#if i do well in my Greek lit papers then i might actually get like a good overall grade!!

[darkeyedghost]

I survived my ancient Greek language exam 🎉

[blissfulparker]

Driving First class→T.H

Parings: mechanic!tom x reader

Summary: A bitter fight with your now ex has you taking your car instead of a train for a business trip. Although out of your pettiness and anger, your car breaks down and you are left in the middle of nowhere but luckily Tom sees your distress and the man who works on the car is your best rescue. But he works on you other ways both Physically and emotionally

Warnings: Dom!tom, sub!reader, degrading(only slightly), sex on top of a car, squirting, oral, unprotected sex (this is fictional please use protection!), orgasm denial, power struggle, Tom being scared of women for two seconds

Word count: 5.5k

A/n: yeah so idk why I got so horny all the sudden and wrote this. Tbh...I like this version of tom, whatever this is I kinda like it. Let me know what you guys think, if you want to see more or less but I present to you: the first full fic I’ve written in months!(also I know barely anything about cars so I’m sorry if it’s cringy😭)

“Fuck! Shit! Dammit! Fuck! Fuck!” You scream. Hitting your hands against the steering wheel. Such a stupid idea with a stupid end result how could you not expect it?

Taking a car instead of a plane or a train across the country to avoid your ex on a business trip. Thinking you were being more bold and brave, proving you never needed him in the first place when now you sit stranded out in the middle of nowhere with a smoking engine and only hours until sunset and you’re sweating your ass off in a suit. A suit, who the hell wears a suit on a road trip?

Your Phone only having one bar and giving you 20%, you’re doomed. Doomed to be stranded out here and either killed by a maniac or killed by a bear. If London even had bears you would be killed by one. Wanting to cry and scream and maybe a train seat next to your ex who cheated was a better option than crying in your grandpa’s old Chevy that you thought was a better idea than the Tesla or the BMW. Anything would’ve been a better idea than this one but for once you couldn’t let go of the fiery side to you and just got in a car with your middle finger to your ex thinking you were so much better than a first class seat with expensive champagne.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You say to yourself. Your hands run over your face. As dramatic as you can be you think you feel the end coming. The smoke from the engine never dies down and the sun is getting hotter and hotter. No more bubble gum pop plays from the radio but instead the sound of birds chirping and your paranoia of a bear eating you eats at your ears. You think maybe you should’ve sent that drunk ‘I miss you’ text to your ex back two nights ago when you were drunk to maybe just feel his dick once more and get on a stupid train with him but now you are—

“Miss?” A knock at your window causes you to jump. Screaming as you are met with the face of a man and grabbing your pepper spray from the keys and pointing. Even though the window was rolled up you still point and he backs up with his hands up.

“What the fuck!” You scream as you lower the pepper spray. You don’t know when, don’t know how, but now pulled in front of you was a black SUV that was in much better shape than your car. A man who wore a tight white shirt and had sweet chocolate brown curls stood with a scared look on his face.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve seen your smoke some while back and...and you were slumped over your steering wheel and needed to make sure I didn’t need to call police.” He explained very rushed. You place your hand over your heart, calming yourself as you reached to roll down your window so you can properly talk to him. A harmless boy who was probably on his way home.

“I’m fine.” You almost groan as you put your pepper spray back down. Running your hands over your face once again. Tom takes in how nice you look, black suit and neatly painted nails, you looked expensive so what was such an expensive girl like you doing in such a dirty old car like this?

“You got smoke coming from your car, you don’t look fine miss.” He looks at the cloud that still comes from your car. He has a worried look. You hate that you make the assumption of him being a man so he will know how to fix it but at the same time he was an Angel sent from Heaven,

“The engine blew out...at least I think…” you trail off. Honestly you didn’t know anymore, The last time you worked with a car was when you were 15 and before your grandpa died. The only person who truly taught you about cars now seemed to be reincarnated into the Greek god in front of you.

“Mind if I take a look?” He asked and you nodded as you popped the hood.

Stepping out of your car you join the boy in the front. Taller than him in the heels you wore having him look up at you as if you were the Angel sent down in the moment.

He doesn’t hesitate to dig his fingers into your car. Feeling the overheated engine and you watched as his eyes went in shock and his sigh. You were fucked. Utterly fucked and no, it wasn’t by some hot guy on a plane like you wished in the moment.

“She’s busted.” He looked at you. You almost want to roll your eyes and go ‘thanks’ as if you already didn’t know that. “I might be able to fix her up, gotta take her back to the shop and see what I can do but other than that she’s no good for a ride.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at you again.

“You mean it’s like broken broken down?” You start to panic even more. Ruining the BMW was far more worth it than the ‘57 Chevy you drove. No one made a car like this anymore and you adored it. Every chip of paint, every dent, each faded seat you loved as your own.

“I can see what I can do.” He shrugged. He starts to walk to his car, opening the trunk to hook your busted vehicle up to his and drag it back to where he just came from. As he starts to hook up your car you only just stare, watching as he does his work. He rubs his now oily hands on his pant leg before he looks up at you.

“You wanna hop in the front?” He asked and you started walking to your car and he let out a laugh. “No I meant my car, Angel.”

The random man that pulls over on the side of the road, has you pointing your pepper spray one moment ago now has you acting like a idiot as he was so pretty and a gift sent just for you.

“Right,” you walk around to the passengers seat. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat as you sat and waited in silence. Waiting for him to come around and when he does he doesn’t say anything but just starts up the car.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” You looked over to him who has a goofy grin on his face.

“No sweetheart.” He shakes his head and you sigh in relief. As if he would even tell you that he was going to kill you. “You’re not going to kill me are you? With that spray you’ve got?” He teased and you shook your head.

“No, and sorry, I was just panicked and you are—“ you started but he lets a low laugh that you find so attractive.

“No I get it, you’re fine.” He stared back at the road. You were so use to the city, the tall building and the blinding lights you never really got to see the beauty of London outside of it. The gorgeous countryside you never knew existed actually did. But the countryside only lasted for so long before you were in a town filled with some of the cutest shops and was like a small city. So cute and so tiny.

“You wear heels on a road trip?” He broke the silence again and this time you’re looking at the four inch shoes.

“I-well-“ you looked and sounded like a proper idiot. You worked for one of London’s best businesses and now you were stumbling over your words, “well...yes? I’m on a business trip.” You admit and he looks back at the busted vehicle.

“I don’t know what business you work for but them sending you in a—“ he starts and you shake your head.

“No, no, that is mine. I thought—I didn’t want to go on a train and—it’s just complicated. A complicated stupid mess.” You tell him and he tilts his head as if he was agreeing.

“Well, I’ll see how well I can get you out of the complicated stupid mess.” He flashed a smile before he turned into what looked like a garage. A large garage that was filled with cars of all types, from new to old there were cars that had looked like they had been worked on for days as Tom pulled his car up and turned it off.

“We have some water in the front if you need some and there's a bathroom in the back. Make yourself a home, I'll get started.” and so for once, instead of just staring at him as if he was a piece of art hanging in the louvre, you search for the bathroom and the water he was talking about.

Leaving him to pop back open your hood, you walk into the bathroom and run cold water over your face. Feeling yourself relax at the feeling of finally getting the heat from the sun out of your face. Facing yourself in the mirror, you stare long and hard at yourself. The dimly lit bathroom, the achy feeling in your feet from being so stupid and wearing heels, the fact you broke down in god know what part of london but now you are in a mechanic shop and you are letting some random person fix up your beloved car.

“Should’ve just gotten on the train.” you groan as you take a paper towel and dry your face. Reaching for the door and walking back out to the garage where tom was now in a white tank top that was stained black all over, he had a towel over his shoulder as he worked at your car. You try to swallow the lump in your throat as you are completely mesmerized by the man in front of you.

Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train.

“Fuck!” Tom almost hits his head on the hood of the car as he sees you. You think he had curly hair at the start, now he had hair that kind of stuck to his forehead from the heat and sweat of your car. His hands are covered in black oils and he wipes them on the towel. “You scared me.” he lets out a breath as if he held it in and you take a seat at the stool next to the table filled with tools as he walks over to it.

“Sorry,” you say as you look at the car and try not to make it obvious you want to fuck him right now. A complete stranger that picked you up, you want to fuck. What if he did want to kill you? What if he had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or a family of kids? What if-

“You hear me?” he was closer to you than ever and you felt your whole body go weak.

“I'm so sorry,” you shake your head. “What did you say?’

He lets out that stupid pretty laugh of his again as he puts tools back in the tool box. Cleaning up the mess he just made he repeats himself.

“I said, your car is so old that they don't make the part I need to fix her up anymore. Luckily I know a guy who has the part but it will take a few days to come in. the engine is completely busted and i think if i go a year up in model I can put it in just right. But for now she needs to cool off. She’s not gonna be able to drive for a while.” he gives you almost a pout and you slouch your shoulders.

“So I'm screwed?” your brows raised and he gave you a pressed lipped look.

“Im sorry angel, I got a spare room at my place or there is a bed and breakfast up the road I can drop you off at but for now there is nothing I can do.” he says and you sigh. Maybe you want to cry, scream, throw something but Tom notices it all at once as he watches your head drop.

Tom grew up around boys. His whole life was wrestling with his brothers and working on cars. He never dealt with girls crying. Even when he had girlfriends they typically left when they were crying but now he has a crying girl right under his roof after he worked on her car. It did take everything in him to not ask why she used the old thing but he knew a lot more was happening than just a beat down old car.

“I'm sorry. I should thank you, not cry.” you sniffled as you looked up at him who was on his knees crouched down for you. Face to face, he had a concerned look.

“I have a feeling that car isn't why you’re crying.” he didn't know how to play therapist and mechanic but tonight he would.

“I was so stupid not to just get on the train. God, I would have already been there by now and all because I didnt want to sit next to my stupid cheating ex who I thought I was so much better than if I just got in this old thing and drove there myself.” you wipe your eyes and he hands you a tissue but you shake your head.

“He sounds like a shit guy.” He spoke and you nodded.

“He is, but he was the only one that gave a shit about me and now I'm here like an idiot. Well, not an idiot...no, yeah. An idiot. You're really nice and sweet though so thank you.” you try and give him a smile and he stands up.

“Get up.” he groans a bit as he stretches his legs. “C’mon sweets, get up. I’m not going to let you cry over a guy who treated you like shit. You drink?” he asked and you nodded. “I have some beer in the fridge, you already had a shit day let's not cry about it.”

You don't know if you wanted to throw the wrench at him or if you needed him to say that. Either way he sets an ice cold beer in front of you and pops open the top for you.

Probably making more money than everyone in this town, you never thought you would plop down on a nearly broken bar stool in the middle of a car mechanic shop and drink away your feelings with a random man you just met today. You didnt even know his name, nor did he know yours but he listened to everything you had to say about your ex boyfriend who was probably fucking some model right now while you for once felt like you didnt have to play pretend nice in front of someone. How you don't know what god above sent this man in front of you but he did and he listened to each of your problems, nodding and not saying anything back as he just listened to everything.

“I used to work on cars too.” you look over at the cars and he raises his brows.you had finally stopped crying so much, realizing what was happening and where you were but you felt like a weight was taken off your shoulders when you told him everything. Not even your best friend could make you feel like that.

“Penthouse princess used to work on cars?” he teased and you only nudged his shoulder.

“Wow, penthouse princess?” you repeat back to him with a playful smile and he nods.

“Never got your name and you live in a penthouse and act like a princess.” he takes a sip of his beer and you finally extend your hand to meet his.

“(y/n).” you shook his dirty one but wow were his hands thick. You could feel each callous and feel each crooked finger. Your mind went to dirty places and you think maybe he caught on as he watched your legs cross over themselves as you shook his hand.

“Tom.” his thumb swiped over yours as he shook your hand. The feeling made you swallow hard and him smirk just a bit for himself. Before you could get too comfy you walked over to a truck that already had its hood popped open. You stumble a bit in your heels and the uneven ground and Tom is quick to follow you to make sure you don't hurt yourself.

“That's the engine.” you point. And he nods, his hand is on his hips as he watches you point and explain. “That's the brake pad, that's where you put in the oil…” you trail on and Tom nods as you get everything correct.

“Very good, darling.” he nods impressed and you look over at him with a smirk.

“What? No penthouse princess?” you're close to him. You didn't realize how close he was to you before you turned around and are almost chest to chest with him.

“Mmh, you have a preference?” he teased and you look down at your feet. You're still taller than him, but you think even without the heels on you would be either taller or the same height as him. You were always told that you were the one in control, always the one in demand which seemed to be a complaint by your ex.

“Mmh,” you lean in close enough to where your chest is gently pressed against his. “I'm not sure yet.” you let your hand go to the strap of his tank top, its dirty with oil before you let your hands go down and touch the muscle. Feeling just how strong he was, he was pretty tanned too. He was both toned and tanned as he watched your hands trail down to the bottom of his shirt.

His hands rested on your waist. Holding you tight in place and maybe in the moment he was the shorter on but he was always in control. Always.

“You seem so indecisive, do you want to drive or get on a train? Get back with a man or stay away? You don't even know where you want to sleep at night but you still act like you're so in control.” he almost mocks, giving you the same pout you had throughout the entire night and it shocked you.

“I know what I want.” you nearly snarl back and he clicks his tongue.

“Yeah?” he almost whispers as he leans in for your ear. “Prove it.”

You don't know when or how but his lips quickly land on yours. In a rough fight for dominance he has his hands wrapped around your thighs and has you picked up and laid down on one of the cars with a hood down. You don't realize it's your car with his hood down until you brace yourself on the hood. Stripping of your suit jacket and fiddling with your pants button but tom is already on it. He's down on his knees, undoing the straps of your shoes as he lets his hands go up and undo the buttons of your pants. Having you nearly completely naked in front of him, that's not exactly what he was going for as he picks you up from the hood as has you on your knees in front of him.

“Was so cute, you thought you were going to get exactly what you wanted.” his hand was dirty as it stroked your face but landed a grip on your chin. Pulling you in close, your head in between his thighs looking up at him with pleading eyes. You almost whimper, you were on your knees for a man you didn't know and you were almost whimpering.

“Dont act stupid.” he nearly spit at you as he leaned back. Your hands are going to unzip his pants but he stops you. Forcing you to rest your hands on his thighs as he pulls himself out of his pants. You swallowed hard as he was bigger than you had expected--far bigger than your ex as you felt like your mouth was watering as he used his thumb to stroke over the tip.

“Stick your tongue out.” he told you. You gladly stuck your tongue out with your mouth wide and ready to take him. He had one grip on your jaw and the other guiding his cock into your mouth. You start to suck but that's not what he wanted. He held your jaw in place as he thrusted up into you.

“Thats a good girl,” he hissed as he used your mouth as if it was his own personal toy. You reached to stroke what couldnt fit in your mouth and he let out an airy laugh. “What a little whore you are.” he shook his head. “So desperate, is this not enough for you? Sucking on my cock not enough for you?” he taunted you and you only moan—or at least try to moan and he laughs.

“What was that darling? I can't seem to hear you?” he teased and you only whined more with your mouth around him. You play a game with yourself where you think you can make him cum like this. Making him cum this early would mean that you always were more incharge from the start. But you barely know him, you don't know how long he can last.

“Get up.” he pulls your head off of him. His cock still hard as it fell onto his stomach and you were drooling with his precum. Your eyes don't even look up at him you look at the redness of his cock, how you want more of it and maybe you were the whore like he said.

“Look at me,” he pulled you up, now face to face with him. His hand that was free slips in between thighs, teasing as he gets closer and closer to your core and he clicks his tongue again. “Such a dirty girl, don't even want to look at me, say thank you, you just look at my cock wanting more. You want more?” he strokes your cheek and you nod. “What was that? A moment ago I thought I was talking to one of the richest girls in London but now I feel like I'm talking to just some whore--” he starts to talk but your lips are already on his. You straddle his hips. Extremely unsturdy but he quickly picks you up and flips you over. As much as he'd loved to see what you look like on top of him. Tits bouncing for him and trying to hold on, here was not the best place. He would get a better view later, he just knew it.

For now he flips you over on your stomach. You're pressed up against the car as he wraps his hand around your waist and uses his fingers for a bit.

“So fucking tight.” he slides in slowly at first. Making you gasp and him hiss. “That other boy fuck you like this?” he asked but you were too busy trying to feel more of him. His hand comes down to your ass and in shock you yelp. “I asked you a question, don't say you don't know manners either.'' He was close to your ear and you shook your head no.

“No!” you nearly cry out as he pushes into you. Completely filling you up. You feel tears perk at the corner of your eyes for how desperately you needed him. You even push back on him and he lets out a soft laugh. “H-he's never fucked me like this, god tom please move!” you cry out. His hands come to your waist and he clicks his tongue again.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he teased as he pulled himself fully out and pushed himself fully back in. you cry out, not caring who heard you, you cried out as he fucked into you like you two were the last people on earth.

“Fuck youre so tight.” he threw his head back as he held on to your hips. You felt yourself give up under him. There was no use in you trying to take control anymore when he did this to you. Had you dumbed down just for his dick.

“I need to cum tom.” you cry out. You try and open your eyes to look back at him who has created a rhythm for your body. His head is thrown back and he shakes his head.

“No.” was all he said and you nearly cry more. “Not yet.” was all he said as he went faster.

“Please, please, please.” you begged between a mixture of moans and cries. Reaching back to hold his hands but he quickly moved them to wrap around your waist and touch your clit. Using his thumb to rub gentle circles you nearly

“So cute when you whine like that.” he chuckled. You felt him twitch, knowing he was close too, you clenched your walls around him. You could barely hear his gasp but you have your cheek pushed up against the hood of your car that got you here in the first place.

“Fuck,” he struglld to moan out. “C-Cum for me.” he sped up and your whole body went numb. You swear you pass out for a moment as all you hear are his moans and the sudden feeling of him stopping.

Both heavy breathing you slowly move yourself to get up, at least turn yourself around so you can face a clearly stunned tom. His mouth open just a bit and his eyes are wide.

“Y-you squirted.” he tells you and suddenly you go from feeling like the sexiest person alive to feeling your body heat up in full embarrassment.

“I-i'm so sorry i-i didn't know-” you start to stammer as you reach for your shirt to clean him up but he shakes his head still trying to catch his breath.

“No, It was hot.” he says as his shock turns into a small smirk, cocky that he was able to do that. “Fuck, have you ever done that before?” he asked.

Your cheeks heated up, even though he couldn't see the clear embarrassment you nodded. One time, years ago when you were by yourself. You hadn't touched yourself in over a month and it was just the highest setting of your vibe and the hottest porn star you could find that had done it to you. Never ever had an actual man been able to make you do that. Hell, you were lucky if your ex even made you cum.

“O-Once, once but I was by myself.” you swallowed hard, you could already see the smirk on his face as he knew he was so much better than anyone you had ever had. He didn't even know your ex partners but if he could get you to do that the first time he fucked you then even you knew you didn't need anyone else.

He uses his clean shirt to clean you up. Helping you slip back on your underwear and making sure that you could still walk--you barely could. He helps you into his car. Letting you cool down a bit before he drove out of the garage, driving down the road and it was only about a minute until you arrived at the cutest house you had ever seen.

He lifted you out and brought you inside, passing you clothes that were far better to sleep in than a suit and your completely ruined underwear, you found yourself getting comfy under his bedsheets.

“So im guessing im not going to the bed and breakfast for the night?” you nuzzled into the sheets that smelt of ocean spray and cedarwood. This man was some sort of god, you swore on it.

“Hmm, no. unless you still want to.” he slides under the sheets himself. His hands dont touch you but you gladly lean in and wrap your arms around him. He at first stills, stiffens his whole body before he relaxes for you. He didn't even know what he was thinking. First he helps the pretty girl he worried was dead on the side of the road and now he has her in his bed after having one of the best orgasms of his life.

“No,” you hum against his chest. “If you don't mind.” but it wasn't a question. This time you take control over the situation and fall quickly asleep in his arms. He only lays there, waiting for you to find yourself fully asleep.

Fuck that stupid train, fuck your stupid ex, and fuck him.

-

Dark roast and sizzling eggs fill your nose. You wake up with puffy eyes, from crying last night embarrassingly in Tom's arms you look down and see you're only in a random stained tee and your underwear. In a way,you thought you hit your head hard enough on the steering wheel that all of this was a dream but it was real. You lay in a grey sheeted bed and hear the sound of music come from the kitchen.

Ideally, if you got on the train, you would have woken up in a hotel with a view of the city and probably eat half of a bagel and drink rich coffee from the breakfast bar before being off to your first conference of the day. But you were instead naked in the bed of a man who was helping you fix your car.

You stumble out of the bed, your legs wobbly, feeling as if you did a hardcore work out you nearly wince. What the man did was something you swore was only in porn. You don't know what kind of magic fucked him over while he works on cars but his fingers were skilled.

“Woah, woah,” Tom came over to you. Plaid boxers and no shirt, you think you died and went to heaven. Your car exploded and you died and went to heaven and if this is what it was then you were perfectly okay with that. “You okay?”

You nod, sitting at the island and only watching him. You knew you had to say a word soon but you didn't know what to say.

“Not so sure how you liked your eggs so I made them scrambled because that's personally how I like them but I can make them any other way you like-” he starts to go off and you only nod.

“No, I like scrambled.” When was the last time you had a breakfast like this? You grew up with servants and your parents are always gone. You never had a breakfast as simple as this.

He gave you a smile, you walked over to the coffee machine and poured coffee into the mug that was already out.

“Not sure if you were a coffee or tea type of person, if you-” before you could listen to his ramble again you shook your head.

“I like coffee. Coffee for the morning and tea typically in the evening.” you tell him and he gives a smile and a sweet nod.

“Me too.” was all he said before he remembered what was happening. “Hey, when do you have to be at that business trip? Or whatever it was?” you nearly spit out the coffee as he brings it up. You knew everything that was happening but honestly you were holding on to the concept you died and went to heaven but you had a conference in probably an hour and who the hell knows where you are.

“You know what,” your heart suddenly calms down. The panic subsides as you take another sip of that coffee. “Fuck them. They have waited for others before and they can wait for me. Fuck the trip, fuck the car and fuck my ex.” you felt good saying it. Tom slid you a plate of eggs and toast and you smiled.

“The car is still better than the train?” He remembers how all of this is about you and your ex fighting and you not wanting to sit on the train next to him.

With a smile, with everything that had happened within the past 24 hours, you pick up the plate and turn to tom.

“I don't think I should've taken the train.”

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Tagged for mechanic!tom: @londonspidey

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (21/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 4,110

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, fluffiness, SMUT

masterlist

a/n: you guys

“Stevie?” You murmured softly as you laid on his chest, tracing shapes on his shoulder absentmindedly.

“Yeah, honey?” He asked with a grunt, his eyes closed. He was clearly really, really close to falling asleep, but…

You couldn’t sleep.

You were wide awake, the only sign of exhaustion being the ache between your legs.

Steve had just gotten back from a mission a few hours before. It had been no contact for a week as he took down this bad guy or that bad guy in… Where was it this past time? South Korea? Seoul, you were pretty sure.

Though, you didn’t understand why he was considered ‘undercover’ anywhere, considering the fact that he kind of stood out no matter what he did.

“Have you… Have you ever thought about marriage?” You asked, voice trembling. You two had been together for a few months, but… He’d already told you he loved you.

And you just wanted to know if you two were on the same page for the future.

Your boyfriend’s body went tense underneath you, and a sense of dread filled your heart.

You knew you shouldn’t have asked such a dumb fucking question.

“Sweetheart…,” he said slowly, coughing to clear the lump in his throat as he smoothed down your hair. “You know I love you, right?” He relaxed a little as you responded immediately with an affirming nod.

You sat up as he did, straddling him as he cupped your face in his hands. You needed to be close to him, pressed against his chest and leeching his warmth.

“The man that wanted marriage… kids… the whole picket fence thing…” He took in a shaky breath. “He died in the ice… That’s not saying that I don’t want a future with you, because I do! You’re my girl. You’re my forever,” he said reassuringly, his lips finding your forehead. “I don’t need to involve the government to know that—they’ve involved themselves in my business enough—or a dumb piece of paper. If you want a ring, I’ll buy you all the rings you could ever want.” Steve gave you a warm smile, the same smile that was plastered all over tabloids and history books alike. “Besides… We don’t need a piece of paper as long as we’ve got each other, right?” He asked.

“Right,” you said without hesitation, giggling as his lips pressed to yours and he flipped you over, ready to ravish you all over again.

“Malen’kaya?”

You stared out the window above the kitchen sink, elbow deep in soapy water.

“Honey?”

Vaguely, you can hear the mirth in his voice, tinged with a bit of worry.

But you’re too busy staring out the window, watching as the storm raged outside and rain pounded against the glass.

“Sweetheart? Darling?”

You’d watched Steve leave you from this window. Your life had ended, or so you thought.

So much had changed since then, and… And it was all for the better.

You jumped a foot in the air as gentle hands found your hips. His metal appendage slipped under your sweatshirt, gently rubbing your tummy. “H-Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You’ve been staring off into space for ten minutes.”

Sure enough, you realized that the formerly hot water in the sink had gone cold and most of the bubbles had disappeared.

“I was just thinking…”

“Oh, yeah? Sounds dangerous.” He let out a laugh as you smacked his arm, not caring that you were getting him wet.

“I was just thinking about the last time we were here and I was in this spot… and how much better my life is,” you said.

You could feel his sharp inhale at your words, his hand continuing to rub soothing circles into your skin. “Yeah? You mean it, pretty girl?” He asked, his lips ghosting against your shoulder.

“I mean it.”

Bliss surrounded you two like a heavy blanket as he held you, the both of you relishing the closeness.

“Maybe we should just stay here forever,” you said with a lazy smile, finishing the dishes as he held you.

Bucky hummed softly, his eyes closed. There was no way he was going to disagree. “Why are you washing the dishes by hand if we’ve got a dishwasher? A very expensive one, might I add.”

“Because,” you snorted, rinsing your hands and drying them after letting the water out. “Sometimes it’s better to do things yourself…” Heart warm, you let your head fall back against his shoulder as he slowly began to rock you back and forth.

A hum from deep in his chest lulled you, some forties song.

“Heaven… I’m in heaven,” he started to sing, surprisingly well. “And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek…”

It was all you had ever dreamed of, when you were younger. Like in that dingy motel room. Despite knowing it was wrong and he wouldn’t take advantage of you like that, you had so wanted the Soldat to love you. You had wanted him to take you like how the older girls had talked about when you were barely a teenager.

Of course, it hadn’t been your Soldat doing that. He wasn’t like that.

But the other Soldats had been, and you were lucky that yours had protected you so well as you’d gotten older.

“Yes, heaven… I'm in heaven, and the cares that hung around me through the week seems to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak when we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek.”

“Isn’t this song usually a lot faster?” You asked, a smirk playing on your lips. “Are you just so elderly that you can’t keep up, Barnes?” Squeals filled the air as he tickled your sides, and you thrashed in his hold. “Jamie! Jamie! No!”

Hot breath tickled against your ear as he stopped. “Are you gonna let me be all sweet with you or are you gonna keep being such a brat?” He asked, squeezing you close once again.

God, you’d let him sweet with you all he wanted and then some.

“I guess you can be sweet with me,” you said after a moment, voice breathy and barely audible. “Especially since you actually aren’t a half-bad singer.”

“Not as good as you,” he said, beginning to rock you once more as lightning lit up the sky outside, a clap of thunder following soon after. “I love listening in when you’re putting Morgan to sleep… singing her those little lullabies…” He pressed a kiss to your hair before he continued on, “Oh, I'd love to climb the mountain, reach the highest peak, but it doesn't thrill me half as much as dancing cheek to cheek.” He finished the rest of the song, before humming a faint melody as your head lulled back against his shoulder.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, James.”

“And you’re mine.”

Bucky, the loving man that he is, led you to the couch and tucked himself in beside you. “Friday, turn on the fireplace,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you. The hunk of a man pulled you to his chest and onto his lap. “You know, if we keep joking about staying here forever, I’m gonna take it seriously and you’ll be stuck here with me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,” you said, your lower lip tugged between your teeth as you leaned back against him. Your fingers ran up and down his arm, tickling his skin. “Just you and me… Maybe Morgan can come visit…”

“Or we can go live in the woods like a bunch of cavemen,” he said. You could feel his lips turning into a slow smile against your shoulder. “You wanna watch a movie? We could continue on our journey of catching me up on pop culture.”

You turned to look at him, mouth opening with a response. But as soon as you looked into his eyes, every thought you had ever had just disappeared.

The cerulean of his eyes seemed to pop, glittering in the flickering warm light of the fire. Shadows danced on his face and for a moment you could’ve sworn he was a Greek god.

You have compared him to Hades many a time in your head.

Bucky breathed out your name, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“James… I—” You suddenly cut yourself off as you rushed forward, pressing your lips to his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It wasn’t like the one from the aquarium. This one held so much more.

“I need you,” he breathed out as he kissed you over and over again, his hands cupping your face. His broad chest was pressed against yours as he moved one arm to wrap it around you and lay you down on the soft couch. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.”

“Trust me, I’ve probably been dreaming of it longer,” you insisted with a snort, the two of you laughing into the kiss.

You never used to laugh with Steve during sex. It was always so serious, so intense.

You liked being able to laugh while the love of your life was holding you, touching you, kissing you like you’d never been kissed before.

Bucky pulled back enough to look you in the eyes. “Absolutely not. I’ve been dreaming of it way longer than you have.”

You sit up on your elbows so you can kiss your noses together. “Jamie… I’ve been dreaming of this since I was sixteen.” A smile spread over your face as you watched his cheeks go red.

“That’s not fair,” he insisted as he pouted at you. “If I wanted you like that back then, I would’ve been a sicko. You were allowed to have a crush on me without being a creep.”

There’s another round of kiss-drunk giggles as you peck his lips over and over again. “Not my fault. Though I do really appreciate that you didn’t see me that way when I was a literal child.”

His vibranium hand slips up underneath your top, tickling your tummy as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. “Not that I didn’t find you absolutely adorable back then, but can we please not talk about you as a child right now?” He murmured against the delicate skin of your neck.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine,” you said, trying to joke but losing your voice as his lips found a particularly sweet spot right along your collarbone. “Oh, Jamie…” Your skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere he touches you. “Fuck…” You barely heard him curse about how small the couch was for his super soldier frame, before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Arms wrapping around him, you found his lips again as you kissed him deeper. “Where we goin,’ Jamie?” You asked with an impish grin.

“Right here,” he said, chuckling as he laid you down on the fur rug in front of the fireplace.

Tony had resorted to only buying fur from indigenous vendors. Hell, he’d given Natasha a whole lecture about how her faux fur and faux leather (AKA plastic) clothing and accessories were worse for the environment than real fur and leather.

Which was true.

He’d spent the last decade of his life doing everything he could to turn his life around, even though he did mess up quite a few times.

But you’d rather not be thinking about the environmental logistics of fur at the moment.

The only thing about fur you wanted to think about was how soft it was against your skin as Bucky laid you down, leaning over you and pecking your lips over and over again.

“Comfortable?” He mumbled in between kisses.

The fire crackled beside you as you nodded breathlessly, shivering as his hand found its way to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it.

“Can I take this off, darlin?’” He asked, his voice husky and deep, slow like molasses.

You were pretty sure you heard a bit of his old Brooklyn accent slipping in there.

Fuck, that was fucking hot.

“Please,” you said, lifting your arms so he could tug it off of your frame and toss it somewhere to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” the man breathed out as he looked at you under him. His hands went to your cotton sleep shorts next, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours in a silent question.

“I trust you,” you said, lifting your hips for him.

It was like a wave of reassurance had washed over him. He carefully tugged your shorts down and pulled them down your legs. The shorts did get caught on your foot, and he scowled as he had to untangle it, though he clearly wasn’t actually mad.

The air was soft and light around you, which you hadn’t been expecting. When you’d had sex with anyone else, it was always so heavy and hot and intense. Stifling, was the word you were looking for. It felt like you were performing when you were naked with anyone else.

With James, in your mismatched laundry day lingerie, you felt more like yourself than you ever had been.

“I like this,” he teased as he nodded to your Calvin Klein bralette and your bright tie-dye patterned panties. His flesh hand had wrapped around your ankle and was holding your foot up so it was up at his chest. “I didn’t know it was possible to look so cute and so sexy at the same time.” He pressed a kiss to your inner ankle, right next to the bone. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Jamie,” you whined, instinctively covering your face. “Stop it.”

“What? Nah. That would make me a liar. A liar by omission,” he said as he kissed up your calf, taking his sweet time. Occasionally he’d give a little nip and smirk at the way you jumped. “And baby girl, we both know I’d never lie to you.”

You’d never been loved on the way he was loving on you. Your insecurities seemed to disappear under his heated but adoring gaze. “James…” You wanted to reach out and pull him to you for another kiss, but at the same time, you never wanted him to stop the trail he was leaving up to your knee.

“You know, I could spend hours just looking at you…,” he said as he started to lay down between your legs, his lips pressed against your inner thigh. “I went to art school back in the day… and I could fill an entire gallery with pictures, sketches, paintings, sculptures of you.”

Despite how calm he seemed, you could feel the slight trembling of his hands, could hear the waver in his voice.

He was nervous.

His baby blues focused in on the wet spot at the front of your panties, his breath hitching in his throat. “Can I touch you, baby doll? Please?” The second you nodded, his hands were on the thin, silky fabric, and you gasped as you heard the tell-tale rip.

“You ripped my panties?! Those are one of my favorite pairs!” You whined, pouting. “And all my other pairs are in the laundry!”

“Good thing I can buy you a million more,” he shot back with a sheepish grin. “And I don’t think you’re gonna need panties for the rest of the day, honey. Or clothing, for that matter.”

Rolling your eyes, you peeled your bra off your body and threw it in the general direction of the couch. “You’re such a bad influence.” But every thought in your head completely disappeared as he leaned in and his tongue ran through your slick folds. The moan he let out shook you to your core. “Holy shit,” you cursed as your hands flew to his head.

Bucky just smiled as your fingers tightened in his hair and accidentally pulled as he did it again. “You taste like heaven,” he said into your pussy as he sucked one of your folds into his mouth. Using his fingers, he spread your pussy open so he could get a good look, letting out a groan. “So pretty… So soft.”

“Jamie… Please… feels so good,” you breathed out as you instinctively tried to push his head closer again. You needed more. He couldn’t just tease you like that.

He really didn’t need anymore encouragement, and he wasn’t going to make you beg for something he’d been daydreaming about since he’d seen you again, when he’d broken out of Hydra’s control. When he’d seen you again, and even after he’d found out that you were his best friend’s girlfriend.

You had no hope of hanging on the second his tongue found your clit. For a moment, you felt like you’d blacked out as your orgasm washed over you, wave after wave of pleasure drowning you. “JAMIE!” You shouted as black dots appeared in your vision. Chest heaving, you tried to catch your breath as you laid back on the rug.

“How you doing, baby?” Bucky asked huskily as he kissed your hip, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “You still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” you breathed out as you reached for his face, pulling him close to kiss you. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” he said as he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m with you.” He smoothed down your hair, pecking your lips. “You wanna keep going? It’s up to you,” he said, voice low and soothing. “This is all about you, malen’kaya.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you kissed him fiercely. “I wanna keep going. I want you. I need you.” You didn’t hesitate as you pulled his shirt off of him, drinking in the sight of his broad chest. “Beautiful,” you said as you ran your hands over his hot skin. Your fingertips traced over the scars on his left shoulder, and you could feel the shaky breath he took. “You are, James. You’re so fucking handsome…”

The blush that dusted across his cheeks complimented that bashful smile he wore. “Now you’re just flattering me, sweetheart,” he said, kissing you as he worked off his pants with one hand.

“Commando? Really?” You drawled as you glanced down between you. However, you were mostly just trying to not let yourself panic a little at his sheer size.

Steve had been long, yes, but Bucky was thick.

What was it Peter liked to say? Thick with two c’s?

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asked quietly, pulling you out of your head. “We don’t have to.” His fingers blazed a trail along your hip, dipping into the apex of your thighs. As he waited for your answer, he slipped two fingers into your wet t, heat, slowly pumping them in and out and scissoring them to open you up, preparing you for his length. “You gotta talk to me, pretty baby…”

“Yes, I wanna do this,” you insisted, mouth falling open as he found that soft, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck… Jamie, please… Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

Thankfully, he relented and withdrew his fingers, leaving you with an empty feeling. He lined himself up as he gave his hard cock a few strokes.

The air left your lungs as he slowly pressed against your entrance, before he finally pushed in.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, angel,” he whispered, the strands of his hair tickling your face as his head hung low. “Is it romantic of me to say that I might cum just from this?”

Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you nodded, raising your legs to wrap around his waist. “The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” you teased. “I wouldn’t judge you if you did. I know how good my pussy is.”

Bucky had tears in his eyes from how hard he was laughing, nuzzling his nose against yours. All of the anxiety you had noticed before had dissipated, leaving behind the man you knew and loved.

The fire crackled beside you, and you reached up to caress his face. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” you said. You’d told him before, but you felt the need to remind him.

“And you’re mine,” he answered as he pushed in further, moaning lowly. He was really struggling with the whole not cumming too early thing apparently. “I haven’t had sex with anyone in over seventy years, let alone a dame as stunning as you,” he said, stuttering over his words. “Fuck… Really not trying to embarrass myself, come on, Barnes.”

He hadn’t even noticed that you were losing yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, the delicious ache the stretch of his cock brought.

“Jamie, please.”

It must’ve been the whine in your voice or something, but his eyes locked in on yours. “Fuck. I gotcha, baby girl.” Focusing hard enough to cause a vein in his forehead to pop, he bottomed out inside of you, taking a moment to compose himself before he started to move. “My sweet malen’kaya,” he said against your lips. His fingers threaded into your hair as he leaned on his elbows for support. The roll of his hips was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, head falling back to expose the smooth, unmarked column of your throat.

Well, it wouldn’t be unmarked for long.

You squealed as his lips found your neck, sucking and biting. It might’ve been a little juvenile, but the thought of him being so desperate to mark you up, to show the world that you were his, got you even more hot and bothered than before.

“Feel good, baby? You like that?” He asked in a growl as he jerkily moved one of his hands down your body to rub your clit, awkwardly having to take a moment to regain his balance on one elbow. “You feel like heaven. My own little corner of paradise…”

The rainstorm raged around you, but you didn’t notice or feel the thunder that shook the earth. The only thing you could focus on was Bucky.

You would’ve liked to think that you would’ve been a lot more eloquent, perhaps sexier and kinkier, if and when you two finally slept together, but every thought had left your brain. It was like he’d fucked you stupid.

It didn’t take long before you felt the familiar tightening in your belly, your nails digging into his back muscles. “Oh, god. Yes, yes, keep going,” you begged, finally finding your voice. “Yes, holy shit, yes. Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna… Oh, fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me? Huh?” He rasped, brow furrowed. “Go on… Cum for me. On one… two… three.”

Your back arched sharply off of the bed, and he wrapped an arm around you to hold you to him as he continued thrusting. Your climax came on like a tsunami, and if you weren’t so dazed from the orgasm, you might’ve been stupid enough to been embarrassed by the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your core.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he said, biting at your neck as his thrusts became sloppier and harder. “Fuck, fuck, holy shit, malen’kaya.”

“Inside me,” you said, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Please… Need you to fill me up, Jamie. Please.”

At that exact moment, you watched a moment of panic come over him before he suddenly slammed his hips against yours before going incredibly still.

Your heart caught in your throat as you felt him cumming, spilling inside of you and filling you to the brim.

“Darlin,’ you can’t just say shit like that and not expect me to lose it right then and there,” he rasped, feeling like he was walking on air.

The tight grip your legs had around his waist stopped him from pulling out.

Not that he was complaining.

“Mmm… I need to lay down for a minute… let some blood get to my brain,” he said, lying completely on top of you and hiding his face in your neck.

“Mmm…. I think we should just stay like this forever,” you said as you closed your eyes, letting him take his comfort from you. You craved it. Loved it. Your lungs felt heavy as you (somehow) snuggled even closer to him.

“Me, too,” he said as the two of you started to doze off, utterly exhausted. “Me, too.”

[luvidzy]

☆ genre: fluff

☆ pairing: kim seungmin x reader

☆ summary: an anonymous person is writing poetry and you are determined to get to the bottom of it

☆ word count: 3.2k

You honestly hadn’t even noticed at first. You weren’t really into the school paper, so you didn’t read it very often unless Felix decided there was something interesting you just had to know. Which is exactly how you found out about your secret admirer posting about you in the paper.

“Y/N, you have to see this!” Felix’s voice rang out as he slid into the seat next to you. You looked up, less than thrilled to be interrupted in the middle of trying to study for your Greek Classics test tomorrow, but you couldn’t stop yourself from setting your pencil down at Felix’s excited expression.

“Yes, Felix?” You asked, trying to hide the exasperation in your voice. If Felix noticed, he didn’t let him affect his excitement as he pulled the school paper out from under his arm, unrolled it and smacked it down on the table in front of you.

Your eyes scanned the front page, trying to figure out what Felix was so eager to show you, but nothing stood out. There was an article about the softball team, an article about an upcoming concert by 3racha, and a column that was talking about new things to do on campus. Nothing particularly interesting, and also nothing that you hadn’t seen before in the paper.

“So I was looking at the paper, and something caught my eyes. Come on, you have to read it,” Felix urged, his eyes sparkling as his freckles crinkled beside his eyes. You rested your forearms on the table, signalling to him that you were listening. Felix began to flip through the pages, before he landed on one of the latter ones. 

His finger pointed out a small section of writing in the upper right hand corner. You squinted slightly, bringing the paper closer so you could look at the words. From what you could tell it, was a small three line poem that anyone would overlook if you weren’t paying attention. Lucky enough for you, Lee Felix always paid attention to the paper.

she sits so sweetly

sweater too big on her back

perfect to me

Eyes wondering over the black lettering, you felt your eyebrows furrow. There was no signature and not even a hint of who the poem might be addressed to. It seemed so out of place, yet your curiosity was growing every second.

“Does anyone know who wrote it?” You asked, turning to Felix. The blonde shook his head, pouting slightly.

“I asked Seungmin, but he said that they had just found it on one of the desks in an envelope with a note asking them to publish it,” Felix explained. You sighed, before sliding the paper away from you in favor of getting back to your studying.

“Well, keep me updated. Maybe next time we’ll know who this mysterious poet is, or maybe who he’s writing to.” Felix nodded eagerly, before pulling the paper back towards him and opening it up to read while you continued to study.

Of course, the poem wasn’t dropped there as Felix brought it up to your friends again that night as you hung out in Chan and Changbin’s apartment.

“It’s romantic, for sure. But I feel like it would be even more romantic if the person who it was for actually KNEW it was for them, ya know?” Jisung said as he threw a cheeto in the air and tried to catch it in his mouth. You stifled a giggle behind your hand as the cheeto flew back down and hit him in the face, causing him to pout.

“Maybe they wanted to test the waters? See if the person responded well before they actually did anything that might give them away?” Jeongin suggested, before stuffing some M&Ms into his mouth. Seungmin shrugged as he leaned back into his chair.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see if we get any more envelopes.” You sighed, smiling slightly as you leaned back into the couch you were sitting on.

“How nice it must be to have someone write poetry about you. I don’t think anyone would ever do that for me,” you exclaimed dramatically, throwing a hand onto your forehead for effect. Minho snorted as he threw a piece of candy at you, causing you to shriek slightly.

“Maybe, if you weren’t such a dramatic bitch, people would actually fall for you.” You stuck your tongue out at the older male, crossing your arms with a pout on your face. He was probably right, but there was no need for him to be rude about it.

The next time the mystery poet wrote in the paper, you found out about it way too late at night. Your phone began to buzz incessently as you tried to focus on your paper, to no avail. Finally you gave in and picked up the phone.

“What?”

“Y/N, where are you right now?” Felix’s voice was rushed and enthusastic, and it took all your strength not to groan. How could he be so energetic this late at night, when all you wanted to be doing was sleeping instead of studying for you stupid exam. Seungmin, who had been joining you in your study nights the past few days, looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m at the library with Seungmin. Why?” You replied, rolling your eyes to Seungmin who just snickered. He knew from personal experience that the only person who would give you this reaction so late at night was Felix.

“There was another poem posted in the newspaper! I was gonna tell you earlier but I couldn’t get a hold of you. Stay where you are, I’m on my way.” Felix rushed, before hanging up. You took the phone away from your ear, before looking to Seungmin with an accusing glare.

“There was another poem and you didn’t think to tell me?” You exclaimed, cringing as the librarian shushed you.

“I didn’t think you cared that much. Besides, why would I take away Felix’s gossip? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?” Seungmin chuckled at the pointed glare you sent his way, before you turned back to your paper to try and do some work before Felix got there.

You managed only another 2 paragraphs before Felix came bustling through the doors, trying to be as quiet and fast as possible. He finally crashed into the chair beside you, spreading the paper out before you. You shut your laptop as your eyes scanned the page, trying to find any sight of the poem.

“It’s a good one this time. You’ll have to see it,” Felix said, his grin more of a smirk as he flipped to the next page and pointed his finger at the lines of text that had been imprinted on the page. Your eyes immediately trained on it, scanning over the words in every line like a woman who’s seeing for the first time.

The girl in room 204

with the world on her shoulder

but a smile on her face.

I wish I could be your Atlas

and hold the sky up long enough

for you to take a breath and relax.

But despite the circumstances,

despite her exhaustion from

sleepless nights in the library,

her eyes glow as she talks

even if it is about the most mundane things.

I can’t help but stare and smile,

wondering if she will ever notice

that she means everything to me

and that I would gladly be condemned

to a lifetime of suffering if it meant 

taking your pain for just a little while.

Your eyes widened as you looked at the poem, before you noticed the small print that was sitting underneath the beautiful lines.

-to the girl in room 204 of Levantar Hall

Your heart began to pound and you could practically feel the blood rushing to your face as you reread the tiny tag, the realization only setting in after the 5th time looking it over.

“Holy shit! Felix, these poems are addressed to me!” You exclaimed, turning to look at the bright smile of your best friend. He nodded eagerly as you turned back to the poem, rereading it with this newfound knowledge.

“And you said no one would ever write poetry for you,” Felix teased. You hit him lightly, before taking the paper and shoving it into your bag. You grabbed your laptop, slung your bag over your shoulder, before looking at the boys you were sitting with.

“Sorry gentleman, I have some sleuthing to do,” you said, before rushing out of the library, completely ignorant of the adoration in Seungmin’s eyes as he watched you go.

You spent the next few days waking up extra early and camping out outside of the newspaper office to try and catch the mystery person in action of dropping off their envelope, but you were always met with disappointment as Seungmin came in every morning with no sign of the admirer.

You were a bit bummed about it until you decided to read this week's newspaper and came upon a startling revelation. 

Another poem. 

so close yet so far

she would never know my love

it’s not my nature

You immediately called Felix, who agreed to meet up with you at the nearest cafe to discuss the poem. It wasn’t until you were sitting at a booth, coffees sitting in front of you that a revelation decided to hit you.

“Felix! I’m an idiot!”

“I mean, I know. But how so this time?” Felix said, causing you to throw a playful glare his way. You looked at the poem, before pointing at the poem in the paper and reading the words aloud.

“Okay?” Felix questioned, an eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes at the thought of having to explain it all to Felix.

“I know whoever this is, Felix! The words insinuate it’s someone that I know, and someone who is not very affectionate with me!” You said proudly, happy that you had managed to narrow the list down. Felix nodded in understanding.

“So, that leaves only a few people, right? Cause all of your friends are pretty affectionate, outside of Minho and Seungmin, right?” Felix said, and you nodded, before freezing. Minho…. or Seungmin. You didn’t want to immediately jump to any conclusions, but you hadn’t seen anyone outside of the newspaper room outside of Seungmin and, being honest, you kind of wanted it to be him. You had had a crush on Kim Seungmin since freshman year of college and it would be like something out of a novel if it turned out to be him.

“Earth to Y/N! What’s the plan now?” Felix brought you from your daydream as you took a sip of the coffee in front of you. You furrowed your brows in thoughts, before her eyes lit up.

“I know! Felix, I just need to mention something incredibly specific to each of them! Any good writer would take advantage of the creative inspiration and incorporate it into their poem!” you announced, quite proud of yourself for coming up with the idea. Felix thought for a moment before he nodded.

“That’s so stupid, it might just work.” You pouted at his comment, before immediately looking at your phone, seeing the time, and stumbling to get up and rush out.

“I completely forgot I need to meet up with Minho for our project! Phase 1 starts right now!” You rushed out of the coffee shop, Felix laughing behind you as you nearly ran into the door due to your excitement.

True to your plan, while with Minho you brought up the extremely intricate topic of Andromeda and Perseus, a tale which you had learned about a month ago in your Greek Mythology class. You loved the story and thought it was incredibly interesting and a great muse if Minho turned out to be the secret admirer in the paper.

You didn’t see Seungmin for a few days, but that gave you time to think of the perfect topic to bring up to him. You wanted him to be your secret poet so badly and you wanted to make sure you gave him something that would definitely end up inspiring the next poem. It finally hit you as you sat with Seungmin and Jeongin in one of your University’s common areas.

“We learned about the story of Icarus in my Greek class the other day,” you started, making sure to look at Seungmin and see if he was listening to you. Sure enough he perked up, looking up to show you that he was taking in the words that were coming from your lips.

“Essentially, Icarus was the son of this great inventor, Daedalus, and they were both imprisoned in a tower. Daedalus made them 2 sets of wings to escape the tower, but they were made out of feathers and wax. When they were flying to escape, Icarus decided to not heed his fathers words and flew too close to the sun. The wax in his wings melted and he drowned. It’s a sad story, but it tells a tale of curiosity and how being too curious can lead to your downfall,” you explained, noticing how Seungmin had stopped writing as you told your story. Jeongin stared at you with a questioning glance.

“Why would Icarus fly so high if he knew he would die?”

“Well, I guess that depends on how you look at it. Some say he was just foolish and brash, but I personally like to think Icarus knew what would happen to him, but decided that the ability to be free and live in the excitement for even a moment was worth the consequences he knew would befall him.” Jeongin nodded, obviously thinking about the story. Satisfied with your work, you looked back down at your work, not noticing how Seungmin had flipped to a blank page in his notebook and was jotting down what seemed to be lines of poetry.

It was a few more weeks until another poem was posted, and you were starting to be concerned that the admirer had given up and decided to stop. That was until Felix, as expected, rushed into your dorm one day, completely scaring you out of your concentrated state.

“The poem was posted! And you’ll never believe it, but your plan actually worked!” Your stomach flip flopped as you realized that the moment of truth was about to be upon you. The minute you read the poem that laid in the ink of the school newspaper, you would know who was your secret admirer. Felix handed it to you and as your eyes went to the words, you silently prayed that it was the man you so desperately wanted it to be. 

I am Icarus,

and she is the sun.

I don’t dare get to close,

even if her gleam,

bright against my rickety feathers,

warms me from the inside out.

I can never tell her how I feel,

I can never say a word,

but if I could I’d tell her she is golden to me.

That she is the heavens,

and I am just a mortal man 

begging for her to let me in,

begging for her to let me love her, 

begging for her to let me praise her,

because God knows that if I could 

I would never stop spilling words of devotion to her.

I am Icarus,

and she is the sun.

My faux wings melt like candle wax

as I force myself closer to her,

because I’d rather fall out of her atmosphere,

then never experience her at all.

Your mouth dropped open as you finished reading the carefully crafted poem, your cheeks heating up and your mind running a mile a minute. It was Seungmin. Your secret admirer was Seungmin.

You rushed out of your dorm, the paper abandoned on your bed as Felix called after you, but you didn’t have any time to stop and explain. You glanced at your phone, realizing that if you made haste, you could catch Seungmin alone in the newsroom before he left for the day. You weaved through the halls of the journalism building, the only thing on your mind getting to the boy who had written some of the most beautiful words about you.

Seungmin was standing outside of the door, locking up the room for the day, when you barrelled down the hallways and basically tackled him into a hug. He grunted as your arms wrapped around him and he stood there for a moment, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. You didn’t give him any time to react though, pulling back and staring at him with a smile rivalling the sun.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tell you what?” Seungmin asked, genuinely confused. He had a long day and you weren’t making any sense right now. You rolled your eyes playfully, before looking at him with a smirk.

“That you were Icarus and I was the sun.” Seungmin’s mouth dropped open as you repeated the words he had written back to you. His usually sharp mind was completely blank as he tried to figure out what to say in response to you, but once again you didn’t give him time to think as you pulled him in for another hug.

This time, Seungmin allowed himself to wrap his arms around you in return and give you a squeeze. Months of pining after you and he was finally doing what he had fantasized about so many times. You nuzzled yourself into his neck, giggling as he let out a soft gasp, completely unused to the physical affection you were showing him.

“So, does this mean the poems worked?” Seungmin joked, his cheeks red as you pulled back again. You let out a laugh, nodding happily as you kept your arms slung around his neck.

“Of course! To be honest, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now. I was really glad when I found out it was you,” you said, staring at him sheepishly. He smiled softly at you, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“What gave it away though?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You really think I just threw all that philosophical stuff about Icarus out there for nothing? I was hoping you’d pick up the clue and use it for some creative inspiration,” you said. Seungmin nodded, feigning a look of impressiveness.

“That’s pretty smart for you.” You punched him lightly in the arm, eliciting a chuckle from the boy as he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers together, leading you down the hallway.

“So, does this mean your poems are going to stop?” you asked, unable to hide the pout in your voice. Seungmin smiled a little bit, giddy that you liked his poems so much.

“I mean, at least the public poems. But I’ll write you all the poems you want in private. But they will be for your eyes only. Can’t let anyone know that I went soft for you,” he said jokingly. You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand as he laughed along with you.

Honestly, you didn’t mind if the poems were public or private. It was more than enough for you that Seungmin was holding your hand right now, speaking words of love that held more meaning than any poem about Icarus ever could.

[aitarose]

OUR LAST SUMMER (A.MIYA) —❥ pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: one summer was all the time you had together—all the time you had to bask in the sun-kissed rays and sand-filled beaches, share soft butterfly kisses and feel the comfort of being wrapped in his arms—until his boat sailed off into the sea, forever. 

word count: 3.0k

genre: mamma mia inspired, summer fling, somewhat stuck together, angst, fluff, casual/formal writing, second person

warnings: commitment issues, mentions of suggestive content, minor cursing, heartbreak?

notes: this was an impulse blurb because i haven’t posted any actual fics in nearly a month so here you go lol asdfjl IT’S A LITTLE ROUGH BUT I HOPE IT’S LEGIBLE LMAO AND ITS SHORT AS HELL SORRY JALSD MY BRAIN D!ED

—❥ DIRECTORY

You remembered the first time you’d seen him.

He was a stranger, a man that you’d never once met before—standing smack-dab in the middle of your dock, the place you’d always come to clear your thoughts after hours upon hours of work, though you didn’t technically own it. It was just tradition, an accustom that you’d grown so used to that it seemed like everyone’s daily—well, everyone but his.

There were few people you didn’t know on the island, having been a member of the local family business of hotels and inns. Your little paradise, the chains of suites and saunas that you liked to think were a hidden wonder of the world—hidden to only you and the reoccurring tourists that would stay on your infamous Greek Elysium. 

The usual familiarity was scarce at the sight of his bright blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, light freckles peppered across the swells of his cheeks—no doubt caused by countless hours at sea as he stood beside a large sailboat. He appeared to be a free spirit, much different to all of the others that would find stay on the shores. 

It was a common getaway, an escape from the reality of life and the troubles that came with emotional attachments and labor. Every personality was alike, each one masking the pain of all that tied them down—wishing that they’d ever have to board that boat back to the mainland, and just stay in a world without worries and never-ending surf. 

But the way he was standing with his body language in reaction to the sea, made you think that perhaps he wasn’t like all of the other’s who came and went. That perhaps he was a free spirit entirely on his own, one that didn’t force the necessities of comfort and relaxation on his mind—it just came naturally.

“You lost?” Your voice called out, the sound ringing with the wind chimes against his sails—diverting his attention from the white peaked waves to your melodious sound. He gave you his full attention, immediately focusing on your approaching frame—a look of relief arising on his face. 

He reached behind his neck, scratching the roots of his hair whilst a sheepish smile gleamed in the light. “Thank god, you found me!” He chuckled, the browns in his eyes sparkled with golds and copper, complimenting his overall look perfectly—in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever seen such a handsome man. “I docked around a half-an-hour ago, just didn’t know where I was supposed to head next.”

“Would a beautiful girl like yourself happen to have the time to help a poor sailor out?”

Shaking your head, you grinned, scoffing slightly at the obvious flirtation, before walking towards him. Your feet moved in small steps, thoughts dancing around the idea of a summer fling—after all, it wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened. You, an eccentric woman, one with the island, always seeming to attract men of all natures with not a care in the world.

Maybe he would be your new conquest, your newest mark in the endless journey of love that you never wanted to conclude. Another man who’s mood would turn from complete adoration to disgust when you’d reject his love and send him off to sea—never to be met again. Simply a memory you’d look back on when your past ran wild and smile in nostalgia. 

You plopped down on the end of the dock, head thrown back as your feet touched the water—a refreshing feeling taking over your entire body. The man watched in amusement at your obvious compatibility with the ocean currents and approached you as you patted the place beside you—an open seat reserved for him.

“So, sailor.” You mocked, swinging your jaw to face him with a sing-song tone. “Tell, me. What brings you to my island?”

He raised his eyebrows, creases appearing near his forehead with youthful wrinkles at their wits—not hiding how enamored he was at your playful tone. “Your island?” There was a matched mood in the both of your speech, potential feelings rising in the pits of your stomachs. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. Last I checked, you didn’t own all of Greece.” 

You scoffed, kicking your feet up to splash his ankles—cold sprays of salt water hitting the skin of your shins up to your thighs. “Well, last I checked lonely sailors didn’t talk back to pretty women—or are you just an enigma Mr...”

“Miya.” He replied, concluding the sentence that you hadn’t been able to finish with ease—identity revealed to the girl he’d already festered a crush on, despite it only having been a mere twenty minutes since you’d first begun to speak. “Miya Atsumu.”

‘Y/N L/N.” You held out a hand with a shit-eating grin as he gripped it firmly, shaking your palm enthusiastically whilst your eyes held his—a silent stare down in the midst, the morning sunrise changing to one of noon, reminding you of the ticking time. “And how long did you say you’ll be staying here?”

“Well, I’m here for my brother’s wedding.” Atsumu shrugged, nudging your shoulder with his and gazing out to the countless other sailboats in the bay. “Technically, I’m only meant to be here for a few weeks...”

“...but I’m sure I’ll find something here to keep me longer.”

And that he did. 

He’d managed to find a countless number of reasons to keep himself busy. Infinite excuses not to set his sail at sea—excuses that had nothing to do with the start of Osamu’s wedding festivities, or with the waning fear of his workplace calling him back to play, or even the worry of his heavy pockets running dry of cash.

Perhaps it had something to do with how his heart pounded whenever you were around. The artery nearly jumping out of his chest in the times you’d grab his hand and pull him along the stone-studded paths throughout the tropical trees,  giving him tours of your favorite spots—laying picnic blankets under the shade and sharing piña coladas with pink straws. 

Or the constant days at the beach. How you’d share an umbrella only for it to fly away in the wind—leaving the two of you out in the open rays of the sun, vulnerable to burns that Atsumu always managed to obtain. You later having to help him wash off in a cool shower—concern furrowing at your brows with every wince and whine he’d muster. 

Treating him as your own personal island dweller, you’d become attached at the hip. Neither one of you wanting to be without the other for longer than a day—knowing that your time was limited, but ignoring it all the same. The summer was one of new opportunities and experiences, things that you had already set your mind to—only now having his name next to those goals.

Your first impressions had been correct, he was undoubtedly different from all of the other flings you’d had in the past—and you’d come to realize this on the day he’d asked you to be his date to his brother’s wedding. The brother that had no idea you existed, whom you hadn’t ever planned on meeting was inevitably getting an unexpected guest.

That unexpected guest being you, of course, arriving with Atsumu on your arm and wearing a beautiful shade of baby blue. Osamu and his bride had welcomed you with open arms, no suspicions at all when they’d noticed the genuine look of happiness in the blonde’s eyes—a look that they hadn’t seen come out of him in a very very long time.

“Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” He whispered, lips pressed against your hair—arms holding you close as the gentle orchestrals echoed in the night night breeze. The shadows of candle lit jars and paper lanterns covering your face in defined shades of grey—making you look all the more gorgeous.

You sighed into his chest, taking in his sweet scent, that of fresh oranges and salt—the smell of the ocean never truly washing away from his aura. “I loved it, actually.” An earnest tone spoke out from your mouth, sincere admissions flowing like waves, reaching his ears and giving him little dreams of the future—your future.

“It was one of the most beautiful ceremonies we’ve hosted, and I truly mean that.” Your voice was soft, quiet as to not disturb the calm mood in the moonlight—the stars shining down on every pair on the dance floor, even the young children blowing kisses in each other’s direction, not knowing the true feelings of love, yet wishing for them in their hearts. 

Atsumu took a step back, holding your hand in his and spinning you beneath the stringed bulbs—smiling warmly as you let out an uncontrollable giggle—complaining how he was making you dizzy with glee. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so utterly full of admiration for a single person in the entirety of his life.

With a smirk at the corners of his cheeks he pulled you in, twirling you back around and into the safety of his tanned arms—the physical contact was nothing new to you, yet there was something in the way his palms held yours that made you feel like there were ulterior motives to his antics. 

“Steady there, sailor.” You whispered, slightly out of breath—not only from the tireless dancing you’d endured all evening, but from the minimized distance between your bodies. His lips were a mere centimeters away from yours, so close and also so far. “Wouldn’t want you doing something you might regret.”

He shook his head, leaning in to commit to the thing he wanted most in the world—his fingers reaching up to guide your chin to his, the calloused skin of his thumbs tickling your sensitive nerves and setting free all of the festering butterflies in your chest. 

“Trust me, gorgeous, when I say that I don’t have regrets.”

His words were quickly muffled as you pressed your lips against his, smothering any quips that could possibly arise and drowning them in an ocean of pure desire and infatuation. It felt like you were on ecstasy, the uncontrollable yearning for his intimacy finally being yours to have and to hold—all coming together in one innocent kiss in the middle of an almost empty wedding reception. 

Your palms held his jawline, pulling him as close as possible whilst doing your best to convey your display of passion as small and intimate—not wanting to steal the celebrations of the day from the bride and groom—who’d in all honesty, disappeared themselves hours before, no one having seen them since then.

A quiet gasp rose from your throat as he bit your bottom lip, wanting more even though he knew that it wasn’t the time you could grant his wish—anticipation for the night to come, when you’d leave the party hand-in-hand, rushing from the back of his brain to the frontal lobe as he pulled away.

“’Tsumu.” You breathed out, eyes locked on his with giddiness underlying the tiredness in your voice. His expression matched yours, one of completion and success—patting himself on the back in imagination with the knowledge that he’d won your attention. “What was that?”

He stepped aside, still holding your hand in his, leading you off of the stone platform and into the gallery of cloth-lined tables with scattered guests—drunk in happiness and alcohol, blind to any real-world worries. The moment felt like a fever dream, an event that only occurred in film and television—nothing that you’d ever expected to experience yourself.

But with Atsumu, anything seemed to be possible. The slim probabilities becoming a zero percent error whenever he set his mind to a goal, bringing you along with him every step of the way. His calls out to you raspy from ahead, scratchy from the amount of hollering and applause he’d performed for his twin during speeches and vows.

“That,” he began, glancing back at you as you ran together towards his little villa, “that was only the beginning of the rest of our endless summer.”

And he was right, it certainly was the beginning of something. Something special and real—something that you’d never once felt in your life, right in your arms, right in front of you. He was your perfect match, you were tired of denying it—but there was one thing that the two of you had forgotten in the blissful montage of stolen kisses and sleepless nights.

Every beginning has an end. 

All stories have a final chapter, one that no reader wanted to page through—but couldn’t resist knowing the final outcome of their two favorite characters, what could possibly happen to their relationship, their future, their unspoken and unequivocal love for one another that had manifested on the ink blotched pages. 

Some had happy endings, epilogues in which the main love interests proceeded to get married, have a few kids that’d run around their fenced backyard with the sprinkler system running on overdrive. That was the dream, the dream that seemed so idealistic to most, the ideal life to live—to grow old holding hands against the oak wood of your rocking chairs as the sun set over the horizon. 

But that wasn’t your ideal life, and neither was it Atsumu’s. 

So, your story wasn’t one of those lucky fairy tales that had a happily ever after. It wasn’t a bedtime story that you’d read to your grandchildren or younger relatives, nor was it a time you’d try to forget as it ended right where it had initially begun—on the public docks of your inn house, in front of his weary sailboat.

The only differences being the setting sun rather than the rising dawn and the twinkling stars appearing in the dark sky in contrast to their disappearance in relation to the morning clouds. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that it was all coming to an end, shooting off into the darkness with the explosions of nebulas and constellations. 

“So, this is it.” Atsumu spoke aloud, possibly to you or the emptiness of the sea. The usual warmth in his tone sounding robotic and unkept, unfamiliar to your heart, unfamiliar from the man you’d come to hold such strong feelings for in a mere three months. “This is our last night, our last minutes.”

He turned to face you, hands holding the limp ropes whilst pulling them tight and wrapping them in their holsters, billowing the sails in the strong night breezes—there was said to be a storm brewing, and it was ever so timely to have happened the same night a hurricane was forming in your blackened and broken heart. 

You’d never seen such a sorrowful expression on his face, used to the typical dumbstruck happiness and easygoing nature that was void and lost, that absence setting in the reality of your relationship’s oblivion. He let go of his secured ties, elbows leaning against the railing and towards you as you stood at the edge of the doc. 

“It doesn’t have to end here, you know.” He suggested, his voice shaky and unsure—not knowing what your response would be—not knowing that you loved him, too. “You could come with me, see a world that isn’t an isolated island—we could travel together, see all the other wonders—we could be happy, forever.”

Your breath hitched, chest airtight, all of the oxygen in your lungs at max capacity—catching in your lungs with no chance of getting out. His words had somehow managed to itch the hidden and sensitive regions of your heart—the ones that had always been guarded from others, the places that he’d been able to weasel his way into. 

At the look on your face, he already knew your answer. An unspoken rejection standing stale in the humid air between you, the still distance growing further and further despite your motionless stances. Two broken hearts longing for one another with no resolution to be met. 

He bit his lip, holding back tears in the nightly shadows and nodding his head—believing that he’d been right all along. That his presumptions about you had actually been correct, that he hadn’t been different, that he hadn’t been your person amidst the countless other personalities you’d fallen for over the summers—that he’d simply been another paradisiac fling that you’d thrown away. 

But he’d never been so wrong. 

You did love him, you loved him with your entire soul—your entire existence. There was no dream you wanted more than to be with him forever, to spend every single moment in his company of laughter and contagious smiles. To pepper him in kisses and take morning dips in the ocean as the sun rose over the horizon. 

He was your soulmate, the other half that you never thought you would find—an egocentric and boastful man unlike any other you’d met before. Atsumu was your salvation, but with the fear of commitment and settled life at the back of your brain, you had no choice but to watch as his love faded into remorse. As his undying love was pulled beneath your currents of self-doubt. 

“Thank you.” He spoke, words dull yet also meaningful—full of every last confessional emotion he had to make, full of all the lost ‘I love you’s’ and goodnight wishes in the past seventy-two days of being in each other’s arms. “Thank you for letting me love you.”

And with those words, your heart sailed into the vast horizon—through the swift currents and past the submerged rocks, peaking in the rising and falling black waves. The bright white sail of his stern shading into grey as he became nothing but a speck in the night—lost to the endless sea and unknown future, a future without you. 

A future that you’d never know anything of, communication gone, forgotten between you and stripped away by the receding tides. The tides that had come just as fast as they’d gone—a physical representation of the whirlwind love story that you’d lived during the most memorable summer of your life. As you’d never be able to forget him. 

You’d never be able to forget the first man you’d ever loved. 

taglist of bestie boos <3:

@bokoutoebutmain​ @boba-duckie​ @ryuomen​ @sexy-bee-juice​ @nekomabvc​ @cambodianprincess6

aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy, claim, or mimick my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

[madjacobin]

Albert Rosenfield's Day Off

Albert Rosenfield/Dale Cooper

for @magnificentmoose, as part of the wonderfulxstrange event for the anniversary of the Twin Peaks revival! Albert and Coop go on a trip to the Rodin museum in Philly, mild angst and fluff. No spoilers.

The world is huge, and Cooper intends on showing Albert as much as he can of it. Or at least, Coop is wholly committed to dragging Albert around Philadelphia, giving him a crash course in the city’s arts and culture. For all of his interests in art and history, Albert noted as he chewed on a poppy seed bagel, he usually couldn’t afford to take time off to immerse himself in his new city. The bagel was untoasted, and awfully chewy - the kind that lingered furtively in the break room, untouched and uneaten - and Albert was regretting having skipped his breakfast. Perhaps tomorrow, on his day off, he’d be able to stop by the corner shop and grab some proper bagels.

Grimacing, he put down the bagel and resumed his work on writing the report of a victim of a recent slaying, one whose rope burns and repeatedly stabbed torso indicated a link between this victim and the marks on a few others. The three victims were all found within the same vicinity - on the banks of the Delaware - and the FBI was assisting Philadelphia and Camden police forces. Maybe, with his work, they’d be one step closer to catching what they all knew was clearly a serial killer.

His work dragged on, for a few more hours, and by then Albert was already settled in his working groove. Wholly dedicated to the task at hand, he at first didn’t realize who had walked in.

“Thorough as always, Albert,” A kind voice interrupted him, knocking him from his single-minded focus.

“Hey, Coop,” Albert said drearily. He slowly rose from his chair as Cooper took a swig from his own steaming cup of coffee. Albert’s own cup sat nearby, cold and abandoned. He groaned suddenly, his body creaking from sitting in his chair for the whole day. “Just about done with this report on the Number Three’s autopsy. Besides, what the hell are you doing here so late?”

“I figured I’d wait for you to finish,” Cooper chatted, “We’ve got plans, too. Have you considered what you want to hit up first tomorrow?”

Rubbing his eyes as he shuffled the papers, Albert pondered momentarily. He’d been drawn to the numerous art and culture institutions in Philadelphia, and had done some light readings on Auguste Rodin, who had a museum dedicated to his work in the city.

“I know a place that might be your speed, Albert - how about the Mütter?- they’ve got a great medical menagerie, skeletons and jars and all.”

“You know, Coop, I think I’ve had my fill of cadavers for a hot minute. Why don’t we go to, ah, the Rodin museum?” Albert responded, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Cooper’s own eyes lit up, and he immediately snapped his fingers, exclaiming, “Albert, you’re absolutely right - the one thing we need is a refreshing break from your case. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, we’ll grab ourselves some piping hot coffee, and we’ll be off on our day!”

Barely registering Cooper’s words, Albert stretched his back and arms and looked up. Cooper had already left, he realized. Turning around, he noted that the sky was nearing total darkness. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he’d be free to spend the whole day with Cooper, and not have to worry about everything else, just one day. Just one day.

He was walking. Down a hallway, where the fluorescent lights reflected off the lifeless linoleum floors. Invisible voices just out of eyesight whispered and chattered, the lights emitted a low buzzing noise. The faint scent of cleaning fluid, and cigarette smoke. It must’ve been Quantico, Albert realized, remembering it was just like his days as a young agent, wandering the old halls. He was holding something. Looking down, Albert saw he was carrying a bouquet of daffodils. The soft yellow and cream colored petals fluttered in some intangible draft. He was looking for someone. Picking up his pace, he walked onwards, but realized his vision was starting to blur. A shadowy, black figure lingered at the end of the hallway, quivering slightly in the distorted, flickering light. His vision swam, and the figure’s darkness morphed with the yellow of the daffodils. The buzzing from the lights changed into incessant beeping, drilling into his ears, and his vision went dark.

The beeping continued. Albert suddenly flipped over and grabbed his alarm clock, which was sounding off for his wake up time of 7:30 in the morning. Of course. Throwing his legs over the bedside, Albert groggily got up and stumbled to the bathroom. After getting washed up, he headed back to his room and instinctively grabbed a white button down shirt, before gingerly putting it back on the hanger and grabbing a sage colored shirt instead. Opting for some relaxed blue trousers as well, Albert got dressed and prepared for his outing, carefully inspecting himself in the mirror.

Later that morning, after he was satisfied with his preparations, Albert walked briskly down the street. His neighborhood was bustling with pedestrians, honking automobiles, and the occasional pigeon flapping its wings. Usually the humdrum of the city irritated Albert, but he felt oddly serene: he walked with a purpose, and with an objective in his mind. He clamped the leatherbound journal in his hands, its pages unwritten. He picked it up at the back alley bookstore, a few blocks from his apartment, not from the kind of place where the books were mass produced. Cooper needed more than just his tape recorder to report his thoughts, after all. With all too impeccable timing, Cooper himself appeared around the block’s corner, carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of two coffees.

“Morning, Albert!” He called cheerfully while striding up to meet him.

Albert gave a half-smile, which looked more like a smirk to the unfamiliar. “Thanks for the breakfast, Coop. How much do I owe-”

“-You don’t owe me a thing,” Cooper gently cut him off.

“Alright, then,” Albert responded, shoving one hand in his pocket and taking his coffee with the other. “So this museum’s down six or seven blocks, according to my map. If we take this street,” he pointed behind Cooper’s head, to the southwest, “and cross over at North 22nd and continue, it’ll be to our left.”

“Excellent. Normally I’d meander around hopelessly without a map, but directionally, I’m in good hands today.”

Albert snorted and rolled his eyes, only for moments later to realize he wasn’t wearing his tinted FBI shades. Cooper, knowing Albert well enough to understand, chuckled, and in a short time they were well on their way.

The museum itself could be considered an artistic marvel, for all Albert cared. Flanked by blossoming cherry trees and verdant beeches, the elegant marble building occupied a peaceful space within the city of Philadelphia, a perfect place to clear one’s head.

“Greek Revival architecture,” Albert murmured quietly, with Cooper nodding in approval. Stepping up and over the white marble threshold that gated the museum, Cooper and Albert walked in tandem towards the main door. “See that black-looking door next to it, with the carvings? Guess what it’s called,” Albert questioned cheekily, eyeing Cooper.

Doing his best impression of someone who was thinking awfully hard, Coop shook his head after a few moments. “I’m stumped, Albert.”

“‘The Gates of Hell’, actually. It doesn’t look so damn agonizing, if you squint a little.”

Cooper chuckled genuinely, with Albert noting that the smile reached his deep hazel eyes. What he’d do to see that expression. He felt that warm and fuzzy feeling grow inside of him, but wanted to stamp it down. Damn it, I’m being stupid again, Albert thought as he pushed the doors to the museum open, following Cooper inside.

The tickets had already been paid for, Albert noted with pleasant surprise. Was Cooper really doing all of this for him? He muttered his thanks to Cooper, his face feeling warm. He didn’t have to do this, really.

Almost reading his mind, Cooper gently squeezed his arm and said, “I’m happy to do this for you, Albert. You need this day to unwind, trust me. Look, let’s go this way.” Taking him gently by the arm, Cooper directed Albert down the stately marble hallway.

Everything was either white, black, or a somber dove gray. The floors, ceiling, walls, everything, were almost all constructed of smooth marble or granite. It felt like his dream, but not as artificial, not as foreboding. Instead of shadow figures and ominous voices roaming the halls, graceful figures languidly stretched out, and some other statues jutted out into the empty space. Curious tourists flitted between the statues, whispering to each other.

“Do you know about this one, Albert? It’s called the Burghers of Calais,” Cooper tapped him and pointed to the group of statues, a circle of emaciated men looking worryingly somber.

“It’s undoubtedly a copy, the real one’s in Calais, France. You don’t know the story behind it?” Albert asked, gesturing towards the hunched, metallic men. “Back during the Hundred Years’ War in Europe, the English army captured Calais and offered them mercy, at a price. These men, local community leaders, decided they would bear the weight of the city’s freedom. They’re going to offer their lives in exchange, they’re going to die.”

Cooper was wordless, his eyes growing dark as he took in the men’s harrowed expressions. “I can’t fathom how they must have felt, knowing it was either them or… everyone else,” he furrowed his brow in contemplation.

“You know what it’s like, to be surrounded by familiar faces and still feel like the world’s loneliest man?” Albert’s own brown eyes met Cooper’s, and for one moment too long, they locked eyes.

“I’m all too familiar with that sensation, you know. But I know I’m far from the only one,” He answered, his voice slightly unsteady.

“That’s the idea,” Albert said, looking back at the statues. “They knew that, logically, but in that moment, emotion takes over. It’s hard to think realistically when you’re walking to your death, for all you know.”

Cooper nodded solemnly. Albert’s hand brushed over his pocket, which held the small leatherbound journal. When would he give it to Cooper? Now it doesn't seem right, but when?

“You know, these aren’t the only statues in the museum, Albert. We can see more,” he said softly, gesturing towards the numerous white figures in their periphery.

Albert obliged, and they continued across the floor, the heels of their shoes softly tapping on the marble. They drifted from statue to statue, with Albert providing historical context and Cooper asking thought provoking questions. Cooper’s eyes were on the sculptures. Albert’s eyes were on Cooper. They laughed (quietly), whispered, and talked about the works of art that lined the halls, and sometimes sat in silent observance. It was good like this, Albert thought, that neither one of them felt pressured to fill the empty air with words. His eyes drifted from Cooper and the cluster of dented looking statues, to the pale white display of two figures wrapped in a passionate embrace.

“Look,” Cooper said, pointing towards the statue in question, “‘the Kiss.”

The two figures - a man and a woman - sat wrapped in each others’ arms, their rippling marble curves and muscles straining to keep each other close. It was a kiss of tender intimacy, the first of many kisses, with subtle awkwardness and hesitation. Their features were nondescript, blank enough to be anyone.

“Marvellous, isn’t it? Rodin had the eye for emotion in a fleeting moment, from creeping dread to tentative romance. It’s like looking at a still from a movie,” Albert observed, directing Cooper’s eyes along the statue’s contours with a finger.

“Clearly. Look at how the marble’s cut and carved - it looks like skin, soft and supple - imagine the skill it took to achieve this, let alone for one single statue out of many.” He suddenly reached for his jacket pocket, but patted it in confusion. “Damn, where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Albert asked, puzzled.

“My tape recorder - I think I’ve left it at home, I was going to recollect about today, and the pieces that stood out to me,” Cooper frowned, looking terribly lost without his trusty device.

“Funny you mention that,” Albert said almost too confidently, reaching into his pocket. “It’s a good thing I picked this up a while back. Made me think of you, you know.” He passed Cooper the leatherbound journal, his heart slowly moving into his chest.

Cooper looked in awe at the humble diary, gently opening the pliant cover. “Is this… for me?”

“Who else would I give it to?” Albert smirked.

“Daffodils… pressed daffodils on the front page. I’ve loved pressed flowers, but mine never look as nice as these. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Albert said warmly, his own smile matching the one that spread across Cooper’s face. “Just make sure you get good use out of it, okay?”

“Of course, Albert.”

They stood in front of the white statue for a brief moment, with Cooper getting another good look at the gift. There were more statues to see, of course, and the day wasn’t even over. They had nearly the whole afternoon left, Albert realized. And for one moment, he didn’t feel like he was out of time.

[bangtanfancamp]

Into the Garden (JJK)

∴ masterlist

∴ series masterlist (part one of 2 )

∴ pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader

∴ word count: 5k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, dinner theater au? Lol

∴ warnings: none to speak of, eventual affection? sexual tension? Probable future make out sesh

∴ summary: It’s a Friday night out with your friends— a perfect opportunity to try out that mysterious new restaurant everybody’s talking about. Always game for new things and a good time, even you never expected to stumble upon the smart, incredibly handsome waiter you meet there who knows his flowers. Who knows where the night will take you now?

∴ vibey playlist that kept me company during writing

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“God, this place is gorgeous.” You gasped.

You felt yourself go still once you’d finally managed to push the heavy wooden doors open. Was it unreasonable to wish you lived in a restaurant if it looked like this? Because it was beautiful in here. Every corner was immaculately decorated- rich, emerald velvet in the waiting area, cognac wood floors, industrial light fixtures… each element carefully designed, but aged and warm, like maybe this place had been here forever, and you’d only just noticed it.

And the plants- there were plants everywhere, on every available surface. Shades of green wrapping and weaving around iron railing. Ivy crawling up the side of the exposed brick like nature was trying to take this luxurious place back for itself. You’d never seen anything quite like it.

This place was all anyone could talk about lately, but you’d never seen it first hand until tonight. It had been your coworker’s bright idea to get a bunch of the staff together and blow off some steam here this Friday night. She’d even wiggled her way into getting the company to pay for it by calling it a “team building experience,” a.k.a “let’s all get drunk together and moan about our problems on the boss’s dime.” You’d be skipping the alcohol tonight, but this place was a million years beyond your “guac at chipotle is a treat” personal budget and there was no way you were going to miss out on a free dinner here.

So far, no regrets as you wandered across the hardwood. You hadn’t even eaten any of the food yet, but it was already your new favorite place in the city on decor alone. And on top of that, you had something else to look forward to. Apparently, the hook here — not that it really needed one— was an upscale version of dinner and a mystery. You wondered how that was supposed to fit with this whole industrial utopia theme.

You hadn’t been to a restaurant that did a show with dinner since you saw Cinderella at a children’s dinner theater in eighth grade, but the shabby, primary colored castles of your memory clashed distinctly with the elegance of this place. The gaping imbalance made you chuckle. Sherlock dinner theater and artisanal hand glazed pottery seemed like an odd mix to you, but you were intrigued nonetheless, knowing you’d have fun whether the plot was brilliant or not.

After gawking an appropriate amount of time in the foyer, you realized you should probably check in for your group since you’d arrived first. Gliding through the Garden in search of the hostess booth, you found it hidden away beneath the shade of an almost prehistorically large fiddle leaf fig tree. You smiled up at the gargantuan plant, fingers tracing the edge of a leaf. If the millennial garden of Eden interior of the place hadn’t already been an indication, this alone reinforced what a miracle worker their main gardener must be.

Every fiddle leaf fig you’d ever owned had died many a gruesome death long before it ever even reached two feet, but this one almost brushed the exposed ceiling beams. You wished you could ask whoever was in charge here for some pointers, but they’d probably smell your plant mom failures on you from a mile away and decide not to waste their time. Plants just never seemed to like you back the way you loved them… oh well. That’s what plastic is for, you supposed.

Getting back to the task at hand, you leaned up on your toes to look for assistance, quickly noticing that the station was empty. Maybe they’re busy watering the crops, you chuckled to yourself wondering if this place really was pretentious enough to grow their own inventory-they certainly could- when you were suddenly greeted by the most stunningly handsome boy you’d ever seen.

“Hello, welcome to the Garden.” The living, breathing Adonis statue could speak apparently. You tried not to stare as he smiled back at you politely, his silky curls shagging about his face as he slid behind the hostess booth. Holy crap. Did they grow him in the back too?

He was beautiful- some undiscovered demigod with broad shoulders and a jawline so strong it could cut glass. He lifted his eyebrows pleasantly, waiting to assist. “I apologize for the wait—how may I be of service this evening?”

You couldn’t help the silly grin that spilled across your face when his wide chocolate eyes smiled your way.

“Um, Hi. I need a table for, lets see… 1,2,3,4...10 people I think?” You counted unashamedly on your fingers as the host’s lips quirked into a smile. “Oh! Actually, you know what? What am I doing—do you guys take reservations? My friend Beth might have called about us earlier?”

“Let me see…” The boy’s amused doe eyes drifted over a computer screen. You fiddled with the edges of a particularly plump succulent on the counter as you waited. “Here it is. Beth party of 10. Now usually when we have a group that big, we do offer the option of one of our private rooms. You guys would have your own separate narrative from whatever the main restaurant is doing….Would you be interested in that this evening?”

“Sure! Why not—that sounds amazing!” You answered, a bit too enthusiastically admittedly, but when his face lit up at your bubbliness, you found you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Not when a boy who looked like that was looking at you that way, all soft around the edges. Will you be there? you wondered.

“Okay, then you’ll come right this way. Oh! And you’ll need this.” Dipping into a crystal bowl behind the counter, he fished out a crisp white piece of paper and slipped it into your hand, fingers brushing over yours as he did.

Something in your belly reacted sharply to the contact. Apparently, the electric crackle affected him too. His already round eyes widened, a nervous chuckle tumbling from his lips as your cheeks blossomed a warm, soft pink.

Suddenly, a ruckus erupted behind you, crashing into the tranquil silence. You turned over your shoulder to see your friends piling in the tall front door, laughing and smiling widely at you.

Tearing his eyes away from you with a self conscious gulp, the host cleared his throat before leading you all back past fountains, lush greenery and elaborate floral installations into yet another beautiful space. This room was just as intricate as the rest of the restaurant, with its warm terra cotta-colored walls dripping with ivy and orchids, lit with the dappled light of melting pillared candles piled atop the elaborate raw wood table spanning the length of the room.

As everyone happily clamored to find a seat along the banquet table, you noticed your friend, Erik, crashing along its opposite edge. Erik had been a football player in college, some defensive position you didn’t know the title of. He was a mammoth of a man, his blonde Nordic hair making him look like an off brand, out of shapeThor.

He paid little to no attention to where he threw his weight around like a puppy who didn’t yet know his size. So when he dropped himself onto the neatly slatted bench (gosh, every detail here was dripping in aesthetics) and promptly leaned against the wall, crushing the intricate orchid display, you couldn’t help but laugh. You heard the host’s strangled gasp and giggled at the beautiful boy's wide eyes as his horror-stricken face went pale across the room. Before he seemed to realize he was even doing it, his feet began to march across the floor to say something to your friend, until his politeness overtook him and he froze a few feet away. He grumbled to himself as your friend carelessly peeled himself off of the bench, annoyed complaining about something scratchy digging into his back. The host was positively fuming as irritation ticked in his jaw, but His big brown eyes betrayed his disappointment and downright bewilderment as the bedraggled orchids limped back into place.

“No.... They’re ruined. Now what am I supposed to display?”  You heard him attempt to mutter under his breath, but his anger seemed to make his volume louder than intended. He was so flustered—it was oddly...kind of adorable. You couldn’t help but laugh. You knew your friend had meant no harm. He was a sweet guy, but generally oblivious, so things like this seemed to happen a lot. Chuckling under your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the strain in the host’s angular jawline, not to mention how good he looked with his eyebrows furrowed like that. Intense. It made you want to kiss the creases to relax him. Man, this guy was really getting to you...

Maybe it’s time to have some fun, you thought.

Leaning over the edge of the bench, you whispered surreptitiously, “Hey, maybe you should consider wheatgrass instead.” You sent a quick wink in the host’s direction, a thick cloud of giggles falling from your lips. Lashes fluttering , the poor guy seemed startled by your comment. He had been so wrapped up in blinders over his restaurant being ruined that he hadn’t realized anyone had been watching the entire interaction. For a quick second, embarrassment flashed over his features. The sudden chagrin on his face as he nervously ruffled his hair softened him. The Greek god of a man suddenly a soft, flustered boy. He looked so... sweet.

The whole scene gave you the oddest urge to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he was. But just as fast as it had appeared, the innocence in his wide eyes was gone, his composure swiftly resettling itself as his shoulders rolled down, his posture lifting him back up to full height. His confidence was back, and so was a lopsided smile that you decided you quite liked. “Might not be the worst idea.... certainly less overhead,” he sighed resignedly, hands hanging low on his hips as the tick in his jaw loosened, replaced instead by the beginning of a smirk.

“Much less upkeep. Less horizontal space. Equal level of pretension. I see no downsides,” you shrugged nonchalantly. You felt your own smile bloom wider the longer your gazes stayed fixed on each other. His eyes were dazzling- coffee brown and deep- as they glittered back at you. “I’ll look into it...might be a solid option. Have,” he hesitated. “Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you... I get the feeling I would have remembered you.” His face was so soft and unguarded, his pretty mouth just a bit too open as he searched his memory for a glimpse of you. You pulled your lip between your teeth as your smile threatened to grow.

“No,” you shook your head, hair bouncing around you. “It’s my first time here. First time for all of us actually. Hence, my friends lack of good graces with your horticultural displays.” you offered an apologetic shrug.

“May my orchids rest in peace,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “Not your fault though. You guys, uh, celebrating something?” He was suddenly too close for a stranger, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Oh, no. We just work in that massive upstart down the block. Kept hearing about the place, and Instagram kept hacking our feeds with ads for it so we finally caved. Figured we’d try it out. ” You waved across the table gesturing to everyone. There were all so deep in their own side conversations that no one seemed to pay any mind to you lingering oddly with the wait staff. “Glad to see the marketing is working out,” he chuckled. “Well...if it’s your first time, then you’ll need a proper guide through the story.” A glint of mischief sparkled deep in his chocolate eyes, and you felt something effervescent glitter up your spine in excitement. “I suppose we will.” With a bow from his hip and a nod, he turned on his heel with no explanation, leaving you to smile down at your menu like an idiot in his absence. Trying to read was pointless honestly. The letters might as well have been in Arabic as they swam across the page- you weren’t processing anything. Far too lost in a dreamy eyed splendor over the boy you’d just met until a bony elbow nudged its way between your ribs. “What was THAT all about?” Eileen’s eyebrows bounced with curiosity. “ I don’t know.” You answered honestly as your head shook. At this point, you were smiling so much your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “But my God, isn’t he CUTE?” You hid behind your hands. “Cute??” Eileen shoved you in the shoulder. “He’s not a corgi, y/n. He’s a grown man.” She bit her lip. “A GORGEOUS, full grown man....did you see him when he walked away? God, what a view.” You pressed your forehead into her shoulder and whimpered, “I knowww. His smile, those thighs, my god...and his butt. Did you see it? It’s better than mine.” You both fell into a fit of giggles.

“All I know is that if you don’t give him your number then he’s definitely getting mine tonight. Or anything else he’d like for that matter.” Your jaw fell open at her brazenness. “Hey! slow your roll. You can’t call dibs before I’ve even gotten his name!” you laughed.

“Then you better work fast, babe. Cuz butts like that don’t stay single for long.”  She tipped her head to the side matter of factly.

“Oh my gosh, shut up! You don’t know when he’ll come back. He might hear you.” You breathed.

“Let him. It’ll make my job easier.” She bit down seductively on her red straw. Swatting at her, you both giggled before back into the table’s office gossip.

Apparently, Elliot had shown up to the office wasted again today- either from getting trashed the night before or from getting sloshed the morning of, no one was quite sure at this point. Either way, everyone was annoyed as hell that he’d never get more than a slap on the wrist for it since his dad managed their branch. Nepotism still alive and well. Clearly.

Popping an entire potsticker in your mouth, your belly ached with laughter as Sean told you all how his assistant had accidentally walked in on two higher ups making out in the supply closet this morning and how traumatized the poor intern had been. He described in detail how the poor slob had still tried to get around them to get the extra printer paper, and what a mess the whole ordeal had been. He owed you a clean fifty bucks now.

With your keen eyes, you’d been the first person to be suspicious of them- you’d called it a solid month ago- and had put your money where your mouth was. You’d started the office pool that they were in fact a secret couple- a bet you’d clearly just won if Sean bleak expression was anything to go by. Lunch on him all week. Potstickers til i burst? Don’t mind if I do.

It had been a great evening, full of unwinding and bonding. So great, that you’d completely forgotten about the mystery element of the dinner. That is, until a crystalline voice spoke above you, snapping you to attention.

“Pardon me, everybody. But it’s time for the mystery of the evening to begin.”

Surprised, your eyes darted up to see the cute guy from earlier. He was standing right behind you. Your pulse spiked as he sent a smirk your way. What were you supposed to do with that? He was so close now that you could hear the fabric of his dress shirt rustle every time he shifted or gestured above you. With every movement, a burst of his scent surrounded you. It was something citrus, something fresh. A dizzy smile tugged at your lips as it enveloped you like a cloud. God, you wanted to bury your nose in it. You were such a sucker for a good smelling boy...

And this one was so in your personal space. Which should have been off putting, honestly. Especially since you’d barely known him for half an evening. It was a bold choice on his part, to get so close to you. It should have been a turn off. Should have. But it wasn’t. Instead, you found yourself almost vibrating with excitement at the proximity of him. Whatever this gravitational pull was around him, you were perfectly content to get pulled straight into it.

If you’d had the nerve to, he truly was close enough that if you tipped your body back just a few degrees you could’ve rested your head against his lean stomach if you’d wanted to… which, of course you did want to do… but you’d only just met him. So instead, you bit down to stifle your smile, eyes flicking over to Eileen who was just as giddy on your behalf.

God he’s so cute, you thought. Wait- is he still talking? Crap-focus, you scolded yourself, tuning back into his monologue.

“As everyone knows, we all have the same five senses. But what happens when we lose one? How does it affect our instincts? Our gut? How does it change the way we listen to each other?” he paced around the edges of the table, hands clasped behind his tailbone. It made his dress shirt bunch deliciously in all the right places, and you bit back a smile. It was getting harder and harder to hide your little infatuation.

“When each of you arrived,” he continued, “you were each given a character and a backstory- No one should know it but you- but only one of you received the card that said killer. Someone at this table has committed a murder, but who? Often, our eyes can deceive us, so as part of tonight’s story, your sight will be taken from you as you try to decipher the truth. Can you rely on your other senses, your hearing, your intuition to solve this case?” A few other waiters approached the table with baskets in hand before the room went dark- completely.

Not the “the lights are off but we can all still see” kind of dark. It was the “it's so black in here that you can feel it” kind of dark. The kind of complete nothingness you never get with the ambient glow of street lights and screens everywhere. It was heavy and consuming, the absoluteness of the suddenly inky black room.

Swirling your own fingers in front of your face, you saw absolutely nothing. Not even the glint of your own jewelry, and something fantastic bubbled up in you. This is going to be so fun. Your heart began to race in anticipation- you didn’t even know what for yet. You felt your knuckles wrap around the bench beneath you, bracing, waiting, holding your breath, wondering when the night would finally be-

Only to have your thoughts stop. Completely.

Each individual one of them halted in their tracks by the sudden contact of warm fingertips against your skin. The gentle press of a large set of hands melted into the tops of your shoulders, thumbs bracing on the back of your neck. It was him again, wasn’t it?

He squeezed once, tense and hesitant despite his obvious strength, like he wasn't sure touching you was the best idea, but he couldn’t back out now that he’d started. The delicacy of it left you buzzing. In the silence, the pads of his fingers sunk deeply into your skin, and your breath caught. You’d never been this grateful for off the shoulder clothing in your life.

“May I?” he asked, tone honeyed and sweet.

You realized he meant the blindfold you’d heard so much about before you came and nodded your head just once, tension sticking in your throat as you tried to swallow it down. It was only then that you realized he probably couldn’t see you in the darkness. You’d have to gather your wits enough to verbally respond. You hoped he wouldn’t catch the way the “yes” that left your lips was embarrassingly breathless.

You heard him hum in response, holding whatever was left of your breath as his fingertips slowly fell from the tops of your shoulders, dragging across the edges your sleeves like he was in no rush to let you go. It was a strange intimacy from a stranger, but to be honest, you didn’t want him to let go either.

Until, quick as a whisper, his warmth was gone, leaving you alone in the dark. The shift so abrupt that part of you wondered if you’d imagined the last thirty seconds. His lingering hands had fallen away so abruptly at the end. Where had he gone?

It all felt like a fever dream you’d cooked up, like your own subconscious was mocking you for wanting him so bad. For a second, you wondered if you should be concerned by how obviously attracted you were to him. Should you be ashamed by how quickly you welcomed his touch? By the way your traitorous body showed no intention of pushing him away? Maybe you should, but he didn’t give you the time to overthink it before he was beside you again.

“Jungkook.” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“What?” You breathed, face turning toward his sound in the blackness.

“That’s my name. Jungkook.” He repeated, his voice airy and soft. You hadn’t realized how beautiful his voice was until it was the only thing you had to focus on. You could feel that he was bent low, his chest just brushing the tops of your shoulders. You felt dizzy at the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as a cool satin ribbon was draped over your eyes.

“In case you were wondering.” He whispered, pulling the edges of the fabric into a soft bow as he dipped to the other side of your shoulders. “But I’ll also answer to ‘guy with the butt that’s better than yours’ if you prefer.” His breathy laugh filled your ears, and you could practically hear him smiling. “Oh god, you heard that?” the back of your hand smothered your mouth, a smile emerging even as you cringed.

“Oh absolutely. Acoustics are insane in this place. It was kind of nice though... I mean, how often do I get to hear such a pretty girl compliment me ?” You could feel the rush of blood practically crashing into your cheeks. You knew the whole world would see you blushing if the lights were on. “I’m out of witty comments for that one.” “Don’t smile. You’ll mess up the blindfold,” he warned, the endearing softness in his voice undermining his words. “I’ll try. Don’t think I can help it though.” A satisfied hum left Jungkook’s lips as he pulled away and went back to the task at hand.

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And just like that, the mystery began with Jungkook as the narrator and weaver of your tale.

Your group had been given a story set in feudal Japan. Clashing samurai, feuding houses, forbidden love- Your friends all got surprisingly into it, losing their normal voices into the adopted lilts and pitches of their newfound characters.

It really was incredible the nuances you caught when you focused on your hearing. Jin’s voice, for example, was far more nasal than you realized. He had a tendency to react dramatically any time someone pressed him for details- clearly signaling how close they were to the truth the more he tried to hide it. Lina’s expressionless monotone was nearly impossible to read on voice alone, but it made her all the more fun to try to figure out. Despite focusing on the story, you couldn’t help but notice that while Jungkook had the entire table to canvas as he narrated, he still stayed suspiciously close to your side the entire time- like he couldn’t help himself. His fingertips would brush the fabric of your blouse when he’d pass. His taut arms would graze the swing of your ponytail as he walked by. He had no mercy on the fragile hummingbird flitting with wild abandon in your chest at each of his actions. In fact, you could hear the distinct note of something that sounded an awful lot like laughter in his voice anytime he gave instructions to your character specifically. Smug son of a gun. Soon, the story unraveled as it was revealed that Jin had, in fact, been the murderer. He was jealous of Lina’s love for samurai Hoseok and had killed him in a drunken rage but tried to frame Bobby for the dishonorable act.

With the crime solved, the lights were turned back on, a fuzzy halo emerging around the edges of your vision as a staff member came behind each guest to remove their blindfold. You were unsurprised when you were met with a gentle waft of clean citrus as Jungkook appeared once again to help you with yours. The warm pads of his fingers grazed your cheeks when he removed the satin ribbon. It was so quick- it was so hard to tell if it had been on purpose- before his touch was gone again far too quickly for your liking. “I must say, you were particularly clever.” He offered softly as he stood behind you. You dropped your neck back to look up at him, eyes wide. “Anyone paying attention would have known that wasn’t Bobby’s blade work.” “Still, most people don’t catch it on their first time through the story.” He tipped his head matter of factly. “Maybe I just had a good guide,” You winked, tucking your chin back to normal when you saw a faint pink color his cheekbones. He cleared his throat before addressing the table. “You’ll find your individual checks have been placed in front of you, along with a complimentary dessert. Thank you for dining with us this evening. It has been our pleasure.”

He bowed at the waist as he gave his farewell, making his last words spoken dangerously close to your ear. Adrenaline spiked in your veins at his proximity for the thousandth time tonight. As he returned to full height, another man approached the table, this one taller, leaner than jungkook, with a smile so innocent and wide it could have belonged to a child.

“Good evening everyone! How was your experience with us tonight?” His voice. It boomed like a clap of thunder. It was oddly deep for someone who looked so young. Everyone at the table chattered with random superlatives about how amazing the night had been as the man's smile glowed brighter.

“I’m so glad to hear it!! You had a real treat tonight- guided by our finest story teller.” Pride swelling in his eyes, the man clapped an embarrassed Jungkook on the shoulder. “Such a shame it might be the last story he tells here.” The baritone lamented. “What am I supposed to do without my partner?” The man used his other hand to clutch at his chest dramatically, face scrunched in distress, as you felt your heart free fall into your shoes.

Last story? “Calm down, Taehyung. You make it sound like I’m dying.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and swatted at the man. “You might as well be!” Taehyung huffed. “He’s leaving us tomorrow to start his new life! Off galavanting in the mountains somewhere with flowers and goats. Leaving all his old, true friends behind.” He wrapped an arm around jungkook’s shoulder, dragging him against his will into a side hug jungkook vehemently tried to escape. “Quiet down, bro. You’re making a scene.” Jungkook balked, face pale at the unwanted attention.

He’s…. leaving? Your stomach took a swan dive. No. But I just met him. How... where was he going? Your eyes fell back to the table as you steadied yourself.

You’d been so excited about where this all might go. It was hard enough to accept that you’d already gotten this attached to him. Let alone invested enough to be this disappointed…..but, you’d felt something so strong around him. The kind of glittering spark you hadn’t felt with another person in a long time, if ever.

Every time his eyes had lingered on you or his body had brushed against yours, a supernova had ignited in your chest. You’d spent the whole night going mad with the electric possibility of him- just to what? Feel like a fool for being infatuated with a stranger? Look like the naive girl you were, pining over a daydream?

This was ridiculous. You shook your head at yourself. This boy didn’t owe you anything. He was a stranger two hours ago, he’d stay a stranger when you left twenty minutes from now. But no matter how you tried to convince yourself, your poor heart still felt sick about it all. He’d just seemed so— you don’t know, special. So magnetic. And You’d thought he’d felt the same pull bringing him to you too.

Because why else would he have flirted with you half the night? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to lead you on if he knew it was going nowhere. An assumption you realized was a heck of a leap. You didn’t actually know anything about him, but somehow, something about that narrative just didn’t sit right with you. The look he’d had in his eyes each time he smiled at you tonight had seemed too sincere to be a lie. But from the way his loud friend was still talking, he made it sound like Jungkook was moving to the Alps.

So even if his sweet eyes had genuinely meant every smile tonight, was it really all for nothing? You knew the night was ending, and it was a long shot, but you’d really been holding out hope it might go somewhere beyond this. Apparently not. In an instant, he reappeared by your side, having broken free from the grip of his affectionate friend’s grasp. Jungkook dipped beside you once again as you stumbled to rearrange your now troubled features into something resembling disinterest.

“Hey, Sorry about that. But, I um, really do hope you have a great night. So your uh, your check is on the table.” His poise seemed a bit more rattled than before, but you were too glum to give it much notice.

You sent an out of focus glance in the ticket’s direction and nodded. He’d already told everyone that. Most of the table already had their debit cards out for their tickets. You didn’t know why he was bothering to mention it again when all you wanted to know was where he was going and if it was far.

“I um...didn’t get to catch your name earlier,” the smile he offered you was gentle, hopeful, as his wide brown eyes looked down at you. You felt yourself sigh withought meaning to. You’d have found the sheepish look in his eyes hopelessly adorable just a few minutes earlier, but now all it did was make your chest hurt. “Not a detail you need if you’re moving away though right?” You asked, a sadness creeping in your attempted smile. God, you weren’t fooling anyone. This was pathetic. His brows dipped at your response, confused by the shift in your demeanor. “I’m... I mean, i told you mine.” His gentle eyes tried to salvage the situation. The confidence he’d exuded all night was slipping away, a boyish vulnerability taking its place. There was no harm, you supposed. “Fair enough. It’s y/n.”  you conceded. “Y/n.” He repeated, like he was trying to make the shape a new habit for his mouth. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The smile you gave him back was a limp, pitiful thing, but it was the best you could give. Half an hour ago, you definitely didn’t think him calling you pretty would have made you so sad. Compliments didn’t usually send you into a craving for solitude and halo top ice cream, but this one certainly did.

“Well, y/n, I may not be as far away as you think. Have a good night.” And with that he was gone.

Bummed, you looked over your shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Shoot. Well, that was a fast track to nowhere,” you sighed to Eileen, slouching in your seat. “I know. Bummer. Seemed like he liked you too.” Eileen commiserated. “Right? So it wasn’t just me? You could tell too?” “Oh, he was totally obvious about it! He  also gave you more ice cream than me. Shameless. Boy has no subtly.” You chuckled at her accusation, but sure enough, you did in fact have one scoop more ice cream in your jadeite bowl than the rest of your friends. This boy already knew the way to your heart.

“Still. Why act interested if you’re disappearing the next day?” You pouted. “Why show interest when he’s just a server you’ve never met before?” She asked pointedly, eyebrow arched as your eyes fell away. “People react when they feel something- and clearly you two were feeling something the entire night. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second....We don’t get to pick the timing of when we’re attracted to people, y/n. Nobody’s working with that kind of control.” Flopping onto her shoulder, you heaved a heavy sigh. “Again... you’re right. I just, I don’t know. There was just—something about him. He felt... special.” “He looked special in that outfit. Those buttons were crying.” She mockingly bit her lip as you swatted your napkin at her. “Eileen! Unhelpful! I’m aware.... I guess you just don’t always get to know where things could have gone.” You shrugged, wilting into her warmth. “I know, babe. Sorry.” She patted your head comfortingly.  You turned to your ice cream to heal the wound, accepting that beautiful Jungkook would just be a passing meeting and a quick deadend to nowhere. After polishing off your dessert, you pulled out your cash to at least leave him the memory of a good tip when your eyes caught on scribbled handwriting in the top corner of your receipt. Hey, I don’t normally do something like this, but there’s a place around the corner that stays open super late. Meet me for crappy coffee + good conversation at 11? -jungkook xxx-xxx-xxxx You choked on nothing as you processed what was going on.

“Eileen! Eileen!!” You grabbed at her sleeve. “What?? What is it?! Calm down.” She pried your clutching hands off her cropped leather jacket, brushing off any damage you’d done.

“He gave me his number!” You nearly shouted.

“What?” She almost spat out her cocktail.

“He gave me his number!!” You waved the receipt wildly in her face. “He invited me to coffee and gave me his number!!!” You squealed, shrieking at an octave usually reserved for wild piglets. “Shut up! No way!!!” “Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” You rambled ecstatically. “But wait!” your face fell,“ we’re supposed to go out for drinks with everybody after.” “And? Is that a joke??? You see us every day! What are you doing talking to me?? Text him! Go meet your man, honey. I’ll cover for you.” She winked as she swung her purse over her shoulder. “Really?? I love you! I owe you!” You yelled as she made her way to the door. “Um, You really don’t, but I’ll never turn down a favor. Let me know how it goes. See you on Monday.” She waved back at you, flipping the platinum ends of her ebony hair over her shoulder. “Hey! Where’s y/n? Isn’t she coming with us,” Jin seemed to be the only one alarmed by your absence. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, dear. I’ll fill you in later.” She grabbed him by his shoulders and nudged him out the door frame. “Ooo, bulking up are we, Kim? Feeling solid these days.”

“Yes actually!” His face glowed. “I have been! But you know, muscle tone is 80% genetics anyway. You cant just make yourself handsome, you know.You have to be born this good looking to start with and work from there.”

She knew there was no quicker, sure fire way to get Jin off topic than to ask him about himself. Once that train had left the station, there was little hope if any of ever turning back.

Eileen really took one for the team there. “Call me” she mouthed back at you as they slipped off into the night. You chuckled to yourself at the scene, finally realizing the turn your own evening was about to take. You plugged his number into your phone and shot him a quick message. [10:35pm] Hey, how did you know I was always down for quality conversation? Moments later, your phone began to buzz. Jungkook [10:36pm] Just went with my gut ;)

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[jovialyouthmusic]

Double Trouble

Bastien’s foster parents come to meet the twins, and he receives a gift that brings back painful memories...

Word count 2774

A/N You may need a tissue at hand for this one, Bastien is reduced to tears himself. There are a few Greek words here, but I’ve tried to make them obvious or translated immediately afterwards. My favourite was the word for grandmother, which is pronounced ‘ya ya’. You may notice I’ve chickened out from writing a chapter devoted to their wedding - at least for now...

5 Parents, old and new...

‘They’re here – the guards at the gate just rang through’ Bastien announced. Sophia cast an eye around the apartment to check all was spick and span.

‘Does it look right?’ she queried. ‘If it’s too tidy it will look like we’re not taking enough time with the twins, but if it’s untidy it looks like we can’t cope.’ Bastien walked over to her and kissed her forehead.

‘Don’t worry, theà mou’ he soothed ‘Althea will understand. She’s fostered plenty of babies as well as older children. She knows a little disorder isn’t a bad sign’

‘Did you ever get drafted in to looking after any younger ones?’ she asked.

‘One or two, but she never left me alone with them. Being totally responsible for small babies is a task for an adult.’ He went to the door just as a wail started up on the baby monitor. Sophia grimaced.

‘They certainly have a good sense of timing’ she said ‘I’ll go and see who it is and what they need.’

‘I’ll go down and greet our visitors. Don’t be worried about feeding them, they wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but if you want to stay private, stay in the nursery and I’ll check with you.’ He kissed her again and went to greet his foster parents, there to see the twins for the first time.

They lived only a few hours drive away in Greece but said they’d wait until the couple had settled into parenthood. Sophia’s parents had booked their flight from the Channel Islands and would be there the next month. If it hadn’t been for various video calls, her mother might well have demanded that she and Bob move lock stock and barrel to Cordonia, but Sophia had told them they weren’t sure they would be staying in the tiny European country for good. She had received a job offer from Edinburgh and had deferred it until the twins were older, and there was a lot of support at the Palace. They didn’t have to worry about cooking, laundry or cleaning, and Hana had volunteered to help too. She had experience with Savannah’s children, and would most likely go on to help the Queen when she gave birth to the heir.

She went into the nursery to discover that Theo needed a nappy change, and she was in time to get that done before his wailing woke his sister, who was a determined and deep sleeper. Changing him was an easy task compared to his sisters indignation at being messed around.

As she worked, she remembered that the last time she’d seen her own parents was at their wedding. It was a small affair, and her mind went further back to when they’d discussed getting married, some time after Bastien had proposed. They were taking a break at the villa in Greece that Costa and Althea owned, this time entirely on their own. They lay out in the sun after a swim in the clear blue sea.

‘Mum asked me when we’re getting married.’ Sophia said, reaching for a cool drink.

‘Then we should probably set a date’ Bastien replied. ‘That is, if you think we should do it’

‘It’s odd’ she said ‘I like the idea, but we’ve made our commitment to each other already. I don’t need a ceremony to know we intend to be together for the rest of our lives’

‘But perhaps other people have to acknowledge it’ Bastien pointed out ‘Plus it’s better legally, if anything should happen to one of us’

‘I could never understand my friends who started planning their weddings when they were teens’ she had said. ‘My best friend had a scrapbook and she’d collect pictures of dresses, think about venues and colour schemes and so on. I don’t think she cared who she married, and she expected it to happen before she was twenty’

‘How did that turn out?’

‘She did actually find a really nice guy to marry, but she was the original Bridezilla. He got fed up with her tantrums and stood her up at the altar – or in her case, at the beach. In Jamaica. He’d never even got on the plane to go there. Her family and friends had a wonderful holiday, but she spent the whole time crying and cursing him until one of the waiters caught her eye’ Bastien sucked his breath in between his teeth.

‘Did that put you off, theà mou?’

‘Just a little. But my wedding day wasn’t the apex of my expectations. I wanted to find someone to share my life with – and I have’

‘So what do you think we should do? What do you want?’

‘I don’t want a big wedding. A registry office would do – and a minimum of guests. In fact, just you, me and a witness would be enough. But my mother would never forgive me’

‘May I make a suggestion, then?’

‘’Of course, Bas. Fire away’

‘Why don’t we get married in Guernsey? That would please Edith, and it would keep the guest list down. We could always have a reception back here after a short honeymoon’

‘That might work. Wouldn’t Costa and Althea want to come to the wedding though?’

‘Hmmm. They’d understand if I told them we’d want to keep it small’

‘We, Bas? Are you happy with that?’

‘I think the same as you. It’s a formality – a legal piece of paper. It doesn’t compare to what we already have together. I’m happy to do whatever you want’

‘Well aren’t we a pair’ she had laughed ‘The reluctant bride and groom’

‘But enthusiastic lovers’ he joked, and swooped down on her, kissing her and picking her up to carry her inside.

So it was that they travelled to the tiny island where they had a small ceremony at the registry office with a reception at a four star hotel, arranged by her father. Some of his work colleagues attended as many of them had been impromptu Uncles when she was growing up, and a few of her school friends went too. Drake went as Bastien’s best man and representative of the Crown, being the third party in King Brad’s Cordonian marriage. It had been decided that he and Lucy would not attend, to keep the wedding low key. They had a short honeymoon on one of the smaller islands, and on their return King Brad had insisted on a lavish reception party in the Palace Ballroom. He had flown the happy couple back for the occasion in the Royal jet along with Bob and Edith.

After that, they had briefly discussed having children and decided to try as soon as they could, due to their age. Bastien had visited a sperm bank when he had a vasectomy on joining the Guard, and they were advised to try using that whilst waiting for his medical procedure to heal and his count to go up. Despite being told it would most likely take a few tries, the very first treatment worked, and Sophia had to defer taking up a job offer at Edinburgh University.

As she buttoned up Theo’s romper suit she heard the apartment door close and there was the babble of conversation in the main room.

‘You don’t look hungry, little man’ she cooed to the baby ‘Come and meet your pappous and giagià’ She picked him up, peeking into Beatrice’s cot, but she slept soundly. She resolved to come back for her, to keep the twins in synch with their naps. She had barely entered the lounge before Althea had plucked Theo from her arms with cries of delight.

‘Oh, mikros’ little one she gushed ‘I giagiá sou eínai edó’ your grandmother is here ‘Aren’t you such a delicious creature, I could eat you all up’ She turned to her husband ‘See how he looks like his father’ Costa nodded gravely, pursing his lips.

‘He does’ he said shortly, leaning over to appraise the baby. He looked up at Sophia.

‘And here is his mitera’ he smiled, and walked over to kiss her cheek. Althea only had eyes for Theo, rocking him and speaking in rapid Greek. Theo was mesmerised and gazed at her, entranced. ‘You look well, Sophia’ he said ‘I hope our Antras is looking after you and his mikra’

‘He’s very attentive. It’s good to see you, Costa. I hope the journey was okay’

‘It was very quiet – when Althea fell asleep’ he said, dropping his voice to a stage whisper.

‘You think I don’t hear you, old man?’ Althea cried ‘You’re lucky I’m holding our foster grandson. And where is his sister?’

‘I’ll get her’ Sophia said.

‘Let me come with you.’ Costa offered, and she led the way.

‘I’m sorry you can’t stay with us’ Sophia said as they went. ‘As you see, our spare room is occupied.’

‘Don’t worry my dear’ Costa boomed in his deep voice. ‘I know better than anyone how tiring Althea is to have around. We won’t stay long, we have friends to visit in the Capitol.’ As they entered the nursery Beatrice was stirring. Costa made a cooing noise as soon as he saw her.

‘Oh mikros – little princess.’ he clucked ‘Here, come to Pappous.’ and leaned over the cot, tenderly picking her up. Sophia held her breath, not knowing how she would react. She made little squeaking noises as she woke, her eyes opening to an unfamiliar face. She squinted and opened her mouth to protest but the sound of his voice lulled her as he crooned to her. He turned to Sophia.

‘They are both so dark.’ he said, referring to the shock of black hair that both children sported. ‘Your lovely blonde hair has not come through.’

‘It’s only natural.’ she smiled ‘We knew they would probably take after Bastien.’ They returned to the lounge, where Althea declared she would have to split in two in order to make the most of the babies. Costa stood facing her, and they rocked and sang to them together, doing a little dance. Bastien looked over at Sophia, whose face had lit up with joy to see the charming interaction. Theo gazed at his entertainers with fascination while Beatrice made odd little expressions and noises, waving her little starfish fingers randomly.

‘This one is musical, see?’ Althea said ‘She has a sense of rhythm. She will be a great singer or a concert pianist, just you see.’ Costa laughed.

‘Theodore is quiet and stoic like his father. Perhaps he too will be Captain of the Guard’

‘It’s a dangerous job, Pateràs. I wouldn’t wish it on him.’ Bastien commented. At that moment Beatrice decided she’d had enough of being joggled about and started to grizzle.

‘Your little princess needs her materà.’ Costa said, handing her over carefully. She made a face as if she was searching for a nipple.

‘Do you mind…?’ Sophia asked.

‘Go right ahead, I may never have fed one myself, but I would have if I could.’ Althea replied, so Sophia settled down to nurse. Theo remained in Althea’s arms, sucking his fingers and gazing back at her. ‘You need your strength, Sophia, so I brought some food for you.’ Althea sat close to her. ‘I know the palace kitchens cook for you, but I don’t think they make proper Greek food. It’s like medicine – my pastitsio will cure anything, and my moussaka would satisfy a giant.’ She nodded toward Bastien’s broad frame ‘Even our àntras there. How do you think he grew to be such a mountain of a man?’ Bastien rolled his eyes.

‘I think we might have to get a freezer of our own to store all the food Althea brought for us.’ he said drily. She turned toward him.

‘Look in the cooler bag – there’s Greek salad and dolmades and olives, and bread I baked this morning.’ Bastien shook his head, smiling.

‘You shouldn’t have, Althea’ he laughed ‘But it’s very welcome’

Before too long the dining table was set with a Greek feast, and Costa sat with Beatrice resting on his chest, making little circles on her back to bring up any wind, and Bastien had given him a napkin in case of accidents. Sophia sat nursing Theo, and Althea hovered over her with a plate full of finger food.

‘Eat, eat’ Althea urged her ‘The babies will grow fast. Start getting bigger clothes for them, you will see’ Soon it was Bastien holding Beatrice to wind her while Sophia sat at the table to eat, and Althea fussed with plates and food as if she was the host, not her foster son and partner.

At last they had done justice to the food, and Costa was the one to wash the plates while Althea played with Theo.

‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ she said suddenly, addressing Bastien. ‘I brought you something.’

‘Althea…’ he protested, but she had already handed the baby to Sophia and was rummaging in a bag. She brought out a small package and handed it over. Bastien took it curiously, and carefully unwrapped it. It was a small piece of fabric – a flowered pattern with a satin edge. He stared at it for a moment, and Sophia was shocked to see his eyes watering, hand resting on his cheek in shock.

‘Materà.’ he said, choking with emotion, struggling to keep his composure ‘I didn’t know you still had this.’ Althea went to him and put her hand on his arm. He grabbed it and kissed her fingers, tears running down his cheeks.

‘We found it when we cleared out some old boxes. I knew you’d want it.’ Her usual brusque tone was soft and tender.

‘I thought – I thought it was lost’ Bastien choked. Sophia was baffled, and she suddenly found Costa at her elbow, patting her arm. She put her hand on his, looking up in query. He spoke quietly as Bastien covered his face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

‘It’s from a dress that his mother wore.’ he said in a low tone. ‘He kept it under his pillow until it got lost – we’re not sure exactly when. It’s the only thing that belonged to her that he had.’ Sophia already knew that Bastien had been fostered when his mother had become a drug addict and died tragically when he was a teenager.

Bastien got to his feet and shakily left the room. Costa went on to tell her that Althea had made the keepsake for him and quietly left it in his room when he was a surly and unruly teenager. They had noticed an improvement in his behaviour soon after, even though he had never acknowledged her kind action.

‘Go, he needs you.’ Althea said softly ‘The twins will be fine with us.’ Sophia handed Beatrice to her and got to her feet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sat holding the piece of fabric, tears still silently flowing down his cheeks. She sat next to him and handed him a tissue. He slowly calmed and mopped his eyes, taking a shaky breath.

‘I hated her when I was younger.’ he said hoarsely ‘But later on I realised it was a sickness that changed her, bad people who made her make the wrong choices. She never meant to hurt me.’ He turned the fabric over in his hands. ‘I wish every day she’d been stronger, been around to meet you. Now I feel as if she’s here.’ She took his hand and squeezed it.

‘She’d have been proud of you, I’m sure. I’m only just starting to understand what it’s like being a mother. I know if anyone tried to hurt our babies, I’d go out of my mind.’ He nodded.

‘Not everyone can cope with being a parent, even with the best intentions.’

‘You never had any doubt about whether you’d be a good father?’ she asked gently.

‘Of course I did, but I had Costa and Jackson to emulate’ He blew his nose. ‘And you had good examples, so I never had any doubt about you.’  

‘Althea should have been more sensitive.’ Bastien smiled weakly, his eyes red but dry.

‘It’s okay Sophia, it needed to be done. They’re here to look after the twins while I process it’ He took her hand and squeezed it ‘and while you support me. It was a good time to do it’ He got up and held out his hand. ‘Speaking of which, we should get back before they need a nappy change’

‘Something tells me that wouldn’t phase either of them’ she smiled, and rose to embrace him and kiss his cheek.

@sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @fluffyfirewhiskey @kingliam2019 @rainbowsinthestorm @camillemontespan @texaskitten30 @bascmve01 @nomadics-stuff​

​

[wwoww-au]

Family Business

read on AO3

  Henrik jumped instinctually when he heard a knock on the door of the clinic. He was still getting used to Yan’s frequent visits; the only person who normally stopped by outside of patients was Jackie, and even then those were scheduled. He opened the door and was greeted by the red-haired ball of joy themself.

    "Good afternoon, Henrik." Yan beamed and moved past him into the clinic, only speaking again once the door was closed. "I got those books you asked for." They put their messenger bag down onto the counter and began emptying its contents; two leather-bound books with yellowing pages and ancient symbols etched into the cover.

    "Thank you, Yan. You’ve been a great help," Henrik said. 

    "It’s no trouble." Yan handed the books to the doctor. They then rummaged through their bag again, pulling out a tupperware container. "I also brought cookies. B ate most of them while I was at the Library though..."

    "You didn’t have to..."     Henrik trailed off when he heard a shout from the basement. But this was different from when he normally heard Anti shouting from the basement, this time he sounded... happy? There was a loud rhythmic thumping of Anti running up the stairs before the trap door burst open and he stumbled out into the room. 

    "I’ve made a breakthrough!" Anti was beaming, holding out a piece of notebook paper covered in his messy handwriting. 

    "Anti, as exciting as that is, please check next time you come stomping up the stairs,” Henrik scolded, worry creasing his brow. “What if Jackie had been here? Or someone from the Crime Department? You really ought to be more careful." Still shaking his head, he took the paper from Anti and began reading. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Anti rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and listen. I was poring over that old book of remedies Yan brought over a couple of days ago and after brushing up on my ancient Greek, I was able to translate the recipe for a potion that stalls the symptoms of corruption. Not exactly a cure, but it’s a start."  He turned his attention to Yan, eyeing the container in their hands. "You brought food? You’re the best." He grabbed the container and immediately shoved a cookie into his mouth. 

    Henrik stared in awe of the notes, a small smile tugging across his face. "This… this could actually work! Anti, you’re brilliant."

    Anti swallowed and looked sheepishly at the floor. "It’s not a big deal. Just trying to keep myself from fully corrupting, is all."

    "Not a big deal?" Yan’s eyes lit up. "You’ve managed to find the first step to a corruption cure, that’s incredible!"

    As Henrik continued poring over the notes, his eyebrows furrowed. "As incredible as this is, it’s going to be extremely difficult for me to get these ingredients. The only place I could possibly get most of these things is Derekson's, but I'd have to get Jackie to escort me. Not to mention the Committee would find it suspicious…"

    Anti shrugged, taking a bite out of another cookie. "No problem, I’ll swing by later to grab everything you need to start making this thing."

"Are you sure? It might not be safe for you to be walking out and about."

"It'll be fine, I'll wear a scarf. You worry too much," Anti said, scratching at his neck wound. Henrik sighed and left the room, closing the door to the apartment behind him. "Yandere, you wanna come with?"

"Sure." Yan hesitated. "Where are we going exactly?"

"Derekson's," Anti said. Yan still looked confused, so he continued. "It's an apothecary across town. The guy who runs it is under Committee surveillance, too." He glanced over at the apartment door and lowered his voice. "Apparently, all of his children were born mundane, and he tried to turn them into wizards by himself. Ended up killing all but one. The only reason the Committee hasn't thrown him into a prison cell yet is that he's such a talented potion maker."

"That's horrible," Yan muttered.

"Yeah..." Anti trailed off. "But he’s the only one who has what we need to make our potion. So I hope you don’t have any plans this afternoon, because we’re leaving as soon as I finish these cookies." He turned and walked back down into the basement, taking the whole container with him.

.

.

.

The walk to the apothecary was surprisingly tense -- Anti had insisted they walk there, not wanting to spend even a few minutes on crowded public transport. He spent the whole time looking over his shoulder and tugging on his scarf like it was suffocating him. 

"Are you okay?" Yan asked, sensing how nervous he was. 

"I'm fine." He glanced at them over his sunglasses. "I just don't like walking around during the day. Too many people. I feel like they're all staring at me." Yan opened their mouth to say something comforting, only for Anti to cut them off. "We're here."

Yan looked up at the building they stopped in front of. It was a brownstone, the worn bricks painted green. A few strange-looking flowers and herbs grew in the windowsills. Above the door was a wooden sign that read "Derekson's Apothecary: family-owned and operated since 1812." Yan quickly followed Anti up the steps and into the shop.

The shop was empty when the two walked in. A wooden counter stretched around all sides of the room. Tall shelves filled with glass jars and bottles lined the walls behind the counter, each containing loose ingredients or brightly colored liquids. A rolling ladder was attached to the shelves, and in the center was a door marked "employees only".  It reminded Yan of a candy store, only instead of chocolate and jellybeans, the jars were filled with dried herbs and what looked like eyeballs.

The back door swung open and a man in a patterned shirt walked out, putting on a big smile when he saw the two standing in the shop. He was followed by a teenager with similar features, walking on a pair of crutches. The teen stood in the back, staring at the ground while the older man walked towards the counter.

"Welcome, welcome! What can I do for you today?" said the man, whose nametag identified him as Derek. He gestured to the shelves behind him. "We carry potions for any and all circumstances. One that turns any creature into a harmless goldfish, one that can make your flower garden into your own personal army of floral warriors, one that makes the drinker fall in love with the first person they see for 24 hours. I know that one is popular with you young folks." He winked at Yan, and they only scoffed in response. He hesitated before starting his sales pitch again. "You two don't work for the Committee, right?"

"No?"

"Good! Because here I have a few things that blur the lines between potion and poison-"

"We don't need any of that!" Anti snapped, clearly running out of patience with the overzealous salesman. "We just need these ingredients." He pulled a list from inside his coat and handed it to Derek.

Derek gave a dejected sigh and took the list, turning and climbing the ladder to retrieve what they needed. He quickly maneuvered the shelves, seemingly knowing where everything was despite all the jars being unlabelled. He came back down only a few minutes later holding a few jars, piling them all on the counter. 

"Is that everything?" Anti asked.

"Not quite," Derek said. "Some of the things you're asking for are highly dangerous, so I don't keep them in the front of the shop. Eric." He turned to the young man behind him, who flinched in surprise upon hearing his name. "Can you get the rest of this fine customer's order from the back room?"

"Yes, Dad," Eric muttered.

"I can help you with that," Yan chimed in, hesitating when they saw how stunned Eric looked at the gesture. "If you're alright with that."

"Sure," Derek said, waving his hand. "Just don't touch anything you're not supposed to." Yan moved around the counter over to Eric, smiling and opening the door for him. He gave a reluctant smile and went inside, Yan following shortly after.

The backroom was essentially just a kitchen. A few small cauldrons were simmering on top of an electric stove, empty glass bottles crowding the counter next to it. The linoleum floor was covered in shimmering, multicolored stains. A few barrels were pushed up against the back wall next to a staircase leading up to the second floor of the house. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of which were padlocked.

Eric hobbled over to the cabinets, leaning his crutches up against the counter and leaning against it for balance. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, unlocking one of the cabinets. Before he opened it, he turned to Yan. "Oh, right," he mumbled, as if he had forgotten Yan was there. "You can, uh, grab the fireroot for me. It's in the fridge." 

"You got it." They smiled, walking over to the fridge and opening it. It was filled to the brim with potion bottles, as well as a few leftovers in tupperware containers. 

"So, what's all this for, anyway?" Eric asked, before immediately looking away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's alright." Yan walked over with the bundle of fireroot he asked for. "We're working on, uh… medicine. For someone who's sick. My friend's a doctor and he asked us to pick up some supplies for him."

"That’s weird. I’ve never heard of medicine with these kinds of ingr-" He cut himself off with a strangled cry. His legs suddenly buckled out from underneath him, and he gripped onto the counter for support. He shakily lowered himself to the floor, back against the counter. He scrunched his eyes shut and suppressed a pained whimper, pulling his leg to his chest.

Yan dropped to their knees in an instant. "What's wrong?" they asked quickly. "Do you need me to get your dad?"

"No!" Eric yelped, eyes wide. "It'll only make him upset… I'll be fine. I just need to sit for a minute."

"What's wrong?" Yan repeated, more gently this time. 

Eric bit his lip, looking at the door to the shop and back at Yan. "You know what my dad did, right?" They nodded, remembering the story Anti told them. "The ritual he used to try and make me a wizard, it didn't work, but-" He rolled up one of his pant legs, revealing unnatural scars twisting up his leg. They looked like burns, only iridescent and an unpleasant shade of green. Yan clapped a hand over their mouth. He covered the scars and curled in on himself. "Dad says it's a form of corruption. It flares up every now and then," he continued. He gave a feeble smile. "It's almost funny. I'm not even a wizard and I still managed to screw up and get corrupted."

Yan winced, sensing a wave of sadness and guilt coming from Eric. "Hey, that’s not your fault. None of that is,” they said, trying to console him. They were quiet for a moment, mulling over what they were about to say. They lowered their voice.  "I think I have a way to help you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, that includes your dad. " 

Eric looked back with confusion before simply nodding.

Yan glanced at the door before speaking,  "A friend of mine is working on a cure for corruption. I know it sounds impossible, but we’re making progress. It will take some time before we have an actual cure, but once we do, we’ll be able to help you. "

 "You- you’d really be willing to help me?" Eric said. He gave them a weak smile.

Yan smiled back, opening their mouth to reassure them before being cut off by yelling from the front of the shop.

"Eric! Hurry up!" Derek yelled. "We have a customer waiting!"

"Oh no..." Eric muttered before yelling back, "I’ll be right out!" He grabbed the edge of the counter, wincing as he scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his crutches, gesturing to Yan to pick up the miscellaneous items on the counter before going through the door. They placed them on the check-out counter before walking back over to Anti, who looked down at them over his sunglasses.

Derek looked over at Eric, drumming his fingers on the counter with impatience.  "What took you so long?" he said, barely containing his frustration. 

"I- uh," Eric stammered, trying to avoid eye contact with his father as he began to pack all the items into a box. "I couldn’t find the time cacti needles they needed, m-must’ve put it in the wrong cabinet when I was organizing."

"Yeah? Well, next time double-check to make sure everything’s in the right place." Derek turned to Anti, his glare turning into a smile as he rattled off the prices for everything, occasionally slipping in a sales pitch for other potions. Anti ignored his rambling, placing a stack of bills on the counter and taking the box of ingredients from Eric. He promptly dropped it into Yan’s arms and quickly made his way out of the shop. Yan gave Eric one last smile before following after.

.

.

.

"God, I hate that Derekson guy. Did you see the way he talked to his own son?" Anti scoffed. The two were walking back to Henrik’s clinic now, Anti a little more relaxed now that the streets weren’t as crowded. "What were you and that Eric kid doing back there, anyways?"

"Just talking," Yan said. They decided it was best if Anti didn’t know they’d told Eric about the corruption cure. 

"Of course you were." Anti smiled. "You have a real knack for befriending everyone you meet, huh?"

"I guess so." They smirked. "I managed to befriend you, didn’t I?" They nudged him with their shoulder. 

Anti chuckled. "Yeah, yeah you did." The two kept walking, keeping up some light conversation to pass the time. Yan was in the middle of recounting the time they and B had gotten lost in a cave somewhere in the geography section at the Library when a man jogging by them accidentally bumped into Anti. "Hey, watch it!" he yelled at the man before turning back to Yan. They were about to continue their story when they felt a sudden surge of mixed emotions from behind them. Disbelief, sadness, joy. 

"Chase?"

Anti froze in place. He chanced a look back, his heart sinking when he locked eyes with the man behind him. He stared at Anti as if he had just seen a ghost, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. His eyes were sunken yet bright, brown hair poked out from under his beanie. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Anti and pulling him into a tight hug. "Oh my god, Chase! It’s been so long, I thought I’d never see you again!" He laughed.

Anti finally moved, shoving the man off of him and taking a step back. "I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else."

"Are you kidding? I’d think I’d recognize my best friend."

"I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are," Anti growled.

"It’s me, Sean! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for years." The man, Sean, reached out to Anti. Tears started to fall when he flinched away. "You just disappeared, and I was beginning to think- everyone thinks you’re dead, Chase."

"Anti," Yan said softly, wincing from the waves of intense emotion coming from the two men. "Who is this?"

"Anti? Your name is Chase!" Sean yelled. He grabbed his head, struggling to make sense of what was happening. "You’re my best friend! Fuck, we have matching tattoos!" He quickly rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a trident-shaped symbol. Yan recognized the symbol; they had seen it tattooed on Anti’s right arm before. Sean kept yelling, tears pouring down his face. "What happened to the friend who promised he’d always be there for me? What happened to the guy who would never abandon his family no matter how hard things got? What happened to you, Chase?"

"I'm not Chase," Anti snapped, low and dangerous. "Now, I need you to leave me alone before I do something I regret." 

Yan looked down to see his hand was glitching with red and green magic. "Anti." they grabbed his arm. "Please, don't."

Anti looked over at them, then back at Sean. "Yan, we're leaving." He turned to go.

"If you’re going to go, you should know Stacy remarried," Sean said. He averted his eyes from Anti, tears still falling down his face. "Nice guy, he’s a tennis instructor or something. The kids are doing well in school; Emma's been filling out college applications. They still ask about you sometimes. They do miss you, you know. Stacy too."

Anti stood for a moment. "Come on, Yan, let’s go home," he said, lifting an arm to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. He walked away from Sean, not bothering to look back.

.

.

.

The walk back to Henrik's was tense. Neither said a word until they got back. Anti opened the door to the clinic, immediately locking eyes with Henrik, who was sitting at his desk going over the notes again. "How'd it go?" he asked, standing up. Anti stayed quiet, storming past him and wrenching open the trapdoor. He slammed it behind him, and moments later the two upstairs heard him start yelling. It was a heartbreaking sound, laced with anger and sorrow. The sound of anything he could get his hands on colliding with the floor soon followed.

"What happened to you out there?" Henrik said, wincing at the sound of something glass shattering below. 

Yan placed the box of ingredients on the desk, gently wiping fresh tears from their face. The emotion coming from Anti and Sean had been too much for their ever faltering emotion magic, and they had started crying from the sheer amount of sorrow coming from the two. "Everything at the store went fine. But on the walk back, we ran into a man named Sean," they spoke softly. They looked up at Henrik, seeing a flash of recognition on his face. "Henrik, who's Chase?"

Henrik sighed, gently removing his glasses and rubbing his face. "Chase is someone who Anti was a long, long time ago," he hesitated, looking down at Yan with regret. "It's not my place to tell you about his past. I'm sorry. You really deserve to know more, but-"

Yan held up their hand. "I understand." They pulled him into a hug.

Henrik froze at the sudden contact, then gently placed his arms around them. "It would probably be best if you went home. You don't want to see him like this."

Yan pulled back, giving a weak smile. "I'll see you next week. Call me when he's feeling better."

"Of course," Henrik said, watching as Yan walked out the door. As soon as they were gone, he sighed, leaning against his desk. He wanted nothing more than to get a drink, wait it out until Anti's rage faded, but he knew that wouldn't be good for either of them. He walked over to the center of the room, gently opening the trapdoor before heading down the stairs, bracing himself as the noises got louder. He gasped when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

The room was in complete disarray. All the books that had been precariously balanced on Anti’s desk were thrown to the ground, papers strewn everywhere. The desk chair was knocked over; all the dirty plates and glasses that he had hoarded in his room were in pieces on the floor. His knife was buried in its usual place in the wall next to the doorway. The only thing left untouched was the murky green jar on the desk, where Sam was repeatedly bumping his eye against the glass in an attempt to get Anti's attention.

Anti himself was hunched in the center of it all. His jacket and scarf were discarded on the floor. His sunglasses lay against the wall across the room, one of the lenses missing and the other shattered. His entire body was glitching. He was scratching at the wound on his neck. 

Henrik quickly moved next to Anti, careful not to kneel on any broken glass. "Are you alright?" He spoke softly. Anti breathed heavily, barely acknowledging the man beside him. Henrik reached out, gently placing a hand on his back and rubbing circles. Even through his gloves, it felt like touching a broken tv screen. Slowly, Anti's breathing evened out and he removed his hands from his neck.

It felt like an eternity before Anti spoke. "I miss them so much." 

"I know," Henrik said, barely above a whisper. 

Anti looked back at him, his mind racing with a million things to say. He decided to stay quiet, just this once. He leaned against Henrik, letting the silent sorrow wash over him.

[aifastic]

Winning Lines

The @talesofteufort zine has been shipped, and the PDFs sent! Thank you very much to everyone who contributed. I’m very glad to have been able to participate in this project; it was a wonderful experience and it’s been great working with everyone aaaa ♥

I’m really happy to share my piece for the zine! I really hope you all like it ♥ (Read it below the cut)

Title: Winning Lines Words: 1845 Warnings: None Summary: BLU has a drawing contest. Demo just wants his magazine back.

-----

“ARE YOU MANN ENOUGH TO DRAW THIS BETTER THAN US?”

The header caught BLU’s Demoman’s attention. He’d been reading the latest issue of Hat-Wearing Man when he found the ad at the bottom of one of the pages. There was a somewhat simple drawing of a monkey in a spacesuit. “If you draw Poopy Joe better than our extremely talented artist, we’ll give him the boot—and kick his ass in the process! And your picture will be the new image of our project and you, our lucky friend, will win nothing less than $700 dollars!”

“Huh, it doesn’t look that hard…” he said, pensive. Suddenly, the magazine was snatched from his hands. “Hey!”

“Ohohoh, what’s this?” Scout said, grinning at the magazine. “Hey, I’d win this in the blink of an eye!”

“Oi! Get your own!” Demo took the magazine back. “I’m gonna try this. Mum will love the extra money,” he added to himself.

“Pffft, no way, it’s a waste of mail money, pally. If someone should participate, that’s someone who actually has a chance.”

“Heh.”

They turned around to see Sniper in a corner, grinning.

“What’s your deal, Long Legs?”

“Shut up, ya scoundrel. If anyone has a chance here, it’s me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Demo asked. “Where’s your credentials, mate?”

“Don’t need any,” he said. “Quiet kid, hours at the back of the classroom sketching the teacher being eaten by a croc.” He grinned. “It should be easy as cake.”

“Oi, do ya remember the magazine is mine?”

“I agree, though—the chance should be for whoever’s got the talent.”

Demo sighed. “Aye, alright. But I’m not gonna just give it away.” His face lit up, an idea coming to his mind. “You’ll have to beat me for it.”

“Huh?” Both mercenaries stared at him quizzically.

Demo grinned, eye glinting.

“Let’s have a drawing contest.”

-----

They emptied the kitchen table in order to make room for their sheets of paper, pencils and pens. In the meantime, they threw evaluative gazes at each other, competitive strike flaring up.

The rest of the team slowly wandered to the room to find out what was going on.

“What is noise?” asked Heavy, scratching his chest. Medic, who was right behind him, had just closed it, having found himself too distracted by the ruckus to continue his surgery.

“We’re about to find out who’s gonna win 700 dollars!”

Medic perked up. “I am in. What is the bet?”

“We’re not betting, mate.” Sniper showed him the magazine’s ad. “It’s a contest.”

Medic’s smile turned dangerous. “Even better.”

“Heavy is in, too.”

“Aw, come on, guys! It’s not as if you’re gonna beat me!”

Heavy threw Scout an unimpressed look. “It is fun. I want extra money. I am in.”

“Alright, alright, mate. Sure.” Demo handed them both some extra sheets of paper they'd brought just in case.

Medic excused himself to go search for a couple of pens. On his way out, he almost crashed onto Soldier.

“Ach, watch where you’re going!”

“I need sustenance, maggot! And you’re on my way!” He shoved Medic away, making him stumble on the way out. A couple of German swears could be heard from the corridor. “Hello, everyone!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna get in too,” Scout groaned.

“In what?” Soldier inquired, tilting his head. Demo showed him the magazine’s ad.

Engineer peeked over his shoulder.

“Oh, a drawing contest?” he said, looking at it with a fond smile. “Heh. It’s been a while since I tried my hand at one o’ those. But I thought they allowed only one entry per ad?”

“That is point,” Heavy said. “We are fighting to get chance to earn money.”

“Oh…” Soldier grinned. “I’m in, maggots! I actually studied art with Kickasso.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Sure, mate,” Demo said, patting his back and attempting to lead him into the kitchen.

“You don’t believe me!” Soldier looked at everyone. Engie shrugged. Scout picked at his nails, and Sniper scratched the table distractedly. Heavy’s eyes said it all. “I will prove it to all of you!” And he headed to the table, snatching a paper sheet from the pile.

Demo brushed a hand across his own face. “I hope Medic brings enough pens.”

“I’ll go for mine,” Engie said. He added, “And I’ll go look for Pyro; they’ll love this.”

Scout groaned. “Anyone else? Maybe Saxton Hale?”

Spy’s laughter can be heard from a corner of the room.

“Oh, this is priceless. I wasn’t going to butt in, but this looks like too much fun to pass on the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to what?” Scout said, miffed.

“You’ll see,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “Besides, you need a referee, don’t you?”

“Ugh,” Scout said, bonking his head on the table.

-----

Everyone looked at each other from their respective places. Scout’s leg bounced nonstop; Sniper picked unconsciously at his pencil. Heavy’s grip on his pen was strong enough for Medic to worry about it breaking.

“Alright,” said Spy. “You have to draw…” He squinted. “Poopy Joe, following the ad’s instructions; the best artist wins. The rules are: no interfering with anyone’s drawing. No kicking under the table. No destroying anyone’s drawing. No rising up from the table until all this is over. No showing your drawing until everyone is finished. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. Pyro hummed happily.

“Excellent. So, on the count of three: One, two… Three!”

Scout’s pen tore onto the paper. “Shit! Do you have a spare?” Spy handed him one. “Thanks,” he muttered.

The truth was, Scout wasn’t that confident of the fact he was going to win. When it was just him and Demo, he’d been sure he’d win to the unsteady hand of a drunk man. And Sniper was all bragging anyways. But Medic? He’d probably drawn lots of skeletons and stuff at college. And Engineer’s schematics always look exactly like the finished product. Shit. And—did Soldier really paint with Kickasso? Nah, he shook his head. He didn’t think so. Heavy was a wild card, though.

But he had to try anyway! He couldn’t back off now. So he put his all into it.

Engineer turned his sheet of paper down. Hell! That was fast. He tried to concentrate in the lines that formed Poopy Joe, and emulated them the best he could. Damn, his hand was sweaty… He hated drawing. His cousin had always been better at it, and it pissed him off even now, far from home.

He slapped his drawing on the table, face down. “Done!” He looked up to see everyone had finished. Crap.

“Alright, then,” said Spy. “Let’s see what you came up with.”

“Come up with?” That had many meanings, but the way Spy said it… “What do you mean?”

“The challenge was to improve on the design of Poopy Joe drawn by the artist, not to copy it.”

“Oh, darn,” Engineer said, showing a perfect copy of the Poopy Joe logo. Holy shit. “Guess I got a bit carried away. I’m more used to copying stuff, ya know.”

Soldier snickered.

“Let’s see what you did, Soldier boy.”

“Alright! Look at it and weep!”

He showed them all a mess of lines with dots in seemingly random places.

“Soldier, that’s…” Scout got elbowed by Demo. “That’s cool. What are… those?”

“Those are his eyes!” Oh, God.

“Let’s see Demo’s!” grinned Soldier, confidently.

“Ach, you know I’m no artist, mate,” he said, showing his drawing. It was… Actually, it was pretty decent. His drawing had a cartoonish style that drew everyone’s eyes in.

“Interesting,” said Spy, nodding approvingly.

“Demo did great job,” Heavy said, crossing his arms.

“Aw, thanks, mate.” Demo shrugged it off, somewhat flustered. “What about yours?”

Heavy showed his drawing. It was simple, a single line delineating the silhouette of the monkey astronaut. It was stylish, though it was difficult to guess what it was at times.

“Wonderful, mein freund!” Medic clapped, and revealed his. It was… Oh, my god. “I might have put a bit too much emphasis on his organs.”

“Next!” yelled Scout, tearing his eyes away from the gory drawing. Shit. Now he had to show his. Alright. You can do this, he told himself.

He turned the page face up.

“Mate,” Sniper said.

“Oh, buddy, we made the same mistake.”

“Y’know? I saw RED’s Scout draw once and I secretly thought we were doomed.”

“Oh, shut up!” Scout said, face beet red. It was true, he’d tried to copy the drawing, like Engineer did. And his lines weren’t as sure as Demo’s or Heavy’s. Shit. He screwed up big time.

“It’s good overall, mate,” Sniper said. “You just need more confidence.”

Scout flushed. “What about yours, Mister Expert?”

Sniper grunted, and showed his drawing. Oh, wow. It was really good! The monkey looked like it’d come out of the page and tear them apart. He felt as if he would be able to touch its fur.

“Wow, Slim! That’s one helluva good drawing!”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning. “I told ya: quiet kid.”

“Where is his spacesuit, though?”

His face dropped. “Aw, hell.”

“Hmmmph!” Pyro yelled, pointing at their sheet of paper.

“Alright,” Spy said, grinning along with Engineer. “The moment of truth has come.”

“What do you mean—?”

Holy shit.

The drawing was astounding. The monkey looked cartoonish enough not to look real, but in a way that made the drawing look alive. Everything was there, and in wonderful detail: The space-suit, the stars… Even an additional full moon in the background that was a perfect circle.

“Holy shit, Py!” Scout said. “How did you do that?”

“Hhmph?” Pyro asked, pointing at the moon. Everyone nodded. Pyro mumbled happily, grabbing another sheet of paper, and drew a classical Greek style face, then erased the rest of its features little by little until they got a perfect circle.

Oh, for the love of—

“Well, it seems we have our winner,” said Spy, handing Pyro the magazine. Pyro clapped with glee, running off with it.

“Aw, man. That was totally unfair. You knew this would happen!” Scout pointed to Spy accusingly.

“I had my suspicions,” he said, grinning.

“Hey, maggots,” Soldier said, sniffing. “Is that smoke?”

They all turned around to watch Pyro as they set the magazine on fire.

“Ach! My magazine!” Demo ran and stomped on it. However, many of the pages, including the drawing contest ad, didn’t make it. “Hell. Why, mate?”

“Hmmphmmphmmph!” they said, pointing at everyone in the room, then at their drawings. Then they clapped.

Everyone looked at each other, and found a common understanding. Who knew what Pyro said? But they had the feeling they meant they were all winners today.

“So it was a huge waste of everyone’s time. Fantastic,” Spy said. “Entertaining, though.”

“Shut up, Spy, we were having a moment,” Scout said.

And yes, indeed. Because even though Demo lost his magazine, he left the room with a good feeling inside. And he was sure that the rest felt the same way.

Poopy Joe’s artist could keep his job for another day.

[beautifulpaxielreads]

book rec asks - the questions ending in 4 :)

Now THAT is a challenge! My answers are under the cut because - unsurprisingly - this post got very long.

4. a poetry book that reads like a story

I don't really read poetry books, so I might skip this one, sorry!

14. a book that made you trip on literary acid

The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton. That book made my brain hurt!

24. a book on your nightstand

I don't generally leave books on my nightstand (or bedside table, as I call it). However, I do leave the books I'm currently reading on the floor beside my bed after I finish with them for the night. One of those books is The Library Book by Susan Orlean. It's a non-fiction book and it's basically a love letter to libraries.

34. a book featuring the enemies to lovers trope

I've got a few books that could fit this prompt, but I'm gonna go with Perfect on Paper by Sophie Gonzales.

44. your favourite fantasy novel

If I'd been asked this a few years ago, I would've said Harry Potter, but that certainly isn't the case anymore, for reasons everyone would be well aware of and which I prefer not to dwell on.

Moving on...

Can I answer with more than one book? Because Laini Taylor's Strange the Dreamer duology is a near-perfect example of fantasy writing. However, if I had to choose between the two books, I'd choose Muse of Nightmares, the second book. It's a perfect sequel in just about every way.

54. a book with the best opening line

The opening line of Dark of the West, the first book in Joanna Hathaway's Glass Alliance trilogy is pretty hard to beat, and pretty much sets the tone for what is to come: "War is no good for the young, or for love."

64. a book with a grey cover

I don't think I've got any books that are completely grey in colour. The closest I can get is Burial Rites by Hannah Kent.

74. your favourite love triangle

All my followers in the THG fandom are gonna hate me for this because it's generally agreed that it isn't really a love triangle, but TBH I don't really read a lot of books with love triangles in them, so I'm gonna go ahead and say the Katniss/Peeta/Gale triangle in The Hunger Games trilogy.

*ducks flying tomatoes*

84. your favourite dystopian read

The Hunger Games trilogy, 100%. Although Neal Shusterman's Arc of a Scythe trilogy comes pretty close.

94. a book about grieving

Umm, this is hard. I don't actually read that many books with grief as a central theme.

I think I'm going to have to go with The Ones We're Meant to Find by Joan He, because I think that grief is a big motivator in the actions of one of the major characters. I can't say anymore because *SPOILERS*.

104. a fluffy, sweet read

A Snowfall of Silver by Laura Wood is the very definition of a fluffy, sweet read, but TBH you could apply it to any of her YA books. But that one is just *chef's kiss*.

114. your favourite chick lit novel

I don't really read much chick-lit stuff, so I think I might pass on this one. Sorry!

124. the book you’re currently reading

I'm actually reading FIVE books:

The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1) by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

After Story by Larissa Behrendt

Defy the Night (Defy the Night #1) by Brigid Kemmerer

The Library Book by Susan Orlean

Talking to my daughter: a brief history of capitalism by Yanis Varoufakis, translated from the original Greek by Varoufakis and Jacob Moe

134. unreccomend any book you like

The Moth Diaries by Rachel Klein. Genuinely one of the weirdest books I've ever read, and I only finished it out of spite.

Thank you for the ask!

[dinosaurtsukki]

across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. I)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own. 

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

“You’re not the first painter to come here,” the ferryman said. Actually, it wasn’t the first time Bokuto had heard that. And now, he was sitting in the middle of tiny, fishing boat, clutching his tattered suitcase and the thin, wooden box where he kept his canvases for dear life. Mostly due to the fact that if his suitcase or canvases found their way overboard, Bokuto would have no choice but to jump after them.

“Is he a terror?” Bokuto asked, deciding to make conversation with the ferryman anyway.

“A terror? No, none of the painters who came back looked scared. Maybe frustrated or lost is the right word,” the ferryman said. “He never leaves the manor but they say that he’s more beautiful than his suitor.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Bokuto muttered as he gazed over the horizon to the shore where the boat was headed. He wasn’t particularly fond of the job he had to take: a portrait commission. Bokuto would much rather work on the commission from the church in his hometown with his master, painting bodies and landscapes were his specialization. On the other hand, Bokuto was not as confident with drawing the human face, specifically, capturing emotion in the eyes. Which were very, very important for a painter hoping to make his own way into the world. And because of that, his master sent him off to the Elysium Estate, a secluded piece of land nestled along the coast of a provincial town owned by the Akaashi family, to paint Akaashi Keiji’s portrait to send to his suitor.

An hour later, the boat had reached the harbor and Bokuto promptly got off, grateful for steady, unshifting land, thanked the ferryman and paid the fee. Then, clutching his suitcase and canvases, he made his way up a rocky trail to where the estate was. Up close, the large house looked dark and gloomy, as if nobody lived there, at all, but it still looked quite grand with its Greek-inspired architecture and marble columns framing the entrance. Standing outside, as if expecting him, was a young man with short, black hair, dressed in a butler’s uniform.

“You must be the painter, Bokuto Koutarou,” he spoke, bowing formally when Bokuto walked up. “I’m Kageyama Tobio, the estate butler. If there is anything you need during your stay here, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks!” Bokuto grinned. “Um, no need to be so formal though. I’m just an apprentice painter.”

“The madam ordered me to treat you as such,” Kageyama said, holding out his hand to take Bokuto’s belongings. Bokuto contemplated it for a while and handed him his suitcase, keeping his canvases closely to himself. Kageyama opened the door to the estate and they walked into a foyer that was dimly lit by a few candles.

“It doesn’t seem like a lot of people stay here, huh?” Bokuto said as he looked around.

“Only the madam and her son are currently living here,” Kageyama explained, taking an oil lamp from the table and walking down a hallway near the grand staircase. “You will be staying in this room for the meantime,” he added, opening the door to a room that was much larger than Bokuto’s master’s studio. Inside was a large, four-poster bed, windows that almost covered the entire far wall, a fireplace, and an easel already set up. When Bokuto glanced at the wall nearest him, he could see a door that probably led into his own bathroom.

“Wow, this is… a nice room,” Bokuto said, unable to find the words to say.

“The madam and young master Keiji have retired for the evening but he has agreed to meet you for breakfast in the dining hall,” Kageyama said, leaving the suitcase on top of the chest at the foot of Bokuto’s bed. “Would you like me to bring up some supper?”

“Yes please,” Bokuto smiled politely and Kageyama left him in the dark, grand room. Bokuto took the time to start a fire to light up the room. Then, he unloaded his canvases. The wooden box that was custom-made for it was nailed shut and Bokuto pried it open with a small tool stashed in his suitcase. To his relief, the canvases were both as pristine and white as when he first packed them. Bokuto lovingly ran his finger across the surface, already eager to break out his paints and start the commission. Just for the sake of being able to paint again.

After a warm meal of bread and soup, Bokuto lay on the soft bed of his room and fell asleep.

The next morning, he was woken up by Kageyama knocking on the door. Remembering that he would be meeting Akaashi for the first time, Bokuto quickly washed his face and dressed into his best pair of trousers and a clean shirt before hurrying to the dining room. The room was half the size of the manor’s living room, but better lit with tall windows that reached the ceiling. The long table was set for two and already sitting there, was Akaashi Keiji.

The rumors about his beauty were true: with his tanned skin, hair the color of chocolate that fell in short waves around his face, his graceful facial features, and eyes the color of deep emerald that followed Bokuto as he walked to his seat. Under the table, he felt his hands itch for a piece of charcoal and paper.

“U-um, Bokuto Koutarou,” he stammered, remembering that he had to introduce himself. “Pleased to meet you… um, sir.”

“There’s no need for that,” Akaashi waved his hand. His voice was soft but he spoke and enunciated every syllable. “So, my mother sent you to become a companion before I’m carted off to Italy to get married. Hopefully, I get to enjoy some kind of freedom before that happens.” He paused and fixed his gaze on Bokuto. “What do you think about all this?”

“Well, your mother seems concerned about you and your health—”

“You don’t have to talk as if she’s here,” Akaashi interrupted him. “She’s the one who’s paying you, not me. Tell me what you really think.” Bokuto blinked at the interruption and one look at Akaashi told him that he would detect any lie. So, Bokuto decided to tell the truth, or as much as he could without spilling the fact that he was painting his portrait in secret.

“When I entered the workforce to get a job, I never thought I’d have to be hired to be a personal companion,” Bokuto chuckled. “But it beats working in a factory. About your situation however, I think it’s a bit sad.”

“Sad? Do you pity me?” Akaashi’s expression was neutral.

“In a way, I do. It must be lonely having to stay here. Maybe your mother hired me so you’d have someone to talk to. In a way, I guess I am perfect for job,” Bokuto grinned. “People say I’m talkative enough to hold a conversation for two.” Akaashi looked down at his plate, as if thinking over what Bokuto said, and then looked out the window.

“I want to go down to the beach today,” he said, Bokuto silently let out a sigh of relief. He had passed whatever test Akaashi had set up. “Accompany me after breakfast.”

“Yes sir,” Bokuto nodded. In front of him, he saw the corner of Akaashi’s lip turn up.

“I’m younger than you. You may call me Akaashi.”

An hour later, Bokuto made his way down the beach with Akaashi behind him, wearing a dark green scarf around his chin and a jacket over his shirt. Bokuto couldn’t help but notice how Akaashi looked at the beach as if it was the first time he was there, and perhaps it was his first time at the beach. Judging by how thin his frame was and his breathing that was almost labored while he walked down the beach, Bokuto could easily tell how sickly he was. Bokuto considered sitting on the sand with Akaashi, but another part of him wanted Akaashi to experience much more. As soon as they reached the beach, Bokuto kicked off his shoes and socks and walked over to wade in the sea.

“Come on,” he smiled and raised a hand encouragingly at Akaashi who eyed him curiously before taking off his shoes and socks, as well as his jacket and left them in a neat pile beside Bokuto’s things. He dipped his feet hesitantly in the water, before walking forward and joining Bokuto.

“Thanks to you, my mother allowed me to finally come down here,” Akaashi said, squinting at the horizon. “We came to live at the estate because the doctors said the sea breeze might do me good, but they kept me locked inside.”

“What do you do to pass the time?” Bokuto asked.

“Read, mostly. Actually, all the time,” Akaashi answered. “Even if I wasn’t allowed to go out, my father consistently sent me books and tutors so at least my learning was up to standard. My mother joins me in the library sometimes to work on her embroidery.” He looked sideways at Bokuto. “I know a lot of things, like the deepest parts of the sea we’re standing in, the trade routes that cross it, but I’ve never been in it.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, yesterday was the first time I’ve been to sea,” Bokuto admitted. “I never thought waves could rock a boat so much. I was sick to my stomach and I almost threw up over the side of the boat.” Akaashi smiled wryly.

“Did you?”

“No,” Bokuto chuckled. “The sea was a wonderful blue, I couldn’t bear to throw up in it.”

“That’s good,” Akaashi nodded. “I’ve always wondered about how salty the sea is.” Bokuto raised his eyebrows, bent down, and cupped some water in his hands.

“Want to try it for yourself?”

“As long as you don’t tell my mother,” Akaashi snorted. He cupped his hands down under Bokuto’s and bent down, raising their hands. Bokuto felt Akaashi’s lips kiss the tips of his fingers as he sipped the saltwater. Akaashi raised his head, making a face that was half-grimace, half-look of curiosity, and spat the saltwater back into the sea. Bokuto laughed.

“How was it?”

“The saltiest thing I ever tasted,” Akaashi said. “Even saltier than bacon. But now I know how salty sea is.”

They spent the next few hours at the beach, even taking their lunch there after Kageyama delivered it in a picnic basket. Bokuto took the time to watch Akaashi as he picked up rocks and shells to inspect before returning them where he found them, attempting to memorize his unwilling client’s face. In his head, Bokuto pictured Akaashi in a fancy, green dress jacket that matched the color of his eyes, sitting with his hands folded over each other and perhaps a book on his lap. He kept that image in mind when he asked Akaashi if they could head inside. The madam, whom Bokuto was to meet the next day, called Akaashi to the library giving time for Bokuto to begin sketching drafts of the portrait.

He took his time, drawing different parts of Akaashi at first: his hands, his hair, his side profile and ears, his nose and mouth, and lastly, his eyes. Bokuto had to soap the charcoal off his fingers before joining Akaashi at supper, this time making less conversation to observe the details of his face. When he was alone in his room again, Bokuto laid the sketches out before him near the fireplace and made an attempt to draw Akaashi’s eyes again, only to give up on lie on the floor, trying to remember how the candlelight at dinnertime accentuated the planes of his face and the faraway look in Akaashi’s eyes that seemed to lead out to sea.

…

The next day, Bokuto sat in front of Akaashi Keiji’s mother, or Mikoto, as she preferred that he would address her, in the manor’s library upstairs. Out of all the rooms Bokuto had visited in the giant house, this one seemed to be the most visited by the madam and her son. Like the dining room, it had large windows that lit the entire room. The wooden floor was polished and books that have left their shelves to rest in stacks around the room showed signs of it being frequented, most likely by Akaashi himself. Other than that, there was something about the entire room that felt comforting and warm.

“So, you’ve met my son,” Mikoto said, sipping from her teacup. She looked a lot like her son: same brown hair, green eyes, and sharp features. His master told him that she had one lame leg, thanks to being infected by polio years ago, which prevented her from going around frequently. “How did you find him?” she asked, fixing him with her gaze.

“He’s, well, quite reserved,” Bokuto answered. “Yesterday when we had breakfast, I feel as if he was testing me,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

“Ah, Keiji tends to do that,” Mikoto smiled ruefully. “We used to live near a city when he was younger. But, because of his health, my husband decided to move us here for the sea air. That did Keiji’s health better but unfortunately, he’s had very little encounter with the outside world. When we told him about the marriage arrangement, he’s grown distant from me.”

“Is that the reason why nobody has ever successfully painted his portrait?” Bokuto asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mikoto nodded. “Keiji’s strong-willed and scheming, despite everything. He knows that we need the marriage for our lands and wealth to continue remaining under our family name. He doesn’t directly transgress the marriage, but he makes it difficult for it to continue.”

“He’s probably prolonging it,” Bokuto said, suddenly feeling sad for Akaashi. Even though he was better off with a wealthy family compared to Bokuto who was taken in by his master after his parents died, Akaashi had very little freedom. And now, a marriage.

“Probably,” Mikoto set her cup down and looked at the portrait of her that hung over the fireplace. “Which is why we need you, Bokuto-san. Your master played a hand in helping seal my marriage by painting this portrait. He did well. And now, you must do the same.” Bokuto gulped. “Your master spoke very highly of you. Have you started on the portrait?”

“Yes,” Bokuto nodded. Early that morning, he had sketched a rough layout of Akaashi on one of his canvases. Without Akaashi there to pose, it took a great deal for Bokuto to visualize his position. But he wasn’t his master’s student for nothing. Bokuto was confident that he could paint Akaashi’s likeness.

“Well, I mustn’t keep you then,” Mikoto said. “Call Akaashi to come here. I’ll let you have a few hours to paint.”

“Thank you, Mikoto-san,” Bokuto bowed before leaving the library, closing the double doors behind him. He walked down the great stairs of the manor and was about to head into his room when he ran into Akaashi heading his way. “Akaashi,” Bokuto grinned, trying to make it seem as if he hadn’t just discussed Akaashi’s marriage with his mother just a while ago. “I was just about to look for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Akaashi said. He was wearing trousers, a light blue shirt, and a beige jacket.

“Your mother requests that you join her in the library,” Bokuto said. Akaashi made a face.

“I don’t feel like reading, I’d rather go outside,” he said. “Would you come join me at the beach again? It should be at low tide when we are there.”

“I-I would, but…” Bokuto stammered.

“Is there anything you’re preoccupied with?” Akaashi asked, stepping closer to Bokuto. His green eyes bored into his, searching for an answer. Bokuto relented.

“Of course not,” he shook his head and smiled. “Going to the beach sounds great.” Bokuto groaned internally, thinking about how fast he’d have to paint before sunset. And then, Akaashi smiled, excitement shining in his eyes.

“Let’s go then, Bokuto-san.” And somehow, it was all alright. The two of them made their way to the beach, walking side by side. Akaashi had the same scarf he wore yesterday tied around his chin. Bokuto walked in front of Akaashi when they made their way down the trail along the rocky side of the cliff. Every so often, Bokuto felt the urge to turn around to check how Akaashi was doing, and to memorize the look of his hands as they gripped the side of the cliff, the concentration in his furrowed brow, how his green scarf billowed behind him in the wind. As they neared the bottom of the cliff, Bokuto suddenly heard the sound of rocks falling and Akaashi crying in surprise.

“Bokuto-san!”

Quick as a flash, Bokuto turned around to catch Akaashi in his arms, holding a hand out to steady himself against the cliff with the other wrapped around Akaashi’s waist. Up close, Bokuto could smell the sea breeze already caught in Akaashi’s clothes as well as the slightest whiff of vanilla. For a moment, he wondered if he could catch that scent in the portrait he was going to paint.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Bokuto said. Akaashi stepped back, steadying himself against the rocky cliff wall. His one hand lingered on Bokuto’s shoulder before using it to pull down the scarf tied around his chin.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he spoke. Without thinking, Bokuto held out a hand to him. Akaashi accepted and the two walked hand-in-hand to the beach.

Bokuto soon found out why Akaashi was excited to go down to the beach at this time. After leaving his scarf, jacket, shoes, and socks in a neat pile again on the sand, Akaashi waded out to sea and bent down in search of hermit crabs and other creatures in the tide pools. Bokuto waded with him for a while before sitting near a large rock and taking out a piece of paper folded around a small piece of drawing charcoal. He decided to focus on drawing Akaashi’s hands, folded over each other, before finding his own hand moving by itself and drawing Akaashi’s eyes, his nose, the scarf tied around his chin that covered his mouth. ‘Stupid,’ Bokuto shook his head, realizing that he didn’t need to sketch the scarf for the portrait. He folded the sketch and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, rubbing the charcoal of his fingers on his pants as Akaashi jogged towards him with something cupped in his hands.

“Bokuto-san,” he stopped, holding out his hands to Bokuto to show a hermit crab scuttling in it. Bokuto let out a chuckle.

“I see you’ve found a friend,” he reached out a finger to gently stroke the crab’s shell. Akaashi had a small smile on his face. “Thinking of bringing it home?”

“No,” Akaashi shook his head. “I read that they easily get depressed when they’re alone. And I don’t think he would want to live in a sink. I just wanted to hold one in my hands.”

“Like when you held seawater yesterday,” Bokuto said, smiling at the memory. “But I’d advice against tasting this one.” Akaashi looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Very funny, Bokuto-san,” he said dryly. Bokuto snickered. Akaashi bent down and released the hermit crab into the sand.

“Let’s head back, I’m good for today,” Akaashi said, walking back to where his things were. “I know you still have some things to work on.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Akaashi held out a hand. “It was… rude of me to try to invade your privacy. I apologize. It’s just…” Akaashi pursed his lips and looked down.

“I get it. Kageyama isn’t the most talkative person around,” Bokuto grinned, sidling up next to him. “And I was hired to be your companion.”

“I don’t want you to think about it like that,” Akaashi said. “I know it’s not normal. It’s kind of sad that my mother would have to hire someone to be my friend here. So, can we both pretend that your salary doesn’t come from a fake friendship?”

“Well…” Bokuto shrugged. “If we’re going to that, want to add to the pretending?”

“How do you suppose we do that?” Akaashi looked at him curiously.

“If we’re going to be pretend friends, how did our ‘friendship’ begin?” Bokuto asked. “Maybe I was a boy from the nearby village who wandered here, wanting to see the Elysium Estate for myself. All the other kids say it’s an abandoned manor, a haunted one specifically. But I, a brave soul, decided to check it out.” Akaashi smiled and sat down on the sand to put on his socks and shoes.

“On that day, my mother let me read outside, just near the house of course. While reading my book, I couldn’t help but notice a noise coming from behind the house,” he continued.

“It was me, pelting pebbles at one of the windows,” Bokuto laughed, fully engaged in their imagining.

“Lucky for you, my mother was asleep and I happened to appear before you first.”

“I probably screamed like a girl in terror thinking you were a ghost.”

“And then I had to calm you down. And then tell you that there were in fact people living here.”

“And then I sense how lonely you are and invite you to play.”

“And then we play tag all morning and chase each other on the beach,” Akaashi smiled, eyes scanning the horizon again. “That’s a nice backstory. Though, it’s just a story.”

“It’s a good story,” Bokuto held out a hand and helped Akaashi to his feet. Both of them reached the manor a good three hours before the sun set, leaving Bokuto with enough time to begin mixing his paints to begin the portrait. It was probably his favorite part of painting, creating the colors to imprint a real picture on canvas. He mixed some red and white into a warm shade of brown for Akaashi’s skin, darkening the shade for his hair. Bokuto touched his brush to his paints and filled in his sketch. Then, he mixed in white and a darker brown for the highlights and contours. Next, he worked on Akaashi’s suit: dark green jacket and crisp white shirt. Clothing was harder to work on without a model but Bokuto tried to imagine where the creases and folds would be placed and ran his brush over them.

Now that he had begun, Bokuto didn’t want to stop painting, even after dinner when he had to light five candles and place them around his workstation. Eventually, the change in lighting got to him and Bokuto knew he couldn’t continue working like this. He packed away his paints, brushes, and palette, folded up his easel, and moved them to the extra storeroom connected to his bedroom. Then, he gently lifted the canvas, careful not to touch it, and placed it gently in the closet. Lastly, Bokuto blew out all the candles, taking the last one with him to take one last look at his painting before going to sleep. When he squinted, with the candle in front of him, the portrait looked as if it was on fire.

…

The next few days were like so: Bokuto would accompany Akaashi for walks on the beach or around the fields bordering the estate and the village over. Many times, Bokuto would have to rush his time to work on Akaashi’s portrait before sunset fell. In the mornings, he’d wake up early to check on errors he might have made in the dim light. Most of them were errors in shading, a color not mixed right, but there was little to fix. Before he knew it, Bokuto was almost finished with the portrait.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel guilty having to paint this portrait behind Akaashi’s back, knowing all the effort he put into preventing his arranged marriage as best as he could. Even seeing the excited look on Akaashi’s face, which lifted Bokuto’s spirits momentarily, had the bitter aftertaste of knowing that this excitement would all be ruined once Bokuto had to tell him about his circumstances for being at the manor. So, he spent a bit more time with Akaashi, hoping that he didn’t have to finish the portrait so early. That was until Akaashi.

“He’ll likely be in bed all day,” Mikoto said, telling Bokuto the news over breakfast when he asked why Akaashi wasn’t there. “That should give you enough time to finish the portrait by tomorrow, right?” she looked up at him over her breakfast. Bokuto swallowed.

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded. For once, he wasn’t excited to get back to finishing a painting.

“Good. Keiji’s father has called for me to meet him in Kyushu. I set out to leave tomorrow after breakfast. If you like, I could be the one to tell Keiji about your… background,” she said, spreading butter on a slice of bread. He could tell that she was relieved, probably, knowing that she’d be rid of her sickly son. ‘No, that’s not it,’ Bokuto mentally shook his head, reminding himself that Akaashi Mikoto was simply doing her job as a mother and as someone concerned about the wealth of her family. She wasn’t a bad woman, Bokuto just somehow bitterly considered her as one.

“It’s alright, Mikoto-san,” Bokuto shook his head. “I’ll tell him myself.”

Mikoto smiled at him. Immediately, she looked years younger, just like the woman in the portrait that hung in the library. “Thank you, Bokuto-san. I trust that it hasn’t been easy, having to paint a portrait of my son without having him pose. I have no doubt that the portrait will be lovely, but I’m not looking forward to seeing the look on Keiji’s face after realizing what I’ve done.”

“Neither am I,” Bokuto smiled ruefully. “Forgive me for this but, I believe I’ve come to see him as a friend these past few weeks.”

“I know he sees you as one too,” Mikoto nodded, looking out the window. “I forbade him from going to the beach for years, fearing that something would happen to him. I couldn’t accompany him and Kageyama’s the only household staff who manages the property. These days, you can tell how excited he is in the morning. He doesn’t say it but you can see it in his eyes.”

Bokuto smiled wistfully. In his portrait, he tried to capture the small smile that would come up on Akaashi’s face whenever he was excitedly wading in the beach or showing Bokuto something new. But as successful as he was in picturing it, it didn’t translate in the portrait. The Akaashi Keiji there had a stern expression on his face, his eyes staring blankly. It was still a good portrait, but Bokuto knew that something was lacking.

After breakfast, he spent more than an hour adding the finishing touches on the portrait and looking at it from afar. He was finished with the portrait, but he didn’t want to tell Mikoto or her son yet. Instead, Bokuto ventured off into the kitchens where Kageyama was busy preparing lunch. With going to the beach with Akaashi and being locked in his room working on the portrait, Bokuto saw very little of Kageyama. Knowing that he’ll be leaving soon after giving the portrait to Mikoto, Bokuto felt that he should have at least one conversation with the butler.

“Bokuto-san,” Kageyama looked up from the pot he was stirring on the stove. “Is there anything you need?”

“Just water,” Bokuto said. “It’s alright, I can get some myself.” Kageyama nodded and Bokuto filled his cup at the tap near the stove before sitting at the long wooden table inside the kitchen. There was a bowl of potatoes, a chopping board, and a knife on the table. “Do these need peeling?” Bokuto asked, picking one up and, without waiting for an answer, picked up the knife.

“Please don’t trouble yourself with that, Bokuto-san,” Kageyama said hurriedly. “You still have the young master’s portrait to finish.”

“It’s already finished,” Bokuto smiled up at him. “And believe it or not, squinting at a canvas with a brush full of paint gets tiring after a while. I’m a pretty good assistant in the kitchen as well,” he said, peeling the potato. “But I’m a terrible cook.” A small smile flitted across Kageyama’s face. He sat at the table in front of Bokuto and cubed the peeled potatoes.

“How long have you worked here?” Bokuto asked, hoping to initiate conversation.

“A good five years,” Kageyama answered. “The previous butler was a good friend of mine but he decided to work in a much livelier household.” Bokuto quirked his lips slightly.

“And you don’t mind having a less-lively household?”

“It’s quite ideal, actually. I only have two people to wait upon. Both of them don’t require much, except for when the young master falls ill. The pay is good and the room and board is free,” Kageyama answered. “And the beach is just outside for me to visit.”

“It makes me sad knowing that Akaashi hasn’t visited the beach at least once before I came,” Bokuto said.

“Yes,” Kageyama nodded, pausing with his work to look up at Bokuto. “He’s… a lonely man. I’ve kept wondering again and again if maybe I could have tried to befriend him but… that would be imposing of me.”

“Akaashi probably wouldn’t mind,” Bokuto said. Kageyama blinked at him in surprise before smiling.

“Seeing how lively he is now with you as company, I agree.” Again, Bokuto felt regret in the back of his throat.

“Do you… do you think he’ll hate me after I tell him that I’m painting his portrait?” Bokuto asked. Kageyama pursed his lips.

“I don’t know the answer to that. But I have a feeling he will be disappointed,” he said, scooping up the cubed potatoes and adding them into the pot on the stove. “Lunch will be ready in half an hour. Would you like me to take it to your room?”

“No need,” Bokuto shook his head and then, an idea popped into his head. “I could take Akaashi’s lunch to his room.”

“Bokuto-san, you don’t need to—”

“Trouble myself, I know,” Bokuto nodded. “But I’m finished with the portrait and there’s nothing else for me to do. Also…” he sighed. “I know it’s pretty useless but maybe I could make amends with Akaashi this way?”

“He would appreciate it,” Kageyama said.

Bokuto carefully carried the tray of Akaashi’s lunch: soup with chicken and potatoes, and a roll of bread, upstairs to his room. It just occurred to him that he had never been to Akaashi’s room before and seldom even went to the second floor. Bokuto paused in front of it before knocking once, twice, thrice.

“Akaashi?” he spoke. “I, uh, brought—”

“Come in.”

Bokuto opened the door. He didn’t know what to expect when it came to Akaashi’s room but once he was inside, the whole space undeniably felt as if it belonged to Akaashi. The number of books in his bedroom was probably a quarter of what was in the manor’s library. Bokuto felt himself smile, knowing he found the source of the gaps in the bookshelves. The curtains on the window were drawn back, letting in a good amount of light. There was a small table pushed near the window and on it was a vase full of wildflowers. Bokuto recognized them as the ones that Akaashi had picked in the fields the other day. The owner of the room himself was sitting up in bed, wearing a maroon robe, with a book on his lap.

“I brought your lunch,” Bokuto said, lifting up the tray.

“Thank you,” Akaashi said, his voice sounded hoarse and weak. Bokuto set down the tray at his nightstand and sat down on the chair near his bed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Akaashi shrugged, there was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he was teasing Bokuto.

“Care to elaborate?” he chuckled.

“I think it’s the usual flu,” Akaashi sighed. “Aches, fever, all that good stuff. Nothing new.”

“Well, you better eat to maintain your strength,” Bokuto said, gesturing to the tray. Akaashi smiled wryly and lifted it to his lap. While he ate, Bokuto looked over at the books on his nightstand. Most of them were books on philosophy and political science. Except for one with a deep, burgundy jacket and a well-worn spine. “Greek Myths and Legends,” Bokuto read aloud.

“It’s my favorite book from my collection,” Akaashi said, sipping some broth from his spoon. “My father had gifted it to me personally before we left our previous estate.”

“I didn’t take you for a fan of legends,” Bokuto said.

“They’re the best things to read,” Akaashi cocked his head. “They’ve been around longer than any scientific theory or philosophy. The very beginnings of how men and women attempted to make sense of a world they didn’t understand yet.”

“When you put it that way…” Bokuto reached out a hand. “May I?” Akaashi nodded his permission and Bokuto carefully extracted the book from the pile and thumbed through the pages. He could tell that the book was worth quite a lot. From the thick, cream-colored pages, the title that was written in perfect calligraphy, to the colored, watercolor illustrations. The fact that this book wasn’t behind a display case, well-worn from reading and placed on a nightstand said a lot about Akaashi. Bokuto flipped to a random page. “The Myth of Prometheus,” he read aloud. In front of him, Akaashi smiled and leaned back in his bed.

“’There lived a titan named Prometheus, the supreme trickster and the god of fire,’” he recited out loud. ‘Of course he remembers it word by word,’ Bokuto thought, smiling to himself as he continued where Akaashi left off.

“’He was tasked by Zeus to form man from earth and water, and he did so. But Prometheus, the titan, grew fond of his creation…’” And so, Bokuto continued reading, not stopping until he reached the end of the myth when Prometheus was sentenced to his punishment of being chained to a rock while an eagle feasted on smalleaccompanying illustration of Prometheus’s punishment.

“Zeus always was the most bloodthirsty of the three major gods,” Akaashi chuckled dryly. “It’s a good story. While it is meant to be a cautionary tale about what happens when you defy the orders of a god, it does bring to light the need for situations wherein such transgressions are necessary.” He paused and turned to look at Bokuto. “What do you think about it, Bokuto-san?”

“Well, I always thought it was about…love?” he said uncertainly. In all honesty, the only time he ever encountered the myth was when his master retold it to him. Greek myths were always the subject of many painting commissions so Bokuto was trained to be familiar with them. The hard part when it came to painting them was adding that slight variation, the artist’s interpretation of the myth.

“Love?” Akaashi echoed. “You seem to be quite the romantic, Bokuto-san.”

“I-I mean,” Bokuto stammered, thinking of a good reason. “Prometheus was in that whole predicament because he loved his own creation too much, right? And it’s almost impossible to love something you created.” It was true, he knew that much, especially among painters. Sometimes that love gets to the point that it was impossible for him to find imperfections in his work, or even fathom being separated from the painting. In the end, most of the paintings Bokuto loved would end up in the hands of the people who paid for it. “It would be cruel of him to deny his own creations that fire, and Prometheus knew the consequences for it. I bet even after being chained to that rock, he would still make that same decision again if he could.” When he finished, he found Akaashi looking at him with an amused expression on his face.

“You’re quire right,” he said. “It’s an interesting take on the myth. I never would have thought of it but then again, I’m not a creator.” The look on Akaashi’s face seemed to lay bare Bokuto’s secrets.

“D-do you have any other favorite myths?” Bokuto asked, hoping to change the subject. “I could read a couple more for you if you like.” Akaashi placed his tray back on the nightstand and folded his hands over his lap.

“That would be nice Bokuto-san. Could you turn to page three-hundred and twenty?”

“’The Twelve Labors of Heracles,”’ Bokuto read aloud.

“It’s a long one. Are you up for it?” a corner of Akaashi’s mouth was turned up in a smile.

“Of course I am,” Bokuto returned the smile. He’s never been much of a reader, especially after being taught by the older painters at his master’s studio and even then, he had been slow when it came reading and writing. At first, Bokuto winced as he stumbled over some of the words but Akaashi kindly helped him through it and didn’t seem to mind. He was quite good at making up voices for characters like Pan, the satyr or Medusa that cracked a smile on Akaashi’s face. Before he knew it, it was already dinnertime when Kageyama brought up their food. Mikoto came in once to take Akaashi’s temperature and before leaving the room, she made eye contact with Bokuto who hgave the most imperceptible of nods. ‘Yes, the painting is done,’ it meant, and Bokuto was back to contemplating how to break the news to Akaashi.

“Something the matter, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked. They were both still eating dinner at the table near his bedroom window. Akaashi looked visibly better than he looked earlier.

“I…” Bokuto swallowed and felt his hand curl into a fist on his lap. “Akaashi… I-I haven’t exactly been truthful to you.” Silence fell, Akaashi stopped what he was doing and looked at Bokuto, waiting patiently for him to finish. It only made Bokuto even more nervous. “You see, I’m actually—”

“Another painter that my mother hired,” Akaashi interrupted him. Bokuto’s eyes went wide.

“You… you knew?”

Akaashi pursed his lips and reached for Bokuto’s hand, the one that was still on the table. His hand was smaller and more delicate against Bokuto’s hands, his touch feather-light. “As much as you scrub your hands, you can’t quite erase all of the charcoal and paint stains completely, nor the smell of turpentine.”

“Ahaha, I should have been more careful then,” Bokuto laughed nervously and stopped when he saw the expression on Akaashi’s face: it was the picture of melancholy, and Bokuto felt his heart ache. Did he still choose the befriend him even after knowing his intentions? “I… I’m sorry,” he apologized softly.

“Why are you apologizing?” Akaashi looked up to meet his eyes.

“You didn’t need to be so civil around me since you knew what my intentions were,” Bokuto said. “Your mother told me that you constantly evaded the other painters’ and refused to pose for them to delay your wedding.”

“That is true,” Akaashi nodded, taking his hand back. Bokuto’s hand quickly felt the loss of warmth. “But shouldn’t I say the same for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to befriend me either. All you had to do was to paint my portrait in secret. You could have quickly denied my requests to go to the beach or ask my mother to keep me occupied for as long as you wanted.” The candlestick on their table was their only light source in the room and it illuminated Akaashi’s features so clearly and Bokuto felt every word he said. “Or is it, you just did those so I would trust you and for your cover not to be blown.”

“I…” Bokuto could hardly find the words. It was just like the first time they met, when they talked over breakfast before going to the beach. Except, Bokuto knew there was something at stake, only he didn’t know precisely what that was. Akaashi Keiji was just another one of his clients. Bokuto’s job would be finished tomorrow and he would go back to his studio with his money and he would wait for his next commission and in a few years, he wouldn’t even remember Akaashi Keiji among the other paintings he would make.

And so, he decided on his reply.

“Yes. You’re right.” He steeled himself for the look of hurt on Akaashi’s face, maybe a few things he would shout. ‘Those are momentary. I would forget about them later on,’ he thought. Instead, Akaashi leaned back in his seat and turned his head to the window.

“I see,” was all he said. And for some reason, that was worse.

“Akaashi—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Akaashi cut him off, he was still looking out the window. “You may retire to your rooms now, Bokuto-san. You’ll have to travel home tomorrow.”

Bokuto swallowed hard and stood up, murmuring a ‘good night’ before leaving Akaashi’s room, running down the stairs, and entering his own room. He was out of breath and livid. ‘Why am I letting that get to me?’ he thought. With every breath he inhaled, an image of Akaashi came to mind. The intense look on his face when he was trying to figure out of Bokuto was lying. The pure excitement at seeing the beach. The hesitance giving way to confidence as he waded into the water. The pucker of his lips when he tasted the sea. The pure concentration as he hunted for hermit crabs. The movement of his lips when he said Bokuto’s name.

Without even realizing it, Bokuto found himself standing in front of Akaashi’s portrait. ‘Painters have an instinct,’ he remembered his master telling him when Bokuto made his first oil painting of a landscape. ‘A lot of us can tell when something is wrong with what we’ve painted. Not when it comes to the technical skills like light or shading. But it pertains to whether we’ve successfully captured a scene that’s alive, and all scenes are, on canvas.’ With his instinct, Bokuto could instantly tell that the portrait he painted of a man with a stiff expression on his face and no light behind his eyes, was not Akaashi.

Bokuto picked up his turpentine-soaked rag that he used to clean his brushed and held it over the face in the portrait. With one swift motion, he swiped it off.

…

He barely slept that night, knowing for sure that he was going to lose his job the next morning. He was going to be one of those painters who had left the estate empty-handed and frustrated, after getting so close. Yet try as he might, Bokuto knew that he didn’t regret destroying the portrait. So maybe, he could return with his head held high.

After stealing a few hours of sleep, Bokuto woke up to wash himself as best as he could and change into a clean shirt. He did all of this without looking at the portrait. Kageyama called him for breakfast and Bokuto steeled himself to face Mikoto and Akaashi. She attempted to make conversation over breakfast and yet he’d nod once in a while and pick at his breakfast, choosing not to acknowledge Bokuto who felt a deep ache in his chest.

Finally, it was time to unveil the portrait. Bokuto knew that he could simply tell Mikoto that he chose to change it in the last minute but on the other hand, he wanted Akaashi to see what he had done. So, he covered the portrait with a cloth and met them in the library to unveil the finished product.

“Bokuto Koutarou!” Mikoto exclaimed indignantly. She was clearly frustrated and Bokuto couldn’t blame her. She has gone through this same scenario a few times over. “You said you finished the portrait.”

“I did,” Bokuto nodded stiffly. “But… it wasn’t satisfactory enough.”

“You could have left that up for me to decide,” Mikoto huffed. Bokuto glanced over at Akaashi to find that the corner of his mouth had turned up in a smile. ‘Maybe this was his plan all along,’ Bokuto wondered. But it didn’t matter now. “Clearly, you are just like all the other painters who have come here. I suggest you leave as soon as possible.”

Bokuto nodded again, taking the cloth to cover up the portrait when Akaashi spoke up, saying something that neither Bokuto nor Mikoto could have expected.

“I’ll pose for him.”

Bokuto stopped and turned to face him. Akaashi was looking directly at him with a look of mild amusement on his face.

“You will?” Mikoto asked.

“I will,” Akaashi nodded. “I think… it’s time I put off this marriage long enough,” he explained. And yet, Bokuto didn’t quite believe he was telling the truth.

“Oh, Keiji,” Mikoto’s voice softened as she held her son’s face in her hands and enveloped him into a hug. “Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

“I know, Mother,” Akaashi said stiffly.

“As much as I would like to ask ‘why now?’, I really must get going,” Mikoto straightened up and looked at Bokuto this time. “I will be gone for two weeks. I expect a fully-finished portrait by the time I return.”

“I shall not disappoint,” Bokuto bowed.

“Good,” Mikoto nodded.

“Let me walk you to the ship, Mother,” Akaashi said, offering her his arm. Before leaving the room, Akaashi glanced once at Bokuto and with an imperceptible incline of his head, gestured for him to follow. An hour later, Mikoto and her luggage, which Bokuto helped Kageyama with, were loaded in the ship waiting for her at the docks. After the ship set sail, Kageyama was the first to head back to the house. Bokuto stayed with Akaashi as they watched the ship sail into the distance. He had a million questions for him but for now, all he could feel was relief. As Bokuto watched the way the wind swept through Akaashi’s hair, he knew that he wouldn’t mind looking at him for the next two weeks.

…

They started working on the portrait the next day. Kageyama offered to push the long table from the dining room to the side since it was the most well-lit room in the estate. In the middle, they added a chair and a low table for Akaashi to pose on. Bokuto set up his easel and spare canvas at the side, grateful at being able to paint in good lighting after having to work secretly in his own room. He began painting the background of the portrait with broad strokes of a maroon color to keep busy when Akaashi walked inside.

To say that he looked stunning was an understatement. Before Bokuto began his first portrait, Mikoto had shown him the suit that Akaashi was supposed to wear: a dark emerald green with golden buttons and a crisp white shirt meant to be worn with the color turned up. Seeing Akaashi actually wearing it was a different story. The suit hugged him perfectly, accentuating the slight curves in his waist with the high collar just reaching the bottom of his chin. Akaashi had combed his hair back just slightly which showed off his forehead.

“You look…” Bokuto began to say before stopping himself quickly. “Ready.”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nodded curtly, unaware of how good he looked. “If you would…” he gestured to the chair in the center of the dining room and Bokuto hurried to pose him.

“Sit slightly forward in the chair,” he instructed. “Back straight. You can rest your elbow on the table if you want but the other hand, please keep on your lap.” Akaashi followed the instructions. “Lastly,” Bokuto reached a hand out to touch Akaashi’s shoulder to tilt him slightly towards the canvas. He was aware of how close Akaashi’s face was and that he was probably staring at Bokuto. ‘In all my years of painting, have I ever worked someone as beautiful as this?’ he wondered, before shaking the thought of his head and backing away to survey the pose. “Good, perfect,” Bokuto nodded before returning to his canvas.

“What expression should I have on my face?” Akaashi asked.

“A neutral expression would be ideal,” Bokuto answered, quickly painting an outline on the canvas. “If you get uncomfortable in your position please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Alright, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. “Am I… allowed to speak?”

Bokuto glanced up at him and back to the painting. “Of course,” he swallowed before continuing. “I have you to thank for my job.”

“I didn’t do it for your job,” he heard Akaashi speak. Bokuto bit his lip. This wasn’t an ideal position for them to have this conversation.

“Then… why?” Bokuto asked.

“I should ask why you decided to destroy the portrait of me.”

“That… That’s because the person I painted wasn’t you,” Bokuto answered. “I didn’t want it to be the work I submitted.”

“I see…” Akaashi said. He had the same amused expression on his face as he had when he saw the portrait unveiled to him. “It’s just the opposite of what Prometheus did.” Bokuto paused his work to listen. “In your disgust at your creation, you opted to destroy it. Such is the mind of a creator.” There was a wry smile playing on Akaashi’s lips.

“It wasn’t disgust,” Bokuto contradicted him. “It was… a lack of attachment more like.”

“How come?” Akaashi cocked his head ever so slightly, his pose still undisturbed.

“Because my subject wasn’t aware of being painted,” Bokuto smiled, finally deciding to meet Akaashi’s gaze. Surprise flickered there, and then mirth.

“That better be a good portrait then.”

“It will be.”

They were able to finish a good amount of the portrait in that afternoon before Akaashi grew tired of posing. Bokuto was about to offer to go to the beach again but stopped when Akaashi headed straight for his room. ‘Maybe he doesn’t forgive me quite yet,’ Bokuto thought with a sigh, only for those thoughts to end when Akaashi asked him to have dinner in his room, especially since the dining table was out of use. It was a relief to see Akaashi engaged with him in conversation. The book of “Greek Legends and Myths” were still on the nightstand where Bokuto had left it. And somehow, with Mikoto out for two weeks, Bokuto felt as if he wanted to stay in that manor forever.

Before going straight to his room, he decided to pass by the dining room to look at the portrait again. He had worked fast, completing a few days’ work in just one day. The sensation of not wanting to leave was even stronger and Bokuto felt a hard lump in his throat. He walked briskly past the dining room when a small voice whispered in the back of his head: ‘Turn around.’

Bokuto spun around and caught sight of Akaashi standing in the far end of the room. Only, he was pale and almost transparent, and wearing an elaborate suit. Bokuto blinked once and then the vision was gone.

[milliethekitty27-writing]

For Love of the Stars

America has always loved the sky. 

When he was little, traveling the land and seeing the different people in their different camps who called him different names, he followed the stars and the sun. The moon always lit his path and he would talk to it, sometimes. He told it about the people he’d met, the places he’d been, the friends he’d made and the things he’d seen.

When the Europeans arrived, they taught him different things. He learned more about sea travel but he also learned about different stars, about the things Britain had seen, or France. When he went west, he found some stories he remembered and others he didn’t. He relished all of them, sitting up late and listening to the untouched wilds while the stars glittered overhead, a fire at his back with the endless territory around him, but the world above just like it always was.

Wherever he went, no matter how different, the stars were still there. Even when men screamed on the battlefield and he thought he’d never breath properly again, the sun came up and the smog always cleared. He could still find the North Star or the Little Dipper, he could still find Orion’s Belt like Britain had taught him, but he could find the Bear’s Den, the Spider, and the Great Elk like he’d been taught so long ago.

One of his strongest memories of Russia, then the Soviet Union, was during the meetings in the last few years of World War II. He was painfully thin, fairly injured, and there was a manic look in his eyes.

America could only stay still for a short time before he got restless - the battlefield itched at him, like it did all the countries involved, and he was still himself too - so he had left the meeting house in New Hampshire to look up at the sky. He hd found Russia sitting on a bench outside, smoking a cigarette. America had hesitated, then joined him. 

“Nice night, huh?” Russia had grunted, but offered him a lighter. America had accepted. They’d sat for a bit of time before America had grown tired of the silence. 

“When I was younger-” he’d said, pointing up at the stars. “I called the milky way the spirit road. Well, actually, I called it a lot of things, but I think that’s my favorite of the names. I followed the Old Woman’s Grandchild-” he’d pointed at the north star. “-to see Ma-Canada every year. The Aurora Borealis scared both of us every time we saw it. First time I did I was told it was the ghost of fallen enemies, trying to rise from the dead and kill us all. I didn’t go back up for ages during the lights, just to be safe.” He prattled on for a bit and Russia said nothing for some time.

“You talk like you’re my age.” he’d grumbled finally. 

“Maybe I am.” America had grinned at him. “It’s not like I wasn’t here before you whites showed up. I just wasn’t very old.” Russia’d grunted again. After a few moments, America had nudged him with his foot. Russia had raised an eyebrow. 

“Kaikye?”

“I’m gonna assume that means what.” America had shifted in his coat a little. “You have constellations too, right?”

“Of course I do. It’s not like the stars disappear when they get to me.”

“Not like that. I mean, like… story names. Stuff like that. From before we had to learn the Greek ones like Andromeda and stuff.” Russia was quiet for a bit and America had thought that his ally was about to get up and leave. But, after a moment, he’d crushed his cigarette against the bench seat and pointed up at Orion’s Belt. 

“That’s three deer.” He’d pointed at a neighboring star. “A hunter shot that, to kill them.”

When Britain had came out, he found the pair of them discussing constellations. America had tried to rope him in, but when Britain had brought up the Greek constellations he’d gotten booed.

“Tell us about the Celtic ones, from before you were... whatever you are now.”

“Must you always be so childish?” Britain had muttered.

“Yeah, now stop being French and tell us about the stars.” Britain had heaved a bit of a sigh. He’d accepted the light from Russia, then took a deep breath.

The next morning, when they came down for breakfast, all three nations were beat - they’d stayed up almost all night before realizing how late it was, talking about stars and cultures long silenced.

During the space race, ten years almost to the day later, America practically breathed NASA. He read every paper he could get his hands on, he spent hours just peering through their high-tech telescopes. He listened to every report like an eager puppy. Finally, the things he’d looked at for so long were almost in reach. 

He landed on the moon first and sent Russia a rather smug little note, nothing more than a ha ha look what I did, but still. He wondered if Russia had been just as excited about getting to the places they’d always looked at, the places they’d been told stories about by people long gone. Now they could study them, see them up close. Maybe one day they’d even be able to see them from a live space station, lounging in seats eating apple pie. That sounded great.

Years later, when the Cold War was over, he found himself sitting with Canada during a meeting in Norway. The Northern Lights were dancing overhead and they’d taken a moment to go outside and look.

“Do you still think they’re going to turn into warriors to kill you?” Russia rumbled as he came out. He was different than he had been, but America privately thought he was still an asshole. 

“You told him about that?” Canada rolled his eyes.

“During the War, yeah.” America shrugged, grinning a little. “Nah, not anymore. I’ve gone past them, I know what’s up there.”

“Do we?” Russia leaned against the railing like the two North Americans were doing. “Maybe the ghosts are just a little further.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Canada shuddered. “I still have nightmares when I’m far north.” America laughed. “You do too!” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t!” 

Yes, the stars were ever presence. They were guiding, they were storytellers, they were connections to past and to present people. They were the future, America knew it. He wanted to see more of them, find new places out there were maybe new people, new species, could talk about their constellations and their stories.

Plus, they let him be smug when talking with Russia because I landed on the moon first, beotch, and I’ll see everything else first too.

----

Thanks for reading!

Sorry I was gone for a bit, had stuff to work on, but now it’s Nanowrimo and break time! I know very little about Native constellations, but I was trying to project that America learned the constellations from every tribe in his territory so those names sometimes mix him up. 

Elections suck. I just want this over with. I’m on a bit of a star-kick so I might end up doing more star-stuff later on, but this was just a little thought burst to get me back into a writing grove. 

[quickspinner]

MLHolidays2k19 24. Jingle Bells

How many Lukanette meet-cutes can I write? Apparently a lot.

Luka stared at the wall of small jars in front of him, debating between actually searching through the hundreds of labels, and walking out and telling Juleka that this store was out too. His sister was on some kind of quest to find a very specific type of glitter that Rose desperately needed. Juleka had been to five craft stores and Luka to three, but he was beginning to feel like maybe he should just let Juleka work this one out on her own.

Except he couldn’t abandon his sister on Christmas, because he loved her and also because he was a sucker. Also because of a little niggling fear that she might know the way she sometimes did, and it was hard to guard against the revenge of a sister with whom you shared a room.

He jumped and whirled at a yelp behind him, just in time to see a girl tumble into a display of boxed jingle bells artistically but impractically stacked in the middle of the store aisle. Even as he jogged over to the help, the poor girl curled up and covered her head with her arms as jingle bells of all sizes tumbled from their boxes and rained down on her. 

Luka’s ears were still ringing from the disaster when he reached the scene and knelt next to the girl. “Are you all right?” he asked the girl softly, laying a hand on her arm. “That looked like it hurt.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” she laughed shakily, rubbing her head and looking over herself. “I mean when it comes to me a few more bumps and bruises don’t really matter. I collect them like some people collect stamps.” 

“I think you need a better hobby,” Luka chuckled, helping her up with a slight jingling as they sent bells of various sizes rolling, and his stomach did a little flip when she laughed. Oh no you don’t, Luka thought at it grimly. I am absolutely not doing this again. No more insta-crushes for the rest of the year, I swore. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Luka and the girl both turned their heads and winced at the look on the store employee’s face. He looked about Luka’s age and his name tag said Tim.

“I’m so sorry,” gasped the girl, looking at the devastation of bells around her. “I’m so, so sorry, there was one on the floor and I slipped on it and I—I’m so so sorry.” 

“Yeah, right, that’s why you were standing here laughing it up. You think this is funny? You probably knocked it down on purpose just to make more work for poor saps like me.” Tim scowled. 

The girl shrank in on herself. “N-no, I really am so sorry—I’m super clumsy, I tripped and—I’m so sorry, I’ll help clean it up I swear—”

“Hey, friend, listen,” Luka said, taking a quick step forward. “I saw the whole thing, she really didn’t do it on purpose. She honestly fell, and let’s be honest, man, it probably wasn’t the best display to put out in the middle of the aisle like that. It was bound to come down eventually.” He grinned. “I’ll bet you told management that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tim admitted, folding his arms. “I did, and they made me put it up anyway. It took hours.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Luka said sympathetically. “That really sucks and I know you’ve got to be crazy busy today. But look, like she said, we’ll help you clean it up—”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Tim sighed, deflating. “At least I get paid to deal with it. Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” he asked belatedly, looking to the girl behind Luka.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said meekly. “Are you sure you don’t want help—”

“No, you guys just get on with your day,” he smiled, waving her off. “I have to be here until closing anyway, at least I’ve got an excuse not to talk to customers for a while.” He winced, looking over his shoulder, probably hoping his supervisor hadn’t heard.

“Thank you,” she said, and Luka thought she must have smiled, because the employee blushed a bit. 

“No problem miss,” he said. “I’ll just, um...go get a broom and a bucket to put all these in.”

“Thanks for being cool about it, man,” Luka smiled. 

“And thank you,” the girl said as the employee left, looking up at Luka with huge blue eyes and a soft smile. Oh wow, no wonder that guy—no, nope. No. “I should have said something but I couldn’t think anything except ‘I can not be the person who caused an akuma on Christmas Eve.’ Thank you so much. Uh, my name’s Marinette, by the way.” 

“I’m Luka,” he smiled. “Everyone gets a little tense this close to Christmas, especially retail workers. Most of the time they just need a reminder that they deserve to be treated like humans too.”

“That’s very insightful,” Marinette said, her smile growing a little. “You must be a very kind person, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated (oh no no no stop that) and he shrugged. “I just try to put kindness out there and hope it will come back to me.”

“Um, well, can I buy you a cup of coffee next door?” Marinette said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “So at least a little bit of kindness comes back to you today?”  

Ugh, she’s too cute. “I’d really like to,” Luka sighed, and meant it. “But I’m here on a mission and my sister will kill me if I blow her off.”

“Ah,” Marinette giggled. “A Christmas craft emergency?”

“Something like that,” Luka rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately this is way out of my wheelhouse and her very specific instructions are Greek to me. I was going I to ask someone, but—“ He shot a look back in the direction the worker had gone. “I think maybe I won’t bother him again.”

“Maybe I can help?” Marinette asked shyly, and Luka smiled, pulling up the message from Juleka and handing it over. Marinette frowned at it for a moment, and then her face lit up. “Oh, you need glitter, not embossing powder, you’re totally in the wrong section! I can show you—“ She backed up a step and turned, but her foot caught on another display rack and she pitched forward with a yelp.

Luka had seen the whole thing coming as soon as she stepped back, and was already lunging after her as she turned. He caught Marinette with one arm around her waist and caught the display rack with his other hand just in time to keep it from toppling over. For a moment they hung suspended in a battle of physics, but Marinette managed to shift her weight into him just enough to give him the leverage he needed to get her fully upright. 

“Nice reflexes,” Marinette said weakly, hunching her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy. I shouldn’t be let out of the house.”

“You’re fine,” Luka said, breathing a little hard from the effort. Marinette was heavier than she looked. “Maybe just slow down a bit?” he suggested with a smile. 

“Right,” she giggled, handing back his phone, which she had somehow managed to hang on to the whole time. “That’s probably a reminder I could use more often.” 

I’d be happy to—No, damnit!

“Well,” he said, gesturing onward. “You were saying?”

Marinette smile. “It’s this way,” she said, setting off at a less frantic pace.

“I guess you come here often?” Luka asked as she guided them through the store. She was surprisingly efficient, when she wasn’t crashing into things.

“Pretty often,” Marinette said cheerfully. “I make a lot of things myself—more with fabric than paper, but you know, sometimes you just need a touch of glitter to make things perfect! What’s your sister making?”

“I have no idea, honestly,” Luka admitted. “She just said she needed it, so here I am.”

“Aww, you’re such a good brother,” Marinette said, reaching out and squeezing his arm lightly. His pulse jumped. He could almost hear Juleka now. Ugh, you’re pathetic, a little attention from a pretty girl and you lose your mind completely. “Here we go, it should be down here,” Marinette said, guiding him down an aisle that looked exactly like the one he had been in before.

A label on the shelf caught his eye. “Wait, isn’t this it?” Luka paused, reaching for the jar. 

“No, no, that’s coarse and your message said ultra fine,” Marinette said, grabbing his hand and tugging him further down the aisle. “It’ll be down here.” 

She didn’t let go of his hand as she studied the shelf, and he didn’t quite have the heart to pull it back, though he continued berating himself in his head. He’d never much minded his tendency to develop spontaneous crushes. It gave him something to think about, something happy for his daydreams instead of day to day worries and the crushing weight of the future. He accepts it, he enjoys it, and then he plays it out and lets it go when it’s time for it to drift away and most of the time the people he’s thinking about don’t even know.

Not all the time though. The last one ended very badly, and rather publicly, and resulted in a lot of embarrassment for him. Luka had decided to make more of an effort to keep his heart to himself, for a little while. 

Apparently he’d let the bad habit go on too long, though, because he was having a lot of trouble resisting the pull now, and he didn’t even know this girl.

Marinette squealed in triumph and let go of his hand to go over to the shelf and reach up. She stood on her toes, and her shirt rode up a little, and Luka’s eyes widened slightly as she stretched. Marinette had great abs. No wonder she felt so heavy even though she looked so thin, if she was built like that.

“I can’t quite reach it, can you—” she turned to look at him, and Luka jolted as she caught him staring.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, blushing hard as he looked away. “I didn’t mean to stare, that’s just an impressive six pack you’ve got there.” Smooth. Someone just kill me, please.

Marinette grinned and winked at him, and he was sure he actually did die a little bit inside. “I’m secretly a superhero,” she giggled, and he couldn’t help laughing in return. No, no, don’t laugh, don’t watch her be cute, argh… “The glitter you need is right up there, but I’m not quite tall enough.” 

“Oh, yeah, I got it,” he said quickly, stepping up beside her. He picked up the jar that had been just out of her reach. “Wow, only one left.” Luka took out his phone and compared the label to the message Juleka had sent him. “Yes, this is it. Awesome.” He took a picture of the jar and sent it to Juleka, and then looked up and grinned. “Thanks, Marinette.” 

“I’m so glad I could help,” she grinned back, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “Mission accomplished, yay!” 

“So, uh,” Luka began (no, don’t do it, don’t do it), “Is that coffee still on the table? Although I think I might owe you now.” Idiot.

The way Marinette brightened was bad for his heart. “I’d love to. Um, let me grab what I needed and meet you at the checkout?” 

“Perfect,” Luka grinned. “See you soon.” Don’t flirt, what are you doing, dumbass, haven’t we been through this enough times this year? Ugh, but she’s really sweet.

When Juleka found him at the café with Marinette, their cups were empty and so were the plates in front of them. Luka was watching Marinette lick one last bit of chocolate frosting on her fork with much more than polite interest, when Juleka’s hand crashed down on his shoulder, making him jump nearly a foot.

“Juleka!” he scowled, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Maybe you’d have heard me coming if you weren’t distracted,” Juleka said, digging her fingers into his shoulder. “Hi, Marinette.”

“Hi Juleka,” Marinette grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same,” Juleka replied, and he didn’t have to look up to know she was smiling. “Thanks for helping out my stupid brother. I’m assuming you’re the real hero here.”

“Oh. Oh!” Marinette’s eyes widened, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. “Oh my gosh, I should have realized.”

“Nah,” Luka shrugged. “Juleka looks way more like our mom. Unfortunately I take after our dad. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“She’s in my class, dummy,” Juleka said dryly. “You remember the pictures? I showed you Marinette specifically because she made them happen.” She leaned down, and for once he was grateful for her signature mumble. “You thought she was cute then too.”

“Shut up,” he hissed back. 

Marinette started to say something and then jumped as her phone alarm went off. She looked at it and her eyes went huge. “Oh no, Madame Chamack’s party—I’m supposed to babysit! I’m so sorry Luka, Juleka, I have to go!”

“Careful,” Luka said, reaching out to catch her arm as she got tangled in her chair trying to get up. “Slow down, remember?”

“I really can’t this time,” she smiled. “But I’ll try to be careful at least.” She headed for the café entrance. “It was nice meeting you!” Marinette called over her shoulder as she fumbled the door open, waving, and Luka waved back, a familiar smile stretching his face, and he knew he was doomed.

Juleka saw it, and rolled her eyes. “Again, Luka, seriously? Ugh, you’re pathetic, a little attention from a pretty girl and you lose your mind completely.”

Luka put his head down on his arms and groaned. “I know, right?” he grumbled. “I tried but she’s so cute and nice…”

Juleka gave an exasperated sigh, but then seemed to reconsider. “Well…” she said slowly. “Actually, you could do a lot worse than Marinette. She’d be good for you. She’s sweet, really smart, and a lot of fun. Even if she turned you down, assuming you got the guts to actually confess in the first place, she’d be nice about it.” Once again, he doesn’t have to see the look on her face to know she’s smirking. He can read the subtle changes of her dry tones just as easily as as his mother’s boisterous cries. “You’d get a lot of music out of a girl like her.”

“This is your idea of helping, isn’t it?” Luka said flatly. 

“No,” Juleka’s smirk widened. “Helping would be giving you her number, which I happen to have.” Luka sat up. “But what would I get out of this? If I’m going to have to listen to you sigh like a sap over my friend for a couple months, what’s in it for me?”

Luka raised an eyebrow and took the vial of glitter out of his pocket. “Thanks to Marinette, I got the last jar,” he said smugly, holding it up. “How do you think Rose is going to react when you bring her the last jar of ultra fine unicorn rainbow sparkle blah blah whatever in Paris?” 

“Done,” Juleka said immediately, snatching at the jar. Luka moved it easily out of reach. Juleka sighed and pulled out her phone. 

[sparklingpax]

Tales From Iacon - Part 1: Kalos

A/N:

-Set in the Aligned continuity! Specifically, TFP :3

-Ik this translates to something like "noble" or "good" in Greek and this is the title because of the character you're gonna meet (just someone I came up with on the spot,,,,please don't get mad if theres already someone like that in TF I swear I did not intend to copy anyone's stuff—) and also because of the "goodness" and "nobility" in the ultimate message of his character's existence, as well as a reference to the idea of the cause for equality on Cybertron and all. Idk that probably doesn't make sense. It made more sense in my head!!!! OK anyway,,

-Please forgive me for typos or atrocious grammar things idk most of this was written at 4 am because I couldn't sleep also sorry if it's incoherent or boring or ooc please have mercy on me I just wanted to have some fun and write about these two because I love them--

-Also this is originally from my wattpad! (@/kunixjiro if you’re interested in my other stories as well) I will be updating chapters as I write them both there and here <3 </p>

 -I tried to use to terms that are specific to Cybertronian lingo. Please forgive me if there are any mistakes with the usages; I looked them up and tried to do some research based off a few of the books I have, but then again, I might have mistaken them to mean something else. Either way, pls leave a comment if you want me to explain what something means. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the story! :D

/ / /

The sky was a perfect, clear blue.

White wisps of clouds floated in the sky at a carefree pace.

Yet, said clouds did not mar the color of the sky—the beautiful, blue sky.

Sitting far below, on a bench in a park in Iacon City, Orion Pax stared up at it. He contemplated the shapes of the clouds, wondering what exactly they reminded him of. Regardless of success in such an endeavor (or not), Orion found absolute peace in quietly contemplating nature around him.

He was therefore contented at present. Right then and there, Orion would have been more than happy to stay for centuries to come.

The sky is, after all, endless. Much more than what his small optics could see was beyond.

That thought alone excited his scholarly curiosity. Planets, life, solar systems! So much left to find in such a great, big universe. Orion shut his eyes and smiled. How wonderful it is, this day. Thank you, great Primus, for creating such a lovely place. He opened his eyes again to survey the world presently before him.

Closest to his bench, Orion saw a group of sparklings playing catch. He shifted his gaze to his right, seeing two adolescent bots walking together, giggling carefreely. To his left was an older bot, manning his small "Energon Cube-sugar" station with a contented smile. Someone was reading a book on another bench. Over at the far side of the grass was a dancer showing off their skills to some music as onlookers cheered encouragingly. Outside the grassy clearing, many more citizens of Iacon moved about—to work or to play Orion did not know, but nonetheless, the world was alive around him.

Megatronus is taking quite a long while to show up. I know he is often otherwise engaged with matters in his political or gladiatorial life...though I wonder if he even remembered...

Orion picked up his holopad and began scrolling through his assignment calendar while he waited. Nothing had been updated, so Orion sighed a little and shut off the device, returning his gaze to the sky.

He wondered why he hadn't brought the pad that had books to read on it.

Megatronus...please don't tell me you actually forgot again—

"Pax!"

At the sound of his name, Orion jolted a little. He smiled to himself as he saw Megatronus's large figure striding through the park, across the clearing to his bench. Well, I guess I was wrong.

When the silver-and-burgundy-plated bot reached him, Orion stood up to greet him.

"Still alive after all those matches in the rink?" He joked lightly. Megatronus grinned playfully.

"Still alive after all those exams?" Orion widened his eyes in slight surprise, then they shared a laugh. "Well, I see how it is. I am pleased to see you are well." Megatronus extended a servo.

Taking it, Orion replied, "Thank you. It is good that you are, also."

They sat down.

Originally, Orion had wanted to talk about philosophy regarding the societal structures of Cybertron, which both of them had qualms with at present. However, after Orion had gotten food from the stand nearby, and the pair had begun discussing interesting sights Iacon had to offer...

"I can show you the very store I purchased this from," Orion gestured to the holopad in his hand. "It has a wide variety of tools, as well as a wider range of prices." Megatronus perked up a little at the second statement. "The shopkeeper is a nice, old bot."

"Is he, now?" The gladiator leaned back and stared at the sky, considering whether it would be a good idea or not. His eyes were lit with a strange mix of inquiry, annoyance, and amusement. "Would he permit a lower caste bot into his store, Orion? According to society, I should not be in this city at all, anyway."

"With me, he most likely will." Orion answered firmly. He then frowned. "And don't say that, Megatronus. You and I both know that anybot belongs anywhere they please. Freedom is a basic right of all, is it not?"

Megatronus gave his friend a sideways look, the corner of his mouth twisted into a wry smile.

"Huh."

Orion sighed, then elaborated a little bit. "His name is Kalos and he has been a kind bot for all the time I have known him. I have never seen him raise his voice or say harsh things. In fact, he's been to Iacon once or twice, and he and Alpha Trion are friends."

As he spoke, Orion realized just how silly it was starting to sound—that he would know just how a lower-caste bot like Megatronus would be received at an upper-caste level store in Iacon. As an archivist at Iacon Hall of Records, as well as a scholar, it would stand to reason Orion had never seen Kalos be disrespectful or harsh to him—even if Orion was still not part of the upper-caste classes. It was true that he was not explicitly owed respect as per the society's standards.

However, it wasn't impossible that the people of Iacon were kind souls on their own.

I feel as though he is a kind bot regardless of caste. Things could still go well.

"I suppose the only way to know is to go and see for oneself." Megatronus's voice pulled Orion out of his thoughts. He turned to see Megatronus standing up. "Lead the way, Pax."

Orion nodded, smiling a little himself as he rose from the bench. "If we get in with no trouble, I can use my card to get something for you. After all, you traveled such a distance to meet me and I earned a little from —"

Megatronus laughed a little, placing a servo on his friend's shoulder.

"If we get in. Though..." He paused as if to say something, then shook his head. He patted Orion's shoulder gently. "Thank you just as well, Orion."

The young archivist tapped Megatronus's arm as a return gesture. "Anytime, Megatronus."

/ / /

As it was a rather calm day on the streets, Orion and Megatronus met little traffic of people as they walked, all the while discussing mostly inconsequential things. They arrived at the threshold of the store within about 4 units.

Upon reaching it, Orion immediately drifted from Megatronus mid-speech to go stare at the display window. He remembered that Kalos often put in updated editions of things or entirely new items behind the glass, and wondered if there was anything new today.

Megatronus raised an eyebrow in curiosity, drawing closer to the window. He was amazed by all the little things in the window. Even if he didn't know what they were or what they did, he was still happy to look at the items anyway.

"These are such nice looking things, aren't they?" Orion commented as his gaze jumped from one thing to the next. Megatronus sighed lightly.

"Back on Kaon, there are no such stores as this one. We do not have much there, anyway." He murmured quietly. Nor Shanix enough to buy anything if indeed such stores existed.

Orion immediately felt bad and turned to say something to apologize, but when he saw Megatronus, he was relieved. His friend had a calm and light expression on his face as he stared at the display.

"Go in?"

"Let's."

Orion moved away from the display and walked through the front door. Megatronus followed cautiously behind, shifting his gaze from side to side at the clean, organized shelves and tables.

It was his first time in such a nicely kept store. He was content to be there even for a second.

Even if moments from now, this "Kalos" asks me my profession and I am thrown out for not following caste rules—

"Megatronus, come!" Orion called. He was standing by a small table in the back, upon which a few variations of the holopad he owned were placed neatly beside one another. On a paper below the table were listed the prices. As Megatronus drew closer, he made a noise of interest at the fair price for each device.

Though I don't have enough for anything, these seem proportionate. Not too much, yet not too little. Interesting.

Orion watched Megatronus as he leaned in to observe the details of the pads, then without saying anything, swiveled around to look at the other things on the walls.

He had such a large figure, Orion was a little worried he would accidentally knock something over. But, then again, Megatronus was not clumsy. Orion decided it would be safe if he walked to another part of the store and let his friend browse at his own discretion.

"Ahh, Orion! It is nice to see you again." The kind voice belonged to the bot walking down the aisle. Orion turned to greet the bot, smiling warmly.

"It is nice to see you as well, Kalos. The display outside looked wonderful as always." The old shopkeeper chuckled, patting Orion's back. His plating of many shades of green looked quite shiny, Orion noted internally.

"I had hoped it would! It pleases me that you enjoyed it."

They both turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the opposite side of the aisle. Megatronus was about to say something, but stopped as soon as he saw Kalos. His demeanor changed and became more guarded almost immediately—Orion sensed it.

"Good afternoon. You are Kalos?" Megatronus came to a halt next to Orion. Kalos smiled, nodding.

"That is me, indeed! Welcome to my store. I haven't seen you here before, are you new to the town as a resident, sir?"

"I am not..." Megatronus stared at the ground until Orion nudged him discreetly.

"Ah! Traveling from another city, then! How interesting." Kalos had the purest look of kindness in his entire demeanor. Megatronus took note of this. He could see why Orion had suggested things would go well.

"Yes..." He turned to Orion to see if the archivist could introduce him instead. Orion took the cue and made a gesture to Megatronus.

"This is a good friend of mine from Kaon City. His name is Megatronus."

Externally, Megatronus and Orion remained completely calm, but internally, they were waiting for something bad to happen.

...nothing did.

Kalos, without missing a beat, clapped his hands together. "Welcome to Iacon, Megatronus! Kaon is such a long way, and you have traveled far. Thank you for coming into my store!" He seemed not to care. Orion was relieved, though he did not show it.

Megatronus was shocked, but he simply laughed a little and thanked Kalos.

Minutes later, Megatronus had said his goodbyes and left the store to wait outside. Orion was at the checkout, thinking quietly about how he had been right (and how glad he was that he had been).

"Lost in thought, Orion?" Kalos began working the register. "I know who that bot is." He started quietly. Orion immediately felt his stomach churn. Oh no. He could report both of us—

"I agree with what he says. The idea of true equality and the end of this caste system—I always have. What kind of a world would this be if we were to pick and choose who gets our kindness and respect because they were born one way or another?" He shook his head and chuckled as Orion simply stared in complete shock.

Well...I did not expect this, for sure...

"You're probably wondering why an old bot like me would go with the new order rather than the old..." He handed the bag to the young scholar with a smile. "I think with all the wisdom I've gathered from my time alive, I'd be an utter fool not to see corruption when it happens. And I'm sure you believe the same as me."

Orion nodded slowly. He had an entirely new respect for Kalos.

What a great bot...he really is kind on his own.

The green-plated shopkeeper extended a servo and patted Orion's chest lightly, then drew it away and placed it on his own chest.

"That's all that matters in a bot, really. If Primus gave one to each and every bot alive, then it only makes sense that....Primus meant to say we all belong."

/ / /

Kalos stood at his shop's threshold and waved at Orion and Megatronus as they began to walk away. Orion turned and waved back.

"Thank you again, Kalos! See you soon!"

"Anytime, Orion! And Megatronus," The silver-burgundy bot turned at his name. "Safe travels back home! Come again sometime!"

Megatronus smiled back. He waved.

The pair made their way back to the entrance at Iacon, arriving just as the sun was going down.

Iacon was lit warm gold and pinkish silver as the rays of the sun touched the metal and sunk behind the great mountains in the distance. The sky above was painted a vibrant spray of colors, as if to dance one last time before the darkness of majestic, navy night came upon it.

"Here, Megatronus." Orion handed him the bag. "Don't break it." He joked, a trace of a grin on his face. His friend smirked.

"I'll only bring it when I fight lower-level threats." He shot back. They laughed.

Megatronus held it up to the sunlight, to look at the intricacy of the device. It was very elegant, just as the rest of the store had been. And Kalos...Orion didn't want to tell him yet what they had spoken about, but Megatronus sensed that Kalos was someone he could trust.

As Orion had put it, a true, kind-sparked individual.

"Thank you, Pax. I will take care of this and...try not to break it."

"You're welcome. Thank you for coming all the way here to Iacon. I...hope we can meet again soon, Megatronus." Orion and Megatronus shook hands.

As Megatronus turned to leave, he stopped, remembering something.

"Orion. I do have one question about this..." Orion tilted his head to the side a little.

Megatronus activated it. "How...exactly does this work, beyond activation?"

"Do you mean what can it be purposed for?"

"No, I mean.....I don't exactly know....how to use it...."

Silence hung in the air for a nanosecond or two, and then both of them burst into laughter.

The light of the sky shone on their plating, coating them in its soft, golden, pinkish light as they laughed together over such a silly thing.

Together, as good friends in the midst of the brewing troubles of Cybertron.

Laughing at how Megatronus now owned a holopad he had no clue how to use.

[sarcastic-space-gal]

Archangel’s Bane (Part 2)

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader;

Word Count: 1370 ;

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood;

Summary: What if i tell you that Lucifer was cast out of Heaven because of… love?

A/N: Hi everyone! This is the second part of Archangel’s Bane! Thank you so so much for the lovely comments, i’m really glad that you liked the first part, i hope you will like this one too! As always, feedback is much appreciated! Here is the first part Archangel’s Bane . Here is a Lucifer one shot: Pay me a Visit In Heaven . Love you all xo xo.

“Do you think this is gonna work?”  Sam put his hands on his hips as Dean scanned the table where all the ingredients were displayed.

“I don’t know Sam, nobody ever tried to do this” Cas was right beside him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Awesome” Dean stated with a fake smile on his face.

“Alright this is the last one!”

Rowena entered in the library while her red curls twirled in the air, carrying a huge bucket and placing it on the table with a satisfied smile. Dean, Sam and Cas decided to call her as soon as they found out that in order to free this being they needed to perform a spell, and even if she wasn’t fond of the idea, as much as the others, she ultimately decided to help them. After all, Lucifer did terrible things to her, as to everyone else in the room.

“I have a question” Rowena suddenly spoke up “How did you even find this spell?”

Castiel sighed heavily.

“That was not easy. As far as I knew there wasn’t any information about all this story, because God wanted to keep it ‘confidential’. But I guess that even him needed to make some notes about where and how to use this power. The question was where?”

“Luckily, we have been able to find this” Sam turned around and took a strange, round tablet in his hands, holding it tight.

“Look like an Angel Tablet” commented the witch.

“How do you know about the Angel Tablet?” Dean looked a little shocked, as much as the other two.

“Oh boy, I know many things!” she winked in his direction with a smirk, earning a scoff from Dean.

“Anyway, as you might know, in order to read these tablets, you must have a prophet who can translate them, but fortunately, we managed to keep all the notes Kevin had done in the past with the others tablets and we ultimately decrypted the content, and found these ingredients” Sam explained holding in his hands all the notes about the spell.

“Well done boys, I’m actually quite impressed”

“However” he continued “we need a specific ingredient, that we don’t have”

He looked up from the papers and found his brother’s glare upon him, expectantly.

“Which is?” Dean asked.

“Well, uhm, we need...”

“Yes?” his brother urged.

“Archangel’s blood”

“You have to be kidding me” Dean responded in utter frustration, as Cas looked away from him with an irked sigh.

“That could be a problem” Rowena pointed out.

“Well, no shit”

“There’s only one archangel available” Sam kept looking down, his voice just a mumble.

“How? How can we even do that? Oh, hey Satan, just wanted some of your blood to release a thousands years old, powerful being, that you used to love, in order to kill you once and for all, along with your other three brothers” the others kept listening to Dean in complete silence.

That wouldn’t be easy, but the situation was desperate, Lucifer was out there in the world, probably ready to start another apocalypse. Whatever was the price, they should have at least tried.

“Dean I understand what you’re saying, but I can’t see any other possible option. I mean we tried everything in the past months and nothing was able to stop him. This is the chance we were searching for.”

“Sam is right” Cas spoke up.

“I can use a spell to trap him, but it won’t last for too long”

“We just need the time to take some of his blood, and then we are done. We can do this” Sam looked at Dean with hope in his eyes.

His brother stared at Sam deeply for few moments and then spoke up again.

“Then let’s do this”

The plan was simple. As much as taking blood from Satan could be called simple. Rowena prepared the seals and painted them shaping a sort of circle and placing some lit candles around. Dean would have summoned him, Sam was already near the circle, ready to take the sample of blood, and Cas was near Rowena with his angel blade tight in his hand. The bunker’s dungeon was embedded in a dim light, creating a chilling atmosphere all around, as no one dared to utter a word.

“Rowena are you ready?”

“I am”

“You should pass me this recipe” Sam suggested.

“I don’t share my magical knowledge Sam, try again” she smiled at him as he left out a chuckle.

“Alright let’s begin”

The witch opened up her arms looking down at the bowl of mixed herbs in front of her and started.

“In nomine magni, dei nostri Satanas

introibo ad altare, Domini Inferi”

Rowena tossed a match on the herbs as the bowl suddenlly went on fire, a bright red fire, which quickly turned black and then extinguished.

“Hello Sammy” a too much familiar voice spoke up “My old roomy!” he said with a happy voice which sounded even more creepy.

Everyone turned around and found Lucifer standing there, in the middle of the room.

“Lucifer” Sam whispered.

He wiggled his fingers in his direction with a smile.

“Missed me?”

“Ma do eh!” Rowena shouted.

“Oh come on!” Lucifer said.

With that, the circle went on fire, encircling Lucifer as he quickly changed his demeanor.

“What do you want?” he asked dead serious, his eyes flashing red for few moments.

“We need some of your blood” Sam responded bluntly.

“Kinky”

Sam was already going to get it when Lucifer spoke up again.

“OK hold on there, cowboy!” he pointed at him “You have at least explain to me why do you need-ARGH!”

Dean out of nowhere, sprinted towards him and took the blood sample from his arm, catching him off guard.

“I’m going to peel of your skin and eat your soul Dean Winchester!” Lucifer shouted.

“We should keep him there, if we need him again for the spell” Dean stated while running out the dungeon door together along with the others.

“I don’t know if the circle will resist any longer” Rowena pointed out.

“Then let’s do this now”

They all nodded and ran in the library where all the ingredients were already displayed to perform the spell.

Rowena approached the table as she poured the thick red liquid in the bowl.

“Quick Rowena!”

“These things take time, don’t rush me!” she shouted out in frustration. Lucifer loud screams resonated from the dungeon making everyone even more anxious.

“OK here we are”

“Mannen ob ervet

larthe ulli sonnthe

okket mir arvas

yortu re!”

A white light started spreading in the room as a strong wind encircled the guys. It grew stronger and stronger, forcing everyone to hide behind the walls, when suddenly everything stopped and the light started disappearing. The room fell quite.

Dean was the first one to squint behind the wall, soon followed by the others. As soon as they met eyes with her, their mouth opened in awe.

The legend told about a beautiful woman, but she was far beyond that. The first thing they thought was that they never ever in their lives seen such a beautiful creature. Words couldn’t describe her, there is no human word, no language or image that can portray her solemnity. She stood there in the middle of the library, like an ancient Greek marble statue. Superb and deadly. The most holy and severe glare that would ever meet their eyes was right in front of them. It was almost difficult to keep eye contact with her. It was like looking into the sun and into a dark deep celestial hole at the same time.

“Are you Y/n?” Sam slowly took a step forward towards her.

“I am” she responded looking deeply at him.

“Where am I?” she asked, a little confused “How did y-”

She was interrupted by a quickly approaching sound. Footsteps. The lights in the room started flickering, the bricks in the walls trembling.

“It is the end for you Winchesters, I will smite you al-”

Lucifer appeared at the door behind her as she turned towards the sound and saw him. They made eye contact and the expression on Lucifer’s face changed instantly.

At first he couldn’t even recognize her, but he was sure. That was her.

“Y/n?”

“Lucifer?”

        ___________________________________________________

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