but he could hardly muster a peep.

Reading the confusion painted across his sharp, well defined features, you uttered an unsure, “Hi?”

“I thought you’d jumped,” he whispered, head tilted to the side, his compelling, bloodshot eyes locked with yours.

“Says someone who’s unusually jumpy,” you jested, but your expression immediately turned solemn when you caught the tremble in his right hand. “Are you on something?”

There came about a sudden shift in his aura. Hands on hips, he deadpanned, “Why? Are you with the cops?”

“No, don’t worry,” you let out a soft chuckle and he started scrambling for his things, “How long have you been standing here?”

Hastily stuffing everything into the pocket of his well fitted trousers, he muttered something along the lines of ‘Chaos. Just chaos everywhere!’

Leaning into his frame, you quipped, “What’s that?”

Alarmed and goggle-eyed, he snapped, “Nevermind,” and turned towards the exit.

“Hey! You seem to have forgotten something!” You called out after him upon finding his blazer on the ground, the silken sheen of it reflecting a myriad of citylights.

No answer.

“I wasn’t going to jump!” You yodelled childishly but the man was long gone.

.

.

.

Seven Hours Earlier

“Natasha -” Kyungsoo huffed.

The feather light Tiffany 1873 Blue Box in his left hand had suddenly started to feel like a giant boulder weighing down on his entire being. The sparkle of the uncut diamond reflected in his misty eyes as her uncharacteristically stoic silence left him struggling for words. He searched Natasha’s face for a hint of mischief...he so desperately wished for her to crack a sly smile and pull him in for a kiss and whisper ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’ against his lips like they do in the movies, that he’d almost started to imagine it. It had to have been some sort of an ugly prank.

What reason does she have to turn me down? he wondered.

Kyungsoo breached the uncomfortable spell of silence with a desperate plea, “Say something!” the throbbing in his head intensifying by the second.

Did these three years mean nothing to you? What did I do wrong? Do you hate the ring? Is this not the kind of proposal you wished for? Is it because I left the bathroom lights on all night? Or is it because I forgot to wish your mother on her birthday? A flurry of questions spawned in Kyungsoo’s mind only to die at the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, but I can’t do this. I just -” Natasha spoke finally. Gingerly shifting the weight of the box onto the ebony restaurant table, she slammed it shut as if the ring had been eyeing her lecherously.

Meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze almost defiantly, she declared, “Kyungsoo, I don’t think that I could be the kind of wife that would make you happy and I don’t think you could make me happy either.”

.

.

.

Two Weeks Later

Setting your eyes on that distinct pair of Dumbo ears, you excitedly weaved through the peak hour coffee shop crowd with an Iced Americano held firmly in one hand. Slamming the beverage down on the table, you engulfed his giant frame in a back hug and squealed, “Park Chanyeol!”

His wide eyes turned into even bigger brown circles and his mouth rounded into an ‘o’ in surprise. Grinning, he got off the uncomfortably tiny coffee shop chair and wordlessly pulled you in for what was famously known in Uni as a ‘Classic Chanyeol Hug’. You didn’t know how much you missed it until you felt your worries immediately dissipate into nothingness.

He hugged you a little tighter the moment you started to pull away before taking your hands in his and stooping down to your eye level. “Shifu, my love! You’re back in Seoul?!” Chanyeol exclaimed with all the love in the world sparking in the depths of his dark eyes.

Even after all this time, it felt as if nothing had changed….you’d suddenly been whizzed into a not-so-distant ‘Gothic architecture and coffee shops’ past in which a cotton candy haired boy, dressed in a pair of freshly ironed beige chinos and a plain white tee, smiles his sweetest smile simply at the sight of you. Chanyeol always felt like home. Funnily enough, even more so at the moment.

Giving him a good natured smile, you nodded in response, albeit cringing a little on the inside. Having been President of the martial arts club back in the days, you got stuck with an ingenious moniker “Shifu” which you clearly couldn’t shake off even after half a decade since graduation. You did a double take when your gaze veered to acknowledge the person seated opposite Chanyeol who, dressed in an ivory business suit, almost blended into the background. Just the way you could spot Chanyeol’s ears from a million miles away, you could recognize those eyes anywhere and right now they were shooting daggers at you.

“OH! Hi!”

His response to your greeting was a curt nod accompanying a vague hand movement, something between a hi and a failed facepalm.

At this Chanyeol guffawed, “You two know each other?”, his keen gaze rapidly flitting between the two of you.

“Yes -”

“No -”

While gesturing you to take a seat at their table, Chanyeol slumped into his chair and pursued the conversation in a voice laced with amusement, “So which is it?”

You gave your head a little shake, signalling Chanyeol to drop the topic since his friend had made his apprehension quite evident with an unambiguous “No” when asked if he knew you. Which...wasn’t entirely untrue. Even though Chanyeol now seemed to be on the same page as you, for good measure, you deflected his question with a polite, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Absolutely not!” Chanyeol assured, deftly steering the conversation back to you, “We could actually use your advice on something but first, Shifu, look at you! How long has it been? Five years?”

“Five years!”

“Wahhh! What brings you back to Seoul?”

With a wistful smile, you answered, “Appa passed away in April...”

“Oh, I’m- I’m so sorry -” stuttered Chanyeol, immediately placing his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. From the corner of your eye you noticed Chanyeol’s friend chewing on his bottom lip and listening to this exchange with rapt attention.

“No, no, it’s erm...we’re doing okay now, I guess-”

It had been two and a half months but every time you talked about it, a black hole burgeoned right in the middle of your chest, sucking you within itself and rendering you breathless. You still hadn’t picked up the art of condoling the “condoler”. What were you even supposed to say to the faultless “I’m sorry”? Who came up with condolence jargon, anyway?

“I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch - ”

“Oh, please. You know how it is after Uni, isn’t it,” you turned to Chanyeol’s friend to make him feel a little less left out, “what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” he answered in a clipped tone while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Yah!” Chanyeol chastised him with a deathly glare before continuing with an impish smile, “He’s Doh Kyungsoo.”

“Ah! So he’s Doh Kyungsoo! I’ve heard a great deal about you!” Your enthusiasm invoked a quick cursory smile from him. Doh Kyungsoo had apparently made it his life’s mission to make this unexpected rendezvous as icky as possible, leaving you to wonder if Chanyeol had ever discussed your brief relationship with him. Ex-girlfriend meets best friend? Not an ideal scenario in any part of the world.

Chanyeol and you had gone out for a couple of weeks towards the end of freshman year until you both realized that you were much better off as friends. Despite being joined at the hip in Uni, the two of you had gone your separate ways after post-grad. While he returned to Seoul to join the family business, you’d stayed back in Milan to explore job opportunities. Messages and phone calls became few and far between and it wasn’t long before both of you had completely lost touch with each other.

And it wasn’t until you met him again that you realized how desperately you needed a friend considering everything that had been going on in your life. You selfishly wished for Kyungsoo to leave you two to catch up on all these years spent apart but clearly that was a lot to ask considering how tacitly territorial he seemed to be getting about Chanyeol.

“So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” you asked in another feeble attempt to water down the rancour.

Chanyeol’s features flared into a bashful smile but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, Kyungsoo held a hand up to him and insisted, “Allow me to spare you the blushes,” before starting to explain the situation in an uncharacteristically eager tone, “This idiot is getting married in three months -”

Boisterously thumping Chanyeol’s back, you showered him with congratulations which he accepted with a shy ‘thank you.’

Kyungsoo continued, “- and we have a road trip planned for next month. As per the pact -”

Head tilted to the side, you shot, “What pact?”

“Some stupid pact that I have no memory of - ”

“That you conveniently have no memory of!” interrupted a salty Chanyeol.

Kyungsoo grimaced. Rubbing the corner of his eye, he continued with a heavy sigh, “It was supposed to be the three of us...Chanyeol, me, and our school friend Yixing.”

“Oh, okay?”

“So Yixing fell off a tractor and broke his back -”

“Oh, my gosh!” You exclaimed.

Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open. “I wasn’t there but I’d bet my ass that’s exactly what he said at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait, wait, slow down, why- how- a tractor?”

“He quit his CEO position to become a full time….farmer,” deadpanned Kyungsoo as if it was the stupidest thing Yixing could’ve done which rubbed you up the wrong way and coloured your otherwise neutral expression.

“He basically did what Kyungsoo doesn’t have the balls to do,” quipped Chanyeol, lips stretched into a gremlin-like grin. Kyungsoo returned his jibe with a strike to his arm causing him to let out a dramatic wail thus inviting the attention of everyone around you.

But none of it deterred Kyungsoo. He continued nonchalantly as if presenting a well crafted business proposal, “Since one of us is unavailable it only makes sense to postpone the trip and that’s exactly what I’ve been asking Chanyeol to do but he just won’t listen.”

“You’re getting married in three months and you’re taking this road trip next month. Will you be left with enough time for wedding planning?” you reasoned with Chanyeol, well aware of the kind of family he belonged to and the kind of weddings these families planned.

“Mr. Park here was way too eager,” Kyungsoo butted in.

“Shut up, Kyungsoo!”

“Wahhh you must really love her ~ ,” you sang, moon-eyed.

“Clearly. He couldn’t even wait for the rest of us to finish singing the birthday song for his Eomma.”

“What?”

“Yeah! He popped the question to Aera right in the middle of it.”

“WHAT!”

“That’s a story for another day,” replied Chanyeol in an atypically calm tone, “but you’re right, Shifu, it’s not enough time and that’s why I’ve been asking this idiot to just -”

“All reservations are for three. It logistically makes more sense to reschedule,” declared Kyungsoo with a hint of finality in his tone.

It didn’t. It definitely didn’t make more sense to reschedule but as gullible as Chanyeol was, he said nothing to counter Kyungsoo’s illogical argument.

“Are you sure your friend Yixing would be okay with it, Yeollie? I’m sure you can wait for him to get better and -”

Firmly setting his jaw, Chanyeol looked you square in the eyes and stated, “It's now or never.”

Kyungsoo stole a glance at you and cleared his throat, hesitance betraying his voice when he spoke again, “Chanyeollah, you’re only getting married stop talking like you’re terminally ill.”

Chanyeol's expression softened to convey an implicit plea causing you to tweak your suggestion, “The two of you can still go? I’m sure Yixing won’t mind.”

But Chanyeol hit you with an unexpected proposal. He asked, “Do you want to come?”, in a tone that was way too serious for a road trip.

“What? No!”

“Why not? You’re here and - “

“- and Yixing’s not,” interrupted Kyungsoo.

Ignoring the sarcasm in Kyungsoo’s voice, you turned Chanyeol down gently, “No, Yeol, it’s just- it doesn’t make sense, bub.”

“Why not? We leave in a month and that’s plenty of time to get all your travel docs in order -”

“Travel docs? You mean….insurance?” You asked hesitantly.

“Yeah! Insurance...you won’t need a visa, though.”

“Visa? Yeah, obviously I won’t be needing a visa. Why would I need a visa for a road trip?”

Chanyeol slapped his forehead and wondered aloud, “Oh, shoot! We didn’t tell her, did we?”

Kyungsoo gave his head a little shake, prompting you to ask, “Tell me what?”

“It’s a road trip through uhhh northeastern Spain -”

Chanyeol’s elaborate account of the itinerary was drowned in the whirlpool of emotions that erupted within you at the mention of the country. That part of your life you had locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of your consciousness now stared you straight in the eyes, forcing you to acknowledge a reality far too jarring for your fragile state of mind. You took a sip of your long forgotten beverage to centre yourself but it didn’t take a genius to know that something was up.

Placing a hand on your head, he asked softly, “What is it, Shifu? I understand if you can’t leave Eomma alone at this point...”

“It’s not Eomma,” you took another sip of the drink to fight the lump in your throat, “Eomma is - Eomma is in Bucheon, visiting her sister. For I don’t know how long but...long.”

“Is it work?” contributed Kyungsoo.

“I quit my job,” you answered and he looked at you as if you, a total stranger, had just asked him his body count.

Chanyeol took your hand in his and reiterated, “Come, then? You need this.”

Your gaze bounced between the two men who wore the exact same expression in expectation of two entirely different answers. And whatever you chose to say next, you were sure to disappoint one of them.

Eyes unfocussed, a deafening ringing echoing in your ears, you declared softly, “I need this,” with a million unpleasant scenarios running through your head, making you sick to the stomach.

Chanyeol pulled you in for a bear hug. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and let out a deep, disappointed sigh.

[firelxdykatara]

I would actually be really genuinely interested to read your defence of Makorra. I’ve never really been partial to any of the TLOK ships but I know that one gets a lot of hate (even though I don’t see anything wrong with people shipping it) and I’m just curious to see your take.

I've been sitting on this a bit, because it's been a while since I actually sat down and thought about what it is I love so much about Makorra--the fire/water and slap-slap-kiss/BST energy aside--and it reminded me that I actually rewatched the first three episodes of LoK not that long ago (which is when I had my revelation about Equalist Asami, and how I think that the Equalist Mako and Korra fight in episode three was originally meant to be Asami's true introduction to the show, to be revealed when it became clear she and her father were Equalists), because of this meta by @devildogdemon on episode three that reminded me just how much those early episodes made me love Makorra well before the love triangle crashed onto the scene and everything went tits up.

I've spoken before about how what I really loved about Makorra was the potential:

I personally loved Makorra, but I loved it for what it could have been, not what it wound it actually being in the show–but that’s because the love triangle was sloppy as hell and poorly handled, and it took the place of actual bonding for the krew and development of their individual friendships.

This still holds true, and I think the foundations were all very well laid out in the meta that I linked above.

When Mako and Korra had time alone together, and were in a stressful situation, they worked incredibly well together, despite the way their personalities--Mako a bit staid and stoic, used to shoving down his emotions so that he could be the parent his little brother needed and, as a result, never learning how to process how he felt in a healthy manner, while Korra spent her whole life among adults and as a result never really learned how to just be a kid, or how to relate to others her own age, so she is brash and reckless and does what she thinks is necessary because she's never been around people who had to ask permission before they just Did Things and hey, she's the avatar, shouldn't she be the one everyone is looking to for leadership???--tended to clash, especially early on.

They slid almost effortlessly into the Battle Couple trope when it came time to fight--to try and get Bolin back, and to protect one another--and those scenes in Book 1 feel a lot like Zuko and Katara training together at the end of book 3, covering each other's blind spots and accomodating for each other's weaknesses. This is also, incidentally, the episode where Korra winds up wearing Mako's scarf--the one memento he has from his parents, who were killed when he was a child. Sound familiar?

-insert image of katara's necklace around zuko's wrist here-

And before anyone gets on me about the parallels, I'm not saying that Makorra is the same as Zutara (although if you told me that Bryke intended it to be, I'd believe it--either because they thought they were finally giving the shippers what they wanted or, more likely, they wanted to show why they believed zk would never work), but the parallels do exist, and it's largely because Mako occupies the same position within the krew that Katara does within the gaang. They also have the BST and the banter more than any other relationship in the krew, so of course they're going to wind up paralleled to the relationship in the gaang that had the most narrative tension. They are still, at the end of the day, very different relationships, because Mako and Korra are very different people than Zuko and Katara.

But I'm just saying, the symbolism of one half of the pair wearing the other's only physical link to their dead parents........it's there. I didn't make this up.

They also, again like zutara, have this moment of emotional closeness and vulnerability early in the book--in episode 3, where Mako reveals to Korra what happened to his parents and why he had history with the triads, which casts some light on why he acted the way he did in the very first episode (I've seen people getting on Mako's ass about how 'mean' he was to Korra, but like, a) he was very calm about it, and b) how else would you expect someone who lived hand to mouth on the street for an entire decade to react to someone claiming they had 'nothing' in the same breath as admitting that they'd never had to want for anything in their entire life?), and allows them to become closer emotionally--as friends and potentially more, given the explicitly romantic framing of the interaction and several others throughout the episode.

Ultimately, what initially drew me in to Makorra was that slap-slap-kiss/Belligerent Sexual Tension they had in the beginning of book 1, but what really makes me think of what they could have been is the way their relationship developed in episode 3 and the groundwork that was laid for a slow-burn there, rather than Korra deciding she was in love with him just in time for Asami to crash into the scene and nab him first.

(Incidentally, had Asami been an Equalist like she was originally supposed to, this could all have been part of a larger plot and Korra could have slowly come to realize what Mako meant to her while examining the things she felt when she saw him with Asami--meanwhile, all of their relationships could have been given room to breathe and grow, especially if Bolin's puppy crush on Korra were dropped, and Mako and Korra clashing over Korra's suspicions of Asami wouldn't have been quite so ugly if both of them were proven just a little bit right. And then allow for that betrayal to shake the foundations of the krew before Asami works her way back into their good graces, and Mako and Korra don't get together until they've navigated the fallout from that and discovered how much they really mean to each other.)

Uh... yeah, I rambled for days, hopefully I answered your question adequately! I just. I really love Mako, and I really love what he and Korra could have been to each other, and I really love who Korra could have become if the show let her actually grow organically instead of giving her Character Development Through Brutal Torture, and all of that has I guess kind of sunk into a ball of how the show would look if Makorra were done better to me lol.

[lovemesomesurveys]

**Hey, guys. Finally attempted a survey. Sorry about the formatting, which I’m going to assume is messed up but I took it on my phone via Bzoink and copy and pasted it that way, sooo 🤷‍♀️ Also, if you saw my accidental, non-survey reblogs earlier, those were for my other account. I’m not turning this into another blog, haha. Surveys only.**

who was the last person you kissed?: Joseph. That was almost a decade ago…

current mood?: Very frustrated, irritated, and in pain.

what can you hear?: The TV and all the noisy hospital sounds.

what does your last text message say?: My brother telling me he and my dad are headed out for their weekend trip.

done anything you regret lately?: I’ve done so many things and being here makes it so much worse.

what did you do last new years eve?: I just stay home, get tskeout, and watch the stuff on TV with my family. I haven’t gone out or done anything else the past several years and I’ve been perfectly fine with that.

is your current hair colour natural?: Yes. I cut it super short last year and what was left of my dyed hair (which was already half roots by that point anyway) I lost what was left. My hair is so ugly and messed up now.

who's your best friend and why?: My mom.

what did you do last weekend?: Same thing everyday. Literally. Sigh. Took doing this at home for granted that’s for sure.

ever done any sort of drug?: Just weed. Unless we’re talking pain meds, but it’s a prescribed and monitored thing for my chronic pain. And things like now with being in the hospital dealing with a high levels of pain.

who are all your txt msgs from?: Mainly my mom, but a lot from my brother and my dad. Then some from a few others.

do you remember your dreams?: Very rarely and if I do, they’re quickly gone. I’ve had a few scary ones since being here.

if so, what was your most recent one?: One this morning. It was the kind that woke me up leaving me feeling very shaken up because it felt so real. It was horrible.

what are you wearing?: A hospital gown.

if you could be any colour, what would you be?: I need some color. I’m so pale.

single or taken?: Very much single.

do you like the beach?: I love the beach. I was supposed to be there this weekend… 😫

ever been so mad you cried?: Ohhh yes. The shaking kind.

if you had to be stranded on an island with 3 ppl who would they be?: Mom, brother, and… someone who knows about surviving in those circumstances ha.

currently txting any1?: No.

what colour is your favourite hoodie?: Black.

summer or winter?: Winter all the way.

what's your opinon on boy bands?: I like a few. I was a major fangirl in my teens. I consider myself one still, but more so about stuff like certain celebrities and fandoms such as Marvel and Star Wars.

are you secretly in love with any1 atm?: No.

who's the most amazing person youv met so far?: My mom. Known her all my life and she’s been my rock.

do you like hot dogs?: They’re something I’ve come to like more but for much of my life I wasn’t really fan. It was rare for me to have one, though I definitely never passed up one from Costco. Those are bomb.

do you prefer to wear shoes or be barefoot?: Shoes over barefoot, but socks over both for sure. I don’t like being barefoot.

are you currently thirsty?: Yesss. I can moisten my mouth with a little sponge, but that’s it. ☹️

what time do you normally go to bed?: I’m always up late.

are you afraid of anything?: That’s an understatement. Especially now.

shower or bath?: Shower.

do you keep a diary?: These surveys are my diary entries.

do you believe in jesus?: Yes.

what's the scariest thing youv ever done?: Gone through some very scary stuff these past few weeks alone.

ever been camping?: Nope, and I have no desire to.

any plans for your nxt birthday?: Well, not now.

what's your opinon on same sex relationships?: Do what you want.

what's the next thing you want pierced?: Nothing.

what do you think about people who put stretchers in their ear?: I just think it looks so painful.

ever thought you were going crazy?: Yes.

will next year be the best year of your life?: I pray it’s not this, but I know I have a very long road ahead. Some that will remain part of my life.

do you have any pictures of ur friends in ur room?: I don’t have any friends.

do you own any pets?: Yep, a doggo.

what's ur favourite chocolate?: White chocolate.

worst show on tv?: Meh, to each their own.

[phoenixyfriend]

A Smattering of Ideas for a Neji Time-Travel Fic

[EDIT: okay so viewing the post on dash or sidebar blog completely ruins the bullet nesting for some reason. Please open it in a new tab.]

Okay so I actually wrote the first chapter or two of this like... almost a decade ago probably, but the concept was:

Neji, upon dying, gets sent back, and he's perfectly healthy again, pretty much exactly as he was just before getting mokuton-stabbed... except the seal damage wasn't reversed, so he's blind.

I think he ended up like riiiiiight before the Hyuuga Incident, so about of age with Kakashi & co.

But yeah like imagine telling Hiashi about it.

We have a new Jounin! It's a blind Hyuuga.

His seal is gone! He's technically your nephew.

He needs to be retrained for blindness! He needs to be protected for the information he carries.

He's a time-traveler!

Have fun.

The Hyuuga clan has like a million things going on but future Neji is just finding his younger self and Hinata to cuddle them.

He can't see shit but he Needs To Hug Baby Hinata

She's so small? She needs to be protected?

"Sir, you're blind now." "If Lee can be a ninja without chakra, I can be a ninja without eyes." "Sir. Sir that's--that's not the same thing, you can't--SIR." "I'll ask Hatake for advice." "He's still got half of his--SIR!"

Neji is a genius, if there's anyone who can pivot their entire fighting style from "I can see everything" to "I don't need to see anything" it's someone like him. Especially with the "I need to protect all these smols and be strong enough to force people to take my advice seriously if necessary" motivation

BUT But But for the first few days, it's just like. Sir. I understand you want to protect this small child, but you walked into three walls in the past hour. Please st--sir.

Fun option is "Neji spills all the beans... to Hiashi, not the Hokage."

Hiashi: Okay so like. Give me a few days to come up with a cover story for your existence. Neji: That's fair. Hiashi: Do. Do you want me to send in Hizashi or...? Neji: I'll tell him the truth if you do. Hiashi: That's, uh... that's fine. Neji: Then yes. Please. Hiashi, thoroughly unnerved for a variety of reasons: Right. I'll go do that.

Relevant: "Stop trying to convince me to put the Caged Bird Seal on a man who is already blind."

Since that's the ostensible reasoning of the seal, and like. You can't make that argument about keeping the eyes safe when the eyes don't... work.

Courtesy of @firebirdeternal​, along with a bunch of other stuff but especially this:

ooooh feels moment: Neji starts his retraining to become Strong Enough without his eyesight, guess who sees him working his ass off to overcome a disadvantage and thinks "Oh, there's a person I should Be Friends With!"

Part of me just went "Gai gets injured on a mission and, while waiting out his medical leave, gets assigned to Neji as a guide/sparring partner"

Or, well, not assigned. He's just doing one-armed pushups in the training yard with a cast on half his limbs after breaking out of the hospital and zeros in on Neji like "Ah yes, medically inadvisable training, a Bonding Activity!"

Neji goes from "I can see everything" to "I can't see shit but if you're within arms reach you're fucked"

A lot of it comes down to Neji building up non-Byakugan sensing abilities, I think?

It won't help him read, but it'll sure help him avoid getting punched.

I think that's really the crux of his New Style, however he works it out, instead of having this Massive Range of perfect perception he just trains his other senses until he still has that perfect perception effectively, just in like a two foot radius around his person

and then he goes full Rock Lee and trains speed and reaction time until that two feet is enough

I want Daredevil-style bitchiness at some point, in the "Okay, I'm sure the contract is lovely, but do you have it in braille, perhaps?" sense

And Toph-style stuff

Genma, in the Jounin lounge: "Hey guys I think I've got a design finished for the new tattoo I'm gonna get, what do ya'll think?" 'holds up scroll' Kakashi: "Why would you get a tattoo of an ugly couch?" Genma: "It's not an ugly couch it's the Hokage Monument!" Neji: "It looks perfect to me" Genma: "Thank you! I worked really hard on-..... why do you feel the need to do these things."

Also I want Neji to have the same approach as Matt to a cane. He can make do without it, but it sure does make his life easier when he's off-duty.

Like, yes if he focuses his entire, highly trained person, on perceiving his surroundings, he can sense his way around. But that is very tiring

Like that is a lot of work to be doing, when you are just trying to get to the coffee shop for a bagel

Neji learns Sage Mode solely because he wants to be able to tree-hop again

Neji visits Kakashi like "I can't ask the Inuzuka for this because their dogs are clan-specific, but do you know where I can find a guide dog that can double as a ninken in the field?"

Neji asking Gai to help him pick out a feminine yukata because if ANYONE is going to not judge...

Listen I'm just really invested in what Naruto SD told us about how often Neji cross-dresses

Someone asked me which summons Neji learns Sage Mode from, and 

I mean, Hashirama supposedly just. Learned it? Without summons?

So maybe Neji does that and just learns from Jiraiya or something

Though it's not... particularly safe.

Birdie had the best response

learning it Without a Summon is very much in the vein of Neji's past attitudes towards Special Secret Techniques, given that he learned the Kaiten with no help even though it was a Secret Technique of the Hyuuga.

"I know it's possible to do, so the hard part is already over, the rest is just figuring it out and doing it"

Neji: I'm here, I'm queer, I'm blind as fuck.

Neji hanging out with Gai and Kakashi is, admittedly, not that different from hanging out with Lee and TenTen

Kakashi is a bit more likely to join in on the shenanigans than Tenten was, but he's still just as available for "We're judging you" sessions

Neji, sipping tea as Gai yells: this is my comfort zone.

Neji with a white cane: This is my whacking stick. Hiashi: Don't you mean walking stick? Neji: No.

Because... what ninja wouldn't ensure that any normal part of their daily life was fit for battle.

Like if Karin can hide lockpicks in a photo and a knife in her glasses, Neji can ensure his white cane is suitable for battle.

(Going off the earlier Daredevil comparisons, I’d say this is similar to Matt turning his cane into billy clubs sometimes.)

Neji, assuming the role of Chief Babysitter for SmolNeji and Hinata, senses Lee and Tenten at the park. Nudges SmolNeji: "Go, be friends with them"

SmolNeji, watching Lee faceplant into the dirt while trying to jump off the swing while Tenten chases two boys around with a weird frog she found: ".... why"

Neji: "Just trust me"

Also consider older Neji giving baby Hinata shoulder rides

Baby Hinata is delighted by this whole affair.

More time with big brother, and a new even bigger brother? Best times.

Bigger brother needs help reading sometimes and Hinata is so excited to help. Hiashi even approves because helping older Neji read things like menus and the like is helping Hinata learn how to read, so it benefits everyone.

Consider also: Neji encouraging the smols to play with bby Naruto, a Hyuuga elder (or possibly Hiashi, but I want him to be a confused accomplice) complains exactly once and Neji exudes such a powerful "Do not test me" energy that he just kind of. Drops it.

Neji's attitude towards baby Naruto is somewhere between "They're good dogs Brent" and "I died for him once already, do you think I'd hesitate to kill?" and it depends entirely on how seriously he thinks you're talking shit about him

Neji plays with the smols, including smol Naruto, by just being the Perfect Straight Man. Just taking every nonsense thing Naruto says Completely Seriously and using deadpan reactions to chaos to make them giggle. This drifts into Feels for Naruto when he's the first adult who takes his "I'm gonna be the Hokage" completely seriously

"Of course, chibi-Hokage-sama"

Hiashi: "What.... are you.... doing?" Neji: "Ah, Hiashi-sama. Please exercise caution, the floor has mysteriously transformed into molten rock. I suspect enemy action, but have no further intelligence at this time" SmolNeji, Hinata, and Naruto: 'wild giggling as they dangle from rafters/stand balanced precariously on chairs'

Hiashi takes one step into the room and all the kids start screaming so loud he steps back out in shock

Neji out in Konoha just Causing Shit with plausible deniability

Listen. Neji is PETTY.

Someone describes Naruto as "the annoying blonde child with the whiskers, you know, the skin brat" and Neji says "I'm a sensor and have encountered no demonic chakra"

"okay just avoid the blonde kid with the whiskers"

"I don't know how to tell you this..." 

"Sir, I know you're new in town, but that kid isn't really good news--" "A child can't be news unless they're recently born." "No, I mean, didn't anyone tell you to avoid the blonde kid with the whiskers?" "Naruto's blonde?"

Possibly "Hinata's blonde?"

He just, aggressively misunderstands that any insinuation about Naruto is about the Hyuuga heir instead

Birdie said they like the idea that he uses the aggressive deliberate misunderstanding to force people to either be embarrassed by how they're acting by having to spell it out or give up in quieter shame

Sometimes Neji gets tired of being obtuse and just lets Gai do it for him

Gai babysits on occasion, SmolNeji is aghast, Hinata mostly just confused, Naruto is delighted

Naruto is just Stars In Eyes about Gai

Kakashi: this is not the excuse I expected to have for visiting Naruto but I'm taking it

[choco-mark]

A Marriage of Inconvenience (7)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: language, mentions of violence + death, mentions of drugs + drugging + drugging someone else, attempted murder, hyuck hitting on y/n, abduction, explicit sex, thigh riding, choking, bit of bruising on the sides

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 5k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

1 May

You weren’t about to say that you loved the idea of getting married to Lee Jeno, the most absolute asshole on the planet to you, but the idea was even a matter to you any longer. It was so unplanned, that was what you had thought when Mark had barged into your room that morning with a dress in his hand and a few servants at his heel, but the moment you had entered that ballroom with the dress pooling over your body in the most uncomfortable fashion known to mankind, you knew that it wasn’t unplanned: just, no one seemed to think it was important to tell you.

Jeno had barely looked at you throughout the entire wedding, and even though it felt so wrong marrying him when the two of you were in a—rough patch, you couldn’t help but feel a tang of hurt when he kissed you with no emotion whatsoever. You felt like the entire reception was a complete joke, being ended almost immediately after the actual exchanging of rings and a ‘talk’ between the two families. Jisung had given you a long, long hug, and so had your mother, who congratulated you on your marriage. 

But your mouth dropped open in the largest shock when Mark had—very awkwardly given you a pair of nice looking underwear after the wedding and also told you with so much guilt in his heart that the Lee family practiced consummation. He left you to an empty room with just the lace in your hands as you stared down at it with so much anger coursing through your veins. They expected you to be a virgin, that’s what they expected, they expected you to be pure and put out for one of their members to take as their own. You didn’t know how to take it.

“You don’t like it?” You jumped at the sugary voice, your head shooting up to be met with a shade of chocolate-colored hair, your arms involuntary scrunching in on the sight of him. It didn’t matter how many times he showed himself to you, you didn’t think you would ever get used to seeing him pop up around the palace with that crazy smirk and your honest belief that he would whip out another syringe and plunge it into your body. “It’s pretty. You know, I chose it for you.”

“Y-You what?” You choked on your words, watching cautiously as Donghyuck walked into your room with a slow sway of his hips. You would admit that he was extremely good-looking, with the thick locks of his hair and the deep color of his skin, but he made you extremely nervous at the same time. Maybe it was the way that he always looked at you as if you were prey, or if it was the way he was always wearing that cocky expression on his face, but something seemed off about him almost constantly, and right now wasn’t an exception.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” he cooed, scanning you as he noticed you were slowly inching away from him. “Aw darling, don’t be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you, it was just an innocent little joke.” His eyes were dark, searching yours intently before he sighed, stopping a good distance away from you and raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m not coming any closer. Alright? Now, tell me why there’s an ugly frown on that pretty face of yours.”

You made a face, gesturing at the fabric in your hands. “I—didn’t know that your family did something as stupid as consummation after marriage. I was just a little in, uh, shock, I guess you could say.” You fiddled with the lace, glancing away from the man.

“It’s not stupid, sweetheart, it’s supposed to be ceremonial.” You were about to scoff at his words, about to send a snarky remark back to him before his body was in front of you, his face barely an inch away as he knocked the fabric away from your hands. They dropped to the ground, your heart increasing in speed as he made you stumble backwards, your legs hitting against the wood of the bed frame. “I can’t believe Jeno even put a ring on you,” he grabbed your swinging fist with ease, twisting it behind your back as he held you close to his body. A shuffle came from his pocket as you tried getting out from his grasp, your legs failing as he banged them against the bed painfully. His nose brushed over the side of your neck, trailing his face up until his cheek was brushing yours. “He kept saying it, she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.”

There was a needle at your neck, piercing past the skin as he injected yet another substance into you, your body turning weak from the sensation as you continued to struggle in his grasp. A hand went over your mouth, clamping down your protests as his lips pressed a soft kiss to the edge of your jaw. “He doesn’t deserve you, baby,” your eyes fluttered from his voice in your ear, your back pressed against his chest. “I’d treat you so much better, baby. So much better than he ever could.”

Jeno was sitting at the end of the perfectly made bed, his foot tapping rapidly into the floor as his mind soared with thoughts. Not only had he been confused with the fact that there was a formal consummation, but also the fact that the wedding had ended nearly an hour ago. He was actually expecting you to be waiting for him, but it had been fifteen minutes into the scheduled night of consummation and he was getting impatient. I didn’t scare her away right? Maybe she’s still getting ready? But it’s been too long, she should be here by now. What if she doesn’t want to sleep with me again...I was shitty in bed, wasn’t I? I even made her cry—  

“Want me to check on her?” He raised his head at the sound of his older brother’s voice, blinking without a thought before he shook his head. “No? It’s been a while though...”

“I’ll go see what’s up,” Jeno stood up, running a hand through his hair a few times, ruffling it from its usual well-kept demeanor. Anyone could tell that he was uneasy from the way his kept clenching and unclenching his fist, and from the way his eyes were darting from side-to-side without much reason. 

Your room wasn’t too far from the room that was supposed to belong to the both of you, but it did require him to pass a few flights of stairs to get to the floor that you were on. Supposedly, he thought that you were still getting dressed or something, or maybe you had gotten lost again. Stuffing his hands down his pockets, he sighed one last time before walking down the hallway that led to your room.

Jeno knocked on the door a few times, waiting impatiently for you to answer until there was no sign of life from inside of the room. He gave another sharp rap to the wood, pressing his head against it to see if he could hear anything. It sounded as if there was no one inside, making him groan. Were you ignoring him? “Y/N? Can you open the door, please?” He added the politeness at the end, hoping that maybe it would aid in your allowance to opening up. “Y/N?”

He waited another moment before sighing deeply, trying to keep himself calm. It was hard, knowing that you were in there completely ignoring the fact that he was waiting for you outside. “Okay, fuck, fine. I’m coming in then.” His hand rested on the handle, expecting it to be resistant to his turn but it moved with ease. It wasn’t locked. “Y/N?” He pushed in slowly, his eyes taking in the completely empty room. Did she leave already? But...I would’ve seen her on my way here, right? Unless she’s lost.

Jeno’s foot was hard against the floor as he stepped forward, his head tilting down the fabric scattered on the ground. Your lingerie, he assumed, considering it’s innocent white color and the pretty pattern that he could almost imagine on your skin. Leaning down, he pulled it up into his hand, grazing over the fabric before he heard a clatter, and he looked back down.

“MARK!” 

You could feel the haze heaving over your head once again, the familiar feeling taking over you as you inhaled deeply. The memories floated back to you in less than a moment, allowing you to keep your eyes shut as you awoke. Always being drugged by a handful of Lees. Thought it would be over at least now.

Your breath hitched as you felt an arm snake over your stomach, a body shuffling closer to yours until it stopped, soft breathing taking up your left ear instead. You let go of that breath inside of you, taking a chance to open your eyes just a smidge. Thankfully, your dress was still adorning your body as you let them open completely.

You heard Donghyuck’s breath on your neck as you turned in the slightest, your gaze falling upon his sleeping figure. He looked peaceful, you guessed, but you couldn’t help but feel stupid once again for letting him into your emotions. It should’ve been obvious that he wanted to take you as his own, just the way Taeyong did, but his relationship with Jeno stopped it. Well, it didn’t stop you now.

He was so close to you, his entire body smelling sweetly of a masculine cologne, the entire scent taking up your nose completely. You felt dumb, getting drugged on the same day as you got married. Well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re part of a mafia gang.

You slowly placed your hand upon his arm, grasping it slowly to push it off your body. As you held your breath deep in your chest, you pulled yourself off the bed. Should I leave? Should I kill him? Should I like...maim him or something?

Or should I go back to my room? Jeno’s...room. I was supposed to be there in—half an hour ago. Not to mention I don’t even know where I am. All these fucking rooms look identical to each other, I could either be next to Mark’s room and three floors below mine. Fucking Lees.

You clasped your hands together, feeling the fabric of the wedding dress growing itchy on your skin. The coldness of your wedding band was still upon your finger, somewhat surprisingly as you held out your left hand for examining. The wedding band that your—husband had slipped onto you not so long ago.

Husband. That word sounded so unfamiliar on your tongue, even in the mere sects of your brain. You had only ever referred to Jeno as your fiancee before, and now to say that he was married to you would take a while. Especially since your entire relationship with him was, confusing. You knew that you were supposed to have love, the way that princesses fell for their princes and vice versa, but that didn’t even seem possible for you. Not for some girl and boy of rival gangs, there was no royalty, and definitely no love.

Yet you wanted it, probably as a guilty pleasure of your past that you couldn’t even get your head around. You wanted love so badly and you wanted someone to love you, right in the same fashion. You never thought that perhaps, maybe, you could be in love with Lee Jeno, the complete asshole of a man that couldn’t help but show his cockiness in everything he did, but also the man that...treated you like his little name, princess.

I hate this dress so much. You bunched your hands into the front skirts, pulling them against your skin as you took in a deep breath. What am I supposed to do now? Leave? Stay? Kill him? Oh, fuck, I really just want to kill him. You turned around with caution, focusing in on Donghyuck laying sprawled across the bed in a messy fashion. Donghyuck...so why’d he tell me his name was Haechan before? Did he want to hide his identity or something? With a fake name? That’s kind of...pathetic.

You tilted your head. If I just grabbed his arm, twisted it in front of his chest, and then choked him, he would be under my grasp until he’s dead. Or if I... Your eyes fell upon the several syringes on the bedside table. No, I can’t do that to someone. That’s cruel. You blinked. But that’s exactly what he did to me. 

But I’m not running away like a coward. I’m not a Lee.

You hoisted up your dress, cracking your knuckles before perching yourself on the bed, causing a slight depression on one side as you swung your leg over his torso. With another breath, you fastened your hands around his neck, grasping lightly as you felt him stir. You couldn’t turn back at that moment, especially when he was awaking, but your brain only registered the words that he had said to you that day in the red room. You won’t be able to kill me, because deep down, you know that you don’t have it in you.

“Aren’t you a married woman?” Donghyuck’s hands were fastened over your wrists, forcing your hands away from his throat with a strength that you couldn’t overcome. His voice was low and raspy, yet it was still filled with pride as he pushed your body back, making you land painfully onto his legs. “I didn’t know that you were so bold, sweetheart,” he sat up, dragging you closer by the arm until you were straddled across his crotch, sitting atop him in a position that made you—so uncomfortable. But you couldn’t move, not with his hands forcing you in place. “You couldn’t even wait for me to wake up?”

You snarled at his words, watching a disgusting smirk grow over his face as you launching your hand at him, slapping him sharply on the cheek. He hissed, looking back at you with only humor in his eyes as he whipped away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Did Jeno teach you that?” He grasped your hand as you went for his face again, forcing it down with his face inching closer to yours. “Did Jeno let you slap him like the weak man he is?”

Taking the chance, you leaned down against his neck, nudging the fabric of his shirt away from the skin to bite down hard. Donghyuck’s grip loosened, allowing you to slam a hand down against his chest, making him fall back against the bed. “You’re right,” your hands were pressing against his windpipe, his arms flailing at his sides as your knees held them down. “I am a married woman. Shouldn’t that make you—my brother?”

He scowled at the word, his leg raising up to painfully knee you in the back. You tried to keep still, but his force pushed your body off of him, nearly making you fall off the bed. “Don’t call me your brother,” his hand wrapped around your bare ankle, inching up the skirts of your dress. “I’m far from it, Y/N.”

Of course at the moment, the door behind the two of you flew open, making you whip your head back at the motion. You raised your foot, smashing it into the man’s face with a quick hit. It was Jeno, and Mark. But along with them were about three other Lee soldiers, making their way in immediately to grasp onto Donghyuck. You felt relief course through your blood at the sight of them, letting yourself make your way off the bed. However, you looked back, seeing Donghyuck struggling under the grips of the soldiers as he was brought to Jeno. From where you saw it, he spat in his face, making Jeno glance away from him in disgust as he was pulled away.

You could only imagine how...horrible you looked right now, completely messed up from being dragged from your room to this one in your wedding dress and then drugged, and then having fallen asleep on a bed next to your brother-in-law to trying to kill him. But Jeno’s eyes only fell on your disheveled figure with a sense of relief as well, his eyes softening at the sight of you...still wearing the clothing the two of you had gotten married in.

He stepped forward carefully, standing in front of you for a few moments before reaching down, pulling your hand into his. You felt yourself flinch, making him look at you with concern in his eyes before it faded, only blinking without saying any words. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Jeno’s gaze fixed upon your neck however, his other hand grazing across the scar of the puncture. He cursed under his breath, he already knew.

“I’m fine,” you gave him a half-heartened smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly as his eyes met yours again, and he mimicked your expression. He‘s not getting mad? “Really, it’s fine. I’ve built up a tolerance. And...it wasn’t heroin.” It couldn’t have been. It didn’t have the same effects. And that shit is...expensive. 

The next few actions surprised you; he pulled up your hand, bringing in proportional to his face before his lips pressed against the skin, kissing you with a sugary touch. You watched as Mark’s jaw dropped slightly from behind, making you silently giggle at his reaction. From what you gathered, it wasn’t something he did very often.

“How about,” he scanned your body, “we get you out of this dress? Hmm?”

2 May

From the way that Jeno had treated you all night, you felt like he was trying to make up for something that he had missed in the past. Every move he had made was slow and soft, often accompanied by a smile grazing his lips to show you that he was liking what was happening. It contrasted from the way he had showed up at the wedding reception with a blank face and a goal just to slip a ring onto you, but it made you a tad bit happy that maybe, he also didn’t hate the fact that he was marrying you.

It was currently the morning now, the morning of the next day and you had woken up to find yourself in a lavish bathtub leaning against your husband’s chest. It occurred to you at that moment that he had set up all of this, probably not very long ago, and had carried you from the bed to the bathroom, and laid inside with you. His arms were fastened around your torso, holding you with ease as his chin rested on your shoulder. Jeno realized you had woken up, and started to rub soft circles into your skin. “Good morning,” he whispered in your ear, the calmness of his voice sending reassuring waves through your body as you visibly relaxed under his touch. 

“Hi,” was all you mumbled, falling into a trance as you felt his lips plant feathered kisses up and down the sides of your neck, stopping behind your ear to nuzzle his nose against you. “Did you,” you tried to gesture around, but your hands only flung water into your face, making you flinch. Jeno chuckled. “...do all of this?” He hummed into your shoulder, feeling your hands resting on his thighs.

You basked in your thoughts to the silence, your mind only falling on the one thing that had been plaguing you for so long. Just his presence was already making your heart race, and you didn’t know why, but it felt so nerve-wrecking that you were sitting completely bare against him even though you just had the world’s...longest consummation the night before. He was making you feel nervous, you realized, so self-conscious over yourself with the feeling of his fingers rubbing into your abdomen with no care. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“You,” you answered immediately, your eyes widening in realization to Jeno’s laugh. You shut your eyes tightly, feeling the embarrassment take over your body like never before, tensing up at the touch.

“Me too.”

He continued placing kisses on your skin after that, silence overtaking the room as you let yourself lean back against him and relax. It was calming, laying in the warm water with your eyes shut and soothing touches being placed upon your skin. But you were still working at full capacity, your brain not registering anything that was going on. It still hadn’t hit you that you were actually married to Lee Jeno, the same man that had tested your knife skills and almost led you to slit his throat. The same man that had taunted you with his egotistical words and made your blood boil.

But he was also the man that had come to save you and your brother from your abductors, the man that had slammed you against your bedroom door and fucked you until you couldn’t walk, the man that had woken you up to his skillful tongue, the man that had exchanged rings with you and kissed you in front of both of your families, the man that had found you with yet another abductor, and the man that had just given you the time of your life not so long ago.

“Jeno?” you pronounced his name carefully, feeling the taste on your tongue as you let it slip from your mouth. He hummed, urging you to continue. You gulped, taking a short breath. “Do you—like me?”

“Y/N, I’m sorry to break it to you, but, we’re married.”

“I—you’re not answering the question.”

“Yeah, I like you,” his reply came out muffled by his mouth pressing against your skin. You felt your heart raise a little at his answer. “What about you?”

“H-Huh?”

“Do you like me?”

Yes. Your mouth stayed shut, the words not able to come out. Your fingers pressed against his thighs, maybe a little too hard because he hissed, and you muttered out a small apology. “I think I like you too,” you said with a lowering voice, your confidence being thrown out the window with your slight confession.

“You think you like me?” His hands moved away, moving to hold your sides before he squeezed slightly, making you jump at the motion. “You don’t know? You don’t know if you like me or not?”    

“Er—no, I do.”

“You do, what?”

“I do like you!”

“Good,” he shifted you around, pulling you over his legs. Your eyes darting from both of his, watching him widely as you saw a large grin spread across his face, confusing you. Jeno sat up a little, running his hands all over your body before they went to your breasts, and he cupped them. It didn’t even seem sexual from the way he was looking at you, and the next move he made surprised you; his mouth enclosed over one of your nipples, sucking at the flesh carefully. You would’ve fell back if you didn’t grab onto his shoulders at the right moment, leaning yourself backwards to give him more access.

And, it was about to be a very long morning as well. Hopefully, it would lead to more nice mornings, and calming baths after a long night. Well, you could only wish so much from a mafia man like Lee Jeno. Right?

“I can’t,” you whined out softly, feeling your husband’s cock harden against your palm for what felt like the hundredth time this day. As much as you would rather have a better set of words, you really weren’t exaggerating when you said that the two of you had literally been fucking the entire day. When Jeno said he couldn’t get enough of you, you thought he was being romantic. Little did you know that it was his high sex drive.

“Just one more time, please?” Jeno’s pleading voice got the best of you, just like it did the many times before as he brushed a piece of hair from your face. His blond hair was sticking to his head from the amount of sweat that the two of you swapped and shared and stuck into each other, and you were nearly drenched in it as well. Not to mention, you were a wreck. Your legs were this close to giving out, and you weren’t sure if you could cum again without blacking out. 

He turned towards you as he saw your eyes flutter shut for a moment, his hand moving to cup your cheek softly. “Can I have your color, princess?” Jeno had insisted that he establish a safe word system before this had all started, and it had confused you slightly considering you had never used one before, but you were starting to learn that you liked it. His eyes held concern as you shook yourself out of the haze.

“Green,” you huffed out, letting out a breath you didn’t know you suppressed, your mouth twisting into a soft smile. “Just once more, I don’t think I can take another round...after that.”

He nodded, inching forward to kiss you. His arms pulled you over his body, making you lay sprawled over him; your tongue fought its way into his mouth first, exploring him with a moan ripping out of your throat. “I,” Jeno pulled away, holding your head in his hands as he caught his breath. “...want you to ride me.”

And as much as Jeno would never even admit it to you, or possibly, even himself, seeing you get off to his cock was a fantasy that he really imagined too, too much. Seeing you cum was one thing, the way your face would looked absolutely fucked out and in another dimension, and seeing you from between the valley of your breasts while he was eating you out was another thing, but seeing you bounce on his cock with every lasting strength in your body? Now that was a show that he needed.

You were dripping already, regardless of the fact that you didn’t think you could get so wet after so many times, but you shifted down to his cock, taking him into your hand as you pumped him carefully. Your hands planted down on his stomach as you sunk down, taking him fully until you felt a moan choking at the bottom of your throat. But you, unlike him, could admit that your husband, Lee Jeno, had a very nice cock. And you were going to take advantage of it.

On top of the fact that you were already exhausted, you somehow found the strength in you to lock your hands around his throat, watching as his eyes widened in submission to your action. You could’ve smirked, you thought, but his cock had you feeling like you were on another planet, and you squeezed at the sides. Jeno, on the other hand, was about to go insane. Insane because your choking was making him tense up so much faster than he expected, and he was basically forcing himself not to cum.

Your bouncing was a mess, completely out of control and messy as you desperately chased after the high that you had reached so many times earlier, but needed once again. His hands dug into your hips, holding you tightly as you continued. “Fuck, your cock feels so good,” you couldn’t help but let the words tumble from your lips, and Jeno could’ve died in that moment. Yet his liking for your voice showed in other ways, his cum filling you up again with a soft groan. You hadn’t realized he had cum under you felt his dick softening, and you whined softly.

“You came?” 

You sounded frustrated, but he forced you onto his thigh instead, making the mixture of both your and his liquid fall onto his skin. “C’mon, princess,” he guided your hips with his grip, watching as your orgasm started building up again. “Cum for me.” This position was even more ethereal, at least according to Jeno’s view, with you rubbing yourself against his muscle with so much force that he thought you were about to cry. 

And you let out a cry as you soaked his skin, your vision blacking out for a moment, it seemed like, but when you opened your eyes again, Jeno was between your legs with a wet towel, cleaning you up. “Oh, you’re awake.” He tucked your body under the sheets, letting himself slip beside you with a kiss to your cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” it was true, but you couldn’t deny the fact that all of that was definitely the most sex you had ever had with one person. “And hungry.” Your stomach was screaming at you, yet you didn’t feel like moving. “How about you?”

“Good,” he muttered, his voice slurred; you could tell he was struggling to stay awake. “Tired, too. You were so good.” His face nuzzled into your neck with those words, holding you closer to his body.

“You were good too,” you whispered, your eyes giving out as you let your body tangle into his. “Really good—”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...”

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m hungry too.”

previous | next

well?!?!!?! this is the final part of the amoi series!! thank you guys so so much for loving and supporting this series, and yes, there is an epilogue coming out soon for a full closure kind of episode (so don’t worry too much). but please understand that this kind of character development was hard to write so...it’s also why jeno and y/n don’t randomly confess their love for each other, since i’m trying to keep it realistic (and they’re confused themselves). but anyway, thank you!!

and a special thanks to my first anon (🤡) that trusted me to write this fic, and thank you so much for requesting it in the first place. ♡

[peaches-writes]

how to appease your asian aunties ch. 1 - christmas

description: in the immortal words of wine aunts and aunts you’re not even related to but forced to call your aunt at gatherings, ‘do you have a boyfriend?’ member: jisung / han genre: fluff, fake dating au, implied rich kids au, eventual childhood / best friends to lovers au, college au, implied fem reader (but i still used they/them pronouns) word count: 7.5k chapter warning: food, drinking, explicit language, one comment about weight note: insp by a twt meme + this is my first attempt at making a story with parents having a bigger role in them omg

ch. 2 // ch. 3 // series masterlist

Though you’re a semester away from graduating college, with your own circles of friends, clubmates, and close classmates, you still can’t understand why your mom and her sorority batchmates feel the need to have reunion parties every single year. Maybe it’s the product of growing connectivity in this modern age or just simply your wide age gap preventing you from having the same nostalgic feelings attending these dinners; nevertheless, ever since your mom started bringing you to these parties to socialize with her friends’ children when you were four, you've always personally found it a bit troublesome. 

They see each other at mall sales, weekend brunches, weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries all the time—a lot of them even work closely with each other. For as long as you can remember, you can’t help but endlessly wonder in this time of year: will they ever get tired of each other?

As you adjust your coat over your semi-formal attire for this year’s dinner party, you sigh in front of the full-length mirror by your house’s front doors and mentally conclude that they probably never will. This is your 19th reunion dinner now and even from meters away in the kitchen, you can hear your mom fuss to your dad and the helpers either worriedly about the desserts that everyone in the house (and your nearest restaurant branch) was forced to bake two nights ago; or excitedly about seeing her college best friend, Mrs. Hwang, even if they literally just dragged their respective families to the monthly brunch last weekend—like she always does minutes before you leave. She always sounds like a crazed woman but you know deep inside that she’s excited to see her friends again and reminisce about the same old college memories you’ve even memorized by heart now.

It’s cute and all, maybe you’ll even end up the same in a decade or so but you swear at present on the dinner menu tonight that the more you spend your first day of Christmas break attending these dinners, the more you’ll slowly lose your mind over this unofficial holiday tradition: from your mom’s dramatic ramblings at the start of the night to the prospect of spending the rest of the evening laughing off your unofficial aunts and godmothers’ unnecessary backhanded comments and trying not to get caught in the trouble the younger children make.

It really just isn’t exactly your type of scene. It’s like family Christmas parties but with more passive-aggressive internalized drama since you’re not related to any of the guests by blood.

“Y/N, dear, come along now, we’re running late!” Your mom scolds you as she approaches your direction to the double doors, carrying cupcake caddies and cake boxes with your dad and your six house helpers. She’s wearing the dress you helped pick out last month, you observe, which is another tradition of hers. Rich people and not wanting to be seen wearing the same clothes twice, you guess. “Oh dear, I need to fix my hair in the car!”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror before sprinting to the doors and helping your dad open them. You also take a couple of boxes from one of the helpers as you all pile outside, letting everyone pass through before closing the doors behind you. 

The nine of you then head to your dad’s Ford you parked outside the house gates earlier this afternoon, loading the everything in the back of the car without much difficulty before parting ways with the helpers for tonight with the same house instructions from your mom to not wait up for the three of you.

“Bye!” Your mom waves at your helpers through the rolled down windows on the front passenger seat as your dad begins to drive away from the house. 

Once your house begins growing smaller in the distance behind you, only then does your mom attend to her hair while your dad closes all the windows and locks the doors.

You, on the other hand, lean back in your own seat, taking out your phone to pass the ten minutes travel time to one of your godmothers, Mrs. Kim’s house in the adjacent subdivision.

“Y/M/N! Y/F/N! Welcome!” Mrs. Kim greets you at her house gates with her own mini army of house helpers, kindly helping you and your parents unload your party contributions and transfer them inside her recently renovated kitchen. “Oh, Y/N! Look at you, you look so beautiful tonight!”

You smile politely through the wave of compliments and ‘oh you gained a bit of weight’ comments that follow as you try your best to not to trip over the slippery marble steps leading to the house. Contrary to what your mom has been worrying about earlier at home, you eventually discover that you’re fairly early to the party for the 19th year in a row with only half of the families already in attendance to greet you when you entered the house.

“Y/N, all the teenagers are upstairs on the second floor, by the way.” Mrs. Kim informs you once your cupcakes have been neatly organized in the caddies at the very end of the buffet table, making you cringe internally at her preferred term for you and the other older kids in the house. “Dinner is at 7:30.”

“Thank you, auntie.” You smile one last time at her before excusing yourself to go upstairs, sighing internally in relief that her son, Seungmin, has smartly gathered everyone upstairs for the third year in a row to avoid the aunts and uncles for as much as possible.

You’re not completely fond of the parties, sure, but you can’t deny that there are little parts that have unconsciously grown on you—like your unlikely band of childhood friends and your shared hatred for this particular party.

Climbing up the slippery staircase as fast as you can with a death grip on the railings, you reach the second floor in no time to be greeted by six out of the eight people you’ve sort of grown up with in these parties occupying the common area: Felix and Hyunjin having a Wii dance battle in front of the television, Seungmin and Minho having a violent game of UNO on the coffee table, and Ryujin and Yeji scrolling through their phones on the sofa before abandoning them to approach you at noticing your presence by the staircase.

“Y/N!” Ryujin calls you in as she reaches you first for a brief hug and a short exchange of compliments on each other’s outfits, as if you didn’t just meet at one of your shared class’ Christmas parties yesterday. Though all of you attend the same university, you see Ryujin the most since you’re in the same college, just in different departments. “So nice to see you again!”

“Yeah, yeah, hello to you too again.” You chuckle, more genuinely now in the company of party guests you’re actually comfortable with, before waving hello at Yeji who trails behind. 

Yeji then naturally hugs you next, pulling you a few steps away from the staircase so the two of you don’t topple over when she leans her weight on you. “Y/N, took you long enough!” She says next to your ear. “Hyunjin and I were starting to make bets if the aunties suddenly trapped you downstairs like Chan and Miyoung.”

You hug her back with equal force, a little more than you did with Ryujin, pulling away after to playfully slap her arm for the teasing comment. “I’d sell my arm first before I let that happen.” You retort as the two of you laugh. “I just helped set up desserts—mom made us do an extra two boxes of brownies and cookies this year so you better get a lot later!” 

“Of course, but only if you eat a lot of the spaghetti my mom made!” She reminds, kindly fixing your hair for you. “I missed you! You look so pretty tonight!”

Behind the two girls, the boys also greet you in scattered casual ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s before going back to their own activities. You greet them back as they acknowledge you (and even reciprocate Felix’s long-distance high five mid-dance), crossing off everyone’s names in your mental attendance list as your gaze wanders around the room.

Since Chan is busy being a grown-up and showing off his fiance downstairs, you conclude that only one person is missing among your eight friends.

“Ya, Han Jisung!” As if on cue, the missing eighth person in your list emerges from the staircase behind you as Minho calls his name. “Welcome back!” 

Jisung greets everyone back in their second wave of scattered greetings as he walks to Minho and Seungmin’s direction, purposely acknowledging you last by suddenly turning around and walking backwards to send a wave and wink your way. He almost trips over the long ruffles of the big accent carpet as he does this, making you, Yeji, and Ryujin laugh as the only witnesses.

“Oh my God.” You place a hand to your forehead in secondhand embarrassment, stifling your laughs as your best friend regains his balance and looks behind him in case anyone else saw (which, unfortunately for you, they didn’t). You can’t believe that despite missing last year’s party because of his study abroad program’s strict schedule, he still manages to do his ritual clumsy carpet accident somehow. “This dumbass, I swear.”

In front of you, Jisung only laughs it off as well. “You didn’t see that!” He adjusts his coat with one hand and scratches the nape of his neck with the other in between laughs, walking forward to you properly after with his arms extended for a hug. “Stop laughing and come here, ugly. I missed you.” 

You feign a scowl but hug him back anyway, Yeji and Ryujin slyly stepping away with knowing smiles that only you can see with Jisung’s eyes turned away. You stick your tongue out at the two girls as they abandon you and walk back to the sofa before slapping Jisung’s back harshly for the familiar insult. “Speak for yourself, you ugly. I missed you too.” You reply to his latter comment with an amused chuckle of your own. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you in person again.” He pulls away after with his signature flirty smirk, visibly eyeing you up and down now while his hands are still on your upper arms. Though he knows such gesture irks you, especially when it comes to the aunts and uncles downstairs, Jisung is the only one among your friends confident enough to tease you this way. Knowing each other a bit longer than everyone else has its perks, he’s come to realize over the years. “Look at you, all dressed up tonight. For me?” 

“Of course I’m all dressed up tonight, it’s Chan’s engagement announcement later.” You retort, swatting his hand away to adjust your now wrinkled clothes. “You’ve known me for twenty years, already; I think it’s time to stop assuming I’ll ever dress up for you now.” 

He only shakes his head, his teasing and lighthearted mood unwavering in front of you. “Nah, I really think you dressed up for me tonight.” He insists jokingly, a hand lingering over the fabric of your coat. “If I get welcome back parties like this from you in the end, should I just do more one-year study abroad programs?” 

“And leave me to fend off the aunties every other year? I don’t think so.” You’re quick to turn down, walking pass him to rejoin your group now. Jisung naturally follows along like a lost puppy, suddenly changing his mind on joining Minho and Seungmin to follow you around now that you’ve started conversation. “You owe me for leaving me to take all the ‘I can set you up on a blind date with my godchild’ and ‘are you dating anyone’ comments last year.”

The two of you sit next to Ryujin and Yeji who, without even looking up from their phones, quickly scoot away to the other end of the big sofa which makes you send pleading looks their way while Jisung laughs and gains enough confidence to sling an arm on the sofa behind your shoulders.

Another annoying thing from this yearly reunion party is how it’s an unspoken rule in your group to leave you and Jisung alone whenever you’re engaging in your usual banter. You and Jisung are the enemies type of best friend, for God’s sake. You don’t understand how everyone (yes, even Seungmin) thinks the two of you are being cute. 

“I keep telling you, you wouldn’t get all those comments if you just tell them you’re dating someone, dummy.” Jisung returns to your conversation once you’re settled, purposely placing a suggestive emphasis on the pet name. “That’s just the most natural thing to do in front of the aunties.” 

“And who would I show them if they ask who?”

“Try me.” Jisung answers smugly, earning him an eye roll from you.

“As if.” You deadpan, leaning to his arm anyway as you take out your phone and connect to the wifi. “Given your new fuckboy look to the aunties, I’m pretty sure they’ll see past that kind of bullshit, especially Yeji and Hyunjin’s mom and Minho’s mom. They’d be more convinced if I tell them I’m dating Seungmin instead and he’s already in a relationship.”

You don’t even have to look to your side to see Jisung pouting as he whines in complaint, his free hand going up to your side to shake your arm. “That hurts.” He dramatically points to his chest when you show the slightest hint of turning his way. “And having Bumble on your phone isn’t being a fuckboy, I don’t even use it to get dates.” 

“That’s not what the aunties think.” You point out, knowing just how much your aunts and uncles easily misunderstand concepts from your generation like social and dating apps. “I’m telling you, I prefer you swaying the conversation for me over you pretending to be my boyfriend.”

Jisung is quiet for a moment and you’re convinced that he’s decided on ending the conversation at this point until he suddenly twists his body towards you and challenges, "Do you wanna bet? Test out that theory?” He smirks again. “It’d really spice up this party, besides Chan’s announcement, of course.”

Only then do you look up at him since you sat down, deadpanning, “No.” 

“Come on, it’d be really interesting!” He taps you on your shoulders with a laugh, a combination of habits he always does whenever he’s trying to involve you in his usual trouble-making antics. “My mom will finally get off my back for always nagging me as a ‘fuckboy’ and our mom’s sorority friends will finally get off yours for not dating.” 

“You’re crazy.” You comment, crossing your arms in front of him. “I think I’ll just re-download Bumble too and bring someone to the party next year.” 

“You’re really taking too much jabs at my heart right now,” He sighs with a contrasting smirk. “and we’re not even past dinner yet.” 

“Because you deserve it,” You chuckle back at him, pretending to punch him on his stomach which he reacts to dramatically. “I’ve always known you’re a dumbass but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard from you.” 

Stubborn, he shakes his head in disagreement as you speak. “Nah, nah, we’ll see about that.”

And as if on cue, Mrs. Kim emerges from the staircase and announces that dinner is ready, luring everyone out of the second floor before you can even ask Jisung what he means with his words. 

“Ya, Han Jisung!” You call for him when he sprints to Seungmin’s side when the latter begins leading everyone downstairs. 

You try catching up to him but the staircase becomes too narrow for you to squeeze past everyone, forcing you to walk with Minho and Ryujin at the back of the group. With this, Jisung then takes this as an opportunity to look up at you from the turn on the staircase and send you another wink, a more confident one this time since he doesn’t trip after. 

Your ‘age group,’ as the aunts differentiate you from the younger children, hogs the extensive buffet and steals the best table in the backyard, near the karaoke machine so you can stop the uncles from singing too much of ‘My Way’ once they get drunk later on and as far away from the children’s table as possible so you don’t have to be obligated to take care of them later on. Chan, the eldest among you now, joins your table with his fiance, Miyoung, after they’ve officially declared their engagement before the buffet opened, happily handing out their save the date cards for their May wedding.

“Just remember, Miyoung, that you can literally get all your wedding needs from us, okay?” Yeji comments amidst all the talk about the wedding, gesturing to everyone as you eat and drink champagne. “Like Y/N and Seungmin for catering, Ryujin for the attires, Felix for your honeymoon trip, me and Hyunjin for the flowers and documentation, and Jisung can dress up as a clown for your reception.” 

“Ya!” Jisung protests to your left, cheeks full of steak and spaghetti that makes the whole table erupt in laughter. “Chan’s and Minho’s studios can arrange the music and the decor; my mom will probably argue with Miyoung’s mom for the locations and hotels.” 

“I can just tell my dad to hire you as a clown, though.” Minho shrugs nonchalantly, further fueling your laughter. To your right, you can even see Miyoung giggling through her glass of champagne, having given up on stifling her laughs. “It’d make good entertainment.” 

Jisung then leans over to you to turn to Miyoung on your other side with a pout and a pleading look to her and Chan. “You two are just letting them drag me like this?” He whines dramatically before turning to you. “Y/N, back me up here.”

“No!” You press a finger up to his forehead and playfully push him back on his seat. “It’s a great idea, what are you talking about?” You tease as you do so, much to more whines from him. “There’s like five months before the wedding, think about it.”

Next to you, Miyoung forces herself to stop laughing, teasingly asking Chan, “Babe, what do you think? Should we just demote Jisung from groomsman to clown?” 

“I’d very much prefer being a groomsman, please.” Jisung asks over Chan, leaning over the table. “I can’t compete with Changbin for best man but as long as I’m not dressing up as a clown I’m good!” 

“Hey, how come Jisung’s a groomsman?” Seungmin complains from across you, frowning cutely at the couple. “Miyoung, I’m your cousin! I introduced you and Chan in university!” 

“You’re a groomsman too, Minnie, don’t worry.” Miyoung reassures with a warm smile before elbowing her fiance. “As long as you can get your parents to cater with Y/N’s family.” 

The offer makes Seungmin’s ear perk up in interest. “Okay, call!” 

“Can we all be in the wedding party at this point? I’m seriously pushing it now, I want to dress up really cute!” Yeji, who sits on Chan’s other side, pleads. 

“Me too! I second that!” Felix backs her up immediately, the two now leaning over the table expectantly in Chan’s direction. “Though I’m not so keen on designing things.”

“Ah, but we have to make more room for actual relatives.” The groom-to-be in question laughs sheepishly. “Though, knowing our parents, I’ll try to squeeze everyone in somewhere in the program. Just let us iron out everyone’s contributions first.” 

“Yeji, I’ll take note of your suggestion, though.” Miyoung points at the younger girl with an appreciative grin. “I’ll message the groupchat once Chan and I meet up again with the planner.” 

Meanwhile, Chan’s last comment gives you and Minho an idea and the two of you suggest in chorus, “Get Seungmin to sing!” 

“Jinx!” You and Minho exchange winks and long distance-high fives from Jisung’s two sides after while Chan and Miyoung ask Seungmin about said idea, making Jisung pout at you. 

The general table conversation then naturally flows to other matters, mostly about the famous names you might be expecting at the wedding, but Jisung doesn’t participate much anymore, turning to you instead and asking, “Ya, are you cheating on me with Minho now? You sacrifice me as entertainment then back Minho up but not me!” He rambles in between mouthfuls of food, making you and even Minho chuckle in amusement despite the latter being in another conversation with Ryujin and Seungmin. “I just left for one year and you’re already doing this to me!” 

“What are you on about again, dumbass?” You roll your eyes with a scoff, stealing a piece of steak from his plate for the third time this dinner. “Finish your food, everyone’s done and you’re so slow!” 

Jisung then belatedly swats your chopsticks away, “I’m almost done, dumbass, stop mooching off my plate!” 

"Then hurry up, you still have to accompany me to the dessert table.” You point out, referring to your least favorite part of this reunion parties: getting attacked by invasive questions on your return trip to the buffet table. “Remember, you owe me. I’m not going in there alone again.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He replies on his last two bites of food, eating one then handing the other one to you. “Have the other one, then.” 

He pokes your lips with the last piece of steak and you instinctively lean your head away, catching the food with your own chopsticks instead. “Thanks.” You bring the food to your mouth before carefully patting the oil he ended up smearing on your lips with your table napkin. 

Across the table and out of your earshot, Yeji elbows Hyunjin and points to the two of you. “They’re at it again.” 

Without you or Jisung looking, Hyunjin looks at the two of you in feign disgust. “I know, every damn year.” 

On Hyunjin’s other side, Seungmin nods frustratingly in agreement which makes Yeji laugh. “We shouldn’t have taken last year for granted, 'no?” He sighs. “Last year was so peaceful without them together.”

“Agreed.” The Hwang cousins agree in chorus before listening to the table’s general conversation again.

Meanwhile, Jisung finally finishes his food and excuses the two of you from the table to get dessert. Miyoung waves at you politely and Felix playfully orders that you two get him cupcakes but the rest only acknowledge you with simple nods as they’re completely engrossed in betting on whose dad will be singing My Way on the karaoke machine first (everyone’s in the middle of betting on Mr. Bang). With that, you and your best friend then take your leave, going back inside the house and making a beeline to the kitchen.

Unfortunately for you, you catch your mom, Mrs. Han, and Mrs. Hwang gossiping by the punch bowls once you reach the kitchen’s open doorway—literally the worst combination of sorority aunts to be bombarded with invasive questions.

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath loud enough for only Jisung to hear, the two of you still out of the three women’s sights. Looking up at Jisung with pleading eyes, you ask, “Should we just go back later?” 

Quickly seeing this as an opportunity to get back at you, Jisung only smiles evilly and links his hands with yours, dragging a hesitant you inside the kitchen and towards the direction of the dessert table. “No, let’s get dessert now, baby.” He dismisses your silent pleas teasingly, making sure his voice is loud enough to get your worst nightmare of trio’s attentions. “Felix also asked us to get cupcakes too, remember?”

And like vultures, the three women immediately turn to you and Jisung as you head in their line of vision, three different shades of questioning looks on their faces. You especially catch your mom’s face, a mixture of surprise, amusement, and genuine curiosity for some reason, which sets all the gears in your head into panic mode while Jisung only gains more confidence from this. 

You swear at that moment on Jisung’s sort of untied shoelaces that you just want Mrs. Kim’s new kitchen floor tiles to swallow you up right there and then.

“Hey, mom!” Jisung greets his own mom with a wave, coming off as sweet to her but mocking to you. He then bows politely to your mom and Mrs. Hwang and you’re forced to follow along for the sake of courtesy. “Mrs. Y/L/N, Mrs. Hwang.” 

The three women look at each other curiously, as if in a silent debate on what they’ve just heard, while Jisung pretends to be unfazed, passing you a dessert plate and examining tonight’s dessert options. 

“Jisung, I swear to God,” You hiss at him as you take a slice of chocolate cake for him. “I’m going to kill you after this party.” 

He leans close to your ear while gathering cupcakes on a separate dessert plate, whispering, “I think it’s too late for that, though.” before your mom, Mrs. Han, and Mrs. Hwang suddenly appear in front of the two of you on the other side of the buffet table with sickeningly sweet smiles, and a million questions. 

You especially fear Jisung’s mom. Mrs. Han and your mom often go to the mall together, especially when there’s an ongoing sale, and you’ve been forced to carry all their shopping bags over the years because Jisung and his older brother usually bail on you. Though she’s very sweet, you’ve always known her to be very picky on some things and it just makes you think that she’s picky on who Jisung dates too. 

“Mom,” You call for your mom with wide eyes. “Do you need anything?” 

But she waves her hand dismissively with a reassuring smile at your question. “Oh, nothing, Y/N dear,” She answers, eyes darting almost threateningly between you and Jisung. It makes your hand shaky as you now complete your tower of dessert plates. “your aunties and I were just talking and we didn’t mean to but we saw you and Jisung so we just got curious and thought we’d ask how the two of you are.” 

“Oh, just ask them already!” Mrs. Hwang exclaims excitedly, slapping your mom’s arm like a school girl. “If you won’t, I will.”

But Mrs. Han is already leaning over the table with a knowing smile, straightforwardly asking, “Are you two kids dating?” which immediately makes your mom and Mrs. Hwang erupt into fits of giggles. “Come on, the aunties want to know!” 

“Oh, um—” You stammer out before Jisung beats you to it. 

For the second time tonight, you feel Jisung’s arm on your shoulder as he speaks over you confidently, “Y-Yeah, we’ve been for a while now!” He then places his dessert plate back on the table and boyishly rubs the nape of his neck which only elicits swooning reactions from the three women, a complete contrast from your expectations a while back. “Just some time before my program ended so it’s been a bit long-distance for the most part.” 

“Oh? But how?” Mrs. Hwang asks curiously. “I didn’t hear of you going to Malaysia this year, Y/N, and Jisung, your mom told me you didn’t have time to go home!”

“You could’ve just told me, Sungie! Then, I would’ve had you sent home earlier if you wanted to see Y/N!” Mrs. Han adds as well, clasping her hands in satisfaction. “I knew this was coming! You two have always been so cute together!” 

Your mom agrees, “Luckily, I refused Mrs. Park’s offer to set Y/N up with another one of her nephews a while back. Had I known you two were dating, I wouldn’t have talked to her tonight at all!”

You open your mouth to try and speak but Jisung beats you to it again. “We’ve been in touch: message, calls, and video calls, you know.” He half-shrugs casually, as if he’s been rehearsing the line for a while now. “It’s our first time meeting since we started seeing each other so telling you guys just kind of flew past us.” 

You groan internally but you also can’t help but sigh in relief at the prospect that you avoided getting set up by Mrs. Park again because of Jisung. Though this doesn’t completely erase your annoyance over him for putting you in this situation, you still owe him a ‘thank you’ after somehow.

So, you conclude that you should just follow along. It’s fake dating your best friend over another pointless blind date at this point now, after all. “You’re okay with this, right?” You decide to ask in a follow-up, pretending to not know that they’ll agree anyway. Next to you, Jisung’s eyes visibly widen and, seeing it from the corner of your eyes, you quickly elbow him in response before giving your most innocent look to your mom. “I mean, Jisung won’t be studying abroad now and we’re graduating, anyway, so it’s cool, right?”

Judging by their softened reactions, you feel like you could challenge Hyunjin to acting now. 

“Of course we’re okay with it!” Your mom answers first, Mrs. Han nodding along happily. “I’m glad that it’s someone I know at least and I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind.” 

You hear Jisung gulp nervously at the last comment. If you’re afraid of his mom, he’s afraid of your dad because of the one time he helped you practice for your driver’s license and the two of you almost ended up crashing the Ford on your subdivision’s club house. You allow yourself to relax and laugh at this, making him tighten his grip on your shoulder. 

“Me too, sis.” Mrs. Han agrees, gesturing over to her son. “My Jisung here’s been going on dates with strangers online before this so I’m glad he’s finally stopped and settled for your kid! Modern love, huh?” 

“Oh my God, mom!” Jisung whines, his free hand coming up to his face in embarrassment. “I’ve told you before, I use them to meet friends! Not in front of Mrs. Y/L/N and Y/N please!” 

“Ay, it’s the same thing!” His mom insists to him before turning to Mrs. Hwang and your mom. “Social apps, dating apps, they’re all the same. Why do you even use them if you’re just going to fall in love with the person right in front of you? I taught you better than that, Sungie.” 

“Mom!” Jisung hisses, cheeks tinted pink. “This is so embarrassing!” 

You snicker next to him, catching his attention. “Your mom’s right, you know. Tsk, dating people from miles away and you just end up confessing to me on FaceTime.” 

He scowls at you in a way that scolds you for suddenly turning this situation in your favor. You only smile triumphantly at him which the three aunties take as a really sweet moment. 

“Aw, look at them! So cute!” Mrs. Hwang gushes before turning to her two best friends. “Should we just leave them alone now? We’re intruding!” 

“Right! It’s especially embarrassing since we’re both here, Mrs. Han.” Your mom agrees, leading the three out now. She then turns to you and Jisung, “I guess we’ll be off now, then? Don’t want to intrude to you two lovebirds anymore!” 

You smile up to your mom, making sure Jisung does too. “It’s fine, mom, we’re going back to our table now too, anyway.”

But Mrs. Han waves her hand dismissively at you. “No, no, we’ll run along now first! See you later, okay?” 

You and Jisung bid your moms and Mrs. Hwang goodbye, overhearing your mom bragging that she’ll share this new information to Mrs. Park while Mrs. Han and Mrs. Hwang agree before the three completely exited the kitchen. 

Once they’re out of earshot, you sigh in relief and elbow Jisung harshly who responds by dramatically taking a step back and massaging his side. “Ow!” He winces, careful not to hit the dessert table. “What was that for?” 

“I told you to drop the fake dating thing a while back.” You protest, threatening to hit him with your plate of chocolate slices. “Now I have to have you at home more often. I’ve already had enough of you at campus, here, and when your mom visits at home.”

“Ya, but you played along!” 

“That’s because I was put on the spot! And they did mention another blind date from Mrs. Park’s army of nephews.” You explain. “It was between you and another blind date.”

“At least I got you out of another potential blind date, right?” He points out defensively, proceeding to put your hand with the chocolate slices down on the table with caution. “And more effectively now than before, too! So why’d you hit me?”

“Yeah, I know but still, that doesn’t cancel out how you got me out of that.” You frown in disappointment, taking both of your dessert plates now. When he holds his hand up defensively, as if expecting you to throw them to his face, you only roll your eyes and walk past him to the direction of the second kitchen exit. “Now, I have to fake date you for real either until Mrs. Park lays off the blind dates or until I actually date someone.” 

Jisung immediately follows you suit, genuinely rubbing the nape of his neck in a bashful way now. “We don’t have to, maybe they’ll forget about it.” But when you give him a pointed look, as if suggesting that what he just said seems unlikely, he ends up suggesting, “Okay, fine, should we break up after Chan’s wedding, then?”

He then glances over at you to see you contemplating and calming yourself down so he instinctively insists on carrying the dessert plates for you, walking a little bit ahead as well and opening the screen door leading back to the backyard. 

When you’ve made yourself calm down and think more rationally, you firstly point out, “That’s too far away and wouldn’t that be too scandalous? It’s a big event so it could become gossip.” 

Passing the entire length of the backyard now, you receive a few congratulations and questions confirming your relationship from some of your mom’s sorority friends and their husbands, forcing Jisung to hold his thought until you’re not being swarmed again. 

“But if we do it before, it’d be too suspicious since we’d only be dating for less than 6 months.” He counters once the adults have left you alone, glancing ahead and seeing your entire table looking at you with quirked up eyebrows and comically intimidating looks. “Remember when my older brother did that as a joke to the aunties and got caught because they only did it for 3 weeks? They smell fear and deceit, Y/N.”

You sigh in defeat, “Let’s just figure it out later.” With that, you reach your table, setting your plates down and asking, “What did we miss?”

Judging by the way they eye you, your mom has probably told Mrs. Kim who’s gone table to table. 

“It’s fake, isn’t it?” Ryujin speaks up once you’ve settled back in your seat, making the table break character and laugh. “It can’t be a coincidence since you two were just talking about that a while ago inside!” 

“Please be fake.” Seungmin adds, gesturing to you and Jisung. “It’d be more annoying for all of us next year if it’s true.” 

You and Jisung, having the same thought and trust for your friends, nod simultaneously at Ryujin’s question, eventually joining in on the laughter. 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’d actually try that!” Ryujin cackles, a clear giveaway that she and Yeji were eavesdropping on you and Jisung a while back to a degree.

“To be clear, though, it’s his fault!” You add in between laughs for clarification, pointing to Jisung with your dessert spoon. “He started it!” 

“And they were about to get set up on a blind date by Mrs. Park again.” Jisung gestures to you back, completing the thought. “I was being a good Samaritan.”

“Ooh, and what did they say?” Felix asks curiously, one elbow propped up on the table as he listens intently. 

Jisung groans in exasperation as he eats his chocolate cake. “We bumped into my mom, Y/N’s mom, and Mrs. Hwang so you can imagine how they reacted.” 

“I can imagine, especially our mom.” Hyunjin sighs with his hands carding through his hair in secondhand embarrassment. 

“At least now we know where you inherited certain qualities from.” Chan teases, making the younger boy exclaim ‘ya!’ at him. 

“This is good, though isn’t it?” Yeji asks curiously over her iced tea. “I mean, Mrs. Park’s wouldn’t set you up on blind dates now.”

“Yeah, but that leaves me as Ms. Park’s only target!” Ryujin moans in frustration. “You know Mrs. Park doesn’t get convinced with dating people online!” 

You shake your head at Ryujin’s complaint. “Yeji can fake date you, though.” You point out, much to the girl’s annoyance. “Or ask out that girl from our lab.”

“So, does this mean we’re getting a dramatic break-up at Chan and Miyoung’s wedding?” Hyunjin interjects, having moved from playing with his now long hair to his glass of champagne. “Because if so, then you better tell us now so we won’t get too drunk at the reception until it happens!”

“I honestly want to see that happen too.” Seungmin agrees, the two high-fiving at the thought.

“That’d be interesting, breaking up at weddings.” Minho chuckles along now too. “People usually propose or hook-up so this is new.” 

“Hey, no stealing my spotlight on my wedding!” Miyoung complains playfully to you and Jisung this time. “We’re all supposed to have a good time there!”

Chan nods in agreement. “If you break up at our wedding, you’re getting kicked out.” 

So you shake your head reassuringly in between eating cupcakes. “We aren’t planning to.” 

“You’re going to date for real?” Felix asks teasingly, earning him a glare form you.

“Gross, no.” You and Jisung turn down the thought in chorus.

“Jinx.” Jisung adds, stealing a spoonful of cake from your plate.

“So when are you breaking up?” Chan asks, leading the whole round table to look back to you. 

“Whenever, I guess.” You shrug casually, belatedly swatting Jisung’s hand from your plate this time. “Until Mrs. Park gets off my back and Jisung actually stops fucking around on Bumble.” 

“I don’t fuck around on Bumble!” Jisung complains over a mouthful of chocolate cake.

“Well, that’s going to take a long time.” Chan dismisses. “At least let us all know so we can schedule faking a whole drama in this group.” 

“Anyway, it’ll die down soon, surely.” Jisung assures with a half-shrug. “Also, our parents only meet up constantly during this reunion party. If anything, we just have to fake date in front of our moms since they meet up more often.” 

“And Mrs. Hwang.” You point to Hyunjin and Yeji. “Since we all go to brunch once a month.” 

At the mention of the monthly brunch, Yeji’s eyes widen. “Does that mean Jisung has to be at our monthly brunch?!” 

“Oh, ew!” Hyunjin adds in disgust. “I’ve had enough seeing you at campus already!” 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Jisung exclaims back in complain. “I doubt I’d get invited to that, we’re supposed to be dating not getting married!” 

Jisung turns to you expectantly, sighing in relief when you say, “That seems unlikely, it’s my mom and Mrs. Hwang’s thing, anyway. It’s not the Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner brunch.” 

“It better be!” Hyunjin says with crossed arms. “Hopefully our moms don’t get that kind of idea.”

You quietly agree. Having Jisung on your monthly brunch with the Hwangs would just cause so much trouble and cement him in your mom’s good graces—but as your boyfriend, this time.

That’s probably not good. 

The party officially ends some time around 3 AM, when most of the parents with elementary school children have gone home hours earlier and, besides the Kims, it’s just your family, the Hwangs, the Hans, Chan, and Miyoung left at the front gates, bidding each other goodnight.  

“Thank you for having us again, Mrs. Kim.” You bid Seungmin’s family last since they’re the hosts, bowing politely to Seungmin’s parents before giving Seungmin a high-five. 

“See you after break.” Seungmin greets you after your high-five. “Have fun in Japan.” 

“And you enjoy your trip to New York.” You reply with an enthusiastic smile. “I do hope your mom reconsiders staying longer so you can spend the New Year there.” 

He nods with a sigh, “Yeah, I know. Still, I’ll try my best to convince her.” 

Your mom then approaches the two of you, bidding Seungmin and his parents goodnight before taking you away by the arm then turning you towards the direction of Jisung and his family. “Goodnight, Seungmin, Mr. and Mrs. Kim!” She smiles warmly to them before turning to you. “Y/N, aren’t you going to say goodnight to Jisung?” 

“I already did.” 

“Ah, but go to him anyway! Your dad still has to start the car.” 

You groan internally. After a whole night of drinking, singing, and gossiping with her friends, you’d think that she would’ve forgotten about earlier. 

Yet you oblige anyway, excusing yourself from your parents and approaching Jisung whose parents are busy having last-minute small talk with Chan and Miyoung, probably endorsing their chain of hotels as early as now for the wedding. 

“Hey, ugly.” You greet him casually as you approach, both your parents out of earshot so the old nickname naturally comes out. At this, Jisung immediately turns from scrolling through his phone to looking up at you with wide eyes. “My mom didn’t see us say goodnight a while ago so I’m here.” 

“Oh,” He muses, eyes flitting to your mom behind you once. When he sees her glancing expectantly, he turns to you and suggests, “Should we hug?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” You sigh, going straight into his extended arms. “‘Night.” 

“’Night, baby.” Jisung hums gently, too sleepy now to throw more witty comebacks besides the cheesy pet name that originally got you in trouble tonight. “See you after the break.” 

“No, see you on our moms’ next shopping spree.” You correct firmly, pulling away from his warmth before you could accidentally fall asleep on him. “Since we’re ‘dating’ now, you’re morally obligated to attend shopping bag duty now, too.” 

This makes Jisung sigh in defeat, “Fine, fair enough. See you on our moms’ next shopping spree, then.” He pauses for a moment then asks, “The day after New Year, right?”  

“Yeah.” You confirm with a nod when you catch him pouting, “You started this so don’t pout now.” 

“I know, I’m regretting it now.” He rolls his eyes with a scoff, only making you chuckle. “I suppose it’s different when we hang out as friends and when our moms think we’re dating.”

You continue laughing anyway until a thought crosses your mind and softens your gaze up at Jisung. “Anyway, thanks for saving me from another date—I almost forgot. The means is still annoying but I have to appreciate it somehow, right?” 

This time, it’s him chuckling, “Now you appreciate my efforts. See, I told you, something good comes up with this.” 

“Whatever.” You dismiss before you hear your mom calling for you as your dad pulls up in front of the Kim’s gates. “Okay, that’s me. Bye, ugly!” 

“Hm, bye!” With a final wave, Jisung then sees you off before joining his parents who he didn’t even realize have already gone to their car. 

Seating himself at the backseat of his mom’s car a moment later, Jisung accidentally glances over to his mom from the rear view mirror only to see her wiggling her eyebrows at him. 

“So,” Mrs. Han says. “you and Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Jisung response with a questioning tone. “Me and Y/N, what about it?” 

Mrs. Han only shrugs from the driver’s seat as she now drives away from the Kim’s house. “Nothing, you’re just both really cute.” She comments casually with a proud smile. “I like it. Though it is too bad we can’t invite them to dinner since they’re going to Japan for Christmas this year.” 

“How about next year?” Jisung’s dad suggests. “We can go on one of our hotels abroad.” 

“Ah, but—” Jisung stammers, only to be interrupted by his dad again.     

“Or, honey, when you and Mrs. Y/L/N go to the mall again.” Mr. Han quickly quips in to Mrs. Han before turning to their son in the back seat. “I expect you’d stop bailing on your mom when she goes to the mall now since Y/N’s always at these shopping trips.” 

At this, Jisung shakes his head, “I won’t. I’m ‘morally obligated’ now, apparently.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Han says, turning back to the road ahead and relaxing into the front passenger seat. “You better.”

Jisung sleepily props his elbow up by the window and sighs, letting his parents enjoy this new prospect of him seriously dating someone now. “Yup.” He ends the conversation, closing his eyes and getting a few minutes of sleep before arriving back home. 

Suddenly, this is probably not a good idea—lying to his already hyped parents. 

ch. 2 // ch. 3 // series masterlist

tag: @t-toodumbtocare​ @sandaigdigan-reads​ @pwarkhans​ @ruellelix @malai-barfi @mahalau​ @milkywayfelix @qweens-stuff​

[mellointheory]

Honey and Glass

Punz had been tending bees for decades. He knew the moods of a hive, the way they could sense danger coming, the way the entire swarm would exude agitation when a disaster was near. There was no denying it: this entire town wasn’t going to last another day. The bees knew; they always did.

Normally once he entered the dome they would settle on his shoulders and arms, humming calmly as he slid the racks of honeycombs out of hives, drained the honey, and filtered it. Today, however, they refused to even come near him. Half of the entire hives’ population seemed to be flying over his head, bumping against the dome, crawling against the seams between the glass and the wood beams that supported it. They knew it wasn’t safe here anymore.

Punz had no reason not to trust their judgement. He opened the doors of the dome, standing aside and waiting for the insects to realize that their way out was open. They poured out past him, wings sending the air abuzz, taking to the skies en masse. No sympathy or goodbyes from them, they just wanted to survive. He hoped they thrived without him.

He’d had dozens of hives over his lifetime; he could always find another. He was an expert in leaving things behind. All he needed were a few possessions.

The white hood Bad had given him a few years ago. The gold chain he’d received as a status symbol in a cult once, back before he’d even stopped aging. A leather rucksack full of the honey he’d collected from his bees previously and hadn’t brought to the market yet.

The market…

Punz didn’t know the people in town very well. He’d come to this far-flung forest a few years back, after a little bit of a mixup with a disgraced king. It was only ever a place to sleep off his wounds, lay low for a couple decades, take a break and let himself be forgotten before he returned to mercenary work. He never saw any of the residents except when he went to town every few months to sell his honey and buy the foods he couldn’t grow out in the woods.

Considering they possibly were going to die soon, he may as well give the honey away for free.

The marketplace was busy. It always was at this time of afternoon; familiar vendors behind their stalls while the attendees wandered and bargained and shouted. Pumpkins and corn and potatoes, jewelry brought from distant lands, homemade alcohol that felt like a kick to the teeth. Punz found himself a quiet corner and sat cross-legged on the ground, opening up his rucksack and laying bottles of amber honey on the cobblestones in front of him.

He let his mind wander as he sat there. Occasionally someone would come by, inquire the price, and upon hearing it was free take as many as they could hold. Maybe he should have warned them.

Maybe, maybe, but Punz hadn’t lived this long by looking out for others. He would give them the fruits of his work for the past few years and then he would move on, out of here. Getting attached to people who would inevitably die was never a good idea. Bad would disagree with him, of course--the demon was one of the nicest people Punz knew, ironically--but Bad wasn’t here and Punz was.

A flash of color caught his eyes amid the crowd and he looked up. A young man was talking animatedly amid a group of four or five people. Punz didn’t pay attention to the others, but the person in the middle was hard not to see. He wore a hood like Punz’s, but cut differently and sewn together out of patches of wildly different colors. He had brown hair and fidgeted around a lot as he talked, wide movements and animated hand gestures.

The man turned slightly, glancing across the market, halfway through a sentence, and his eyes fell on Punz. He stopped talking.

Fuck.

Punz winced, immediately focusing his attention on the bottles of honey in front of him. He had no idea what about him was distracting the stranger, but making awkward eye contact in public never got any less embarrassing, no matter how long you lived.

Through his lashes he could see the man make a quick excuse to the people he was talking to and begin to jog across the street. He came to a stop in front of Punz, tilting his head curiously.

“Do I--do I know you?” The man asked slowly.

Punz looked up at him. He had green eyes and freckles, and his face was flushed from the heat. He didn’t look like anyone Punz knew or had known over the years--the social circles he ran in were more for warriors and bodyguards and assassins. This person looked like he hadn’t even witnessed a simple bar fight before.

“I don’t think so.” Punz said carefully, scanning the man’s face. “You don’t look like my type of person.”

The man giggled. “What does that mean? Are you calling me ugly or something?”

Punz blinked. “I--what?”

“I’m just messing with you.” The man leaned down, absentmindedly tapping a painted fingernail against one of the bottles of honey. He was still smiling brightly. “I’m Karl, by the way.”

Karl. Nope, Punz definitely didn’t know any Karls. “Do you want some honey?” Punz nodded at the bottle that Karl kept tapping.

“I mean, I don’t have any money.” Karl shrugged.

“It’s free.”

Karl flushed a little bit, picking up the round glass bottle and sliding it into the pocket of his hooded jacket. “Really? Thank you.”

Punz debated for a second, trying to figure out exactly if this was a bad idea or not.

“If I were you, I’d get out of here.” The blonde said finally. “This place isn’t going to last long. You probably don’t want to die.”

Karl’s face fell, but not in the way Punz expected. He didn’t look skeptical or worried, just resigned. Punz had warned people of their deaths many, many times and he knew this look. This man was expecting to die.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be one of those.” He said softly, wrapping a fist around the honey bottle in his pocket. “It’s fine, though. Are you leaving?”

“Of course I fucking am. I don’t feel like dying today.” Punz shrugged, scooping up the remaining honey into his rucksack. He slung it over his shoulder and stood up. Something made him hesitate, though, waiting for the last thing Karl would say.

“Tell me your name first?” Karl asked, staring up at him.

“It’s Punz.” Punz exhaled a heavy sigh, sliding his arms through the rucksack’s straps. “So are you coming?”

“I…” Karl glanced behind him, at the group of people he’d left behind to come over to Punz’s corner. There was the brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes, almost desperation. Punz had judged him wrong at first; this wasn’t someone wholly unacquainted with death.

“I can’t. Stories to tell, and all that.” Karl smiled weakly. “I guess I’ll see you in a few hundred years.”

Years?

But Punz didn’t ask and Karl didn’t offer an explanation. The brunette turned and walked away, and after a brief moment Punz followed suit. He’d lost hundreds of people over the years. Karl had a story to tell, apparently, and Punz wasn’t someone to interrupt another person’s narrative.

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

The sun was going down when the earth broke open under them all.

Karl had seen it coming, ever since his new friends explained the strange rumblings underground, taken him around to see places where homes had disappeared into sinkholes. He’d seen it coming ever since he first landed here, because it had been a long, long time since he’d left a time without dying first.

There was screaming. Debris was falling too, breaking beams and rocks cascading down the side of the massive chasm. Someone below him shrieked for help as they plummeted. He knew he needed to write the screams, but sometimes he still couldn’t handle hearing the words. It was too much, too real, too sickening that the people he’d met just that day were dying with him. He would wake up from this. They wouldn’t.

Karl curled up as he fell, trying to drown out the wails. Focus on something happy. Focus on something else.

There should have been something in his head to distract him, he knew it. There should have been a face there--a voice, a smile, a touch he knew well. Memories to help him pretend he wasn’t about to die along with hundreds of others. It was lost in the fog of his head, along with a million other things he knew he should remember. There was someone out there, because he felt their loss, but he couldn’t even remember their name.

He shoved a hand into his hoodie pocket. Something struck him on its way down, sending him spinning, his entire shoulder going numb. His hand reflexively closed around the bottle of honey forgotten in his pocket. Smooth glass, curved, with the weight of liquid golden sweetness behind it. That was a thought he could handle. Honey in a bottle, golden hair in sunlight, a person who shouldn’t have been this far back. A name he did remember; a familiar face despite being hundreds of years removed from Karl’s own timeline.

You probably don’t want to die. Punz had said before he walked away.

I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, Karl thought desperately as the bottom of the chasm got closer. But I don’t have a choice.

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

Even as far away as he was, Punz knew when it happened. From his perch settled cross legged in the crook of a tree limb he could see the exact moment when the lights went out.

He didn’t enjoy death. Not even over all the years he’d seen it, all the times he’d brought it on others. It wasn’t like he could see an entire town full of people, children and husbands and wives and parents, be snuffed out and feel pleased that they were gone. He’d grown tired over the years, not emotionless.

Caring was never a good idea, but he couldn’t help wishing that Karl hadn’t wanted to stay.

It was the man’s own choice. Punz wasn’t the type of person to rescue someone against their wishes. He wasn’t the type of person to decide what was best for others. He was the type of person to watch people go down their path and let them do it, even if he had lingering hopes that it wouldn’t end for them the way he foresaw.

Punz pulled a bottle of honey out of his rucksack and yanked the cork out. In the distance the ground continued to shake, tremors as the earth swallowed up the surface.

If his hearing was sharper he could probably have heard the screams when they all fell. Thank god it wasn’t.

He tilted his head back and put the bottle to his lips, letting the honey slide down his throat. Thick, sweet enough to feel like it was clogging his throat, slightly warm despite the cool of the night air. The only thing he really had left from his years in the woods of that town--he was probably the only one who would remember them. Places disappeared and were forgotten all the time. People even more so.

Punz tilted his head back against the trunk of the tree and let the bottle slide out of his fingers, plummeting to the ground far below. It shattered a few seconds later, the tinkle of broken glass on an exposed tree root. So quiet in the night, yet somehow much louder than an entire town of people vanishing off the face of the earth.

You’ve seen things like this before, he told himself tiredly. Don’t get hung up over it.

But, as he closed his eyes to fall asleep, he wondered if Karl had a chance to eat the honey he’d taken or if he died without ever tasting it.

[shadowsfascination]

Dreams

Hot. Moist. Sweat. It gushed off him while he twisted and turned under the sheets, barely awake and still under the spell of a teasing dream. A soft sound, in between a growl and a moan, managed to escape Shadow’s lips, even with his mouth as dry as a desert.

His eyes were half-lidded, continuously blinking at a rapid speed. He gasped, clasping his hands into the ball of fumbled sheets atop him as if longing to hold on to something. His sub-conscious mind started registering the stimulus of the cold on one of his legs that peeked out under the blanket. He tugged it back under the warm, somewhat clammy sheets and a inhaled with a series of grated breaths.

“Shit… This again?”

Shadow laid his head to rest on the pillow below him and stared at the ceiling in the dark. His spiky quills pressed into the cushion, the cool cotton fabric nicely fluffing against his skin. It wasn’t until recently that he noticed how everything seemed to be the same saturated colour in the dark.

Not until these dreams decided to wake me up at the same darn point every night.

He grunted. Not only did he want to fall asleep again, he yearned to dream on that one particular dream. Shadow wriggled once more, huddling in attempt to find a comfortable position to drift off again- fast. He shut his eyes and snuggled up to the pillow beside him in the bed. A muffled groan carried away from underneath it. He was already too awake, too aroused to glide back in his dream again.

Fuck!

The black hedgehog sat up straight in a bed that wasn’t his. Ever since Amy left town two days ago for her internship, he decided he’d sleep in hers, which he convinced himself was fine… She asked me to check in on her house sometimes and I know where her spare key is hidden. It’s not like I’m doing something wrong…

In the pockets of his black jacket was an unfinished joint and a lighter- almost empty, judging by its’ weight. He opened the window in her bedroom, lit the joint and inhaled the smoke. Shadow rested his elbows on the windowsill, picturing Amy’s reaction to him smoking this stuff inside her home. Undoubtedly she’d show that cute, irresistible, agitated blush spread across her cheeks.

It had been that particular look on her face that lit a romantic spark in him. He remembered scoffing himself for the very first time after tracing the slightest affection for her. She was his friend and it should’ve stayed like that. But it didn’t and he had a love-hate relationship with his feelings for her.

Part of him despised the lack of self-discipline that eventually allowed him to fall for her, but then again: who could not fall for Amy Rose?

The young woman was simply amazing; kind, brave, strong, gorgeous, honest and pure. Hanging out with her was never an obligation to him. Even if he acted indifferent in the past, it was a mere cover. He enjoyed being with her so much that the innocent one-sided crush he made himself believe it’d become, faded over time to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of… lovesickness? Lust?

Shadow had yet to come to terms with whatever stirred inside him- if he’d ever decide to stop lying to himself. He craved being with her, even if it was just as her friend. But friends didn’t look the way he looked at her, the way he saw her, the way his mind was toyed with by her.

And lately it had gotten much worse. A feeling of possessiveness grew inside him when she told him her plans for a yearlong internship overseas. Surely she’d meet new people, make new friends, go out and meet guys. Guys who’d eventually find an interest in her. Shadow feared he might lose his chance with her forever. And yet… he’d just let her go like it was no big deal, casually waving her off like Sonic had. Along with his sigh marihuana scented smoke escaped his lips.

He looked at his phone. Nothing. His inbox was unusually quiet after Amy briefly informed him she’d arrived at her destination. It made him restless and impatient.

“I can’t believe I’m just as stupid as that faker…”

That last part was what made it so ugly. Sonic had taken Amy for granted for over a decade. Shadow had gladly been her shoulder to cry on and often told her he couldn’t understand how poorly the blue blur treated her. And now he had sunk as low as his rival when what he really longed for was to make Amy his girl and walk beside her, showing her off, proud as a peacock.

He imagined pulling her into a passionate kiss, one that would weaken her knees, send shivers down her spine. One that made it loud and clear to everyone that she was his woman. Now that was a decent goodbye! He sighed once again. She should be his!

Shadow’s mind drifted off to the night before she left. Amy went home early from the farewell-party her friends had thrown her. She had excused herself by stating she wanted a good night of sleep before her journey the next day, but asked Shadow to hang out with her in the end. Just the two of them. He knew far too well she’d do that.

Something in the way she acted that night puzzled his mind. It had lit sparks of hope that she felt the same way about him. If he wasn’t mistaken, there’d been this tense atmosphere between them.

____________________________________

 “My turn! Shadow, can you hand me that?”

…

“Shadow?!”

Amy frantically gestured with her hands to make contact with a Shadow whose mind seemed to have drifted off. The introverted hedgehog got sucked into his own mind, quietly moping and pouting to himself in his thoughts about her departure.

Blinking when he finally noticed her, she was already so close to him that it startled him a little. Sucking off the tip of the joint he held between his fingers, he instantly stiffened up. Shaking a little as he watched her, he became helpless to the arousal from the image and the prickling heat that flushed through his body.

The girl looked up to him, colouring his cheeks in a deep red, her lips still enclosing the tip. He was quickly to shift his gaze away from her, feeling she’d see right through him if he stared at her any longer.

“Sorry. I was out of it for a bit.”

She didn’t take it from him. Instead Amy let out a muffled ‘U-huh’ and guided his hand to her lips again to have another pull of the joint. Without warning she tucked her arms behind him, pulling him into a hug and chuckled a delightful laughter.

“Cheer up! I’m gonna miss you too, you know?”

“Tsk, darn right, you will!”

Amy snorted at his silly reply and gave him a playful push.

“It’s the truth and you know it.”

Shadow raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, faking an arrogance that actually fit his personality quite well at times. Amy however saw straight through his act, aware that he found it difficult that she left. Despite everything they ended up being the best of friends and she was sure he’d feel lonely and bored without her.

“We can still catch up on the phone and stuff. It’s only for a year. It’ll be over before we know it. Besides, you’re gonna be busy too in the meantime. I’m so excited for you about the project you were tasked with. You always wanted to do this stuff, right?”

“Yeah, it’s something I’m looking forward to. I’ve always wanted to work with plants. I’ll get to investigate, plant and look after all these rare species the Central City’s botanical garden’s been given after the archaeologist department found this hidden, preserving millions of seeds.”

“A nice change of pace for you, after your last missions. Promise to show me around sometime when I’m back, okay?”

“Gladly.”

“Yay! Now… I need something sweet!” Amy said when a munchie kicked in. “But already I emptied my cabinets… Argh!”

“Wait here.”

Shadow jumped off the roof they sat on and walked up to his motorcycle. Amy watched him lift up the seat and grab something out the space hidden underneath it. He jumped up and pulled himself up on the gutter with two brown paper bags clenched between his teeth. A gleeful smile instantly spread across Amy’s face when she recognized the logo on them. He handed her one.

“I put another in your backpack for your trip tomorrow as well.”

“Aaah, you’re the best!”

Amy opened the bag and couldn’t fight the giddy, happy squeak that escaped her lips. All of her favourite candy from her #1 candy store in Spring Yard was in it, which wasn’t close to their hometown. Shadow must’ve gone out of his way to get this for her and he clearly put in some thought into picking out the confectionary in the paper bag. She happily stuffed her mouth with it and heard Shadow snicker beside her.

“You’re precious.” He chuckled at her.

“What? Oh! I probably look ridiculous.”

“I think it’s endearing.”

She quickly gulped it down and fake-shyly fidgeted, trying to compensate for what she thought was unladylike behaviour. In sudden confusion Amy scratched her quills. Since when did she care about that when she was with Shadow?

She then spotted Shadow unroll a liquorish-fruity roll, her absolute favourite. Tearing the paper bag as she searched for it in hers, her face soured, eye-lids dropping halfway down. She regretted she impulsively ate all the candy in three big bites.

“That’s what you get for eating them all at once.” Shadow said.

He shrugged and put the end of the now unrolled, spaghetti-like candy in his mouth with an amused expression. Amy turned around, bent over him and took a bite from the candy string, her grin turning as smug as his was before. Surprised by the pleasurable tension she experienced from being so close to him, she giggled her unease away.

There wasn’t much left of the candy string. To bite off that last piece, she practically had to kiss him. The thought spread a burning sensation through her chest. With Shadow’s heart jolting rapidly and the blood whizzing in his ears, he slowly sucked up the candy string into his mouth to see how she would react.

Don’t think too much of it. She’s just teasing me! Isn’t she? Shadow thought to himself.

Locking her jade eyes with his ruby ones, Amy leaned in a little closer. Shadow didn’t protest. Amy bit her lip for a second, but then enclosed her rosy lips around the other end of what was left of the short candy string.

He took in her flowery scent and felt her breath gently brush against his lips, their noses almost touching. His palms turned sweaty inside his gloves. Amy’s face was blazing, its’ heat radiating against his own.

He cupped his hands around her back ever so carefully, putting the smallest amount of pressure on them. Aghast and undecided Amy sat down on his lap, one hand on his chest, the other tracing the outlines of his lips.

Shadow decided to take the leap and leaned in a little closer to bite off the string when his phone loudly buzzed in his jacket, startling the hedgehogs. Amy squeaked and quickly slid off his lap, her face and ears coloured in a deep pink blush. Shadow awkwardly hid his face from her, grabbing his phone while he inaudibly cursed whoever ruined this moment for him.

Rouge: ‘Do you really think this is a good idea?’

What the-? How’d she even-? If she’s been spying on us, she will not hear the end of it!

 _______________________________

 After Rouge interrupted them, things became weird. They said their awkward goodbyes like they’d see each other again the next day. But they didn’t because she left for her internship and he went to pick a fight with Rouge. The bat was genuinely concerned about him and what it’d do to him if he and Amy kissed and she’d leave the next day for a whole year.

Even when Rouge meant well, Shadow had yet to comprehend how she’d caught onto his secret feelings for Amy and felt violated in his privacy. On top of that she should have minded her own business.

He put his joint and lighter on the windowsill and snuggled up in Amy’s bed again. With his crimson eyes slowly closing, he concentrated in good hopes the fantasy would sprang from his mind and reignite his dream.

Come on, come on… I’m at the station, where are you? You should be here!

He whispered aloud while Dream-Shadow skated towards the pedestrian-bridge that crossed over the train tracks at high speed. He jumped up the stairs, his heart wildly pounding in his chest, hurrying him forward, pushing everyone aside who blocked his way. The strangers always delayed him in so many, annoying, different ways and every time he was left no choice but to jump off the bridge as a shortcut to get to the platform in time. Although a part of him feared, a part of him knew, he’d be too late -again. A sea of unknown, irrelevant others were standing in his way. Why is it always this crowded?

‘Move! Out of my way!’

The pod had done its’ job and Shadow drifted off into a deep sleep. His gaze locked on to something in the distance, the familiar shape of the one he was after.

‘Wait!’

He clenched his teeth and sped up, screaming to the strangers to make room for him, but his cries fell on deaf ears once more. The empty voices of everyone out here muted his screams before they could reach her.

‘No! Not again! Please! I must…!’

Shadow never seemed to get closer to the train he tried to reach before it’d fare away, even when he was skating towards it at full speed. It drained him, sending stinging pains to his sides, but he never got to it. Like his feet were glued to the ground. Soundless, hoarse, growling cries leaving his throat as the train departed and the crowd suddenly vanished, like it had never been there to begin with.

‘WAAAAIT! YOU HAVE TO WAAAAIT!’

He never mastered control over the rotten feeling, even when he knew it always ended the same way. The fact that he didn’t make it, didn’t reach her, never was fast enough… It was mortifying for him. He was the fucking ultimate lifeform and he didn’t deliver.

He pounded his fists into a brick wall and growled like a beast. His muscles trembled from the impact as he watched the train disappear into the distance. The thought of chasing it tempted him for a second. He let the thought pass on and slid down against the wall, scouring his back to the raw structure and sharp chunks of stone in it. He bled, but didn’t bother. Shadow’s chaos energy always healed him so fast that hardly anything was an actual threat to the ebony hedgehog.

He let his dream counterpart stroll over the platform of the train empty station. It somehow was always empty at this point in the dream. The sun stood low, casting soft beams of light in magnificent deep oranges, reds and yellows, painting long, dark shadows behind objects blocking its’ reach. Shadow sank down on a black, metal bench on platform 3-b, its’ many thin metal lines pressing into his skin. He rested his head on his hand, curling up to a ball.

‘I’m so stupid! So DARN stupid! I should never have let you leave like that!’ He cried. ‘And now you’re gone! ARGH!’

The powerlessness and anger inside the black male came crashing out of him when a chaos sphere ignited from his hands. It destroyed the tracks with a shrieking bang, curling up its’ irons.

‘I thought you were different, Shadow.’ crawled up a voice from behind him.

Dream-Amy’s voice scared him wide awake. His muscles soured, adrenaline rushing through his veins, his breathing irregular and his phone buzzing under the pillow. The disappointed tone in her voice hurt him badly. He seized the phone with trembling hands.

Amy!

Suddenly only seeing her name on the screen made him scared as never before, but also strangely excited at the same time. Nausea sprung in his middle.

Amy: ‘U awake?’

Shadow: ‘Yes.’

An incoming call from Amy popped up on his screen. He swiped it to the right to pick up.

“Why are you still up? Tomorrow’s your first day, right?”

“I went out with some people from the dorm.”

“O-kay... Did you- did you have a good time?”

“Sure did. In fact a really cute guy asked me out. We’re going out Friday night.”

All right. He knew what this was really about. She was trying to make him jealous, trying to make him feel bad about the way they parted. And it was a totally justified thing to do, but her act revealed to him that she wanted him to care. Shadow’s muscles relaxed again and a confident smile curved his lips.

“Is that so? Did you tell him you secretly have feelings for someone else?”

“I’m not in love with Sonic anymore!”

“Who said I was talking about Sonic?”

…

Shadow was unable to fight the amusing feeling inside him from how baffled she was all of the sudden.

“Well- I-! I can’t believe you just let me go like that!”

“I’m sorry.”

Amy shrieked with a high pitched voice when she heard the acoustics of his apology twice. She turned around, the phone still held against her ear to see him standing in her dorm room. In one hand he held a chaos emerald and his phone in the other.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Confessing how much of an idiot I am.” He pouted.

“Go on.”

“It was highly indecent of me to let you go like that and I’m sorry.”

Part of him wanted to confess everything to her, take the leap and come clean, but he didn’t. The repeating dream that haunted him since she left had awakened a new fear in him: that she was only fooling around with him that night. It was yet to be proven irrational. He felt it was her turn to say something for this wasn’t a one way street.

“Thank you. It’s just… That night- I thought you cared about me.”

He sat down next to her.

“I do.” Way too much actually.

Shadow leaned in on her, resting his arms on her legs, his lips close to her ear. He closed her in between the wall behind her and himself in front of her only to whisper: “In fact, I don’t like that you’re going out with someone if that someone isn’t me.”

Amy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She tilted her head and unintentionally tightened her grip on Shadow’s chest fur. Her lashes softly tickled on his muzzle when she blinked. His musky scent and flirting intoxicated her senses. He levelled with her to catch her gaze, internally screaming from how hot she looked in what he realized was in fact one of his sweaters.

“Heh, here I only thought I had the hots for you, but it seems I was wrong.”

He pulled her closer by the cords of the sweater. Slowly he closed the remaining distance between them, softly pressing his lips against hers.

“So wrong!”

Amy smiled against his lips and straddled him, clamping his legs between her own, before passionately pouring into the kiss.

Chaos! I wanted this for so long!

_______________

AN: This one’s long! I decided to care less and just write and draw whatever I want, trying out new styles. Here goes...

Shadow and Amy are both adults here. Where I live smoking marihuana is tolerated.

Like always: send me a note for annoying typos, grammar mishaps etc. 

[magniloquent-raven]

for fluff: "one more chapter" or "there's enough room for both of us"

it’s been 84 years............ but here u go lmao tysm for the prompts!!!!!! i used both!

CW for some brief suicidal ideation, just in case. it’s v mild but pls be careful yall (i know, this fic was supposed to be fluffy 😅)

posted on ao3

------

Billy’s life had changed a lot in the past two years. 

So much that some days he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. The scars, the state of his hair—which he hasn’t cut since last summer and generally just throws back for convenience’ sake—the stubble he doesn’t bother with most days. Small things, in the grander scheme of what’s different about his life, but it adds up.

And it’s Friday night, he’s curled up at home, and perfectly content to be there. 

There’s a steaming mug of cider on the coffee table (a scratched-up old thing that Hop left him when he officially handed off ownership of his trailer to Billy), and wind rattling the windows, and Max is asleep in the next room. It’s...cozy. 

El stopped by earlier that afternoon, Max in tow, demanding Billy let them stay because Mike was being a dick or a DnD campaign was going on too long and El’s character died a while back so she was bored, or...something. Possibly Mike was being a dick about her character being dead. Max kept chiming in with her own two cents worth but it really just made the whole thing harder to follow.

But it didn’t really matter why they stopped by, they’re always coming up with reasons to invade his living room and eat all his food and nag him about teaching them how to do fancy braids. And Max usually wanders off to nap in his room when El starts asking Billy to read to her.

Which is what he’s doing now. 

Last month he read her Jane Eyre (her idea). A week ago they started The Hobbit. 

It’s been slow going, considering how often El interrupts to ask questions, and every time there’s a song they have the same argument about him not actually singing, but they’re making progress. 

He’s reading through the weird goblin song as monotone as possible just so he can laugh at El’s disgruntled scrunchy face, and putting up with her poking his thigh with her toes when he rolls his eyes at her, and honestly having the time of his fucking life, because, yeah, saying things have changed in the past two years is the understatement of the decade.

When he gets to the end of Over Hill and Under Hill and closes the book she gasps dramatically, sitting up and pulling the ugly orange throw blanket (gift from Mrs. Byers) she’d been snuggled up in tighter around her shoulders.

“Billy, no!” 

He drops the book in his lap and raises his eyebrows at her. “It’s the end of the chapter.”

“No.”

“Yeah, it definitely is.”

El frowns at him, her whole face going pinched. “But you can’t stop there.”

It’s moments like this that almost make Billy forget she can kill people with her brain. Moments when she just looks like a kid, all wrapped up in her favourite blanket and pouting. 

And it’s like she knows that’s his goddamn kryptonite. Because those moments also remind him that she deserves this. More than anyone he knows, she deserves all the childish crap she wants, and more. It won’t ever replace the childhood that was taken from her, but it’s a start.

So, needless to say, Billy has a hard time saying no to her.

He drops his head back against the cushion behind him, staring at the ceiling for a moment—pretending to contemplate, while she glowers at him—and sighs loudly. 

“One more chapter.” 

She beams.

They’re only a few pages into Riddles in the Dark when a car pulls up, and Billy doesn’t even have time to put the book down before the front door bursts open. 

“El! Will thought he—is that The Hobbit?” Dustin comes to an abrupt halt two paces into the room, blinking at the book in Billy’s hands. All his little friends nearly collide with his back, and there’s suddenly a gaggle of obnoxious teenagers huddled in Billy’s doorway. 

“Who cares,” Lucas scoffs, pushing him out of the way so he, Wheeler, and Will, can shuffle the rest of the way inside. “Get out of the way!”

Billy is still trying to figure out what the fuck’s even happening when Steve goddamn Harrington walks in behind his pack of brats. Because of course he was the one who drove them here. Him being a fine upstanding citizen and all that. With nothing better to do, apparently. (Not that Billy has room to judge anymore.)

Suddenly the bickering kids are mostly background noise. Billy always did have a hard time concentrating on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Especially when he’s looking like that, warm brown eyes lit up with interest, and the corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a half-smile. His cheeks are pink from the chill outside, his hair a mess from the wind, and locking eyes with him makes Billy’s heart pound. 

They’ve been on good terms these past few months and it’s a special kind of torture that Billy wouldn’t give up for the fucking world.

But he doesn’t get to enjoy the view for long because—

“—the Mind Flayer might be back!”

Billy stiffens. “What?” He glances at El. She’s sitting up straight now, her eyes dark, expression closed off. 

Mike sighs irritably. “Weren’t you listening? Will thinks he might have sensed the Mind Flayer, so we needed to make sure El’s okay.” He crosses his arms, glaring at Billy. “Because the stupid thing wants her dead, remember?”

“Wheeler,” Steve hisses, and smacks the kid’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Billy grits his teeth, cold fingers trailing down his spine. “I remember.” 

The room is silent for several agonizing seconds, the kids all exchanging glances. Until Billy’s bedroom door opens and Max shuffles out, rubbing her eyes. 

“What’s everyone doing here?” 

~~

They’d all been hanging out at Steve’s when Will had a bad feeling. The same kind of prickling bone-deep chill he’d gotten two summers ago. Needless to say, ignoring it until people started dying didn’t seem like the way to go this time, hence the home invasion.

Which had been Steve’s idea, apparently. Or. His initial reaction had been to blurt out does this mean Billy’s possessed again, and it had spiraled from there. To Mike freaking out about El not being safe because she was here, to Lucas reminding him that Billy had only gotten the better of her when she didn’t have powers, to Dustin yelling about checking in with her either way because she might have The Facts. 

And so they’d broken a couple traffic laws to get here.

Billy suspects Steve feels guilty about suggesting he might be possessed, because he got very awkward when it was brought up. And he stepped in several times when Wheeler and Sinclair’s interrogation got a little too intense (there were threats of hot pokers involved).

It should have felt condescending—Billy’s a grown-ass adult, he doesn’t need someone defending him from lanky teenagers—but he can’t help feeling a little warm when it’s Steve coming to his defense. 

The discussion overall is a mess. El doesn’t have any answers, Billy hasn’t felt anything odd lately, and the lack of anything to go on beyond Will having a momentary freakout is putting everyone on edge. 

Max, who squished herself onto the couch between Billy and El, cuts through the cyclical arguing after the third dramatic eye-roll from Mike. “Guys, can you cool it for a second. We’re getting nowhere.” Her protest is punctuated by a yawn, which makes El giggle. 

“She’s right,” Steve sighs, mussing with his hair absentmindedly. “Billy and El are fine, everyone’s fine, we should all get some sleep.”

“Dude, are you sure you’re good to drive?” Dustin asks, squinting appraisingly at Steve. It’s a fair question, it’s late and Steve looks like he’s about to keel over, but Billy’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Who said anything about driving?” Max snorts, glancing at Billy. 

Damnit Max.

“Is there even space for everyone here? This place is tiny.”

“Fuck you, Wheeler, not all of us can live in goddamn mansions.”

The kid opens his mouth to retort, bristling with indignation, but Will interjects, stuttering a little in his haste, “I, um, I’d feel a little safer if everyone, you know, stayed in one place? At least for tonight?”

And that pretty much settles it. 

Once everyone mumbles their (in some cases reluctant) agreement, El crows “Sleepover!” and drags Max off to find spare blankets, leaving Billy sitting on the couch alone and wondering where the hell Steve is gonna sleep. For...no particular reason...other than…

Well.

It’s not like Mike was wrong, the trailer wasn’t built to house six teenagers and two twenty-somethings. Most of them are going to end up squished on the living room floor, and Max and El already called dibs on the couch, and...well, unless Steve wants to crash in the fucking kitchen there really isn’t anywhere else for him to go other than Billy’s room. He doesn’t even have a goddamn tub the guy could curl up in. 

And just because he’s wanted Steve Harrington in his bed since minute one, doesn’t mean he wants it right now. Not like this. 

Because like this he has to deal with Max’s side-eye, and El’s knowing look (the girl has been in his head, she literally knows everything about him), and Will’s weird wide-eyed interest, and worst of all, Steve not doing this because he wants to. 

In fact, judging by the way he blanches when Max suggests it, Billy’s room is the last place he’d like to be. Which is not really something Billy ever really wanted hard proof of, thanks. 

He’s dealt with enough in his life, he didn’t need to know exactly how repulsive Steve finds the idea of sleeping in the same room as him. 

“You’re welcome to sleep in your goddamn car if my floor isn’t good enough for you, Harrington,” he bites out, probably harsher than was warranted. 

Steve blinks at him, mouth falling open, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh my god, it’s too cold to sleep outside, Billy,” Max says, rolling her eyes. “Stop being such a dick.”

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Figure your shit out, I’m going to bed.” 

The silence he leaves behind is tense and awkward. 

He’s been laying in bed staring at the ceiling, moping and berating himself, for about ten minutes when the door creaks open.

“Hey, uh,” Steve’s voice is soft, uncertain, and Billy feels like even more of an asshole for snapping at him. “I’m just...gonna...crash on the floor. Um. Good night.”

This is punishment isn’t it. For being such a douche for so long. Now he gets to try and fall asleep knowing Steve fucking Harrington is laying nearby, sleepy and warm and out of reach. He listens to Steve shuffle around, getting situated, laying out blankets and trying to find a soft bit of carpet to lay on. Has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. Like offering up his bed. Or poking fun at how much Steve sighs when he’s getting comfortable (Because it’s dumb, not cute. Definitely not cute.).

It’s unclear how long they lay there in the dark, Billy watching moonlight cast the outlines of skeletal trees across the wall, listening to Steve’s quiet breathing to remind himself he’s not alone. That the shadows are just shadows and there’s no reason to be tense and sweating and—

Billy’s pretty sure it’s been long enough that Steve should be asleep, considering how tired he looked, so he tosses his blanket off and swipes the pack of cigarettes off his bedside table, hoping to god the floor doesn’t creak when he pads across the room. There’s no noise coming from the other room, so either the kids are asleep too or a miracle has occurred and they’re all just being really quiet. 

He slips out the side door, and takes a breath. The lake is too still, despite the wind. No self-respecting body of water doesn’t have waves. But it’s pretty enough, he supposes. Enough to make for a decent view while he smokes a cigarette.

Takes a couple tries to light up. His hands aren’t what they used to be, especially in the cold. Holding off a thirty-foot meat puppet bare-handed does that to a person, tears shit up that doesn’t heal right afterwards.

He’s about halfway through his cig when Steve joins him. Billy’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of footsteps, and he doesn’t relax at all when he realizes who it is. 

“Hey.”

Out of the corner of his eye Billy watches Steve lean against the porch railing beside him. He takes another drag before he looks over properly, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. Gestures with his cigarette and turns away again. “No shit.”

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, and he resolutely ignores it. Stares out at the water and flicks cigarette ash over the railing. The wind picks up again and cuts through his thin shirt. Should’ve grabbed a fucking sweater. Not because the cold bothers him at all, but...well, because it doesn’t anymore.

He shivers when a completely-unrelated-to-the-weather chill runs down his spine.

“Soo…” Steve fidgets, and trails off awkwardly, his nonchalance painfully fake.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches, and he raises his cigarette to his lips, a flimsy excuse to hide his smile. 

“Did, uh. Did El choose the book, or…?”

He chokes on a mouthful of smoke. Doc Owens did tell him he shouldn’t have taken up smoking again. Though he was probably more concerned about Billy’s scarred lungs and than Steve Harrington-related hazards. 

Coughing definitely does hurt a lot more than it used to though. 

He flinches when Steve touches his shoulder, pats it, rubs a little—trying to help with the coughing, presumably—making Billy’s heart trip over itself. 

Once he’s no longer wheezing he wipes his eyes, and waves off Steve’s apologies, hoping the embarrassed flush on his cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light. 

Steve’s hand stays where it is.

For several quiet moments Billy waits for him to withdraw but he doesn’t, and Billy finally meets his eyes. Which was probably a mistake. His heart skips again. He’s still not used to Steve looking at him like that. Soft and wide-eyed and concerned and…

God, he’s so fucking beautiful. Billy used to dream about getting this close without needing pretense, without having to pretend, getting to bask in the warmth coming off him and feel his breath on his skin and see something other than indifference—or worse, the hatred that came later—looking back at him. What he has now is...not quite what he wants. It lights him up but leaves him wanting. 

Another gust of wind makes a mess of Steve’s hair, locks falling into his eyes and sticking up in all directions, and Billy itches. Clenches his fist to stop himself from fixing it.

“Her dweeby little friends kept talking about it, and she couldn’t get through it herself. So...” Billy trails off, scratching his cheek and glancing away. “I may have had a copy laying around.”

Steve’s hand finally leaves its perch on his shoulder—both a disappointment and a relief—to brush the stray locks of hair out of his face. He grins at Billy, whole face lit up and stupidly pretty even as his fingers get stuck in tangles. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Billy bites the inside of his cheek. “My mom used to read it to me.” 

It’s easier to talk about her now. Mostly with El, who’s still the only person who knows the full story, but, well, he’s pretty sure at least Max and Steve have guessed the bits they weren’t told. Or, hell, maybe El told everyone everything during those months he was out of commission and everyone thought he was dead, and no one’s brought it up to his face because it would be awkward as hell. 

In any case, Steve’s expression softens. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “So, you and her were pretty close, huh?”

If asked Billy would have blamed the sudden sting of tears in his eyes on the wind. “I guess.” A pause. “Not enough for her to take me when she left,” he mumbles, chewing his thumbnail and frowning out at the lake.

His cigarette hangs between two fingers in his other hand. 

“Billy…”

“Don’t. I’ve heard every condolence in the book, okay. It’s...it’s fine.”

For several long moments the only sounds are the dry rustle of leaves in the wind and Billy’s nail-biting. 

Then Steve slips his fingers around Billy’s wrist and tugs gently. Too surprised to resist, Billy lets him. Lets his hand be pulled away from his face, thumb pressed to his pulsepoint, lets him hold on for a beat longer than necessary before letting go. And Billy stares at him the whole time, lips parted, shoulders tense, waiting to see what Steve will do next.

What he does next is smile a little sad, and tilt his head. “It’s a bad habit, you know. Biting your nails.” 

“I don’t have any other kind of habit.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, “I don’t think that’s true.” 

Which is a weird thing to say, and a weird thing to get emotional over, and yet Billy kind of feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

He rubs at the knotted scar tissue that spiderwebs across his whole torso, and can’t help but wonder—not for the first time—if Steve’s perception of him might be a little blinded by the one good thing he’s ever done. He’s tried to be better since then, atone a little, but Steve’s confidence in him still feels unearned.

And all the work he’s put into getting his shit together might all be for nothing anyways, if some fucking slime monster decides to crawl down his throat again. If Will’s right and that thing is back...for all he knows the thing has it out for him too, after the shit he pulled at Starcourt. He thought he’d end up dead, he wasn’t exactly worried about making himself a target in the long run. 

But now...

Billy exhales slowly through his nose, eyes falling shut for a moment before he grits out, “I can’t do it again.” Steve blinks at him, nonplussed. “This,” he taps his scars, “The fucking. Mind Flayer bullshit. I can’t.”

“You…” Steve folds his arms across his stomach, hands clutching his elbows. It’s a nervous tic that makes Billy ache. Always makes his heart clench, but tonight that gets lost in the black hole of anxiety already twisting up his insides  “You won’t have to, I—we’ll protect you. If we stick together—”

“It’s not a guarantee.”

“No, but—”

“We don’t know anything about this alien shit, for all we know I was never really free of it, and—I just—promise you won’t let it use me again,” Billy’s voice breaks, and he clenches his jaw to try and hold it all back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, the crushing weight of existential panic pressing in. 

Steve’s eyes widen, “What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. Crash another car into me. Let your ex shoot me in the fucking head. I don’t care how, I need you to stop me.” He needs to understand, Billy’s eyes bore into him, willing him to understand.

But he shakes his head, face twisted up with horror, “I don’t think I can do that.”

Billy takes a step towards him, desperation bleeding into his voice, “Steve.” He blinks back tears. “Please.” 

“Don’t—” Steve looks away, curling in on himself, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, ask you to perform a public fucking service?” Billy spits, eyes stinging, face burning. He regrets the words once they’re spoken, but there’s no taking them back now. He’s talked with Owens about this sort of shit and he thought he was past it. 

Apparently not.

He deflates. Like a slap in the face, it stops him dead, turns his agonizing back inward where it fucking belongs. Wiping his eyes, he sighs. 

It’s too late to stop the puppy-dog eyes Steve’s giving him now though. The unreserved sadness in the way he’s looking at Billy is so overwhelming it’s almost palpable. “Is that really how you feel?”

Is it? He’s not sure anymore. It was for a long time. Long enough that he couldn’t remember feeling any other kind of way until El reminded him. But now…

He shrugs. “It’s...complicated. I—ah, shit!” His hand jerks, and the cigarette he’d been holding falls to the ground. That never used to hurt so fucking much. “Damn thing burnt me.” 

He sucks on the stinging knuckle, waiting for the pain to subside, tasting salt and ash, and looks back up at Steve.

They lock eyes.

Steve’s expression has closed off, his gaze still heavy, but with something else, sliding down Billy’s face with an intensity Billy’s not quite sure what to make of. He’s struck dumb by the attention (not something he usually has a problem handling), lips still wrapped around his finger but his mouth has gone slack.

It feels like a static shock, one crackling jolt of a moment, something sharp lancing through him, and then it’s over. Steve’s blinking, glancing away. Billy’s hand falls to his side. It would be like it never happened except he still feels charged, pent up, heart full to bursting and stomach in knots. 

Billy sighs, and rubs his eyes. “Let’s just...go back to bed.”

Wording, Billy. Wording. His cheeks warm a little, but he manages to keep his expression neutral as he turns and heads back inside.

He practically throws himself into his bed, curling up on his side and pulling the blankets around him, back turned to Steve. Sleep seems like a pipe dream at this point, but doing anything other than pretending to get some rest would involve talking to and/or looking at Steve, so. Not an option. 

But after he listens to Steve settle back into his little pile of blankets, the minutes crawl by, and Billy gets twitchy. Wants so badly to move, toss and turn and fidget, and say something, but doesn’t know where to start and doesn’t want to draw Steve’s attention, and—

God, this is so fucking stupid.

Billy rolls over. “Steve.”

“Yeah?” 

The room is silent for a beat. He shuffles around a little and the sheets rustle loudly in the quiet.  

“Would you get up here,” he says suddenly, all at once, demanding, scarcely believing what the fuck is coming out of his mouth. 

“...What?” Steve sounds a little breathless and it makes Billy’s stomach clench.

“Just...there’s enough room for both of us, alright.” Jesus christ. 

The lump of Steve and blankets on the floor doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, for what seems like an eternity, and Billy’s about to brush it off, turn it into a joke, take it back, something, when—

“Okay.”

Oh.

What?

Oh god, he’s getting up. This is happening. Billy stares at his silhouette, the tense line of his shoulders, his awkward gait, and wonders why he’s agreeing to this if he’s so goddamn uncomfortable. 

Guess the floor is officially less comfortable than being in bed with Billy. Joy.

But then he’s sliding under the covers and Billy forgets to be bitter because his brain is mostly static at this point. White noise and his heartbeat thundering in his ears and the deafening creak of boxspring groaning under unexpected weight.

And Steve’s doing that thing again, sighing, little hums as he wiggles around getting himself situated, and Billy is dying. He thought he was being punished before, but now he’s sure, because this is ridiculous. No grown man should be that adorable. 

By the time he’s gotten himself comfy Billy is about ready to combust. 

It doesn’t help that he’s decided to lay down extremely close and facing Billy. It’s so intimate it hurts.

“Do you think you’ll actually sleep?”

Billy shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe.” He tries to make it sound more casual than it is. Like it’s a choice and not the sad fact that he’s too fucking anxious to relax. 

Seems he’s not the only one though, Steve keeps fidgeting, his face doing something weird Billy can’t quite see in the gloom. But he doesn’t have to see to recognize Steve’s tics.

“Spit it out,” Billy sighs.

“What did you mean. When you said it’s complicated?” Steve asks softly.

Ah.

“You really wanna get into this?” He sure doesn’t, but Steve nods and Billy’s fucking weak when it comes to giving Steve what he wants. “I meant that...I...used to feel like that. All the time. It was fucking relentless.” He thinks about rolling onto his back so he won’t have to look at Steve for this, but finds himself stuck, drawn in by the faint starlight reflected in Steve’s eyes. “But nowadays I’ve got...shit to hang on for, I guess. Doesn’t make it all go away, but it makes it easier.”

“Oh.” Steve wriggles a little closer, his hand landing in the space between their pillows. Right next to Billy’s hand. Close enough that he can feel him there, but not quite touching.

He doesn’t say anything else, which Billy’s grateful for. He’s got Doc Owens for the big speeches about how life is worth living, and it’s grating enough getting them from someone who’s literal job is to say that kind of shit. 

It helps. It does. But he can only handle so much.

Speaking of which.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says quietly. He’s keeping his hand too still for it to come across as casual, trembling with the effort. If he moved his pinky just a little they’d be touching, and he’s painfully aware of this fact.

“What for?”

“Earlier, when I...I was asking for a lot.”

“Oh.” Steve shifts, the blankets rustling as he shuffles around, but as much as he fidgets, his hand stays where it is. “Billy...I don’t want you to have to go through that again, but…”

Billy, on an impulse—with a feeling somewhat akin to stepping off a ledge without a parachute—hooks his pinky over Steve’s. In the dark he hears a soft intake of breath, can just barely make out the way Steve’s mouth falls open, moonlight casting shadows when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“I know. It wasn’t fair to—”

“No, no,” Steve flips his palm upward and laces their fingers together, squeezing Billy’s hand. “It’s not that. You have every right to be scared, and...look, this whole thing is batshit crazy, none of us know how to deal with it.” 

Billy runs his thumb along the length of Steve’s index finger, marvelling at the contact, and the way his pulse flutters when the gesture is returned. It takes him a second to find his voice, “True, but you’ve never asked me to mercy kill you.”

Steve exhales, the ghost of a laugh, and it warms the back of Billy’s hand. He shivers, his whole arm tingling. “Billy, I haven’t gone through half the shit you have.” A pause. “I want to help. Anything you need, just...not that.” 

Anything. It catches in Billy’s throat, stops his heart for just a second, reminds him that they’re inches apart, in bed together. For the second time tonight he feels like he’s been punched in the sternum, and he goes rigid, relaxing only minutely when Steve squeezes his hand again.

“Careful, pretty boy. Saying shit like that might give a guy ideas,” he murmurs, gaze searching, wandering Steve’s face, the shadows cast by the soft fall of hair across his forehead.

“Oh yeah?” Steve pulls their clasped hands to his chest. His heart is racing, but his voice is steady, “Well, have enough ideas with no follow-through and a guy might think you’re all talk.”

Billy’s breath catches. The world stops. “You...you don’t want me to follow through.” 

The reality of the situation hits him like a train. Flirting is one thing, he’s always had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around Steve, but this is something he’d only ever regretted letting himself imagine because he knew he’d never have it. And now that it’s within reach...

“See, the thing is…” Steve slides a little closer. His knee brushes Billy’s thigh. “I really, really do.”

“I—” his voice breaks, mouth dry, throat closing up as he tries to swallow past the lump making it hard to breathe. 

“Billy,” Steve whispers, a hot puff of air against Billy’s lips. “Please.”

Fuck.

He surges forward—hard enough that their teeth click together—and his mouth muffles Steve’s gasp. The hand not cradled against Steve’s chest comes up to touch his cheek, fingertips caressing his jaw, coaxing him closer, sliding back to thread into his hair. 

Steve’s lips are plush and warm against his, curved into a smile that leaves Billy tingling, dizzy and drunk on sensations. The way his mouth tastes, the softness of his skin under Billy’s scarred palm, the way his heart twists when Steve reaches out to touch his chest.

He pulls back, and rests his forehead against Steve’s. His eyes stay shut and he just breathes. Soaks up the moment. 

“God,” Steve sighs, nuzzling their noses together. “Always knew you’d be good at that.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks quietly, fiddling with the stray locks of hair behind Steve’s ear. He’s feeling...raw. Vulnerable. It’s a fragile state of being, one wrong word away from breaking. Or a few right words away from fucking bliss, but that never seems to be how it goes for him. 

“Yeah, even when we didn’t like each other I wondered. Annoyed the hell outta me.”

“Steve…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, “I always liked you.”  If his heart wasn’t already racing, it sure would be now. He braces himself for the worst.

But it doesn’t come. There’s a pause. Steve’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “Oh.” He presses a chaste kiss to Billy’s lips, lingering, before chuckling lightly. “That explains a lot actually.”

Billy’s cheeks burn. Yeah, he supposes it would. “You’re not...freaked out?” he ventures, hesitant. 

“Mm, nope.” He reaches up, brushes a stray curl out of Billy’s face. “Definitely okay with this.”

I love you.

The thought doesn’t shock him but the desire to say it out loud does. The way it lodges itself in his throat and sticks. He hasn’t said it to anyone—hasn’t wanted to say it to anyone—since his mother left. The precedent is intimidating, but…

Steve smells like honey and clean air, laying in bed with Billy, warm and pliant next to him tracing patterns in Billy’s scars, his gaze is fond, his smile is soft, and...and Billy’s in love.

He swallows. Pushes it down for now. 

He kisses Steve again. Slower. A gentle press of mouths, and another. Takes his time deepening it, teasing with his tongue. He waits for Steve to pull away, to decide that this thing is one thing too far, but it never happens. Steve lets him escalate, and gives as good as he gets. 

They’re both breathless and flushed and Billy’s riding high on the bubbling warmth in his chest, lightheaded from it. He slides his leg over Steve’s, straddling his thigh, pressing down, seeking friction. 

He shifts, rocking forward a little, and Steve moans, low and deep right in Billy’s ear.

They both freeze. Steve’s breath coming in ragged little bursts against the side of Billy’s face. 

“Pretty boy, as much as I’d love to hear more of that, no one else in the house does.”

“Jesus christ.”

“No need to bring him into it.”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs and buries his face in Billy’s shoulder. “Just give me a minute.”

“Aw, I get you all riled up, baby?” 

Steve slides a hand down, down, and palms Billy’s cock, drawing a short gasp from him. “Yes.”

They stay entangled the rest of the night, dozing in and out of consciousness, Steve pressing the occasional sleepy kiss to Billy’s collarbone. And...Billy’s not sure what will happen after tonight, but he knows it’ll be easier to deal with if he gets to keep this. Whatever this is. He doesn’t have the heart to ask, not yet, but for the first time in a while, he has hope.

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, May 10

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Prince Charles orders Prince Harry to divorce Meghan Markle

Page 2: In a sniveling fit of pique, scorned Alex Rodriguez has trashed former fiancee Jennifer Lopez as a dud in the sack and A-Rod is moaning J. Lo drove him to chase excitement elsewhere because she couldn't keep up with his sex demands and Alex is defending his piggish behavior by saying Jennifer pushed him into it and their spark died long ago, and they were barely intimate for the best part of a year before calling it quits -- Jennifer would pack on the PDA for the cameras, but the moment they were in private she pushed Alex away and even made him sleep in a separate bedroom and he says it was like dating an ice queen and pities the next guy she ropes in -- Jennifer thought she and Alex had a pretty good connection during their happier times, even though she'd likely admit things really petered out toward the end when the lack of trust set in so it will sting her that he's trashing her skills in the bedroom

Page 4: Robert De Niro is getting pummeled by estranged wife Grace Hightower's free-spending ways and his bitter spouse is intent on taking the aging legend for every penny as their nasty divorce drags on -- Robert's lawyers argued in court that greedy Grace's extravagant lifestyle has forced him to take every job he can snag, causing the 77-year-old to toil 12-hour days, six days a week and what's more, Robert's Nobu restaurant business has hit hard times and his tax bills to Uncle Sam are piling up but he is reportedly worth a whopping $500 million, and Grace's lawyers have countered he's pleading poverty but regularly charters a helicopter to Sunday brunch, a charge denied by his lawyer and her attorneys also claimed Robert frequently flies to Florida on a private plane and spends millions and millions on himself -- meanwhile, Robert's relationship with 66-year-old Grace has taken such a nosedive, she's spending frivolously just to punish him and she's walked into a shop a spent $80,000 in 15 minutes and she will go on vacations to the Bahamas, stop at the duty-free store and pay four times the price of what things usually cost and she has more wigs than Imelda Marcos had shoes -- Robert met Grace in 1987 when she was working as a waitress in London, and they married a decade later but they split in 1999 then reconciled and renewed their vows in 2004 before finally calling it quits in 2018 -- De Niro has forked over as much as $375,000 a month to his spouse since their split and the financially squeezed star may resort to doing product endorsements just to pay the bills -- under the terms of the couple's prenuptial agreement, once Grace and Robert are finally divorced, she's allowed a $6 million home, $500,000 cash and $1 million in annual alimony, but her lawyers have argued she should be entitled to half his fortune

* Nearly two years after Hayden Panettiere accused ex-boyfriend Brian Hickerson of brutally attacking her, the bully was sentenced to serve time in Los Angeles after he pleaded no contest to two felony counts of injuring a spouse or girlfriend, and the remaining charges of battery, assault with a deadly weapon and dissuading a witness were dismissed and he was hit with 45 days behind bars and four years' probation but he'll get credit for 12 days served -- he's done his own damage and will pay a permanent price for it -- meanwhile, Hayden is now in a great place in her life

Page 5: Danny Masterson has dragged Leah Remini into his rape case, claiming her docuseries Scientology and Its Aftermath influenced his alleged victims to file police reports against him -- former Scientologist Leah offered the women inducements and benefits to report Masterson to cops, his lawyer Tom Mesereau told a L.A. criminal court -- Danny, a 45-year-old Scientologist and That '70s Show alum, has pleaded not guilty to charges he raped three women in separate incidents between 2001 and 2003 -- Mesereau also called an LAPD detective who worked a second job as security for Leah a double agent and questioned how a 2000 police report made by one alleged victim went missing, but Deputy District Attorney Reinhold Mueller dismissed Mesereau's double agent claims as hyperbole and said the defense got a copy of the missing report and Mesereau's request to push back Masterson's preliminary hearing, a Scientology delay tactic, was also rejected

Page 6: Kelly Osbourne's shocking relapse after nearly four years of sobriety occurred amid intense family drama for the former reality show clan -- Kelly's mom Sharon Osbourne's exit from The Talk amid racism claims by co-hosts and dad Ozzy Osbourne's struggles with crippling Parkinson's disease and excruciating nerve damage frazzled her and she confessed she relapsed and she's not proud of it, but she's back on track and she's truly learned that it is just one day at a time -- her parents' problems weighed heavily on 36-year-old Kelly, who first struggled with substance abuse in her teens, and there's no doubt her mother's scandalous exit from The Talk played a big role as Kelly was crushed over the beating Sharon took in the press and retired rocker Ozzy's relentless suffering also pains Kelly and throw in brother Jack Osbourne's progressive MS and she's dealing with a lot

Page 7: Distressed Dolly Parton is ready to stage an all-star country intervention for her party-hearty goddaughter Miley Cyrus after recent photos of the troubled wild child swilling booze triggered alarm bells for Miley's family members and inner circle, including Dolly who has acted as a mentor to Miley and Dolly has always fussed over Miley like a mother hen and she's worried Miley is going to throw away her career and her life -- 75-year-old Dolly is so concerned about 28-year-old Miley that she's talked about reaching out to other country icons to arrange a meeting with the former Disney child star and help her consider her options and Dolly wants to enlist women she knows Miley truly admires, like Reba McEntire and Loretta Lynn, and organize a sit-down and Dolly knows if Miley hears from legends who achieved so much in the music industry, she's likely to understand any mistakes she makes now can affect her life forever -- every time Dolly thinks Miley's got her demons beat, she hears of another slip-up, so she feels like it's time to take action and Miley's parents Billy Ray Cyrus and Tish Cyrus, who are good pals of Dolly, are thankful for Dolly's concern because Billy Ray and Tish have tried talking to Miley, but she tunes her parents out and they agree their daughter is more likely to respond to Dolly and her legendary friends

* Angelina Jolie blamed her ugly divorce with Brad Pitt for dashing her dreams to direct movies -- she and Brad split in 2016 and the two have been locked in a mudslinging legal slugfest ever since -- Angie says she love directing, but she had a change in her family situation that's not made it possible for her to direct for a few years and Angie, who last directed 2017's First They Killed My Father, said she needed to just do shorter jobs and be home more, so she kind of went back to doing a few acting jobs

Page 8: Shamed sleaze Matt Lauer has been snubbed by his old Hamptons crowd, and it's got the scandal-scarred scumbag down in the dumps and the super-rich who live and socialize in the fashionable high-society playground won't forget how Lauer was axed from his longtime Today gig over bombshell allegations of sexual misconduct and Matt's done everything he can to regain his place in the community, from hanging out in the village to splashing money around and tipping too well and he's convinced he can make a comeback, but snooty residents turn their noses up and it must be difficult for him because it's tough for anyone who wants to get in with this crowd but for Matt it's become almost impossible -- with scandal raging, Lauer's marriage to Annette Roque collapsed and they divorced in 2019 after a two-year separation and they share three children, daughter Romy, 17, and sons Jack, 19, and Thijs, 14, and Lauer has denied any wrongdoing and insisted his reputation was wrongly smeared in a media feeding frenzy intent on destroying him -- after his divorce, Matt hooked up with public relations guru Shamin Abas and the two have reportedly been pals for years and were first linked when Matt took her to his New Zealand home in December 2019 and Matt's friends are saying he's talking about a big Hamptons wedding when he and Shamin make things official, but it would be a failure if no one attends but Shamin has a lot of connections, so maybe that will help in time -- Matt's obviously an embarrassment in the area and he's not getting much joy at the swanky country clubs he likes to frequent either and it's clear to see that doors from many A-listers, like Martha Stewart, Gwyneth Paltrow and Scarlett Johansson, who have had ample time to put out the welcome mat and Matt won't be getting invites to their homes anytime soon

Page 9: Kourtney Kardashian is packing on the PDA with new boyfriend Travis Barker and insiders said her desperate bid to compete with her sisters has gone way over the top and ever since Kourtney and Travis first went public, the oldest Kardashian sibling has made it a point to post the couple's passionate romps in racy pics and videos on social media and people in her circle feel it's beneath her to advertise her personal moments like this and even her family thinks it's unflattering, but she's getting a kick out of showing off her wild side and Kourtney has been desperate to raise her profile to keep up with internet-savvy sisters Kim Kardashian and Khloe Kardashian, who promote themselves by posting incessantly and Kourtney was always more low-key, but now she thinks she needs to be outrageous to keep up but her friends and family say it's not who she is, and she should put a lid on the steam

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Alison Brie helped tend to newly planted trees in Malibu, Chris Rock tuned out the world with a set of headphones while walking in Miami, Dylan McDermott plays a bad guy on Law & Order: Organized Crime, Dancing with the Stars pro Sasha Farber buzzed around L.A. on an electric bike, Margot Robbie skating in Malibu

Page 11: Paula Abdul is filling in for Luke Bryan on American Idol, but she's gone crazy with fillers and Botox to the point where she can barely move her face -- 58-year-old Paula, one of the show's original three judges who left before the ninth season, jumped at the chance after Luke tested positive for COVID-19, but when she showed up for work, she was far from the familiar face everyone was expecting and she must have given her co-hosts quite a fright because her face is blown up like a balloon and her forehead has no lines and her eyes have no crinkling at the corners that you would normally expect on someone who's pushing 60 and people are saying she never did know when to quit and this time she's really gone overboard and it was a shame, since it's no secret she'd love to make a comeback on the show and she's still in fantastic shape, but it's kind of sad to see her fall victim to these Hollywood trends as she's a lovely lady and should leave well enough alone -- her heart-shaped face may predispose her to a slower aging process than longer facial shapes

* Jessica Simpson has plumped up her kisser, but one expert thinks her new inflated piehole would look better on a fish because she's gone overboard with filler in her lips and the end result is an unnatural and very unattractive look because the M-shape of the middle upper lip is distorted, creating a fishy appearance she surely wasn't going for

Page 12: Straight Shuter gossip column -- James Bond will be gunning for Top Gun: Maverick on movie screens in November, and Tom Cruise isn't happy -- moving the Top Gun sequel from July to November has left Tom shaken and stirred and no one is more competitive than Tom and going up against the new 007 film starring Daniel Craig has put the fear of God into him because Tom likes to win and coming in second is not an option so get ready for an all-out box office war between Tom and James Bond and this is going to get ugly

* Just out-of-the-closet Colton Underwood has been invited back to his old stomping grounds on The Bachelor but he won't be the new Gay Bachelor, but there's been talk about him returning to help contestants through the process -- he'll literally play the gay best friend who helps the straight contestants find love

* Bridgerton stud Rege-Jean Page won't be back for season 2, but crossing the show's powerful producer Shonda Rhimes was not smart because Shonda is not used to being told no, especially by an actor no one had heard of before she cast him -- Rege-Jean was naive about the business of Hollywood, but he's learning fast but saying no to Shonda is a move he's now thinking twice about

* Irina Shayk had her hands full during a photo shoot in NYC (picture)

Page 13: Racy reality series The Bachelorette has so disgusted some American viewers, they've flooded the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) with complaints and calls to yank the sexy show from TV -- according to documents, a season 16 dodgeball game that turned into a stripping competition among Clare Crawley's suitors in 2020 especially fueled viewers' rage, even though the aired footage was blacked out to protect the men's privates but the game was not over until one team was fully naked

* Matchmaker Olivia Newton-John is itching to play Cupid for longtime pal John Travolta as her Grease co-star approaches the one-year anniversary of the death of his beloved wife Kelly Preston and Oliva would like nothing more than to bring some joy and happiness back into John's life and she has lots of beautiful, fun-filled lady friends from the U.S. and Australia she could set John up with but he may not be ready for a new romance, and John himself has admitted mourning is individual and experiencing your own journey is what can lead to healing and John still hasn't gotten over Kelly's death yet and it feels like yesterday to him

Page 15: Tiger Woods' former mistress Jamie Jungers is dishing about her doomed 18-month affair with the then-married golf great and the fallout that triggered her harrowing spiral into drug addiction in a juicy new tell-all -- Jamie, 38, said she met the skirt-chasing links legend, now recovering from a shattered right leg after a February car crash, during her stint as a party host in Sin City and she claimed they kicked off a fling behind the back of his wife Elin Nordegren and Tiger would often fly his new squeeze to his L.A. home for their secret trysts and Jamie said she even once signed for a package at the newlyweds' pad that turned out to be wedding photos of Tiger and his bride, who divorced the sex addict in 2010 -- but it was not too hard for Jamie to convince herself the couple's marriage was on the skids because Elin spent so much time in her native Sweden and Jamie confessed she loved Tiger in a way but knew they'd never have a real relationship -- things came to a screeching halt when the tightwad millionaire refused to help her find new digs and Jamie kept her lips zipped about the hush-hush affair for three years, but she claimed her ensuing media appearances, in which she was dubbed Mistress No. 4, left her feeling humiliated, triggering a $500 a day pill habit that led to her getting hooked on heroin and meth and homeless Jamie endured failed stints in rehab, went through detox while behind bars and hit rock bottom before getting clean in 2018 and now sober, she said of her former flame she's not in love with him anymore

Page 16: Picky parents Alec Baldwin and Hilaria Baldwin have found one thing that's even tougher than raising six kids: finding the right nanny -- Alec and Hilaria have high expectations for prospective carers and exacting demands when it comes to their duties and Hilaria is so involved with the kids, so she's especially vigilant and has the final say when it comes to hiring and firing though Alec definitely has his checklist on what makes a good nanny and try as they might, they realize they can't do everything themselves and need help, lots of it, but it's been a logistical nightmare getting a team of nannies organized as Alec and Hilaria are tough on them and firm and long hours and multitasking are a must and of course they must be quick on their toes and know what to do with a cranky set of children without losing their cool and a good disposition, a clean and tidy appearance and the ability to step in last minute when needed are all prerequisites to be a Baldwin nanny -- Hilaria and Alec feel guilty about using more help than they initially thought they'd need and typically have at least two nannies on duty and they're doing their best to keep their home from becoming a nuthouse and stay sane and even when Hilaria and Alec are both home at the same time, they still need help changing diapers and doing endless loads of laundry, preparing meals and snacks and assisting homeschooling for the older ones and making sure they all get plenty of exercise and playtime -- it's been a challenge and they won't settle for anything but the most skilled nannies, and their friends can see the efforts are paying off

Page 17: Britney Spears has taken to social media to insist she's OK, but there are increasing concerns over the singer's state of mind -- Britney, 39, has shared bizarre Instagram posts showing her maniacally dancing and also bellyached that she's trying to learn how to use technology in this technology-driven generation, but to be totally honest she can't stand it -- the wacky videos followed the documentary Framing Britney Spears, which cast an unflattering spotlight on her troubled history amid her fight to have her conservator dad Jamie Spears removed from overseeing her personal and financial affairs and Britney, who has not had control over her own cash or major life decisions since her notorious 2008 breakdown, said the documentary's portrayal embarrassed her and brought her to tears and she cried for two weeks -- still, Britney reassured fans she's totally fine and she's extremely happy, she has a beautiful home, beautiful children, referring to her sons Sean, 15, and Jayden, 14, and although Britney, who's been coupled up with 27-year-old personal trainer Sam Asghari since 2016, insisted she's enjoying herself, she was caught on camera in Malibu appearing out of sorts and she looked a total mess and she looked like she hadn't brushed her hair in days and the truth is she's wracked with anxiety and she doesn't trust anyone in her orbit except her boyfriend

Page 18: American Life -- Like many dads, J.B. Handley couldn't understand his teenage son, but in this case, 18-year-old Jamison Handley is autistic and has not spoken a word since he was born -- using a breakthrough strategy called Spelling to Communicate (STC), J.B. discovered his son was hyper-intelligent and now Jamison is graduating from high school and will go to college to study neuroscience in 2022

Page 19: Newly single Kanye West is in the market for someone to cuddle with now that Kim Kardashian is out of the picture and the National Enquirer has decided to help him in his quest: Amanda Gorman, Bjork, Quay Dash, Marina Abramovic, Maria Cristerna

* While Kanye West is looking for a new lady to be his creative muse, his estranged wife Kim Kardashian sees the dating pool as the source of her next career move -- Kim has not been romantically linked to anyone since she filed for divorce in February and she's not dating anyone because, if she were, it would be a career move and Kim can't date quietly; she doesn't even understand what that would be like

Page 22: Katie Holmes and her boytoy beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. haven't been photographed together in more than a month, leaving people to wonder if the once snap-happy couple's romance is cooling off -- after being constantly caught on camera packing on the PDAs, the coosome twosome's vanishing act has sources suspecting work stress is taking a toll -- they're still together but things aren't anything like they were, and Katie seems pretty down and Emilio has been working long hours at his dad's restaurant, which was hit hard during the pandemic and that's meant less time for him and Katie to hang out and their romance may have gone from full boil to simmer

* Hollywood Hookups -- Danica Patrick and Carter Comstock dating, Zac Efron and Vanessa Valladares split, Madison LeCroy is dating a mystery man

Page 23: Lizzo stripped nude on social media for an unedited selfie to promote body positivity in all its glory and the 32-year-old defied the haters by bravely going makeup-free and wearing only her birthday suit -- she said she's letting it all hang out to encourage girls struggling with their self-image and self-confidence to embrace their natural beauty

* Bethenny Frankel plans to spend a whopping $10 million on her upcoming wedding -- she is set to wed Paul Bernon after she was spotted flashing a ginormous sparkler reportedly worth over $400,000 and movie producer Paul, 43, has given Bethenny, 50, carte blanche to spend whatever she wants so she's thinking 50,000 roses, champagne, gilt-edged glasses, a garden setting with fountains, dancers and a choir and Bethenny wants it to be perfect and she expects the best of everything

* Julianna Margulies has admitted things were hot on the set of ER, and it was because she and co-star George Clooney had a crush on each other and the chemistry on the beloved TV series between Julianna, now 54, and George, 60, was organic, she gushed in her upcoming memoir -- she also said when you create an environment that people feel safe in, then you do your best work and George taught her that and she felt so safe with him

Page 25: Troubled Tori Spelling is convinced having a sixth baby is the only way to bring her rocky 15-year marriage to Dean McDermott back from the brink -- Tori, 47, and Dean, 54, have been living separate lives for months and she has frequently been seen in public without her wedding ring and lately they've been more like brother and sister than husband and wife, but Tori is under the impression that another baby will give them a fresh start -- Dean has tried to repair their romance by taking on more dad duties and he even pushed for a recent family getaway to Palm Springs, where Tori socked her husband with the ultimatum to give her another baby or hit the highway and it's true they got along a lot happier when she was pregnant, but a lot of people think she's being delusional since they still have a lot of issues to work through and having another kid isn't going to be a magic fix and in fact, it may even add to their problems

Page 26: Cover Story -- Prince Harry's desperate bid to make peace with his estranged royal family exploded spectacularly when his father Prince Charles gave him an ultimatum to divorce Meghan Markle or you're out forever -- the secret showdown came after the funeral for his grandfather Prince Philip that forced family members to reunite for the first time following a year of bitterness and shocking allegations and any hope Harry had of mending fences and being welcomed back went out the window when he broke Queen Elizabeth's heart by snubbing her 95th birthday right after the funeral because he flew back to California the day before her birthday and it was the last straw for Charles, who was furious and he was stunned his son couldn't wait just 24 hours more to show respect for his grandmother and felt compelled to rush back to his pregnant wife Meghan and it would have meant so much for Her Majesty, who was still mourning her husband and needs all the comfort she can get but instead Harry headed back to his ritzy $14 mansion and Hollywood lifestyle, callously leaving his grieving grandmother on what should have been her big day -- the word is Meghan ordered him back as he'd been gone 10 days, their longest separation since they wed, and she didn't want his family playing mind tricks on him, trying to convince him he should return to the U.K. -- Charles confronted his younger son about snubbing Her Majesty during a phone call from his country getaway in Wales, where Charles was grieving his father Prince Philip and considering the future of the monarchy and Charles didn't mince words and he called Harry selfish and blamed Meghan for ripping the family apart and he bluntly admitted he and other royals, including the queen herself, were deeply disappointed and very angry by what the couple said in an explosive tell-all TV special and he couldn't believe Harry would agree to such a devastating interview without pressure from his publicity-obsessed wife or her advisors and Charles told Harry he was ashamed of him for turning his back on his family and breaking his grandmother's heart and Charles said he didn't believe Harry's marriage can survive long-term and suggested that Meghan was so ambitious, she'd dump Harry when something, or someone, better came along then he shockingly told his son he would only be welcomed back if he divorced that American actress and Charles insisted divorce was the only way to save the royal family and Harry himself -- Harry faced a great deal of frostiness from other members of the family after he arrived for Philip's funeral: Princess Anne, Prince Edward, his wife Sophie and other relatives didn't even look at Harry, they are so angry with him and Meghan, and Prince William and his wife Duchess Kate tried to put on a united front, speaking to Harry as they walked away from the service, but it was all for show as the queen had ordered a truce in the feud to avoid another public scandal, but family feelings are running very deep against Harry and Meghan for quitting royal duties and trashing the royals in their interview and the truth is if Harry doesn't divorce Meghan, this rift will never be mended

Page 36: Ellen DeGeneres confessed she'd swilled three cannabis-laced drinks and popped two snooze-inducing pills before driving wife Portia de Rossi to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy -- during an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, Ellen said she'd downed a commercial beverage containing the weed compounds THC and CBD and admitted she didn't feel anything and then she drank three, and she also took two melatonin sleep pills and she's lying in bed and realizes Portia is not in bed -- after finding Portia on all fours and in pain, Ellen claimed her adrenaline kicked in and she rushed Portia to the hospital

Page 38: Gwyneth Paltrow knows at least one person who is not a fan of her catalog of sex toys: her mom Blythe Danner -- while Gwynnie loves to bang the drum for frisky female fun by hawking vibrators, whips, handcuffs, genital-themed jewelry and even a candle called This Smells Like My Orgasm, her 78-year-old mother is always shocked by her raunchy online inventory and is very proper, but Gwyneth said even proper ladies have sexuality too -- although her mom is not lining up to purchase the BDSM starter kit or the $15,000 gold-plated dildo, Gwyneth remains committed to tackling taboos related to female pleasure, saying she thinks that our sexuality is such an important part of who we are and one of the things they really believe in at Goop is eliminating shame from these topics

* The Entourage crew might get back together, with Charlie Sheen joining the gang -- the creator of the bro show and 2015 spinoff movie said he may bring the boys back with his buddy Charlie in the reboot and Doug Elin says whether he would ever be in Entourage as Charlie Sheen or whether he would create a character for him, he would be all for it -- Charlie hasn't been seen on the big screen since a 2018 guest spot on Saturday Night Live

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Sofia Vergara

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

who made you smile again

For @dls-ao3, who wanted Geralt to realise that punching your bard is never okay.

This story can also be found here on my AO3.

- - -

• it doesn't matter who hurt you, or broke you down, what matters is who made you smile again •

Jaskier’s sitting at the biggest table in the tavern when Geralt returns, surrounded by what seems to be half the village. He’s talking animatedly, hands gesturing and pointing wildly, and he’s temptingly flushed down to what Geralt can see of his chest, hair tousled and eyes sparkling with mirth.

He's in his element, nearly as much so as when he’s playing; Jaskier lives to perform, in one way or another.

Geralt allows himself a small, fond quirk of his lips before he schools his face into neutrality, and starts making his way across the crowded room. Jaskier spots him as he approaches, and his own smile somehow, impossibly, grows even wider, making Geralt’s chest feel all warm and tingly.

“Ah, the man of the hour!” Jaskier crows as he pats the empty seat next to himself, then tugs at Geralt’s sleeve impatiently until Geralt settles down with a grunt. “Ale and food, for the brave Witcher who, oh so heroically, slew the swarms of nekkers that have been terrorising your humble town!”

Geralt doesn’t roll his eyes, but the urge is definitely there. Instead, he accepts the tankard someone passes him, and mouths, “Six nekkers,” behind Jaskier’s back, much to the amusement of the gathered people.

When Jaskier turns to scowl at him suspiciously, Geralt looks at him blankly, and takes an innocent sip of his ale.

The innkeeper brings him a heaping plate of meats and cheeses soon after—on the house, as a thank you for getting rid of the nekkers—and Geralt eats in silence, letting the rumbling sound of Jaskier’s voice wash away the last traces of adrenaline from the fight. One of Jaskier’s hands lands on Geralt’s knee, a comforting and familiar weight, and when he focuses on it, Geralt can make out the soft buttercups-teak-amber scent that is Jaskier under the more prominent tavern smells.

The conversations going on around him are mere background noise, right up until a barked, “That's gotta be utter horseshit, bard!” has all his senses hone in on a man across the table.

His voice is full of annoyed disbelief aimed at Jaskier, and could easily turn into genuine anger under the wrong circumstances; it happens often enough, with inebriated people spoiling for a good fight. Geralt sits up a little taller, and fixes his gaze on the man, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

But Jaskier merely chuckles, light and disarming, and pours a goblet of wine. He slides it over to the man with a cheeky wink, and a teasing, “Oh, my friend, you greatly underestimate the force of nature that is a Witcher.”

Turning to address the whole table again, he continues grandly, “Armwrestling a half-giant? Not even a challenge! Taking down a troll? Like stealing sweets from a babe!”

Geralt has, in fact, had the misfortune of landing in a brawl or two with trolls. He’s not overly keen on repeating the experience, although he’s not going to point that out right now. The man who’d questioned Jaskier’s words is looking increasingly enraptured, nodding along eagerly now, and everyone else is listening with interest and awe as Jaskier keeps relating some of their more outlandish and peculiar adventures.

“But a Witcher is not only a most formidable creature in battle, oh no,” Jaskier says conspiratorially, quieter, and the people lean in closer, like moths caught by a flame. “Their skills can prove incredibly useful in other, more private endeavours, if you get my meaning.”

A young woman lets out a scandalised giggle, while one man chokes on his ale hard enough that his laughing friend has to clap him on the back.

Under the table, Geralt pinches the inside of Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier yelps through his own laughter, slanting Geralt a mischievous look.

A little nervously, another woman asks, “So much strength, though, is it not dangerous?”

“A Witcher’s strength is evenly matched by his control,” Jaskier explains, somewhat testily, and leans most of his weight against Geralt, as if to prove a point. “None of us have anything to fear. Well, none of you, I’d wager, unless one amongst you reveals themselves to be even more incessantly talkative than dear old me.”

There are chuckles all around the table, followed by a few more questions, and Jaskier himself is loose and relaxed where he’s pressed to Geralt’s side, but Geralt himself stiffens at the carelessly thrown out words.

A memory niggles at him, old and half-forgotten, though once he manages to pull it to the front of his mind, Geralt suddenly feels sick. Years ago, shortly after they’d met, on the trek up Filavandrel’s mountain; Jaskier’s constant chattering, a passing mention of Geralt’s old, hated moniker, Geralt’s fist in Jaskier’s stomach, Jaskier’s pained coughing and wheezing.

As if burnt, Geralt snatches his hand away from Jaskier’s leg, staring down at his leather-covered fingers in disgust. Geralt would never use his full strength on an innocent human, that much is true, but he’d hurt Jaskier nonetheless. Back then, just now most likely, and how many other times, without even realising?

And why?

Geralt’s had abuse hurled at him for decades, from both strangers and people he’d foolishly allowed himself to trust. Folk have spat at him, thrown rocks and rotten food after him, refused him pay, and chased him out of town with pitchforks and torches. He’s been tricked, betrayed, hated, yet none of that ever made him lash out with violence.

“Geralt,” Jaskier's voice is laced with concern, quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. He peers at Geralt with furrowed brows, but Geralt can't hold his gaze, ducking his head to escape it after a moment.

He keeps his eyes lowered while Jaskier makes their excuses to his disappointed audience, shame and guilt swirling together in his stomach. Even now, when he least deserves it, Jaskier's priority is to take care of Geralt, even when it goes against what he must have planned for the rest of his night.

Jaskier exchanges a few quick words and a handful of coins with the innkeeper, ordering them a bath and some more ale. They climb the stairs to their room in silence, and even while he helps Geralt out of his armour, Jaskier only hums a slow melody under his breath. It's for his comfort, Geralt knows, and it makes the guilt clump and rise, settling as an aching lump in his throat.

When there's a knock at the door, he's almost relieved that Jaskier has to move away to go open it.

Geralt keeps undressing as the buckets of hot water are carried in, and snatches up one of the tankards as soon as they're put down on the table in the corner, downing it in three big gulps. It does nothing to calm his ugly thoughts, but it does provide a distraction, even if a disappointingly temporary one.

Jaskier appears at his side to take it out of his unresisting hand, fingers whispering a caress across Geralt's wrist. “Come on, then, before the water grows cold.”

The heat of the bath does soothe away some of Geralt's tension. But then Jaskier goes to fetch a stool, goes to sit down at Geralt's back, and Geralt finds himself blurting, “Join me.”

Sharing baths is nothing unusual, hasn't been for some time, although it doesn't feel like something Geralt should be allowed to indulge in, right now. The thought of letting Jaskier take care of him, however, makes Geralt feel much worse, all the more as if he's taking advantage.

If Jaskier's surprised, he doesn't let on. He sheds his clothes unselfconsciously, right where he stands, and steps into the tub with an appreciative sigh. Geralt maneuvers him until his back is flush against Geralt's chest, his head tipped back to rest on Geralt's shoulder.

Reaching out over the edge of the tub, Geralt fetches one of the washcloths Jaskier had laid out, lathering it up before he starts to gently run it down Jaskier's arm. He falters briefly, feeling horribly selfish for enjoying the contact, but then Jaskier murmurs, “That's lovely, sweetheart, don’t stop,” and Geralt couldn't refuse even if he wanted to.

His mind drifts while he washes Jaskier, back to that very first day they’d met.

He remembers how irritated he’d been by the aimlessly yapping bard, to begin with, but also how strangely intriguing he’d found him. Coming across a human brave, or foolish, enough not to fear his kind had been rare, back then, and even with Jaskier’s tireless work, even after the countless ballads singing praise to the Witchers and their good deeds, most people are still at least wary of them.

Jaskier had been an anomaly, and Geralt had been curious, otherwise he would have ditched his pesky shadow before they’d ever set foot outside Posada.

For hours of their journey up the mountain, Jaskier had talked with barely enough breaks for breathing, doing his very best to sell himself as a worthy travelling companion. And, to his own astonishment, Geralt had found himself growing amused by Jaskier’s continuously more ridiculous suggestions—”A horse groomer! My flower crowns are things of legendary beauty, Roach would look marvelous in one!”—and actually considering his offer.

And then Jaskier had mentioned Blaviken, and Geralt had come back to himself, wondering what the fuck it was he was doing.

Allowing a human bard to travel with him, smiling to himself at Jaskier’s antics, horsing about with a bard when he should be focused on his task, on his work, on the Path.

And Jaskier’d still been talking, always talking, and suddenly Geralt had been furious, and—

And he’d punched Jaskier.

For daring to make him feel something beside completely fucking miserable for the first time in what had seemed like forever. For not being afraid of him, for trying to befriend him, for being good.

Too good for Geralt.

Hand shaking, Geralt drops the washcloth next to the tub so he can pull at Jaskier’s leg, exposing the inside of his thigh. And there, high up, it is; a small red mark on otherwise unblemished skin, standing out like a stark reminder of all of Geralt’s faults.

A wounded noise tears itself out of Geralt’s throat before he can stop it, and he stands quickly, turning away from Jaskier and his confused, “Geralt?” to climb out of the tub. He’s dripping everywhere, trembling all over as he stalks into the bedroom proper, then stops in the middle of it with no idea what to do.

A tentative hand lands on his back, between his shoulders, and Geralt twitches, but can’t find it in himself to shake it off. Seemingly emboldened, Jaskier pushes him towards the bed, then onto it, following after Geralt to straddle his lap.

Geralt realises his mistake when gentle hands cup his face, and intent blue eyes bore into his, Jaskier murmuring, quiet but determined, “Talk to me, Geralt.”

There’s nowhere for Geralt to look but directly at Jaskier. He clenches his jaw, grits his teeth, but Jaskier doesn’t back off. Instead, he starts rubbing his thumbs over Geralt’s cheeks, slow and soft, eyes firmly locked on Geralt’s.

Barely audible, hoarsely, Geralt grits out, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier frowns at that, moving one hand from Geralt’s face to poke at the bruise on his thigh. “This?” he asks with a disbelieving little chuckle. “Geralt, darling, I’ve hurt myself worse by walking into doors. Or roughhousing with my brothers, as a child. Or tripping over my own clumsy feet. It was in jest, I don’t mind. I like you teasing me, you know I do. And marking me, though I usually prefer your mouth to be doing the actual marking.”

Which Geralt knows, he really does, but it does little to reassure him right now. “Not this,” he forces out, then amends, “Not only this.”

“If this is about the dragon mountain again,” Jaskier begins, tenderly tucking a few strands of damp hair behind Geralt’s ears, “you have to know, by now, that I’ve accepted your apology. And forgiven you, sweetheart.”

Which Geralt also knows, though a reminder of that particular conversation is never a pleasant one. “You always do. Forgive me. And I—I keep hurting you.”

“Geralt, what—”

“When we met,” the words feel like rough gravel in Geralt’s mouth, “the day with the sylvan. I hurt you.”

Understanding flashes across Jaskier’s face. “You punched me. And I reminded you, tonight, didn’t I?”

At Geralt’s terse nod, Jaskier laughs softly. “It was a long time ago—”

“That’s no excuse!” Geralt snaps, then immediately clenches his mouth shut again.

Instead of rearing back, or getting angry, however, Jaskier turns thoughtful. “It isn’t, I suppose,” he allows after a moment. Rubbing at the tense muscles in Geralt’s jaw, he wants to know, “What happened? That day, I mean? Because, Melitele knows, I’ve made you furious since.”

Geralt has to close his eyes. “You showed no fear. You were annoying. You made me feel—” he cuts himself off, gives a helpless shrug. “You made me feel.”

“Oh, you old fool,” Jaskier says, nothing but fondness in his voice and face when Geralt dares to glance at him. He leans in to brush a brief, featherlight kiss over Geralt’s lips, then leans their foreheads together. He huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling in humour. “That would do it, wouldn’t it?”

“Jaskier—” Geralt tries to protest, but is promptly shushed with another kiss.

“Do you regret it?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“Of course you do. Would you do it again?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“No, you wouldn’t. Because you’re a good man, Geralt. You have faults, you misstep, as does everyone else. But you learn, from every single mistake, and that is such a precious gift, one that not nearly enough people possess. You try so, so hard to overcome all the prejudice, the disadvantages, the adversities that have been put in your way, and I am so, so incredibly proud of you, my love.”

Geralt genuinely does not know what his face does at that proclamation, but whatever it is, it has Jaskier snort inelegantly. “Yes, yes, I know. We’re done talking, I promise.”

Relieved, in more ways than he can count, Geralt cranes his neck to kiss Jaskier properly.

And when Jaskier demands, murmured hotly against Geralt’s lips, “Show me what that Witcher strength of yours is good for, darling,” Geralt doesn’t hesitate.