#between the pop-tarts thing and this I am losing my mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jamaisjoons · 5 years

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suncity | jhs

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when you’d taken a spontaneous trip to Barcelona, you hadn’t expected to meet hoseok. more than that, you hadn’t expected to begin a torrid affair with him. 〞stranges to lovers au. vacation au.

�� 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: hoseok x reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 17k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: grinding in public (just dancing), kissing, nipple play, fingering, dom!Hoseok, sub!Reader, dirty talk, praise, degradation, cum eating, cum swapping? penetration, creampie, public sex, blowjob, cum swallowing, sacrilege, exhibitionism, the slightest daddy kink (literally used twice,,, for sacrilegious purposes), rough sex, cunningulus, sweet lowkey sad sex, sex on a boat // there are three different smut scenes

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: hello!! here is the third instalment of the mixtape series! I had quite a bit of fun with this au and I just,,,, fell in love with jung hoseok all over again and I hope you do too! thank you to my beta reader @slashgashbridesmaid for being wonderful and editing this for me!

⇥ part of the mixtape series

Stepping out of the air-conditioned airport, you take in a deep breath, the humidity mixed with the heat already seeping into your pores, sweat forming around your temples. The sun blazes overhead, the sky completely cloudless and streets bustling with both traffic and people. You have no idea if it is the bright weather, the stunning vintage architecture, or just a placebo effect, but everything about Barcelona feels completely different from Seoul. Which, of course, it is, but it’s almost as if the air itself is different. It feels electric; livelier.

You take another deep breath, relishing in the complete change of pace. Barcelona. You’re really in Barcelona. You hadn’t really planned this. In fact, this was probably the most impulsive decision you had made in a very long time, but recently, you’d just had enough of the same routine, fast-paced life in Seoul and you had desperately needed a change of pace lest you finally lose your mind. Thus, you had hopped in the first cab you could hail, ridden straight to Incheon Airport, and grabbed the first flight with a seat open to the sunniest available destination, which just happened to be Barcelona.

Grabbing the handle of your small roller suitcase, you begin walking down the streets, more lost than you had been in, well, years. You’d gotten so used to expertly navigating the streets of Seoul that the sudden displacement and unfamiliarity of Barcelona sent a rush of exhilaration down your spine. Aimlessly wandering down the streets, you can’t help but be in awe of the sights. Everything is vibrant, pulsating with life and music, from the bright vivid colours of various flags, shops and people to the low thrumming of different songs blending together in an intoxicating amalgamation of rhythms.

You find yourself inexplicably drawn down a random street, a rhythmic Spanish beat getting louder and louder. Almost as if it called out to you, you find yourself being drawn to it, like a sailor to a siren’s song. Stopping short, you spot a large group of people gathered around a huge circle painted on the floor. There’s a band playing their instruments and a man singing in Spanish as people bustle around, some even dancing. Stall vendors occupy the outskirts, smiling and singing along to the music as tourists and locals sit around.

“Miss? Free Sangria?” a woman asks, popping out of nowhere. Her voice is thick with her accent and her eyes kind. Your eyes widen slightly before you graciously accept the small cup of red wine and chopped fruit. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your consciousness screams at you to not accept random drinks from strangers, but you’re already losing yourself in the free spirit of Barcelona.

“Sorry, do you know where I am?” you ask, trying your best to communicate. The woman looks at you apologetically, replying in Spanish before wandering off back to her stall. You let out a sigh, looking around and wondering if you could find someone that could guide you to a nearby hotel or something. Perhaps wandering down the streets of an unfamiliar location was a bad idea. Exhaling heavily, you take a sip of your drink, eyes widening at the pleasant taste. You’d always hated red wine, finding the acidic taste too sour and tart. However, mixed with the chopped fruit, orange juice, and lemonade, the taste more than appealing.

Continuously sipping your drink, you walk further into the crowd, the sensual beat of the music only getting louder. Breaking further into the throng of people, you stop. You’re close enough to the band that the sultry cadence of the instruments vibrates through your bones. You’re pleasantly surprised by the man dancing in front of the band, muscles moving to the beat. It’s as if he were music himself; as if the bassline of Spanish melody coursed through his veins. Each sensuous movement of his limbs was completely in tune with the undercurrent of the music. The most surprising thing, however, was that unlike the rest of the people dancing he wasn’t Spanish, yet, he moved with just as much intensity. You couldn’t help but notice that he was also definitely better than the natives.

Your eyes stay focused on him, unable to look away. The way he moves is intoxicating, and you simply can’t find it in yourself to pull your gaze away. More than that, you just don’t want to. Watching him dance is almost like watching the waves of the sea: each movement flows like water. His moves glide into the next with relative ease, completely in tune to the undercurrent of the melody. His hips swivel sensually, rocking to the rhythm as his thighs ripple in light-wash ripped jeans. The song slowly fades to the end, the guitarist playing the final few chords.

Sounds of cheering fill the air. The dancing man turns around and bows deeply. Then, he catches your eye, and you can’t help but gasp. He’s beautiful, with caramel skin that glows and brown eyes that lighten to a dark shade of honey due to the sunlight. He’s got the largest heart-shaped smile, and you may be in the sunniest city of Barcelona, but you can’t help thinking that his smile could rival the sun. He’s slightly out of breath, and sweat drips down the outline of his face, seeping into his slightly sweat-soaked hair.

He gazes at you with idle curiosity. You have no idea how long you stare at each other but the strumming of guitar strings has him breaking away. He slides towards you, a swivel in his hips, and before you know it, he’s grabbing you by the hand, empty Sangria glass dropping before he drags you into the throng of dancing bodies.

You don’t know why you allow him to pull you along. Perhaps it’s the alluring Spanish rhythm or maybe the glass of Sangria you’ve consumed on an empty stomach, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the way his eyes inexplicably glint in the sunlight, but either way, you allow him to pull you onto the makeshift dance floor. The movement of his hands lifting towards you catches your eyes, and with a surprised gasp, you feel his hands rest on your hips. He pulls you close enough to him that he’s able to slide his leg between your thighs.

You stare up at him through the thick of your eyelashes; his breath fans your face and you can almost taste him. He tastes like Sangria and sugar. When the beat picks up, you feel his hands on your hips tighten and then he’s swirling you both in one deep circle. Your breath hitches, eyes flicking to the thigh between yours, caramel skin peeking through his jeans. Again, he rolls both your hips, deeper this time: your ass brushing closer to his crotch.

You feel something deep within you telling you to give in and let him guide your hips. It’s hard to resist, and so you find yourself throwing caution to the wind. His lips quirk up into a smirk, his eyes darkening marginally. You feel your heart speed up, hammering in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. When the song deepens into a more sensuous rhythm, he spins you around before pulling you back. His hips are pressed into your ass, knees against the back of yours. You let out a breathy exhale, his hips rolling once again.

One of the hands currently placed on your hips moves, sliding across your stomach until it wraps around your waist. He pulls you closer, hand guiding your hips against him. You aid his movements, rolling your hips and grinding against him of your own volition. When his nose runs along the column of your neck, you let out a moan despite yourself, heat already beginning to pool in your stomach. It shouldn’t be turning you on. You’re in a foreign country, grinding on a man whose name you don’t even know. It definitelyshould not be turning you on, yet, the way he rolls his body against yours, his groin twisting into yours, leaves you even more breathless than your movements.

A particularly deep pivot of his hips, paired with you grinding lower, your crotch brushing against his thigh, has you throwing your head back into his shoulder. He lifts his head up, lips brushing against the outer shell of your ear. Hazily, you recognise that he’s singing. Your ears strain, core dripping when you hear the dulcet sound of his voice echo in your ear. His voice is soft, and he sings with such a smooth accent that you’d think he was a native. Spanish was already such a sensual, romantic language, yet, with the way he’s singing, you can’t help but think it sounds even more erotic, his voice dripping with sex.

You can’t think straight, the heady scent of his sweat-soaked skin and the low rumbling of his singing against your ear leaving you spellbound. You can’t bring yourself to pull away from him, even when the hand on your hip moves slightly under your top, even when his lips brush against your collarbone. However, you don’t want to pull away, so instead, you roll your head to the side, giving him more access.

Lust clouds your every movement. Your arms twist backwards, wrapping around his neck as your movements become more exaggerated. He chuckles in your ear, and you find yourself gasping at the sound. It’s light and practically twinkles in your eardrum, completely different from the sultry atmosphere, but it only draws you deeper into him, your body rolling both with and against his. Vageuly, you hear the song slowly begin to fade as it comes to an end. Your hips move slower, now more sensuous than needy, until the beat finally hums to a stop.

His arm tightens around you, fingers flexing and digging into your hip, just under your top. You both pant, heat flushing and prickling against your skin. Slowly, your eyes flutter open; you don’t even remember at which point they shut. You can feel his breath, hot and heavy against your ear. The haze in your mind slowly clears, and the cheering of the people around you fills your ears once again. Immediately, the man is twirling you until you’re facing him. His eyes are dark, lust swimming in his coffee irises. Then tension between you both is so palpable, it practically suffocates you. Your eyes flick to his lips; they’re pink and luscious, a small mole on the left of his top lip drawing your attention.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked, his voice strained with lust.

You should say no. You don’t even know his name. He’s a complete stranger in a foreign country.

“Yes.”

Your decision is completely impulsive, the word tumbling out of your mouth before you can even think about it. Then, he grabs your hand, snatching your suitcase before pulling you along the streets of Barcelona.

He pushes you against the hotel room door, lips feverish against yours. Your suitcase lies forgotten, his hands digging into your hair and pulling you into him. You moan when his tongue brushes against the seam of your lips. Without hesitation, you part your lips, letting his tongue slide into your mouth. Your own hands desperately wander over his chest before they fist in his collar. He pulls away, and you can hear the rustle of fabric as you urgently press your mouth towards the column of his neck.

Your teeth scrape against his neck, causing him to hiss. You hear the swipe of his keycard as he attempts to open his hotel door, hands shaky with lust. Moments later, he finally succeeds. The door pushes behind you, and the only reason you don’t tumble back is due to his strong arms wrapping around you as he draws you in for another kiss. You groan against him, letting him push you inside as he kicks your suitcase into his room before shutting the door.

Long, slender fingers fervently divest you of your top before expertly unclasping your bra. You gasp out as the cool air of his air-conditioned hotel room hits your skin, nipples hardening to stiff peaks. He immediately bends down, taking a nipple in his mouth before a gentle bite causes you to cry out in pleasure. You feel him smirk against your breast, tongue swirling around as he lightly sucks. Your hands begin vigorously unbuttoning his shirt before impatiently sliding it off of his shoulders. He twists his arms, slipping his shirt off of them and leaving both of your top halves naked.

He stands back up, his lips barely brushing against yours before he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. He pushes you backwards, and you fall onto the bed with a slight bounce as he crawls on top of you. You lean up, hands twisting into his thick, dark locks as you pull him closer to you, kissing him passionately once again. His hand slides down your body, your back arching when he brushes against a nipple before he’s thrusting his hand down your jeans, completely bypassing your panties.

Long, expert fingers brush against your clit, and you break your kiss, crying out against his lips. Your pussy is unbelievably hot, stifled in the material of your panties and jeans. He brushes his fingers against your clit again, lips trailing down your jaw. Deft fingers part your lips before he plunges a single digit into you, simultaneously biting the supple skin of your throat particularly harshly. Instantly, his actions have you crying out, your cunt walls gripping around his finger at the mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“Please-” you gasp out. You want to cry out his name, but you have no idea what it is.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he asks, chuckling against the skin of your neck. Despite his words, however, he sinks a second finger into you. You hiss, biting your lip. He doesn’t have enough room to move around due to your jeans, so instead, he pulls his fingers out. You whine, hips chasing his hand as you buck into the air. He grins at you before suckling his fingers, licking your arousal clean off of them.

“More,” you whine, wanting his fingers back against you. He kisses down your body until he comes to the waistband of your jeans. His fingers make quick work of your button and zipper before he pulls both your jeans and panties down your legs. You help him kick them off, and then he’s parting your legs. He groans, eyes feasting on your pussy. The heady scent of your sex is heavy in the air, and you blush, attempting to close your legs.

“Don’t” is all he says as he parts your thighs once more. He leans into the space between your thighs, pressing a soft kiss against your clit. You cry out, your hip thrusting into his face as your cunt flutters, releasing another gush of wetness. He pushes his soft lips against your clit, tongue flicking out and licking the little hardened nub as he sinks his finger back into you. You cry out once again, hands automatically moving to play with your breasts.

Messily, he eats out your cunt, tongue lashing against your clit as he plunges his finger in and out of your clenching walls. He draws out feverish, breathless moans from you as he pushes a second finger into you, scissoring your walls. There’s a slight pain to the stretch, but you’re too lost in the sensation of his lips around your clit. He gently bites your clit, sucking harshly as his fingers piston into you, and, all of a sudden, you’re crying out.

“Are you cumming?” he asks, and you can’t find it in yourself to string together a cohesive thought, so instead, you just moan louder. “Cum then.” He chuckles. The vibration of his words has your orgasm ricocheting through you, thighs shivering on either side of his head.

“Good. That’s my good little slut. Cum for me. Cum on fingers,” he goads, drawing out your orgasm. Your walls clench tightly, forcing his fingers out of you. He lets out a little groan, instead his lips moving down to your cunt as he laps at your cum. When the trembling of your thighs calms down to erratic spasms, he finally leaves your cunt. Crawling back over you, he leans on top of you before he draws your lips into his for a kiss. You moan against him, licking his lips. He slides his tongue into your mouth, your tongues curling against each other as you taste yourself. You’re thick on his tongue, your cum carrying across his mouth and into yours.

When he pulls away, a narrow string of your saliva and arousal clings between your lips until it breaks away, dripping down your chin. Your tongue flicks out, swiping at it before you swallow. He groans on top of you, pushing his damp locks out of his eyes and behind his head. Your core immediately tightens. He’d looked beautiful with his bangs down, but with them out of the way and his forehead exposed? He was a completely different human being. He was practically god-like.

“Want you,” you mewl out, still not knowing his name. His jaw twitches and you watch as nimble fingers unbutton the trousers of his jeans. He pushes both his trousers and boxers down his thighs, not bothering to take them off. His cock releases with a slight bounce before standing to attention. Your mouth immediately goes dry and you watch as he fists his length. He’s deliciously long and so incredibly veiny: the perfect cock to ride. Precum drips out of the slit on his cockhead, and he’s immediately scooting closer to you, hips pressed between your thighs till you feel the heat of his dick brush against your hot cunt.

You cry out at the sensation, feeling him rub his cock through your folds. Finding your cunt, he presses his cock in slowly, inch by inch, sinking into you and opening you out. You let out a heavy groan, feeling him slowly opening your walls until he finally bottoms out with a hiss. You feel the rough denim of his jeans scrape against your sensitive inner thighs as he draws out of you before thrusting back in.

He falls over you, his arms caging you as they strain on either side of your head. You can spot the slight twitches of his biceps as he sensually rolls his hips into yours. It’s completely unfair. You were used to stilted movements and plain thrusts, but the way his hips grind into you has you feeling a different level of ecstasy. Each of his movements is calculated and flows into the next. The way his hips undulate has his cock gliding into you at different angles, hitting your depths differently with each thrust and slowly driving you wild.

“More- faster,” you groan out, your hands shooting out and gripping into his shoulder. He hisses on top of you, lowering his body until his chest is pressed against yours, the speed of his thrusts increasing. The change in position lets him hit deeper, and you groan every time he bottoms out; his hips continue swivelling sensually, the tip of his cock brushing against the sensitive spot inside you over and over again.

Your hands slide down his back, nails scraping against his skin and leaving angry, red welts in their wake. The pain has him grunting, his hips rocking harder into you. You feel your orgasm slowly begin to build up, the brushing of his cockhead against your g-spot causing your eyes to roll into the back of your skull. He shifts on top of you, one of his hands moving to rub your clit, the other hand straining under all his weight. He can feel his own end near, his cock pulsing inside you.

“Cum again. Cum on my cock,” he commands, thumb repeatedly flicking against your clit. You keen under his actions and dig your fingernails into his flesh harder, almost breaking the skin as your second orgasm washes over you. You cry out loudly, voice cracking. He lets out a deeper grunt, the movement of his hips turning stilted as he fucks into you. The rippling of your cunt walls around him, paired with the gush of your cum has him impaling his cock into you as hard as he could, burying into you deeply.

His hand leaves your clit, fisting in the sheets by your head as he practically collapses on top of you. You feel him spurt rope after rope of his cum into you, coating your walls white. He stays buried in you moments longer, both of you panting as you try to catch your breaths. Finally, when he struggles to hold his weight on top of you, he slowly pulls out his cock, rolling over and flopping onto the bed beside you. You feel his cum slowly leak out of you, moaning before shutting your thighs, your muscles protesting the movement.

“I’m-” he begins before gasping for air, “Hoseok by the way,” he finishes, introducing himself. You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He had justfucked you senseless and was just nowintroducing himself? You want to reply with something witty, but your brain refuses to put together a single coherent sentence, so, instead, you keep it simple.

“I’m ____.”

The next morning, your eyes flutter open. Thick streams of sunlight burst through the lace curtains of the hotel room, and with an annoyed groan, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow. A small chuckle rings through your ears, causing your face to scrunch into the pillow. Sitting up in bed, you look around, eyes stopping short at the man you’d both danced with and fucked yesterday. He’s seated casually on the sofa facing the bed, cross-legged and watching you with an amused grin. You blush under his gaze, drawing the sheets further to your chest.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up, but I figured the jet lag would have caught up to you,” Hoseok chuckles, smiling at you. You bite your lips, the dimples on the top of his lips indenting. Your heart speeds up slightly. How had you not noticed them before?

“Sorry, you should have woken me up and kicked me out,” you reply, voice groggy from sleep.

“I could have, but I didn’t want to. Do you want to join me for breakfast?” Hoseok asks. You chew your lip as you contemplate the decision. Shouldyou have breakfast with a complete stranger in his hotel room while in a foreign country? Probably not. Then again, you can’t help musing, you’d already fucked him. Besides, you’d spent the night with him, and he hadn’t murdered you; so that was a good sign, right? Hoseok quirks his eyebrow, gaze levelled at you as he awaits your decision. The sound of your stomach growling has you nodding your assent.

“Perfect. I was thinking we could have breakfast out on the balcony. There’s a stunning view of Barcelona. I’ll let you get ready. The bathroom is just through that door. Here,” Hoseok says. He throws you the shirt he wore last night before walking through the large door and out onto the balcony. You slip his shirt on, buttoning it up before walking towards your suitcase. Hastily, you pull out a pair of fresh panties along with your toiletries before entering the bathroom.

Once you were done freshening up, you pad onto the balcony. Your toes curl at the cold marble against your feet. The sun isn’t out like it had been yesterday, but the day was still incredibly bright, the sky vividly azure and obstructed by just a few clouds. Hoseok sits casually, facing the Spanish horizon, the quaint city of Barcelona just below him. The scene is almost picture-perfect, the mix of Catalan Gothic architecture, large steeples and towers from the various cathedrals, paired with the more modern buildings only adding to the charm.

You clear your throat, feet shifting as you announce your presence. Hoseok turns around with a soft smile on his face, and you can’t help the way your breath hitches. He’s dressed casually in a white linen shirt and denim shorts, his hair falling onto his forehead. He’s beautiful. In fact, he’s probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. He gestures towards the seat opposite him, his eyes trailing over your figure, dressed in nothing but his shirt and your panties. Suddenly, you feel nervous. Maybe you should have gotten dressed? You pad over to him, smiling timidly as you take a seat.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I just got a bit of everything,” Hoseok informs, gesturing towards the mix of cut fruit, Spanish hams, eggs, and various pieces of bread. Your stomach growls once again, making him chuckle as you help yourself.

“I couldn’t help but notice your luggage tag. You flew in from Seoul?” Hoseok asks, mouth slightly muffled by food. You finish chewing the morsel in your mouth and swallow before replying.

“Yeah, I live there.”

“Wow, small world. I live there too. Why are you here?” He asks curiously before popping some chorizo is his mouth.

“I guess I just got bored with everyday life? Things were just becoming… boring. And I hadn’t travelled in years, so, I went to Incheon, booked the first available flight, which just happened to be to Barcelona, and, well, here I am. For about a week. How about you?” you ask, wondering what his story was.

“I was here on business. I own a company, and some of my clients are Spanish,” Hoseok says. Your eyebrows knit together, looking at him oddly.

“And that business entailed dancing on the street or…?” you tease. Hoseok clicks his tongue at you, sipping his orange juice.

“CEOs have hobbies too! Also, I said I wason business, but that ended a few days ago. Now, I’m on vacation for two weeks,” he continues, looking at you pointedly. You find yourself laughing, somehow feeling completely at ease with him despite knowing him less than a day.

“You seem to know your way through Barcelona well. Do you come here often?” you ask curiously, remembering how easily he’d navigated you from the plaza and towards his hotel.

“Mhm. Maybe once every three months? My Spanish clients are very important, and they like meeting in person. This is my permanent hotel room,” Hoseok says, throwing his arms out and gesturing towards the room. Your eyes bug out of your skull.

“Permanent?”

“Yeah. I own this hotel, and, since I need to be here every few months, it made sense to have a permanent residence,” Hoseok says. His tone is completely casual, but you have no idea how to point out that that isn’t a normaleveryday thing.

“If you want, you can stay with me. I could show you around,” Hoseok offers, and you feel your eyebrows shoot straight into your hairline.

“Oh- Oh no! I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that,” you try to refuse. As lovely as that sounded, you didn’t want to impose on his holiday.

“Oh come on! I know my way around pretty well, and you’ll need a guide considering you came here with no plan. It’ll be fun. What do you say?” Hoseok suggests. You shut your mouth, brain whirring. He made some valid points. You were completely lost in Barcelona with no money considering you hadn’t bothered to convert your currency. Plus, he seemed nice enough from what you knew, andyou enjoyed spending time with him.

“Alright. I’ll take you up on that offer,” you finally agree. Hoseok smiles at you brightly, pretty teeth on display. You swallow thickly, wondering if his smile was always as dazzlingly beautiful as it currently was.

“Perfect. Do you have a hotel room? If not, I can book you a room here, unless you want to stay with me?” Hoseok asks, eyes flicking briefly towards your chest peeking through his shirt. Your core clenches at the suggestion in his tone. Your mind reels back to the previous night, and just the memory of your orgasm has your toes curling. You make your second impulsive decision then and there.

“I’d like that.”

It’s not as if you have anything to lose.

Hours later, you find yourself being pulled by Hoseok into Barcelona Cathedral. You stop short once inside, in awe of the beautiful interior. Candles illuminate the area, sunlight streaming through large arched windows. The ceiling is incredibly high, gargoyles of varying creatures, from animals to mythical beings, decorating the roofing. The pillars are simple, made up of alternating bricks: stones that are greying, blackened, and smudged. You wonder what it would have looked like when it was first built and brand new. The interior is truly beautiful, and you can almost feel the history seeping out of each and every slab of stone, depicting events that people have forgotten but time has not.

Hoseok smiles at you, gripping your hand and walking further into the building. You gasp as you draw nearer towards the altar. The walls around the seating are ornately designed, intricate patterns of gold glittering in the amber light. There are quite a few people milling about, some kneeling and praying while others quietly walk around, taking in the sights like you were. As beautiful as it is, this was arguably notwhat you had in mind when you’d asked Hoseok to show you a side of Barcelona no tourist guide could ever show you; something you express to him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be getting to that,” Hoseok whispers against your ears. His words are ominous, his voice lower than usual, vibrating through your ears and causing heat to pool in your belly. Your face flushes in mortification. You could notget horny in a church. There was far too much wrong with that.

Still holding onto your hand, Hoseok drags you further into the church. Your eyes flick to your entwined hands, your fingers locked together. His palms are small, but his fingers long and slender, yet are the perfect size in your own hand. It’s a small gesture, and Hoseok probably doesn’t even think about it, but you can’t stop thinking about how his hand feels. You shake your head slightly, trying to clear your mind. You had just met.

“So, what about this is something a normal tour guide couldn’t show me?” you ask, wanting to prevent your mind from straying into dangerous territory.

“This,” Hoseok says, stopping in front of an empty confessional booth. You look at him closely, peering through the holes within the baroquely carved wood. It’s too dark inside, however, and you can’t see a single thing.

“A confession boo-” you say, but before you can finish your words, Hoseok is dragging you inside.

“Hoseok!” you cry out, Hoseok immediately shushing you. He pushes you against the door, his nose running along the column of your throat before his hand slides down your stomach, rubbing just above the waistband of your skirt.

“This is what’s different. No tour guide would fuck you in a confession booth,” Hoseok whispers in your ear. Your pussy gushes into your panties, your breathing becoming laboured.

“Do you want that sweetheart? Do you want me to fuck you here?” Hoseok asks. You whine, pushing your ass against him. Hoseok chuckles before pushing your skirt up to your hips and sliding your panties to the side. His fingers swipe across your slit, leaving them dewy with your arousal. He pulls his fingers up to his lips, licking off your slick.

“You’re already so wet, sweetheart. I bet I could just slide into you,” Hoseok whispers, thumb brushing against your clit over and over again. You groan, pussy clamping and releasing another gush of wetness.

“Please.”

Hoseok groans at the want in your voice. He quickly moves his hand towards his shorts and unbuttons them. His hands move feverishly, pushing his trousers down to his thighs before gripping his cock and running it through your folds. You let out a high pitched whine, wanting his cock buried into you.

“Quiet. We don’t want people to catch you being a little slut for me,” Hoseok orders, and with that, he slides into you in one motion. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before biting hard, trying to suppress your scream. Leaning your head against the door to the confession booth, you twist one hand back to rest on his torso, stilling his movement.

“Just- give me some time,” you sputter. The lack of preparation had you hissing in pain, taking in a deep breath as you tried to get used to him inside you. Hoseok brushes his lips against your shoulder blade, shushing you. You both stay still for a few long moments before you finally give Hoseok the go-ahead.

“Good girl,” are his only words before he pulls out, and then he’s slamming into you once again. The force of his thrust has you hurtling into the door with a slight bang causing it to vibrate.

“Hold yourself. I’m gonna fuck this dirty pussy real good, and I want you to be quiet,” Hoseok hisses, cock plunging into your depths again. You quietly whimper, Hoseok pinching your clit as punishment.

“I said quiet.”

You nod, taking in a shuddering breath. Hoseok’s hips lunge forward once again, and this time you manage to keep quiet, earning you a kiss on your shoulder. His soft attention has you keening. Then he’s back to setting his brutal pace, fucking his cock into you over and over again. His rough movement has you struggling to keep quiet, wanting nothing more than to scream out in ecstasy. People wander closer to the booth, and you’re able to peak at them through the small, carved out gaps of the door. Your stomach flips in fear, and your pussy gushes at the thrill. You could be caught with Hoseok’s cock buried deep within your cunt any moment.

“Fuck, do you like that? Do you like watching people pray while you get this pretty little cunt stuffed?” Hoseok whispers into your ear, his words causing your pussy to clench involuntarily.

“Yes. Shit, you do. You’re such a dirty little slut. I think you need to confess your sins,” Hoseok continues, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull when he hits particularly deep. All of a sudden, Hoseok swats your ass, and you have to bite your lip even harder to prevent yourself from moaning out loud.

“I said tell daddy your sins.”

“I’m sorry daddy; I’ve been so bad.”

“How?” Hoseok asks, plunging in deeper, one hand moving to play with your clit as he bites your earlobe.

“I’m being a dirty slut.”

“Keep going.”

“I’m getting my pussy fucked deep while people are outside praying. I’m being a dirty little slut by letting you pound my little cunt when people are around us. Hoseok-” you whine lowly, pushing your hips out. You can feel your skin begin to prickle with the heat of your orgasm, Hoseok’s fingers strumming your clit only driving you closer to the edge. How were you supposed to keep quiet when you came? Almost as if your prayers were being answered, you hear the loud baritone sound of the organ. High pitched voices of the choir members join the loud melody, your ears almost deafened by the sound. Hoseok smirks into the back of your head.

“Are you cumming sweetheart? Are you gonna be a good little girl for me and cream my cock?” Hoseok asks, lips brushing against your ears so you can hear him over the music.

“Yes! Hoseok, please,” you mewl. Your heart pounds in your eardrums as you teeter over the edge of your orgasm. Hoseok bites your earlobe, rubbing your clit harder.

“Cum. Be a good girl, and scream for me.” With that, you hurtle over the precipice, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Your thighs shake uncontrollably as you brace against the door. Thankfully, your screams are drowned out by the choir, Hoseok chuckling as he continues pistoning in and out of you.

When your legs finally stop shaking, Hoseok pulls out of you, sliding your panties back in place. You groan at the sticky feeling, your cum soaking into the material and wetting your thighs. Hoseok pulls your skirt back over your ass before flipping you around. He places one of his hands on your shoulder and guides you onto your knees, pumping his cock with his other hand.

“Now. I want you to be good and worship my cock,” Hoseok says, staring down at you through dark eyes. He brushes his cock against your lips, staining them in both his precum and your cunt juice.

You open your mouth, taking him into your cavern. The taste of you is heavy on his cock, masking his own headier taste. Your tongue swirls around his cock, gathering your essence before swallowing thickly. You close your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock. Hoseok groans in approval, tenderly petting your hair and gathering your locks into a ponytail before thrusting his cock further down your throat. His sudden movement has you gagging, saliva coating his cock.

“Fuck that’s it. You’re so good. I’m going to cum,” Hoseok sighs, throwing his head back. You increase your efforts as you bob harder, wanting nothing more than to taste him in your throat. Hoseok thrusts into your throat once, twice, and then thrice before stilling. With a quiet hiss, he cums down your throat. You feel him fill up your mouth, swallowing him down as quick as you can, relishing in his taste. When his cock goes limp, he finally pulls it out, tucking himself back into his trousers.

Hoseok grabs you by the chin, pulling you up to your feet before taking your swollen lips between his. His tongue licks the seam of your mouth, and you grant him access, letting his tongue slip between your lips. His hand entwines into your hair, tongue moving sensually against your own. You moan into the kiss, drawing closer to him until your chests are flush against each other. Hoseok’s kiss is completely different from the way he fucks: he’s gentle and tastes sweet. You find yourself lost in him, allowing his presence to drown you.

His lips are incredibly soft against your own, his hand moving to delicately cup your neck and pull your face higher. When he inevitably pulls away, he has you completely spellbound and chasing his lips, not wanting the kiss to end. Hoseok chuckles at your actions, and your cheeks puff in a pout. He tuts, pressing soft kisses against your lips as he tries to mollify your pout. He succeeds very easily, a smile breaking onto your face at his tender touch.

Finally, he pulls away, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His lips press against your forehead as he holds you close. The two of you stand in that dark confession booth, the sound of the choir slowly fading. The people that had once been near you also move away, leaving the coast clear. Hoseok grabs your hand, checking the outside once again to make sure no one was around before he drags you out. Once you’re both out, he turns to you, a devilish smile on his face.

“How’s that for an unconventional tour guide?”

Hoseok is a voracious lover. He’s practically insatiable and hasto have you at least twice a day and in as many positions as he could bend you into, which is why on the fourth day, you find yourself being awoken with Hoseok softly pressing kisses to the back of your shoulder, his hard cock pressing into your ass cheek. Through the fog of sleep, you feel his hand flit across your stomach before pressing between your thighs, one finger pushing into your cunt. You were still wet enough from the remnant of his cum from last night, now only acting as lubrication for his fingers. However, rather than feeling the tingling pleasure you’re used to, sparks of pain shoot up your nerves. You wince, curling into yourself before letting out a groan, muscles protesting the movement.

“____? You okay?” Hoseok asks, his hand immediately pulling out of you. You hear him shuffle, and then he’s turning you over, looking down at you in concern.

“Mmm. Sorry Hobi, I’m just really sore from the past few days,” you whine, voice gravelly from sleep. Hoseok sighs, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. The action is far too intimate for someone you have only known about three days, and yet, you find yourself sinking into his touch. Hoseok wraps an arm around your waist, lips brushing up your shoulder before he presses a kiss just below your ear. You find yourself biting your lip, attempting to suppress the sigh that almost leaves your lips. Honestly, his embrace was far too comfortable and felt more like home than it should have.

“Have I tired out your pretty little pussy sweetheart?” Hoseok asks, voice deep in your ear. Your core involuntarily clenches, and you find yourself groaning in pain again.

“Hoseok,” you warn. He immediately chuckles in your ear, his laugh light and carefree. Your heart flutters at the twinkling sound, your face softening.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re just so irresistible,” Hoseok replies as he presses an apologetic kiss to your shoulder. He unwraps his arms from you before slipping out of bed. You try to contain the disappointment you feel from the sudden loss of his body heat. You really do, but the instant he’s out of your reach, feet padding into the bathroom, you miss him.

You flip yourself, ignoring the way your muscles scream in displeasure and shuffle onto Hoseok’s side. Your face buries into his pillow, nuzzling into the soft sheets as you breathe him in. The scent of citrus and pine washes over you, and you inhale deeply, wanting nothing more than to wrap yourself in his scent until it was all you can breathe. Fifteen minutes later, Hoseok exits the bathroom, only to be met with the view of you holding his pillow tightly, and, with it pressed so close to your face, he’s worried you’ll suffocate. However, when you inhale deeply, he lets out a little chuckle. You stiffen, knowing you’d been caught red handed, before you shrink into your sheets, wishing they would just swallow you up whole.

“You’re so cute,” Hoseok coos, pulling the sheet off of you. You whine in protest, clutching it tighter to you, your cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

“Don’t tease me,” you pout. Hoseok clicks his tongue, tugging the sheets harder until you were naked. You yelp, shooting up so you were sitting before glaring at him.

“Get up, and get dressed. We’re going out,” Hoseok says, pointing towards the bathroom.

“I’m tired!” you whine, almost petulantly as you fall back into the bed, rolling until you lie on your front, facing away from him. Hoseok clicks his tongue once again, and then you feel him swat your ass. Hard.

“Ouch! Hobi!” you hiss, turning your head and glowering at him.

“Don’t be a brat. Get up, and get dressed, or I’ll bend you over and spank you until your cute ass is red, which I’m sure you don’t want considering you’re already sore,” Hoseok says, quirking his eyebrow knowingly. You tut, grumbling under your breath before doing as you were told. Twenty minutes and a hot shower later, you finally exit the bathroom. Hoseok smiles at you, watching as you shuffle towards him, despite protesting muscles.

“Good girl,” Hoseok praises, kissing your forehead. You preen under his praise before Hoseok grabs your hand, dragging you out of the room.

“Where are we going?” you ask curiously, hoping he hasn’t got something too vigorous planned. You were far too tired, and you’d only been in Barcelona three full days, coming up to your fourth.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Don’t worry; you’ll love it,” Hoseok says, nudging you into the car with a bright smile. Your eyes narrow into small slits, looking at him with apprehension before once again following his direction. Hoseok gets into the driver's seat, smiling brightly at you once again before he begins driving.

Twenty minutes later, when you’re out of the heart of Barcelona, Hoseok stops. You look out the window, face scrunching in perturbation. He’d stopped directly outside what looks to be an old abandoned warehouse. You turn to him in question, wondering what he’s up to. He cuts the engine, turning to you.

“After you,” Hoseok says, gesturing for you to leave his car. You swallow thickly, turning to the old, decrepit building before turning back to him.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks. It’s a simple question, but one that has you stopping. Do you trust him? He’s basically a stranger to you, a stranger in a foreign country. Do you trust him? He hasbrought you to an abandoned building. However, there are no warning bells ringing in your mind. You take a deep breath before turning to him.

“I do,” you reply. It’s a simple answer, but your face is stoic, not a single shred of doubt on your face. It’s foolish. You have too much faith and trust in a man you really only barely know, but you dotrust Hoseok.

“That’s my good girl. Now come on; I think you’ll love this,” Hoseok says, opening his car door and getting out.

You follow him, letting Hoseok walk around the car and up to you before he wraps his arm around your waist. He leads you into the building, pushing the door with ease. Once you’re inside, you’re pleasantly surprised. It’s not an abandoned building at all. There’s a small reception with a concierge and a large archway leading further into the building.

The man greets you both in Spanish before spouting off something you definitely cannot understand. Your face scrunches up as Hoseok replies in fluent Spanish. You’re completely astonished, before you remember that he visits Spain quite frequently. Of coursehe knows the language. You patiently wait as they speak in a back and forth and soon, Hoseok is reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. You quickly put your hand out, reaching into your bag and pulling your own purse out.

“Hoseok, you paid for dinner yesterday. Let me grab this,” you quickly say. Hoseok shakes his head, already handing his sleek black card over to the man.

“Nope. This is my treat for you,” Hoseok replies, wrapping his arm around your waist again. You scowl slightly, placing your purse back into your bag. The man smiles at you both before ushering towards the archway behind him. Hoseok smiles and nods at the man, before leading you down the path.

“A treat for what? I haven’t done anything,” you say, peeking up at him curiously. Hoseok doesn’t reply, instead, only leading you further into the building. Slowly, the walls change from the modern white of the reception to dark, fading brick. You look around curiously, the harsh of the white light fading into a more soft, muted amber. Your eyes widen when you finally exit the tunnel, a large pool greeting you.

Exposed brick makes up the entirety of the interior, giving the room a dark and dreary feel. The gloominess, however, is juxtaposed and alleviated by the warmth radiated from hung lanterns and small boxes filled with small candles littering the floor. The movement of water from the large pools reflected on the ceiling only adding to its charm. It was romantically dark, the candles, lanterns, and pulsating of water warming up the darkened brick.

“I thought you deserved a relaxing spa day. Sorry for making you so sore and not thinking about giving your body rest,” Hoseok apologises. You turn to him, chewing on your lip. His face is completely serene, and he looks at you with a tender smile that has your heart gripping. His eyes are almost as dark as the room surrounding you and yet just as soft and comforting. The water’s reflection ripples over his face, breaking up his features.

You don’t know how long you stand staring at him, but Hoseok eventually breaks your gaze. He grabs you by your hand before leading you towards the edge of the pool. Your fingers twitch imperceptibly as you watch Hoseok slowly undress. His tan skin is only deeper under the low lighting of the room, and you’ve seen Hoseok naked multiple times, but the sight of his smooth caramel skin never fails to tighten your throat.

He shimmies out of his trousers and boxers until he’s left completely naked, and your throat goes dry. You had never truly gotten to admire Hoseok’s form; you were both far too busy ripping each other’s clothes apart in a heated manner, but now, in the tranquillity of the atmosphere and the dimly lit room, you have nothing stopping you. Immediately, you’re struck with what you’ve been missing. He truly was the most beautiful man you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on.

Your eyes stay locked on his as he slowly approaches you. He stares at you through thick lashes, his hair falling into his eyes. Nimble fingers slowly undo the belt from around your waist before deft fingers work away at the buttons of your dress. When he undoes the final button, Hoseok slips the dress off of your shoulder. His touch is so incredibly tender that you’re afraid to move, instead, letting him unclasp your bra and throw it on the floor with your dress.

Large hands trace over the curves of your sides almost reverently until he reaches the waistband of your panties. This time, you aid him in divesting your final piece of clothing. It’s low, but you hear his breath hitch, eyes flicking over every inch of your figure. You both stand there, taking each other in for what feels like an eternity, and it could have been. For in this room, away from the bustle of Barcelona, and even further away from life, it feels like time does not exist: as if you and Hoseok are the only two people left in existence.

Hoseok is the first one to break away. He reaches out to you, interlocking his fingers between yours before gently tugging you. Slowly, he steps into the pool, not once breaking his gaze away from you. You follow him faithfully, letting him guide you into the water. The minute the water hits your muscles, you let out a shuddering exhale. It’s not cold like you were expecting, but, instead, it’s pleasantly tepid, and faintly, you think you can smell sea-salt.

Gradually, Hoseok lowers you into the pool, your eyes fluttering shut when the water encases your entire body. Your muscles relax under the weightless feeling the pool provides, allowing the water to slowly ebb away the soreness your body felt. Hoseok pulls you into his chest, his back resting against the wall of the pool. You let out another sigh, his warm, hard chest pressed against your back and his flaccid cock rests just at the top of your ass.

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, his hands moving to rub your shoulders, fingertips firmly massaging the flesh as he tries to work out the ache in them. You let out another sigh, head lolling back to rest on his shoulder, your eyes shut in relaxation.

“Perfect,” comes your whispered answer. You can almost feel Hoseok’s smile, his lips lightly trailing across your shoulder before kissing your neck.

The two of you sit for however long, Hoseok’s hands slowly working their way across your body. You sink further and further into him with each of his movements, small moans of appreciation escaping your mouth as expert fingers dance across your skin. His hands trail down your sides and towards your thighs as he continues lavishing kisses upon any bit of skin his mouth can reach. His touch is reverential and delicate. Leisurely, his fingers knead the supple flesh of your thighs, alleviating the soreness in them before slowly working his way down towards your shins.

When Hoseok is finally done massaging the ache from your muscles, his arms wrap around your waist, holding you close. You snuggle further into him, body completely relaxed against him. Mindlessly, Hoseok’s hands begin moving; his fingers trail up your arm, goosebumps prickling against your skin at his light touch. You feel him trace lazy circles into your skin before taking your hand between his and bringing it up to his lips. He kisses the pad of each of your fingers before doing the same to the other hand.

The entire time, neither of you speak. You let Hoseok’s hands gradually trace over your skin. He’s incredibly thorough, making sure that every single inch of your flesh is lavished with attention. Each and every one of his ministrations has you sighing deeply, sinking further and further into his embrace until you’re nothing but jelly. His hand moves to lightly grip at your chin before he turns you to face him. You stare up at him through thick lashes, and then he’s leaning down.

The feel of his lips against your own has your knees weak, and you’re thankful you’re both already sitting because you’re sure if you were standing, you’d have buckled under his actions. He licks the seam of your mouth, your lips parting slowly and allowing his tongue to enter your orifice. Your tongues move against each other in a sensual dance, tasting each other and the salt of the water on your lips. His lips are firm against yours, and his tongue moves so sensuously it has your toes curling.

Hoseok pulls away eventually, a gentle sigh leaving your lips. He smiles softly, pressing tender kisses against your lips. Once, twice, and then three times before completely pulling away. He manoeuvres you so that you’re slightly further down, head resting against his chest so he can lean his chin on your head, his thighs caging in your body. His arms once again wrap around your waist before he presses a kiss to your temple. You both sit in the pool of water, unmoving as you lie in each other’s embrace.

You hear nothing but the gentle sound of the water’s waves, Hoseok’s breathing, and his heartbeat. Your eyes flutter shut. It’s completely calm; quiet and serene. It’s then and there, in the harmonious tranquillity of the room, that you completely fall into him.

On the fifth day, the sun is incredibly bright. So bright, in fact, that it radiates with the vengeance of hell fire. That, however, doesn’t stop Hoseok from dragging you outside. Sweat coats your skin, staining your clothes, and you briefly wonder just how Hoseok is coping with the heat. You eye him warily; his white linen shirt clings to his back, drenched in sweat, and yet, he looks completely unperturbed. He smiles brightly, his grin rivalling the intense sun rays.

“Where are we going? It’s so hot!” you complain, panting from the heat.

“Some place to cool down,” Hoseok replies cryptically. That’s the only response he gives you before he’s once again pulling you through the crowded streets of Barcelona. You let out a little sigh, shifting uncomfortably as your clothes cling to you. The bustle of people around only serves to increase both the temperature and humidity.

“Why couldn’t we have just driven?” you whine, almost stomping your foot petulantly. The heat was slowly turning your brain to mush, and you were sure you’d lose all reasoning soon.

“Too crowded. We’d never get parking. Now stop complaining, we’re almost there. I promise you won’t be hot for long,” comes Hoseok’s voice. You purse your lips in a thin line. Whatever he had planned better be worth it, because you are incredibly close to drowning him in your sweat as punishment for dragging you out in the middle of a heat wave.

You have no idea how long Hoseok drags you through the god forsaken cobbled streets: the white of the houses paired with the beige paving only serving to reflect heat directly onto you. Moments later, when you’re close to calling it quits and heading back to Hoseok’s wonderfully air conditioned hotel room, Hoseok finally stops. He holds out his hands on either side, a pleased grin on his face. The only thing missing is a small ‘tada’. You quirk your eyebrow. He’s stood in front of a black metal gate, the tips glittering gold in the sunlight, and beyond the fencing, you can make out large trees.

“A park?” You’re not impressed.

“Oh come on! It’ll be great,” Hoseok says, grabbing your hand and pulling you beyond the gates.

“Hobi! It’s too hot-” you begin complaining, only to stop short once you’re in the park.

It’s almost as if you’ve walked into a different world. The vivid green of the tree canopy offers the ground an ample amount of shade, cooling down the entire park. The air inside is somehow much cooler than the main streets of Barcelona, and your body involuntarily shivers when a light breeze runs across your sweat-soaked figure. Tree branches sway in the wind, and the rustling of leaves along with bird song vibrate through your eardrums.

“Well? What do you think? It’s cooler here right?” Hoseok says, eyes shining with amusement.

“It would be cooler in your hotel room,” you point out, a small scowl on your face. Hoseok laughs at your slightly sullen tone; he knows you’re more mad at him being right than anything.

“Yes, well, considering you’re leaving in a couple days, I didn’t think you’d want to stay in,” Hoseok points out. His tone is completely casual, but you can’t help the way your stomach drops. You had completely forgotten you were on holiday and would have to part with him soon. Hoseok catches your sombre tone and immediately grabs your hand. You turn to him in surprise, eyes widening at the large grin on his face.

“Come on! Let’s not waste the day,” Hoseok says before he tugs you along.

The two of you walk hand in hand down the winding gravel path of the park. It’s relatively quiet. Hoseok points out that most people would have gone to the beach to cool down. You relish in the calm moments with Hoseok, his hand nestled comfortably in yours as you wander along the shaded trail, trees encompassing you on either side. A while later, you hear the sound of flowing water, and Hoseok pulls you into a clearing. You stop short and let out a quiet gasp.

Amidst the large park sits a small oasis, completely deserted of anyone. Crystal clear water floods from moss encrusted rocks, cascading into the lake at the bottom of the waterfall. The sound of rushing water is almost deafening, drowning out the singing birds. Across the lake winds a white makeshift bridge made up entirely of boulders, disappearing behind the gushing water. It’s completely idyllic.

Hoseok grips your hand tighter, and he drags you towards the bridge before pulling you onto it. You both carefully hop along the rocks, making sure not to slip. When you get to the middle, just behind the waterfall, Hoseok stops. Somehow, the water is even louder now, echoing in your eardrums. With wide eyes, you take in the sights. It’s truly beautiful. Vines rooted in the cracks of the cliffside drip with dew while small vibrantly coloured flowers grow around the area; the kaleidoscope of colours contrasts with the grey rocks and cerulean water.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hoseok asks, eyes soft as he takes in your awe-struck expression. You have no words and, instead, just find yourself nodding.

Hoseok tugs you gently, carefully pulling you onto a large slab of stone. He quickly shrugs off his jacket, laying it on the damp ground before gesturing for you to take a seat. Once you’re seated, Hoseok joins you. His shoulders brush against your own, knees drawn up to your chests and feet almost touching. You take in a deep breath, the strong scent of earthen musk and flowing water filling your senses. The both of you sit quietly, Hoseok letting you attempt to breathe everything in.

“I think I’ll miss things like this when I’m back in Seoul,” you finally say. Your voice is quiet, drowned out by the rushing of water, but Hoseok hears you clearly.

“Like what?”

“Like this: sitting, doing nothing - just watching nature. Life is hectic in Seoul; you should know that better than anyone. I’m a personal assistant to the CEO of a law firm. It’s a demanding job, and I practically live for my boss. I’ll miss doing things for myself: walking through a park, going to the spa, dancing on the streets. I’ll miss-” you don’t finish your sentence. The word ‘you’ is at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Your stomach drops as you realise that you will have to separate from Hoseok, and your heart aches when you realise you may never see him again. This is unchartered territory - something you hadn’t planned when you’d spontaneously booked your flight. Hoseok goes quiet, and the once easy atmosphere turns maudlin.

“Hey! Come on; let’s take a picture. This is the ideal place, yes?” Hoseok asks, his voice suddenly loud and cheery. Your eyes soften at his attempt at cheering you up as he tries his best to alleviate the tense mood. He holds his hand out for your phone, and you quickly shift, reaching into your pocket before handing it to him.

Hoseok shuffles away from you, putting distance between your bodies as he tries to capture the perfect angle. The way his head is tilted, tongue poking out as he concentrates on getting the best shot, has you instantly perking up. You crack a large smile, practically beaming at him. Hoseok yells in glee, his loud voice competing with the deafening waterfall. He takes a few pictures before shuffling back closer to you.

“Now, one of us!” Hoseok calls, pressing his shoulder tightly against yours before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him. Just as he takes the picture, he moves, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your eyes widen at his action, the camera clicking that exact moment.

“Hoseok! That’s a bad picture!” you yell in indignation. Hoseok’s eyebrows knit together before he shakes his head.

“It’s great! You look so cute,” Hoseok coos, taking in your shocked expression. The camera had captured your reaction to his kiss just in time.

“Delete it!” you whine, Hoseok shaking his head.

“No!”

“Well, it’s my phone. I’ll just delete it myself,” you reply, poking your tongue out before crossing your arms.

“Don’t! Promise me you won’t delete it,” Hoseok says, tone completely serious. You look at him curiously. He raises his brow, awaiting your answer. When he doesn’t budge, you finally sigh, giving in.

“Okay! Fine, I won’t delete it,” you relent. Hoseok beams at you, his lips pulling into their trademark heart shape.

“Good! Now you’ll remember me forever,” Hoseok says. Once again, his tone is completely casual, but the meaning isn’t lost on you. Your heart plummets in your chest as your inevitable separation rears its ugly head. There’s so much you want to say to him. I want to stay with you. I’ll miss you. I don’t want to leave you. I think I love you. However, your throat is sealed shut, and your tongue is unable to form the words. There is one thing you’re completely certain of though. You didn’t need a photograph to remember Hoseok.

He was etched in the back of your mind and carved into your heart forever. You were sure that whenever you thought of Barcelona, you’d remember him. You’d remember the way his skin glowed under the sunlight as if he were the sun himself and the way his body felt pressed against yours in the cool night. You’d remember the way his lips pull into the shape of a heart whenever he smiled and the carefree inclination in his laugh. You’d remember the way he’d hold you whenever he wanted to dance as he sings, voice low in your ear. You’d remember how his hand fit within yours as he dragged you through the streets and the way he’d intimately kiss your shoulder. You’d remember Hoseok. Forever.

“Sing for me,” you demand softly, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could even ponder them. You don’t regret them.

“Now? You won’t be able to hear me,” Hoseok says, looking at the waterfall pointedly.

“I’ll hear you. Please, Hoseok, sing for me,” you repeat, voice slightly louder this time. You desperately needed to hear his voice. Hoseok pauses for a minute before relenting.

“What do you want me to sing?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

“Anything,” comes your simple answer. Hoseok bites his tongue before nodding. He looks around, taking in the vibrant hues of the blue lake and the white foaming waterfall before his gaze falls on you.

“Inside my blue dream, I want to contain you,” Hoseok begins. His voice is quiet but the hauntingly dulcet tones resonate loudly in your ear. Your stomach plummets at his words, and you take in a deep, shuddering breath as you gaze at him softly. You want to remember this.

“Even if you say no, inside my eyes,” he continues. Intense eyes gaze at you, coffee orbs swimming with emotions that you cannot comprehend. You don’t even try to. Instead, the entire world fades away. The once deafening sound of water ebbing away to nothingness in the back of your mind as you focus on Hoseok’s mellifluous voice.

“Inside my blue dream, I want to hold you,” Hoseok sings, voice rumbling. His words are deep and meaningful, completely juxtaposed by the melancholic melody belying his voice. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, and your chest crumples from all the emotion bubbling up inside of you.

“Even if you say we can’t, inside my embrace,” Hoseok breathes out as he finishes, his voice fading into nothingness and the sound of the waterfall growing louder. An agonising ache grips your heart when his voice comes to a close. Without thinking, you lean over and draw his lips between yours, pouring in every bit of emotion you feel but can’t bring yourself to express.

Your kiss is slow and sensual, lips interlocked with each other. Hoseok’s hand moves to cup your cheek, drawing you in closer. Neither of you quicken the pace, more than content for your tongues to leisurely curve around each other. When the need for oxygen burns deep within your lungs, you both pull away. You flick out your tongue, licking your lips and tasting him on them before you lean your forehead against his. Deeply, you stare into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to preserve this piece of blue paradise between you forever.

On the last day you have in Barcelona, you find yourself blindfolded with Hoseok leading you somewhere. From the crashing of waves and the slight taste of salt in the air, you hazard a guess that you are somewhere on the beach. Suddenly, Hoseok stops before you feel him move behind you. His hands press into your waist, and then he’s gently pushing you, making sure you walk with careful steps. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion moments later, head snapping side to side as you hear the rumbling of an engine.

“Hoseok?” you ask, curious as to where you were. The wind rushes through your hair, sending the locks flying through the sea breeze. It almost felt as if you were on a boat.

“Just ten minutes sweetheart,” Hoseok says, his voice low as he brushes his lips against your temple. You nod, patiently waiting for him to give you the all clear and take off the blindfold. A while later, you assume ten minutes, you hear the engine cut off, leaving you in the quiet silence of the sea.

“Okay, now,” Hoseok says, and you tug of the blindfold. When you can finally see clearly, your breath hitches. You were correct; you hadbeen on a boat. Now, you were in the middle of the sea on a large white yacht that rocked gently on the waves. Hoseok stands just in front of you, a hesitant smile on his face. Beside him, is a table laid out with two plates and what you assume is dinner.

“I wanted to treat you to something special for your final day in Barcelona,” Hoseok breathes out, his voice carrying over the mellow sea breeze. You swallow thickly. His words cause your heart to clench, the ache in your chest returning. ‘Final’. It’s a simple word, and yet it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Hoseok holds out his hand, and you place your palm in his, allowing him to lead you to your seat. Your eyes follow him, watching as he takes a seat opposite you. He pours you a glass of white wine before smiling gently at you. Your eyes flick to your food, a mix of seafood laid beautifully on your plate. It’s presented elegantly and usually would have your mouth watering, but right now you simply have no appetite.

Despite this, you tuck into your food, and vaguely you can recognise that it tastes delicious. Hoseok idly chatters in the background, you, however, can’t focus on anything but the sight of him. The sun is low on the horizon, shades of copper and gold lighting up the sky. Hoseok’s form is illuminated by the glow of the sun, encasing him in an amber halo. The wind lightly combs through his dark hair, white sails ruffling behind him.

When he finishes his meal, he takes a sip of his wine before smiling at you. Your throat closes. Once again, you’re consumed with all the things you feel for him: feelings you shouldn’t have developed within such a short amount of time, yet you had, because Hoseok is perfect and so incredibly beautiful that it was entirely impossible to not fall in love with him. Your mouth is completely dry, as if you’ve swallowed cotton.

So, instead of saying anything, you get up and take his hand between yours. Hoseok blinks at you in surprise, before shuffling out of his seat. He lets you drag him towards the sofa and towards the bow of the boat before you push him gently. Hoseok falls onto the sofa. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips, your dress bunching up around your thighs as Hoseok’s hands naturally fall to your waist. He looks up at you through thick lashes, skin luminous in the warmth of the sun. He’s radiant.

Your neck bends down, Hoseok’s straining as you softly brush your lips against each other. He tastes intoxicating; the aftertaste of the tart wine is undercut by his natural sweetness. Hoseok deepens your kiss, pulling you in closer towards him, tongues savouring each other. Your hands curl into his hair, gripping his soft wavy locks tightly; his own hands wander across your back till they fist in your dress.

The deeper Hoseok kisses you, the more desperate you both become. Hoseok pulls away, breaking your kiss before trailing his lips across your neck as he suckles bruises into your throat. You cry out, his hands moving up your back to unzip your dress. Warm hands splay across your naked back, your own hands fervently moving to unbutton his shirt. Impatiently, you push it off of his shoulders before standing up and shimmying out of your dress. Hoseok follows your movement, both of you eagerly stripping until you were naked.

Hoseok lets out a little groan of appreciation. Nimble fingers caress the side of your breast before they trail along your side. His touch is featherlight and tickles your skin. Eventually, his hand reaches your waist, and gripping you just above your hip, he pulls you into him. Ever so gently, he spins you over before laying you down on the sofa. Climbing on top of you, he traces kisses down your collarbones and towards your sternum. Little moans of appreciation escape your lips when he presses his mouth against the skin between your breasts, feathering kisses along your flesh. Instinctively, your hands dive into Hoseok’s hair, and you admire how soft and silken it feels. Hoseok litters soft kisses in a straight line down your belly, tongue flicking out and swirling into your navel. When he kisses the skin just above your clit, you let out a wanton keen.

“Please, I want you in me,” you mumble, wanting to skip the foreplay. You were practically leaking down your thighs, pussy clenching in a desperate need to feel his cock. Hoseok shakes his head, long hair tickling your skin.

“I want to eat you. I need to taste you before…” Hoseok mutters, not finishing his sentence. ‘Before you leave’. Those are the words left unsaid. You ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, and, instead, buck your hips into him.

“Please,” you whimper. Hoseok delicately presses his lips against your clit, your breath hitching as your pussy gushes with a wave of wetness. His tongue laves between your slit, licking a line from your molten core all the way to your throbbing clit. A pleasurable sigh leaves your lips while your fingers tighten in his hair.

Hoseok’s hands skim up your thighs and towards your hips before soft pads press into your hip bones, pulling you closer to his face. His nose lightly teases your clit and only serves to add to your lust induced pleasure. He swirls his tongue through your pussy and collects every bit of arousal he can onto his tongue. You’re dripping all over him, his lips and chin wet with a sheen of your slick. Hoseok keeps his eyes trained onto you, tongue moving expertly through your folds. It’s completely erotic - the way his coffee irises glow honey-gold in the sun as he eats you out.

His mouth trails slightly lower before he’s plunging his tongue into you. The way his tongue pierces your cunt has you releasing a shuddering breath. Your eyes flutter shut, and your spine contorts, forcing your back to arch off the sofa. Red hot ecstasy scorches your skin, chest flushing in heat. Your hand leaves Hoseok’s hair, instead, gripping onto the armrests, nails clawing into the linen. Messily, he slurps at your cunt, soft pink lips gently suckling around your soaked hole.

“Hoseok,” you mewl, eyes screwing shut and hips gyrating against his face.

“I love the way you taste. I love the way you drip for me. Your pussy is always so wet and ready for me. You taste so sweet, I can never get enough,” Hoseok says, his words vibrating across the nerves of your cunt. The way your pussy contracts in pleasure is completely contrasted by the ache you feel in your chest. Everything he says has a deeper undercurrent of meaning that you don’t want to think about right now, but you can’t help thinking about it. This could be the last time you feel Hoseok between your thighs -the last time he tastes you.

“Close,” you mewl, thighs beginning to quiver around his cheeks. Immediately, Hoseok pulls away, and you cry out. Desperately, your body begins writhing as you whine, trying to get him back between your legs.

“Hoseok,” you beg, voice high pitched with want. Hoseok presses a kiss to your lips, the taste of you heavy on his tongue.

“Patience, sweetheart. I want you to cum on my cock where I can watch you fall apart,” Hoseok says, lips brushing your temple. Your heart flutters at his words as you draw him in for another kiss. You flip yourselves over, gently lowering Hoseok onto the sofa before you drop to your knees.

“Wait no, I want to feel you,” Hoseok begins protesting, but you shush him. He lets out a quiet hiss, throwing his head back when you kiss his cockhead.

“I want you in my mouth first,” you reply, words mirroring his. Hoseok groans before nodding, hands gathering up your hair. Your tongue flicks out, licking up the underside of his dick, all the way from the base to his head before swirling around his slit. Hoseok sinks further into the sofa, thighs splaying out as he gives you more room. You shuffle closer and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping as you lightly suckle his tip.

The taste of him is heavy in your mouth, his cockhead leaking with precum and coating your tongue. You relish in the taste, and briefly, you can’t help but wonder if you are ruined for anyone else. You don’t think you could ever forget the way he tastes. More importantly, you are completely addicted to him. No one could or would taste as good as him. Your mouth sinks further onto him, eyes trained on the way his teeth clench, jaw flinching. You squeeze your hand around his length before gently sucking as your cheeks hollow.

“Fuck… You’re so good. I’ll miss your mouth,” Hoseok pants, hands tightening around your hair. ‘I’ll miss you’; you can’t help it when those words flash in your mind. You will. You’ll miss Hoseok more than you ever thought you could miss someone. When you take him further into your mouth, his tip hitting your throat, Hoseok lets out a little hiss.

You begin bobbing your head on top of him. Your eyes stay focused on the total pleasure etched on his face, his jaw twitching every now and then as he tries his hardest not to lose control. Tenuously, your hand unwraps from his cock, and you relish in the way he bucks into your mouth, protesting the loss of your hand. Instead, your hand trails down to cup his balls, rolling them in the palm of your hand. Hoseok sucks in a breath. Suddenly, he’s pulling you off of him.

“I need you. I need you right now,” Hoseok groans. His voice is needy and full of desire. You feel your stomach churn, nodding as you stand up and in between his thighs. Hoseok pulls you into him by the hips, pressing his head against your stomach before kissing just under your ribcage, his hair tickling your skin.

Small palms slowly maneuver you until you’re straddling him once again, his cock brushing against your thigh and painting the flesh in his precum. You shift over him until his cock is pressing against your entrance, threatening to enter you. Then, you circle your hips over him once, coating him in your arousal until his cock is as sticky as your pussy. Hoseok’s hands shoot to hold your hips before he slowly lowers you onto him. Dexterous fingers flex against your hip bones, his face buried into your chest as he attempts to stifle a sigh. Inch by inch, he sinks into you, gradually splitting your walls open on his cock.

A shaky breath leaves your lips, and halfway into your descent on his length, you let out a soft whine until he’s finally buried into you. He stills your hips, holding you there as he inhales sharply. You both lay motionless, just feeling each other, taking in as much of the other as you can. He feels deeper in you than he ever has. It's probably just your mind playing tricks on you, but somehow, you feel even more connected to him. When you grow impatient, your flex your thighs and pick yourself up off of him before lowering back down. Your head lolls back in pleasure, every ridge and vein of his dick brushing against your walls.

Hoseok begins moving you on top of him, letting you ride him in a slow, erotic pace. Hands skim up your spine, pressing a kiss above your breast, just to the side of your heart. His touches feel different this time, somehow more intimate, more reverent, as they wander over your body. There’s not a single inch of skin that he doesn’t feel, pleasure tingling up your spine at his attentive actions. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around you tightly before pulling you flush into him. Then, his hand moves to cup your cheek, drawing you into his lips. Your mouths desperately move against each other, the kiss filled with raw emotion that neither of you want to reveal.

When you both break away, Hoseok sucks your swollen lips between his own, nibbling on the tender flesh. You gasp into his mouth, hands moving to wrap around his shoulder. Hips begin surging against each other harder, each motion filled with an urgent need for the other. A sudden thrust from Hoseok has him hitting particularly deep, and your pussy involuntarily flexes. You keen over him, clawing at his back.

With every one of his movements, you climb higher and higher towards the precipice of your orgasm. Lips smash into each other fervently, Hoseok’s hands wandering all across your body, mapping out each and every one of your curves. Your own hands clutch Hoseok’s back desperately, both your torsos pressed against each other so tightly you are practically melding into each other. You bury your face into his shoulder, biting into his flesh as you teeter on the edge of your climax.

“Let me see your face. I want to see you when you cum,” Hoseok says, his tone almost pleading. You relent, unable to deny him anything. Lifting your head, your hands move to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. Your eyes stay focused on one another, hips writhing desperately against the other’s. With laboured breaths, you rut each other, eyes unable to tear away from the other’s gaze. Hoseok suddenly moves his head, placing one final kiss on your lips before pressing your foreheads together.

“Cum- want to feel you,” Hoseok whispers, his lips skimming yours with every one of his words. The words are choked, and you can feel his cock pulsate. Immediately you know he’s close. Harder, you undulate your hips, pushing him deeper into you, as deep as he could go. When your clit brushes against his pelvis you finally cum. Your muscles seize on top of him, nails digging further into his skin. With trembling arms, you cling tighter to him, whimpering out his name over and over, as if it were a prayer on your lips while your orgasm washes over you in hot flashes.

Hoseok groans, your walls undoubtedly clamping tighter around him. He thrusts once, hands pulling your hips down onto his as he attempts to bury as deep into you as was physically possible. Then, with a choked groan, he cums, your name escaping his lips. You desperately want to close your eyes, lids heavy with the strength of your climax, but you force them to stay open, even when they begin tearing up from the intensity of your orgasm.

You don’t want to miss anything. Your eyes scrutinise every single detail you can: the way his face contorts in pleasure, the way his hair clings to his forehead, and the way his breath tastes against your lips. You commit every piece of him to memory: his dark honeyed eyes scrunched in ecstasy, the elegant slant of his nose and his high cheekbones, his gentle cheeks, and the sharp curve of his jaw. You don’t want to forget a single thing.

The sun sets lower and lower as you cling to each other. You’re both swimming in the afterglow of your orgasms, limbs spasming erratically. Heavy breathing circulates the air as you pant. Hoseok’s hands are splayed across your back, keeping your sweat-soaked bodies clinging to each other. When you both finally manage to come down from your post-orgasmic highs, the euphoric haze gradually fading, the sky is painted purple and pink. Your throat closes when you realise the sun has completely disappeared below the horizon. It only serves to add a tone of finality to everything.

When the weight of your emotions begins to physically crush your chest, you finally close your eyes and let the tears fall. This time, they’re not from pleasure.

Hours later, in the very early morning, you lay in bed watching Hoseok. The sun hasn’t even begun to rise, and your only light source is the waning gibbous moon shining through the curtains. You know you should probably get out of bed; you have a flight to catch, yet you can’t find it in yourself to tear your gaze away from him. You still have a little while before you have to leave, your suitcase already packed and ready. So, you take one final time to commit every last detail of Hoseok to your memory.

His skin glows under the low lighting, the moon illuminating him. Your chest floods with the overwhelming amount of emotion you feel for him. You’ve thought it multiple times during your trip, but he truly is the most stunning man you have ever laid your eyes on. He is so tremendously beautiful, in fact, that you were sure the god of beauty had personally blessed him.

Hesitantly, you reach your hand out, tracing his face as gently as you can. You don’t want to wake him just yet. Your finger trails along his forehead and eyebrows before drawing down the elegant slope of his nose. Unable to suppress the grin that breaks out on your face, you bite your lip, his nose twitching under your ministrations. Your fingers continue tracing his features, along his soft lips, and finally down the curvature of his defined jaw. When you’re done, you let out a deep sigh, shifting closer on his chest as you continue watching him.

Subconsciously, Hoseok’s arm around your back tightens, pulling you further into him. Nervously, you chew your lip, resting your head back on his chest as you listen to the steady beating of his heart. It’s loud in your ear, the rhythmic sound almost lulling you back to sleep. Your own heart aches, knowing that in mere hours he’d be far away from you, his heartbeat further than you could reach.

You love Hoseok. You are sure of this. You don’t know exactly when you had fallen for him, but somewhere between the intimate touches and the thrill of Barcelona, you had lost your heart on him. It’s foolish really, to have fallen for someone in such a short amount of time - someone you knew you were bound to leave. However, you hadn’t planned it. It had been completely spontaneous and involuntarily. Now, here you are, pining for a man that you will probably never see again.

A part of you wants to wake him up and ask him if he loved you the way you love him, if he was willing to be with you and only you. You have no idea what he feels for you or if you are just another notch on his bedpost. What if he replaces you the moment you were gone? The thought of you leaving Barcelona and Hoseok falling for someone else leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You are his. You wholeheartedly belong to him. Of this, you are sure. You could never love any man the way you love Hoseok, and your feelings would never burn for anyone the way they do for him, yet, a part of you wonders whether it was just the Barcelona air - the atmosphere was so inherently romantic that it would have been impossible not to fall for someone, right? You try to convince yourself of this, but when the ache in your chest deepens, you know you’ve failed.

The first light of day breaks over the horizon, the sky painted in different hues of the dawn. With a small sigh, you lift yourself off of Hoseok’s chest before leaning up and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You don’t miss the way your heart palpitates, pace quickening when his eyes flutter open and sleepy pools of chocolate meet your eyes. You’ll miss waking up to him.

“It’s almost time for me to leave,” you whisper. A part of you prays for him to say something, anything- for him to ask you to stay; for him to tell you he loves you. He doesn’t. Instead, he just nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you tighter. You let out a disappointed sigh before picking yourself up off of him and getting out of bed.

You pad into the bathroom before you begin your morning routine. Moments later, Hoseok joins you, dressed in nothing but his boxers. From the corners of your eye, you watch him. He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder before reaching for his toothbrush and brushing his teeth next to you. Your heart grows heavy in your chest at the entirely domestic scene. You’ll miss early morning moments like these.

An hour later, you’re both ready. You quickly do a final sweep of the room, ensuring you haven’t left anything behind before following Hoseok out of the hotel room. You bite your lip and blink away the tears when you’re finally out. There are so many memories trapped behind the door: tender kisses and gentle touches between whispered words of sweet nothings. When Hoseok shuts the door, obstructing your view of the room, you let out a heavy exhale, knowing that you’d probably never see it again. Hoseok takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together before rolling your suitcase.

The entire car journey, your hands stay held together, Hoseok expertly steering with a single hand. It’s dangerous - he probably shouldhave both hands on the wheel, yet neither of you really want to let go. Your eyes are downcast, focused on your joint hands, not wanting to look at the happy scenes of Barcelona. It’s a complete one-eighty flip from when you first arrived a whole week ago. Then, you had wanted nothing more than to lose yourself in the happy, almost exhilarating ambience of Barcelona. However, now that you were leaving, you didn’t want to take in the happy scenes or vibrant colours - not when you’re heart was aching.

The journey is long, minutes only lengthened by the sombre air, thick with emotion and unsaid words. You’re almost suffocated by how stifling the tension is and you cling onto Hoseok’s hand as if it were your last lifeline. When you finally arrive at the airport, you stare at it with blank eyes, not really wanting to leave. Except, you have to. Your life is in Seoul, not Barcelona. You have a job there, family, friends. You can’t abandon them all, even if you wanted to, even if your entire being is screaming, yearning for you to stay with Hoseok. You cannot, so, with a steely expression, you open Hoseok’s car door and walk out.

He follows you into the terminal, clinging to you almost like a lost puppy. Hoseok stays with you through the entire process, from when you check in your baggage right until the final moment before you have to pass security, lest you miss your flight. The entire time, his hand never leaves yours, gripping it tighter when the gates toward security near. Neither of you want to let go, though neither of you say anything to make the other stay. You shift nervously from one foot to the other, hiking your handbag further up your shoulder as you turn to Hoseok.

His eyes are intense. He looks at you, eyes laden with emotion. You’re sure your own eyes reflect the same. Once again, there’s so much at the tip of your tongue. I love you. I want you. I want to stay with you. Yet, none of them tumble out, your tongue tied. Hoseok lets go of your hand, your fingers flexing as they immediately miss his touch. Instead, Hoseok moves his both palms to cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a short, sweet kiss.

“I don’t think Barcelona will ever be the same without you,” Hoseok sighs against your lips, pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. Your heart grips at his words. He doesn’t think Barcelona will feel the same without you. Youdon’t think your life will feel the same without Hoseok. Somewhere in that short week, he had become a constant in your life, one you would sorely miss when he was no longer in it.

“I didn’t know what would happen when I booked that flight spontaneously. I didn’t expect meeting you, but you, Jung Hoseok, have been my favourite part of Barcelona,” you choke out earnestly, nothing but honesty in your voice. Hoseok’s eyes soften, and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. Once again, Hoseok pulls you in for a kiss. This time, it’s long and deep.

Automatically, your hands fist into the collar of his button down, pulling him closer to you. You pour out everything you feel into it, tongues laving against each other as you taste one another one final time. Moments later, Hoseok pulls away, his gaze flicking to the electronic board of flight timings.

“You should go,” Hoseok mumbles, his throat tightening, “or you may miss your flight,” he finishes. You can’t help the way your stomach churns or the way your chest caves in at his words, crushed under the weight of your heartache. Standing on your tiptoes, you lean over and press one final kiss onto the corner of his lips.

“Goodbye, Hoseok.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” Hoseok replies. You bite your lip, the pet name almost causes the tears in your eyes to fall. However, you stay strong, not wanting him to see you cry. Undoubtedly, however, you would miss the way he called you that.

Finally, you grip the strap of your handbag before turning and walking away from him. Your footsteps thunder, echoing in your eardrums as with each step the distance between you grows. The further you move away from him, the heavier your heart grows. The ending is more bitter than sweet, and as you’re passing the security gate, tears blur your vision. You turn back one final time, catching his eye. His gaze never leaves yours. He stands in the middle of the busy airport, hands in his pockets as he watches you. You smile ruefully and wave at him before passing through. When you finally get through security, the tears fall, little sobs escaping your mouth.

Hoseok watches you until the moment you disappear from his line of sight and out of his life. Then, he continues watching, waiting for you to come running back out and into his life, almost like the movies. A minute passes, then five, then ten. Finally, when almost fifteen minutes pass, he realises that you’re not coming back -that life isn’t a movie. With a stinging heart, he wipes at the tears pooling in his eyes before choking back a sob. When he turns away, walking away from security and out of the airport, his heart finally breaks.

You are gone.

Months later, you find yourself going through the motions of your life. Everything feels listless and monotonous. Your boss has become a lot less demanding, hiring a second personal assistant so that you don’t burn out. You are grateful, but it only means that you spend longer reminiscing about your short holiday - spend longer missing Hoseok. You miss him every day -miss him when you wake up without him next to you, miss his loud, boisterous laughter, miss the feel of his arms around you.

Today is one of your days off. Usually, you’d have your job to keep your mind occupied. Today, however, you’re feeling even more morose than usual. You sit in the quiet of your apartment, staring at the photo of you and Hoseok from that day in the park. If you try hard enough, you can still feel the ghost of his lips against your skin, and if you close your eyes, you can hear his hauntingly beautiful voice as he sings.

You stay seated on your sofa, unmoving, daydreaming about Hoseok and how beautiful he looked with the sun setting behind him. You would never forget his face. More importantly, you couldnever forget his face. You had carved him deep into your mind and held him even closer to your heart. You don’t know how long you spend lost in your reverie, but suddenly, you’re drawn out by a knock on your apartment door. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You aren't expecting any guests, so you have no idea who it could be. You throw your phone down onto the sofa before padding over to the door, unlocking it. However, nothing could have prepared you for what, or who, is on the other side.

“Oh finally! Do you have any idea how many flats I’ve visited in the last week looking for you?” Hoseok admonishes. You can’t answer, instead, staring wide-eyed at him. You blink once, twice, and then three times before rubbing your eyes. Is he real or are you just imagining him? The sight of your shocked face has Hoseok finally calming down. He shuffles nervously as it finally dawns on him that he had finally found you.

“Hi,” he says shyly. It’s completely different from his initially loud words. Now, his eyes are full of hesitation.

“H-Hoseok? What are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you find me?” you stammer, completely in awe. Hope flutters in your chest. Had he missed you the way you missed him? Surely, that is the reason he’s here in front of you.

“Yeah… hi. Sorry, this is probably rude, and I know you weren’t expecting me to just show up but...” Hoseok begins, voice trailing off before he runs a hand through his hair. “I missed you. I miss you. I tried to forget you, I really did, but I just couldn’t. Barcelona isn’t the same without you. My life isn’t the same without you. I think… no I know I love you. I love you. When I came back to Seoul, you were the first person I looked for. It took me a while to locate you, but I finally found you!” Hoseok begins rambling, the words blurting out his mouth. You can’t really comprehend them, still stuck on the fact that he’s here right in front of you.

“I found you, and I was just… I was wondering if we could continue where we left off. I want you. I need you. So much. Please say something, you’re just staring at me, and I’m running out of words,” Hoseok finishes. His fingers fiddle nervously, and he shuffles from foot to foot. His words finally resonate in your head, your brain processing the meaning behind them. You don’t know what to say. This is almost like a dream come true. Hoseok is standing right in front of you like you had been wishing for the past months. However, you can’t help the hesitation that grips your heart.

“Hoseok… I love you too, but this isn’t Barcelona. We’re not on holiday. We have jobs and lives. I love you, but what if… what if our love was based on us being on holiday? We can’t just wander around Seoul fucking. There are so many things that could go wrong. What if we don’t have time for each other? You said it yourself: you travel the world every few months. How are we supposed to cope with not being able to see each other? What if, now that we’re away from Barcelona, the romance between us dies?” you breathe out, laying your worries out for him. Hoseok, however, barely hears the words past ‘I love you’. He lets out a large grin, and your heart quickens when his heart-shaped smile radiates all the warmth you had missed.

“You’re worried about the wrong things. I love you. You love me. That’s all that matters. Besides, what we feel is real. I know it. My feelings for you are as real as it gets. It’s been months, and I can’t stop thinking about you - can’t stop missing you -can’t stop loving you. We’ll figure things out slowly. Plus, romance isn’t a city. It’s the love we feel for each other. Romance is me and you,” Hoseok replies. His tone is completely steady and his words confident. There is not a single shred of doubt in his tone. A smile breaks out onto your own lips, so wide that it almost matches his.

Then with a kiss, you pull him into your apartment.

a/n: look!!! this one isn’t as sad as the other ones!!!! even though i seriously thought about ending this with them not getting together kenflke,,,, but please let me know what you thought! and if no one fell in love with suncity hobi then you’re all fake and don’t deserve rights

Mixtape Series | Masterlist

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thorne93 · 5 years

Text

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 2)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count: 3284

Warnings: Language,

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

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Once you dropped the man known a Thor off at the hospital, you all returned to your research trying to figure out just what the hell that was last night. What was the light? What was that funnel? What kind of tornado appears like that out of nowhere?

“Jane,” you said, looking at the pictures, “does something seem off to you here?” you asked, holding a photo up.

“Yeah… Where’s Ursa Minor?” she asked.

“My thoughts exactly. We better show Selvig.”

And so you did. You showed him all the oddities from last night, when Darcy noticed that Thor was actually inside the weird event. A few photos were taken and a silhouette of a man was inside of the cloud, that man had to be Thor, and he would have all the answers you needed.

The four of you went back to the hospital, only to find that he'd broken out of his restraints. Feeling defeated, you went back to the car, where Jane hit him again with her car. He had come out of nowhere and she backed into him.

“Jane, are you just determined to kill our only evidence?” you asked in a slightly irritated tone as you got out of the car.

“I’m not doing this on purpose!” she snapped back.

You knelt beside him and examined him. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you and gave a slight frown. “Yes, I’m quite alright.”

“Good,” you kindly said. “Would you mind coming with us? We… want to talk to you,” you said, glancing to Jane who nodded, affirming your request.

“As you wish.”

With that, you and Erik helped him up, got him in the camper, and got him back to the lab.

All of you introduced yourselves while Jane got him some clothes he could wear instead of the hospital gown he was in. He went to change and you stared at him, not because he was muscular and attractive. You stared at him because of that familiar feeling you got when you were around him, and for some strange reason, you felt… better when you were near him. You felt energized, stronger, like you could take on the world.

And although he seemed… not quite right, something was just too coincidental that his name was Thor and he knew of a Bifrost. Unless he was just entirely loony, and decided to take on that persona, he looked the part of Thor, and knew at least a few key things about a world in which it looked like he belonged.

“This mortal form has grown weak. I need sustenance,” he suddenly said and you jumped up.

“I could make you some food,” you offered.

“What? No. He can eat some PopTarts,” Jane countered. “We need you to tell us what happened last night,” she instructed as Thor walked towards the kitchen.

“Jane, please. Give him a few minutes. You’ve run him over twice and clearly he’s still a little dazed,” you pleaded.

“Fine, but I want answers,” she informed firmly before sitting down with the other two at the breakfast table.

You walked over to the cabinet and pulled down some pop tarts and handed them to him. “Sorry about her, she can get a little… passionate when it comes to her work,” you said quietly as your eyes drifted to her.

“What is this?” he asked, taking the box.

“Oh,” you said, laughing. “These are pop tarts. A breakfast food. Do they not have them where you’re from?” you asked, noting his accent.

“No,” he informed.

“Ah, well all you do is--” you popped open the box, pulled out a silver package, ripped it open, and handed him a piece “--open the box, open the sleeve, and eat.”

He looked at it for a moment before shoving nearly the whole thing in his mouth. “I like this. This is good. More!” With that, he yanked the box from you, making you laugh.

“Have them all if you want.”

After he downed the entire box, he informed you all he was still hungry so you went to a diner down the street. The entire time you sat there, all you could try and think of was where you’d seen him before, other than in the mythology books -- which, that couldn’t be real. Thor seemed to be intrigued by you too because he seemed to steal a couple of curious glances your way as well.

As soon as Thor seemed to finally be full, he heard about the “satellite” wreckage that landed fifty miles west of town. Once he heard of it, he seemed hellbent on getting it.

“It’s not what they say it is,” Thor insisted.

“Well what is it?” you inquired.

“It’s Mjolnir, and it belongs to me. If you take me there right now, I will tell you all the answers you seek,” he promised and your heart swelled.

“Jane!” you said, turning to her in joy. “Let’s go!”

“Can I have a word with you two?” Erik requested and you glanced back to Thor before walking a few feet away. “Please don’t do this.”

“Do what? Take him to see some wreckage? He’s promising us answers, Erik,” you stated, pleading. You couldn’t explain it, but Thor seemed sincere and kind, and all you wanted to do was help him. You didn’t get any sort of odd feelings from him.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear him? Thor? Bifrost? Mjolnir? It’s all stories, all tales I was told as a child. That’s all they are, are tales. He’s delusional and he’s dangerous.”

“We’re just giving him a lift to a crater site,” you insisted.

“Jane,” Selvig started, turning to her, trying to reason with her. “Please. Don’t. I don’t like the idea of this.”

Jane gave him a torn look before glancing at you with apology in her face.

“Jane, no...No! Come on!” you pleaded but she just gave you a sympathetic look before telling Thor she couldn’t take him.

“Then this is where we say goodbye,” he said before bowing, saying goodbye to you all and kissing Jane’s hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment when he told you goodbye, but then started to walk off, but something about him retreating made you feel… sad, almost... homesick.

Just as you all began walking away, a truck with Jane’s equipment stopped right in front of you all.

“Uh, Jane--”

“What?! Hey! That’s mine!” she shouted before the two of you took off running towards the lab. “What the hell is going on here?” Jane demanded as you stood beside her.

“Ms. Foster, I’m Agent Coulson, with SHIELD,” a man in a black suit stated and you recognized him. You’d seen him once before… hanging around Stark’s tower.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? You can’t do this!” Jane shouted as she tried desperately to grab at the things that were being taken.”

“Jane. Jane. This is a lot more serious than you realize. Let it go,” Selvig advised in a cautious voice, making your eyes scan the man and the other men in suits working diligently to clear all the work from the last several weeks.

How could they do this? How could some company or government program just waltz into a private scientific lab and seize any data they see fit? Which reminded you… there was a recorder in your pocket from last night, a recorder in which you used all the time to take notes out loud to transcribe later for Jane. You thought better when you spoke. You subtly felt it to make sure it was still there, then rested your hand inside your jeans to keep it secure in your hand.

“Let it go? Let it go? This is my life!”

“We’re here investigating a security threat. We need to appropriate your records and all your atmospheric data,” Coulson informed.

“By ‘appropriate’ do you mean ‘steal’?” Jane asked as she followed the men to a van where they were loading the last bit of your things.

“How can you do this?” you asked in an oddly calm voice, sadness tinging every word as you looked at the man in the suit.

“Here. This should more than compensate you for your trouble,” he tried, handing Jane a check.

“I can’t just buy replacements at RadioShack! I made most of this equipment myself!��

“Then I’m sure you can do it again.”

“And I’m sure I can sue you for violating my constitutional rights!” Jane yelled.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Foster, but we’re the good guys.”

“So are we! I’m on the verge of understanding something extraordinary. And everything I know about this phenomenon is either in this lab or in this book and you can’t just take this with--”

At that, another man in a suit grabbed Jane’s prized journal and tossed it in the van and closed the doors.

“Hey!” she said and you held her back.

“Jane,” you tried.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said before disappearing around the side of the van, making you feel hollow. Weeks of research. Weeks of work. Hours upon hours of math -- gone. How could the world be so cruel? At this point you weren’t sure what to do. The ethical thing would be to stay with Jane and help her rebuild her research, but you needed funding. Maybe some labs back in NYC would have an opening. Maybe Tony would take pity on you and --

Your phone began ringing and you stepped away to answer it.

“Hey, Shannon, could we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something…”

“Yeah, so am I,” she said with a knowing tone. “It’s called being in your city, well, town. You can’t call this a city.”

Your eyes lit up and some form of warmth refilled your body. Between saying goodbye to the strange Thor and losing your work, you needed something like this. You looked out of the wide windows of the lab into the streets of the town, expecting to see Shannon just standing there.

“You are? Where?”

“I’m on my way back into town, actually,” she corrected. “Wanna get some coffee?”

“Of course,” you said. “Meet me at Izzy’s Diner.”

You grabbed your purse and told the three researchers you’d be back. You left the lab like your heels were on fire and skated into the diner. You ordered a coffee and a plate of toast. About ten minutes later, Shannon emerged and a giant grin grew on your face. Within an instant you jumped up and wrapped her in a tight embrace, really needing your best friend.

“So what the hell are you doing here?’ you asked quickly, and excitedly, with a dash of strong curiosity.

“Did you hear about that satellite crash? About fifty miles west?” she asked, leaning forward on her arms.

“Yeah, kinda,” you said.

“It’s not a satellite. But anyway, Tony wanted me to investigate. Grab some readings off of it, so we can study it. I got there early this morning got my data, and then the SHIELD goons showed up, so I hightailed it. I pretended I was a tourist. Tony gave me this nifty watch that lets you read from a distance of 100 feet." She went to show you the tool but you shook your head and lowered her hand.

"That's great, but...SHIELD showed up and took all of our data."

"All of it?" she asked, shocked.

"Every bit. Just now. We saw them load it and haul it away," you noted, the sorrow in your voice not hidden as your eyes dropped to your plate.

Shannon sank back in her chair. "That's a bummer. I was going to ask you if you had anything I could bring Tony. I knew you were working in that area. I was hoping you had swiped some info."

"I've got something small but... not here," you said, glancing around.

"Right." She nodded.

"So how is Tony?" you wondered, wanting to get your mind off the bad events.

"He's... you know... Tony," she said with a laugh, that made you want to return the laugh.

"So he's still a stubborn, egotistical, asshole, genius?" you inquired.

"Bingo."

"And has that asshole-genius asked you out yet?" you asked with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"What? No," she responded, blushing, covering part of her face with her hand as if Tony were in the room now and could hear. "We aren't like that, okay? He doesn't like me like that."

You let out a loud, short laugh. "Oh my god, Shannon. You can bullshit Stark all you want, but me? No. You know damned well that I know how you feel about him."

"Yeah, well that doesn't change the fact that he doesn't like me," she quipped in a whisper.

"It does, because I know he does."

"Oh, and where is your proof?" she asked with a playful mocking face. "Hmm? Please, paint me a picture of how Tony Stark wants to be with his lab assistant."

"The way he looks at you," you said point blank, your tone making it clear it was obvious to everyone. "The fact that he made you lead lab director."

"That's qualifications, Y/N."

"He could've put you on bigger projects. Projects that don't take place inside Stark Tower? Projects that are all over the globe? but what does he do? He sticks you in the same floor, the same main room he works in."

"We are not discussing this," she said firmly, her cheeks getting redder.

"Why not?! He's into you! You should just ask him!"

"I'm not going to ask my boss if he's harboring feelings for me!" she whisper-shouted.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

"Well if you won't be reasonable, then maybe you'll listen to something crazy."

You launched into how you met Thor and everything he was saying, and you how believed he was telling the truth.

"Wait, let me get this straight. Jane runs over a guy with the research van, and you think he's some Norse God reborn?"

You shook your head. "No, I think he is the Thor. I think he is very old and very powerful."

"What makes you think that? He probably read the same books you did in college but he took them a little too far," she noted.

"No, I'm telling you, Shannon. He talks about this like it's his home. He talks so comfortably about it as if I were to say 'Hand me your phone' or 'Get in the car.'"

"Okay so he's been crazy a long time. Since when do you defy logic and reason?" she challenged, wondering why you were believing a man who was probably insane.

To be honest, you knew how it sounded. You'd been dwelling on it all day since he said his name was Thor last night. But there were too many coincidences for this not to be something weird.

"Since Newton was called crazy, since Einstein was ridiculed, since Copernicus was railroaded."

Shannon started to roll her eyes but you pressed on.

"Come on, you have to admit, it's pretty weird that the night he shows up in the middle of the desert, some weird 'thing' crashed nearby. You saw it, did it look like a hammer?"

She seemed to stall, which meant you were right.

"Well... yeah, but that doesn't mean--"

"Aha! See? I'm telling you... This is the real deal."

"I think you studied that crap too much that you forgot what's real and not real," she muttered.

"Shannon, science is always telling us to broaden our minds, our thinking, our understanding. We've all agreed that it would be wildly arrogant to assume we're alone in the cosmos, why is this any different?"

“Because it’s insane,” she stressed. “You’re talking about magic and realms and teleportation devices.”

“Yes, but thirty years ago nearly all of Tony's inventions would've been called impossible. And now look where he is! Look where science has brought us.”

“Okay, and what if what you’re saying is true? What are you going to do?” she pressed. “You gonna tell everyone? You gonna ask him to take you back with him?"

A small sparkle twinkled in your eye before Shannon began going, "No. Oh no. I know that look. No! Are you mad?"

"Possibly," you said, tilting your head to the side. "But what do I have to lose? I just lost all of my most recent work, he didn't threaten me. The least I can do is ask!"

"Y/N! Y/N!" she shouted as you got up from the table, throwing some cash down and making your way outside. "This is crazy. You don't even know where to find him!"

"Can't be hard in a population of five," you muttered, looking around for him on the street. "I need a car. Dammit. Give me your car," you instructed. "We'll take him.”

“I’m not so sure I want some homeless crazy dude in my car,” she stated as the two of you walked down mainstreet.

“Please? We’re just taking him to that hammer. He said earlier he would tell us information. This way we both get what we want. I can see if he’s telling the truth and you get more data for your boy toy.” You flashed a cheeky grin and began walking again.

“He is not my b-- Ugh! Fine. Only because I love you and I want to prove to you that Norse Mythology is just that -- myth. Something made up for children or for primitive beings with primitive gods.”

“I don’t care what your reasons are so long as you take us,” you said with a smile. Just as you said that, you found Thor inside a pet store. It seemed easy to find him, almost like… Almost like he was a beacon to you. Without even seeing him, you were drawn to him.

You texted Jane and told her where you were going and she said she wanted to take you all, to come along. So, instead of taking the fancy ass car Tony bought Shannon, you took the broken down camper. Jane and Thor sat up front, chatting a bit while you and Shannon caught up some more. You introduced the two of them and set off.

Eventually, talk turned to Thor and his life.

“You’re brave to do this, you all are,” he noted.

“I’m just trying to find answers,” you stated honestly.

“Yes, it seems we all are. But you three maidens seem to be rather clever in this realm. Much like my friends back home,” he said with a fond smile.

“Maidens? Realm?” Jane asked, her voice saturated with amusement and confusion.

“You think me strange?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“I’m not quite sure yet… I’m sorry but, who are you? Really?” Jane pressed.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“You promised us answers,” she reminded.

“What you seek, it’s a bridge,” he started.

“Like an Einstein Rosen bridge?” she asked, excitement in her voice, meanwhile you began to tingle all over.

“More like a rainbow bridge.”

“A rainbow bridge… like… Like in Asgard?” you questioned.

Thor turned around to try to face you better from his position in the passenger seat. “Yes, exactly. I thought Midgardians didn’t know anything about us.”

“I… I studied your… culture.”

“She means,” Shannon started, “that she studied mythology that happens to sound like where you came from but I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” she said with a pointed look.

You gave her a look back, before the four of you settled in for the rest of the drive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#unforeseen chasm #loki x reader #tony stark x ofc #loki #tony stark #thor

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Link

Clammy

Summary: Aziraphale's molt is upon him. He has to decide what to do with the feathers

A park bench and supernaturally beautiful weather. A basket of sandwiches, fruit, crisps, and a rather large selection of chocolate truffles. A bottle of Pinot Noir between them. Crowley stretched out his legs and thought that if this was it, all they ever managed to wring from this world, it just might be enough.

“Divine,” Aziraphale proclaimed, polishing off the last raspberry truffle. The sun had left chocolate coated over his fingers and he set to licking it off, heedless of decorum. Crowley designed to watch.

“Not precisely the word I’d choose,” he said. “Considering I bought them and all.”

“But Mrs. Sutherland made them.”

“But you don’t know what I did to them between here and the bakery.”

Aziraphale froze, thumb halfway between his lips and a smear of chocolate on his cheek. The shock lasted only a moment before he was rolling his eyes. “Of course I know. You forgot to chill them so now they’re a half-melted mess.”

“...touché.”

Not that half-melted messes had ever stopped him. Aziraphale continued to work his way steadily through dessert while Crowley watched the foot traffic in front of them, sneaking glances every now and then from behind the safety of his glasses. It was while he was most assuredly looking only at the changing leaves past Aziraphale’s shoulder that he noticed—

“That time of the century, huh?”

Aziraphale froze for the second time, eyes widening just a bit. But Crowley didn’t call him out on the absurd little wiggle he’d been trying (and apparently failing) to do subtly against the back of the bench. There was no one looking but Crowley and if he didn’t mind chocolate-covered fingers or crumbs down the front of his vest, there was little reason to think he’d mind this. With a sigh Aziraphale gave up and shoved the box away, reaching to scratch rather ferociously at his back.

“It’s so undignified,” he said, tone just this side of petulant. “I am meant to be an ethereal being. A creature of unsurpassed glory and wisdom—”

“Think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not some, some, some common avian enslaved to his biology. I don’t even have biology. Not technically.” The last part was definitely a whine.

Crowley indulged in a snort and slid further down the bench, nearly boneless against the wood. Literally. His body bent in ways not generally allowed by spines and pelvises, but no joints dared raise a complaint. “You’ve got it easy, angel. I go through two of them.”

“Two?”

“Wings and,” Crowley gestured down his entire body, suddenly looking a little unsure. “You know. I am a snake.”

“Right.” Nothing like the embarrassment of another to sooth a bit of your own. Aziraphale cast him a crooked smile. “That’s... well. Quite sorry to hear it, dear boy.”

“You and me both.”

Another quick press against the bench and then Aziraphale deliberately went still. He let out a breath. Popped another truffle into his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to savor it. When he opened them again he could see Crowley’s concerned look, even behind the glasses.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Over sixty molts since the beginning. You’d think we’d grow used to them by now.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Grow used to what? The incessant itching? Constant pain in your back? Exhaustion? I slept for a month after my last molt. Only woke up because Beez themselves was looking for me. Molts are proof that She’s more than a little sadistic, angel.”

“Hush.” But the slap against Crowley’s arm was half-hearted at best. “I suppose I could return Upstairs. It’s always easier without a mortal body compounding things...”

“You really want to spend the next few weeks up there?”

No. He didn’t.

There was a certain understanding that came with annoyances shared across thousands of years. Without being asked Crowley miracled together the rest of their lunch and sent a quick thought towards the London traffic, urging it to thin out. He’d drive Aziraphale back to his shop, say goodbye like it was any other day... and then proceed to only call and text for the next three to four weeks. Their first substantial time away from one another since the Tadfield airbase, but they’d been expecting this. Molts, for all the grumbling, were intensely private things.

And as Crowley stood just outside the bookshop’s entrance, pressing the basket of leftovers into Aziraphale’s hand, he didn’t dare ask that they might change that too.

***

The bookshop was a disaster.

The space had grown considerably in the last two weeks, making room for a collection of supplies that would have rivaled any doctor’s office. Electric heating pads were a marvelous invention that Aziraphale now hoarded, along with the small pharmacy of mortal medications that didn’t seem to do much, but he was inclined to try nonetheless. Safe from the books were melting ice packs he used when unexpectedly feverish; weighted blankets when, a mere hour later, he was suddenly chilled. In the leftover space surrounding his most comfortable couch was the food, a veritable feast of everything salty and sweet. Some of it he’d ordered in, slipping the containers through the smallest crack in the door and slipping exorbitant tips back out. The rest came from Crowley. Per the unspoken promise he hadn’t stopped by again in person, but he could easily miracle things directly into the shop. Aziraphale often looked up from one of his books to find chocolates or tarts or freshly made bubble tea now sitting on the table. He gobbled it all up with a hunger he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Where there weren’t supplies there were feathers. A stunning collection of white that settled into every nook and cranny; an ethereal blanket of snow. Aziraphale didn’t bother picking up after himself whenever an old feather dropped and a new one began the arduous process of growing in. Most would disappear over the next week, fading out of this reality entirely. It was a rather convenient thing (perhaps the only convenient part of this whole process), with just a handful of flight feathers to deal with in the end.

Which was precisely what Aziraphale dealt with now, curled up on the couch with Persuasion resting forgotten in his lap. Disposal of these feathers was no minor thing. It required patience and careful thought.

...Which Aziraphale was quite happy to ignore once his phone buzzed. It took him a full minute to find it amongst all the mess and another to remember which button allowed him to light up the screen. Two more remembering his passcode. Really, he could appreciate humans’ continued advancements in technology, but did they have to keep making them so hellishly complicated too?

Ah. Now that he thought about it, that drive might have been Ligur’s doing.

hows it going?

Aziraphale smiled. Three simple words from Crowley and he already felt better. Though admittedly only a bit. One breath later and that incessant itch reared its ugly head again, along with the familiar ache in his lower back. One wouldn’t think that losing and re-growing feathers would be such a monumental feat, yet here he was, taking a moment to breathe before daring a response.

Crowley,

I’ve been better, as you know. Nothing to be concerned with, however. I expect only another week of this nonsense before things return to normal. Shall we get lunch together next Thursday? I greatly appreciate the food you’ve sent over, though I find myself craving something a bit more substantial after all these sweets. Italian would do nicely.

- Aziraphale

The response was immediate.

sure, angel.

There was a beat of silence except for the tick of the clock and a very low hum emanating from two of the heating pads. Then,

need more time to gift your feathers?

Aziraphale’s throat tightened. He blamed it on his poor health.

Crowley,

No, I don’t expect they’ll be any travel this time around. It’s quite nice of you to be thinking about my needs though.

- Aziraphale

His words had the desired effect. Aziraphale’s phone suddenly buzzed as ferocious as a beehive, text after text coming through about how Crowley was not nice, they’d had this discussion, he was actually being selfish, if you’d just listen, and by the way texting isn’t the same as sending a letter you stuffy, outdated, impossible—

With a chuckle Aziraphale let him keep going, well aware that no answer was the best response of all. As he leaned further into the cushions another primary dislodged and settled in his lap. This one didn’t look like it was going anywhere.

Aziraphale stroked the feather tip to tip, thinking.

No. The person he wanted to give this to wasn’t far away at all.

***

Angel feathers had, shockingly, once been a part of an angel. Imagine that. As such, they had a bit more significance to them than what came from your average hawk or peacock or whatever else might be leaving bits of themselves behind. Aziraphale didn’t know why some primaries remained while the rest disappeared—another question on the tip of his tongue that he’d never dared ask—but every angel knew that they’d wind up with a small handful after their molting and those must be dealt with in the most careful fashion. There was a vault up in heaven that catalogued and stored each deposit, perhaps with the hope that the feathers might one day be turned into weapons against the enemy. For those on Earth, however, there was the expectation that they not allow these pieces of divinity to fall into the wrong hands.

Aziraphale knew it was the same among the demons, another similarity that others were too scared or blind to question. They would molt and be left with feathers that gave off what one might term a bad aura: nasty thoughts and feelings that radiated outward, soaking into the back of a mortal’s mind and strengthening the longer they held on. Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley had done with his own feathers over the years, whether he simply tucked them away where they’d never be found, or handed them off to those who were later remembered as the more unhinged individuals throughout history. He’d never had the nerve to ask. He, however, had always considered the remains of his former wings to be a gift and gave careful consideration to who would receive them. Angel wings had rather the opposite effect, promoting feelings of goodwill, creativity, and a general sense of peace when held. Aziraphale had thus handed his off to writers who fashioned them into quills, great chiefs who wore them with pride, poor mothers who might not have jewels or vases to display in their homes, but they could set this on their mantelpiece and know that someone was watching over them. It was a process that deserved his utmost attention.

Though in truth, Aziraphale had an inkling of what he'd do with his next molt in 1941. Now, with Armageddon behind them, he was quite sure of his decision.

Crowley,

My deepest apologies, dear boy. I meant to say that you’re quite considerate. Is that better?

- Aziraphale

P.S. It’s hardly my fault humans have forgotten how to properly write to one another. Besides, you ought to be proud of me. Convincing this tech to put in line breaks was no easy task!

His phone blew up once more as Aziraphale shook out his wings, trying to encourage the remaining stragglers to finally let go. He must look a right mess, physically done in and sporting only half his usual plumage. It was perhaps no surprise that molting had become a rather private affair over the millennia. Anyone who saw an angel in this state might second-guess their supposed superiority. Aziraphale hadn’t bothered with a mirror in weeks.

The heat was doing wonders for the muscles surrounding his wings though. The ibuprofen, while perhaps not effective under normal circumstances, seemed to be taking the edge off his headache. Crowley kept up a vibrating litany in his lap. He was clearly busy, yet just a moment later Aziraphale caught the scent of garlic and looked up to find a takeout box of pasta sitting on the table.

Fondness surged, helping his new feathers to grow and his mind to settle. Aziraphale placed the primary on a stack of books beside the couch, safely away from his newly arrived lunch.

Crowley,

Thank you <3

~Aziraphale

He’d made his decision. Best to start the implementation of it early.

***

A week and two days later Aziraphale finally left the bookshop. He was what, in human terms, might be called an introvert. Had anyone asked him on an average day whether he’d enjoy spending nearly a month by himself, nothing but books and films to keep his attention, he would have gasped in pure pleasure at the idea. Now, having lived that life once more—one always tended to forget such things as the years went by—Aziraphale recalled how little fantasy matched up with reality. Taking that first breath of fresh air was an unexpected pleasure.

“Angel!”

As was the company. Though perhaps ‘unexpected’ was quite disingenuous of him.

Crowley waited for him down the street, Bentley parked and providing the perfect object to lean against. Aziraphale took in his appearance, identical to when they’d last met with the exception of a pendant necklace spicing up his outfit and rather longer hair. Crowley must have encouraged the growth. Aziraphale was rather sure hair didn’t get to that length in just three weeks time, no matter how much Crowley might yell at it in the mirror. He had most piled up in a bun with the occasional wisp framing his face.

Perfect. Aziraphale couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

“You don’t like it,” Crowley said, noticing his gaze, assuming the worst. One hand lifted instinctually to his hair, twitching like he wanted to start tearing it out. “I’ll change it back. If you want.”

In that moment, with Crowley framed by London traffic and the quickly fading light, Aziraphale had the uncomfortable realization that he could ask him to do anything. Anything at all and it would be done without question or hesitation. The power made him hesitate. Aziraphale knew now that he had to guard his words: ask for nothing more than what Crowley deserved to give; certainly nothing worse than what he’d forced him to endure before.

Wait for me.

“Not at all,” he said. “I love it! You’re just missing that final touch.”

“...final touch?”

They knew separation well. One month was nothing to them. Aziraphale slipped back into Crowley’s space, easy as you please, allowed to turn him slightly and gain access to his bun. Crowley was so focused on the hand Aziraphale had placed on his arm that he didn’t notice the object until it was slipped beneath his hairband.

“What the devil did you put—” Crowley stopped, catching sight of his own reflection in the Bentley’s hood. Aziraphale watched his eyes blow wide behind his glasses.

“Hardly the devil, my dear.”

With the molting finished Aziraphale had been left with eight primaries still in existence on this plane. He’d told Crowley as much over text and had patiently sat through reading the same thoughts he’d already had: it was suspiciously convenient, one might say miraculously so, that he had just enough feathers remaining to number the humans involved in stopping Armageddon. Well, seven humans and one antichrist. The brats deserve it, Crowley had said, voice surprisingly tender down the line. They’ll appreciate it, angel.

No doubt they would. Appreciation wasn’t quite what Aziraphale was going for though.

Upon getting the text that Crowley was outside he’d miracled one of the feathers into the fern he’d gifted him two months back, the only plant in his apartment given the honor of a room to themselves and (Aziraphale would bet) the occasional kind word. The white beauty would be the first thing to greet Crowley when he opened the door, stark against the otherwise dark space.

As Aziraphale donned his coat he’d sent the second feather into the pocket of Crowley’s favorite coat, a surprise for when the weather turned cold and his mood predictably plummeted. The third appeared pressed between the pages of The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy; the fourth now slipped beneath his pillow. By the time Aziraphale was descending the steps of his shop the sixth feather was on its way to Lesley, accompanied by instructions to deliver the inconspicuous envelope at a future date and time, to be decided. It never hurt to have another pick-me-up waiting in the wings. Pun most certainly intended.

The seventh currently rested on the Bentley’s dashboard, yet unnoticed because Crowley was reeling from the feather Aziraphale had slipped into his hair.

“Angel.”

Just that. A breath. So much packed into one single, reverential word. Aziraphale had to swallow hard before he could speak himself.

“I know,” he whispered, trying for steady and failing spectacularly. “We needn’t speak of it if you don’t wish to. Simply know that this decision was the easiest I’ve ever made... and you look quite beautiful, my dear.”

Crowley’s hand rose to brush at the feather, shaking enough that Aziraphale could spot the emotion even in the fading light. He was steady enough to open the door for Aziraphale though, stumbling back around to the driver’s side, managing up until he spotted the second feather on his dashboard. Aziraphale watched him double over and thought that perhaps he’d made a mistake...

No. There’d been enough doubting between them and the care with which Crowley cradled the gift said it all. Even as the rest of him shot the Bentley recklessly through the streets.

For once Aziraphale did not call Crowley out on his driving. There was silence—not even any Queen—all the way back to Crowley’s apartment. Aziraphale caught the tinniest noise, like pain, when Crowley saw the feather in the fern and then he was moving again, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to get to the closet.

It was a door Aziraphale had never seen opened before. He couldn’t even be sure the space had existed before this moment. But the trunk Crowley pulled out was certainly real enough. Aziraphale sucked in a gasp at its age, wood now held together through will and more than one demonic miracle. Crowley hesitated only a moment before flipping the lid.

Inside were black primaries. A couple hundred at least. More than enough to account for one individual’s molts across the centuries.

“Never gave them away,” Crowley said. One hand gripped his feather while the other dove into the trunk, finding and extending a handful of himself. “I was waiting for you.”

Aziraphale tried vainly to keep the tears out of his eyes. He’d never been very good at that. Too soft. Too soft by far.

“Well... I’m here now.”

And he was. As Aziraphale knelt and took Crowley’s face in his hands the feather in his hair slipped out, drifting into the trunk. A spot of white among the black. New amidst the old. It nestled there, settling in.

As did those who had born them.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #wings #good omens fic

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itsblissfuloblivion · 5 years

Text

Torch - Chapter 3: November

A/N: We are one day late but it’s here! Get ready...

Love,

@fightfortherightsofhouseelves

@gryffindormischief

Also on FF and Ao3

Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.

_____

Hallowe’en, for all he knows of it now, was a boring event during the first eleven years of Harry’s life. Dudley would gorge himself on candy, gather up his cronies to increase their usual levels of Harry-focused torment, and Harry would simply wait for the day to end like he did any other.

Since his first year at Hogwarts, the end of October has generally been a mix of angst and some sort of life-endangering drama. In between, the Hallowe’en feast at least provided some form of light hearted fun.

When October 30th dawned, Harry had been looking forward to a day spent playing quidditch and avoiding Hermione’s heavy handed comments about the importance of revising early and thoroughly. By the time the sun sets, Harry’s almost hoping Voldemort plans to finish what he started fifteen Hallowe’ens ago.

At least he would only have to tolerate another twenty-four hours of Ron’s moping.

It’s not enough that practice was shite and they’re basically about to be destroyed on the pitch in less than a week. Ron’s got to go all dramatic and say he plans to resign . Harry finds himself wondering if there’s an encouraging way to say he’d rather have shite Ron than deal with McLaggen’s diva attitude.

After supper in the Great Hall, Harry loses himself in the rush of students and eventually wanders into the courtyard - moonlit and delightfully abandoned.

Finally feeling like his brain has an opportunity for quiet , Harry drops down onto the ledge surrounding the fountain and throws his arm over his eyes.

His spine pops a bit at being stretched so absolutely but in that good ‘am I creepy to enjoy this’ way.

Water spray tickles his bare skin, a touch icy despite whatever charms keep it from freezing over and Harry almost feels he could drift off. And maybe he does, until a throat clears and draws him from his funk.

Craning his neck only enough to identify the interloper, Harry finds Ginny Weasley eyeing him with a raised brow. “Don’t think pneumonia will get you out of this game.”

“Imagine if Oliver Wood heard I skipped out for a less than deadly ailment.”

Ginny laughs and wanders closer as Harry pushes himself into a sitting position and muses, “He’d probably be more disappointed I’ve let the Gryffindor team fall into such a state.”

Shrugging, Ginny picks at her fingernails and says, “Are you telling me Wood never lead a bad practice? You can’t put everyone’s performance on yourself. It’s up to us at some point, yeah?”

Harry glances up and meets Ginny’s gaze, so confident and strong when he recalls her blushing looks his first year.

Hell, she’s confident and strong on any litmus test and Harry can’t help but be bolstered by her words, ready to fight another day so to speak.

While he considers some new tactics to implement - on the field and in a more mental preparation type way - Harry finds he doesn’t feel the need to drop his eyes from Ginny’s.

And she hasn’t either.

It’s almost tangible, the feeling building in his chest. So much that he almost wishes it was mutual. Until he remembers Dean and severs the connection.

“Thanks, Gin.”

Her smile is small, but real enough. “Anytime Harry.”

___

By November 2nd, Harry’s so fed up with Ron and his constant fuming and grouching around, he’s almost willing to forget the past six years of friendship for the two minutes he’d need to properly bitchslap his best mate.

Seeing that nobody (maybe except Ginny) would regard such behaviour as captain-y, Harry sighs and sucks it up. There’s a match they must win today after all. So he pretends his little old hand slips with a dash of lucky potion exactly when Hermione happens to be looking. Oops.

At least now Ron’s chuffed and his ego oiled and pampered enough to pull some actual Keeping out of him. Harry can see it in the way Ron walks, prances, struts his way to the pitch - and he shakes his head and smiles. The match is certainly theirs.

It’s only when Harry catches a glimpse of red from the corner of his eye, rapidly obstructed by broader, less delightful Dean-shaped figure hovering over her for his own version of Felix Felicis: a kiss from Ginny.

Something inside Harry’s chest growls dangerously and he draws a long, shuddering breath to silence it. Not the time, he thinks.

Jaw set and hardened, Harry trots together with the Gryffindor team, entering the pitch in roaring, thundering applause. It’s deafening.

And they do win - how could they not? It’s exhilarating, and the whole team gathers in a spine-numbing hug around Harry, and Ron’s so proud and glowing the knowledge that this win is his as much as any of the others’.

Until Hermione just can’t help herself and confronts Harry so he admits, figures it’s safe to let Ron know it was all him now. No Felix, only him. But of course he finds a way to turn his win into a kick to his ego, it’s Ron.

Looking at his best mates hurt and mad, at Ginny disappearing with Dean, at his team chanting their way back to the castle in the midst of happy shouts from their fellow Gryffindors, Harry can’t bring himself to feel too excited. There’s an annoying voice at the back of his mind whispering that the worst is yet to come.

Dumbledore should just hire him to co-teach Divination with Trelawny and Firenze because it seems he’s a natural at it. Exactly as he feared, things do take a new, ugly turn just when he relaxes enough to forget about the looming danger of his best mates jumping at each other’s throats and Ginny points out that Ron’s already jumped - but not at Hermione and in a totally different way than Harry’s imagined.

Ron and Lavender. Lavender and Ron. All Harry can do is blink and...blink some more. Talk about unexpected.

The door to the Common Room slams shut and Harry closes his eyes tightly, silently curses Ron and slips out after Hermione, unnoticed. It’s hard seeing her like this, heart broken and crying all alone. Harry tries his best to support her, but he knows it’s useless...If he allows himself three seconds of honesty, he’d actually tell her that he’d been feeling the same for awhile. So they sit next to each other in silence, the sad and the broken.

Until Ron barges in, Lavender in a fit of giggles in his wake and Hermione looks more mad than Harry’s ever seen her. The insane, pained look in her eyes - it’s terrifying.

And she curses him, and Harry catches the shock on his best friend’s face before the birds hit and the pain sets in.

What a mess.

Later, when he says goodbye to Hermione in the Common Room, Harry climbs the stairs to his dorm feeling bereft, opens the door and readies himself for another blow.

But Dean’s inside, head leaning towards Seamus. It seems like Harry’s interrupted an important talk because both boys jump a bit when he walks in. Still, Harry pays them no mind and rushes out through the door, Cloak securely in his pocket.

“What the fuck.”

Harry grins. There’s only one mouth who could’ve said that, belonging to only one person who could’ve guessed there’s someone attempting to sneak out of the Gryffindor Tower invisibly.

“Hello to you too,” Harry bumps Ginny’s elbow from under the Cloak.

“Going incognito, are we?” Ginny arches an eyebrow, looking somewhere in Harry’s general direction.

“Too much drama, had to hide.”

She pretends to sigh, “Ah, well, I was about to hit the kitchen for some hot milk with cinnamon but don’t let me stop your little undercover mission.”

It’s an invitation to food and mischief and Harry’s not about to let it slip by.

“Lead on.”

Ginny does grin, satisfied and raises her palms to feel around her, “Make way, I’m coming in.”

“You sure it’s enough space for the both of us?” Harry teases.

She takes one look at him and shrugs.

“Not my fault if that bum of yours got too big. You should really cut down on your treacle tart intake.”

Harry pouts and tickles her mercilessly in return. His fingers play over her middle, tickling everywhere as she laughs and dances away from him, Cloak fluttering around them but Harry doesn’t care. All he wants now is her laugh, loud and boisterous, and Ginny...Ginny, with her freckled face and blazing look, Ginny laughing in his arms as they’re hidden in plain sight. Ginny.

He doesn’t have the map, but by now sneaking to the kitchens is something he could do in his sleep. Overall, it feels nice to be doing something stealthy for reasons related to treacle tart and impressing a girl rather than investigating the dark activities of your classmates.

The journey from the common room passes quickly as Ginny murmurs cheeky stories about each of the portraits; likely made up and all the more fun for it. When he tickles the pear and slips inside behind Ginny, Dobby is immediately on them, nearly knocking Harry over as he tucks the Invisibility Cloak away.

Ginny grins at Harry over Dobby’s head as they’re ushered to one of the long tables and seated with much prodding from the house elf’s spindly fingers. As has become something of a custom, Dobby praises Harry to an excessive degree and with Ginny as witness, he can’t help but blush.

Once they’ve requested treacle tart and warm milk to go along with it, Dobby departs with a flap of his ears and Ginny nudges Harry. “Eleven year old me would be so disappointed.”

“Because I’m quite boring and sneak about to get treats?”

Ginny laughs. “No - that would’ve been a selling feature. I mean young Ginny fancied herself your biggest fan, but it appears she’s been overtaken.”

Grinning, Harry props his chin on his hand and for some reason decides now will be the time he’s finally able to wink without looking like he’s got something in his eyes. Based on Ginny’s stifled chuckles, he doesn’t succeed, but he can’t really hate anything that raises that smile on her face.

Dobby returns, deposits their plates and mugs on the table, and disappears off to manage something or other while Harry cuts two healthy slices from the fresh tart. “He’s never given me a singing card though.”

And then, to Harry’s everlasting joy, Ginny actually blushes and stalls for time by taking a sip so overlarge she begins coughing almost instantly. He rises, ready to slap her back or do any manner of things to set her right - even the torture of a purely medical press of his lips to hers - but she soon recovers.

Ginny swipes the tears from her eyes with a sigh. “That was not nice.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m both deluded and a delinquent.”

“Is that a quote from Umbridge or Skeeter?” Ginny asks around a bite of treacle.

“Joke’s on you, it was Snape,” Harry shoots back, taking a long sip of his milk.

“Well if the supreme potions master turned defense against the dark arts teacher says so it must be true,” Ginny drawls, placing air quotes around defense .

Harry pushes his glasses up, more for something to do than from genuine need, and nibbles on a bit of crust. “D’you trust him?”

Her smile is sad now, even as her eyes bore into his. “I find the number of people I genuinely trust gets smaller and smaller with each passing year. You’re probably the only person I would say that to.”

“Dunno if my agreement is a vote of confidence in the intelligence of your judgment,” Harry mutters, picking at his tart.

Scoffing, Ginny tosses a serviette in his face and cuts another sliver for herself. “Stuff it, you know you’re brilliant. I came here for sweets, not to fluff your ego so you turn into a preening arsehole,” she grins at the end, her lips twisted in a dangerous smile, “ Speaking of my brother -”

“He and Hermione may end me before ol’ Moldy-shorts.”

___

“Not like it’s any of my business,” Harry drawls, turning a page of the Prince’s book, “But shouldn’t you tell him?”

“And what exactly should I be telling who?” Hermione volleys right back, tone a little waspish.

Harry draws in a breath, already regretting he’s opened the subject - but they are in the library and if he’s forced to spend another hour with Hermione looking at Ron out of the corner of her eye and Ron looking back at her from two tables away, where he’s studying with Lavender and Parvati, he’s pretty positive he’ll basically move in with Hagrid.

“Ron. Why don’t you just tell Ron that you’re sorry?”

Hermione slams her book shut, looks at Harry dangerously.

“Whatever should I be sorry for?”

“Does it even matter?” Harry answers, clipped. “Look, Hermione,” he pauses and sighs, “the two of you are my best mates and it’s difficult watching you angsting around instead of talking and, you know, sorting things out.”

“Well then,” Hermione jumps to her feet like an angry cat, “I will go angst somewhere else then.”

Harry can hear her stomping out of the library, completely ignoring Madam Pince or anyone else for that matter. With one last look at Ron, Harry lays his forehead on the old battered book, removes his glasses and closes his eyes. Why is having feelings so complicated?

When Harry finally convinces himself that there’ll be no more studying in the real sense of the word for the day, he throws all his stuff in his bag, takes another look at Ron’s ginger head, hoping he’d somehow manage to telepathically convey that he’s acting a bit like a git for the wrong reasons, then trots out of the library, the castle, and down towards Hagrid’s.

Later, when he’s gorged himself on Hagrid’s special rock cakes and he’d drank enough hot tea to keep the cold outside at bay, Harry finally starts to feel better. It’s nice near the fire, Fang resting his big head on his lap as Harry scratches him between the ears.

“I heard Ron’s with Lavender, eh?” Hagrid starts, dropping on the seat next to Harry, his pink apron fluttering about him.

Harry raises one eyebrow, but grins, “News travel at the speed of light, then.”

“We professors know more than you kids think,” he chuckles pleased.

There’s a pause, interrupted only by Fang’s deep snores.

“How’s Hermione?”

Harry studies him intently before he answers.

“She’s been better, I suppose.”

“Ye know, Harry, I like Ron. He’s a good lad, but sometimes he’s not too smart,” Hagrid stares into the dancing flames of the fire and shakes his head, dark hair falling down in rings around his big, kind face.

“Why do you say that?”

“Yer a smart boy, ye’ll figure it out,” Hagrid winks. “And Hermione too, she ain’t the brightest witch o’ her age for nothing. They are somethin’ , those redheads. Right, Harry?” He goes on to chuckle and Harry can feel himself blush.

Yet he pretends he didn’t understand, finds a good enough excuse to leave and drags his feet back to the castle in the near dark of an end of day, his bag full with rock cakes and untouched homework.

He falls asleep that night holding the Marauder’s Map, eyes boring into Ginny’s dot, waiting for it to move and return to the Common Room, to at least exit the classroom it shared with Dean’s dot for the past hour. Ironic, if Ron only knew there was only one wall between himself and his sister…

Harry’s last thought before he dreams is of Hermione and how lucky she is not to have a magical Map.

____

Over time, one of the strangest things Harry’s realized about his life - which seems quite adventurous to an outsider - is that it’s filled with long stretches of normalcy. The difficulty that is singular to his particular situation, is that even the most calm, boring, normal times feel like borrowed minutes that will turn sour and deadly at any moment.

Living with this sort of dichotomy of feelings leaves him to sleepless or fitful nights, and often a sour stomach that can’t quite manage to settle. As a result, his today breakfast is a sparse affair with barely buttered toast and a cup of tea so strong his spoon could stand.

Overall, when he takes a figurative step back and examines himself, Harry can admit he’s having something of a pity party. His best mates are quarreling like a couple on the verge of divorce, the girl he should think of like a sister is haunting his daydreams in decidedly non sisterly ways, everyone seems to be dating except him, and most days he’s torn between avoiding seeing Ginny and Dean or Ron and Lavender.

Really though, the thing he feels the most angry about is the fact that he really doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on any of that shite. He’s bloody sixteen years old and instead of spending his free time escaping the library and mooning over a girl who fancied him until right about when he...did not. He does not .

Regardless, the point is he’s spending most days diving into a genocidal maniac’s childhood and trying to determine exactly how his classmate is going to wreak dark magic havoc on the unsuspecting student body, rather than wallowing like a good, normal, angsty teenager.

So he does the only thing he knows. After breakfast, Harry manages to wedge himself between students and slip from the hall and out onto the grounds. Nothing like a good fly to calm his wild thoughts, he muses on the way.

He reaches the stands in record time, retrieves his broom and feels it hum to life in his palm, and finally trots out to the snowy pitch. Only to find he’s not the only student with the idea.

And as he watches her fly in graceful arcs across the sky, swirling and sending her hair twisting like a wild red pennant, Harry’s chest clenches.

She flips upside down, arms spread as she lets out a loud whoop and Harry feels himself breathe freely, even if just for a moment, and slips back into the shadows.

#itsblissfulbolivion writes #itsblissfuloblivion #torch #harry x ginny #hinny #hinny fic #ron x hermione #romione #hbp fic #torch chapter 3 #torch november

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mrs-dragneel-stark-solo · 5 years

Text

Unforseen Chasm

Part 2 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count: 3284

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93 what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

“Jane,” you said, looking at the pictures, “does something seem off to you here?” you asked, holding a photo up.

“Yeah… Where’s Ursa Minor?” she asked.

“My thoughts exactly. We better show Selvig.”

“Jane, are you just determined to kill our only evidence?” you asked in a slightly irritated tone as you got out of the car.

“I’m not doing this on purpose!” she snapped back.

You knelt beside him and examined him. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you and gave a slight frown. “Yes, I’m quite alright.”

“Good,” you kindly said. “Would you mind coming with us? We… want to talk to you,” you said, glancing to Jane who nodded, affirming your request.

“As you wish.”

With that, you and Erik helped him up, got him in the camper, and got him back to the lab.

“This mortal form has grown weak. I need sustenance,” he suddenly said and you jumped up.

“I could make you some food,” you offered.

“What? No. He can eat some PopTarts,” Jane countered. “We need you to tell us what happened last night,” she instructed as Thor walked towards the kitchen.

“Jane, please. Give him a few minutes. You’ve run him over twice and clearly he’s still a little dazed,” you pleaded.

“Fine, but I want answers,” she informed firmly before sitting down with the other two at the breakfast table.

“What is this?” he asked, taking the box.

“Oh,” you said, laughing. “These are pop tarts. A breakfast food. Do they not have them where you’re from?” you asked, noting his accent.

“No,” he informed.

“Ah, well all you do is--” you popped open the box, pulled out a silver package, ripped it open, and handed him a piece “--open the box, open the sleeve, and eat.”

He looked at it for a moment before shoving nearly the whole thing in his mouth. “I like this. This is good. More!” With that, he yanked the box from you, making you laugh.

“Have them all if you want.”

As soon as Thor seemed to finally be full, he heard about the “satellite” wreckage that landed fifty miles west of town. Once he heard of it, he seemed hellbent on getting it.

“It’s not what they say it is,” Thor insisted.

“Well what is it?” you inquired.

“It’s Mjolnir, and it belongs to me. If you take me there right now, I will tell you all the answers you seek,” he promised and your heart swelled.

“Jane!” you said, turning to her in joy. “Let’s go!”

“Can I have a word with you two?” Erik requested and you glanced back to Thor before walking a few feet away. “Please don’t do this.”

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear him? Thor? Bifrost? Mjolnir? It’s all stories, all tales I was told as a child. That’s all they are, are tales. He’s delusional and he’s dangerous.”

“We’re just giving him a lift to a crater site,” you insisted.

“Jane,” Selvig started, turning to her, trying to reason with her. “Please. Don’t. I don’t like the idea of this.”

Jane gave him a torn look before glancing at you with apology in her face.

“Jane, no...No! Come on!” you pleaded but she just gave you a sympathetic look before telling Thor she couldn’t take him.

Just as you all began walking away, a truck with Jane’s equipment stopped right in front of you all.

“Uh, Jane--”

“What?! Hey! That’s mine!” she shouted before the two of you took off running towards the lab. “What the hell is going on here?” Jane demanded as you stood beside her.

“Ms. Foster, I’m Agent Coulson, with SHIELD,” a man in a black suit stated and you recognized him. You’d seen him once before… hanging around Stark’s tower.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? You can’t do this!” Jane shouted as she tried desperately to grab at the things that were being taken.”

“Let it go? Let it go? This is my life!”

“We’re here investigating a security threat. We need to appropriate your records and all your atmospheric data,” Coulson informed.

“By ‘appropriate’ do you mean ‘steal’?” Jane asked as she followed the men to a van where they were loading the last bit of your things.

“How can you do this?” you asked in an oddly calm voice, sadness tinging every word as you looked at the man in the suit.

“Here. This should more than compensate you for your trouble,” he tried, handing Jane a check.

“I can’t just buy replacements at RadioShack! I made most of this equipment myself!”