#listen it would be way less awkward for a new japan belt to go on a ddt guy in 2024 than uh

[jupiterjunebug]

i am seeing some people who uh. i dont think realize that takeshita is not a new japan talent.

at least i assume. that is why we are saying "tony khan should do the right thing and let takeshita have the belt off moxley at double or nothing". Because the alternative is thinking that the right thing to do to rectify an aew talent defending the main new japan belt in america is to...........drop it to a guy who is from a third promotion on a ppv that new japan has NOTHING to do with? Just because that man is um? Japanese?

[aiden21]

A Universe of Coincidences Present Mic x gn!Reader

Word count: 4k+

You’d moved into this new apartment expecting nothing other than a change in scenery. You’d initially fallen in love with the view that your balcony provided. You were on a high enough floor that no other building nearby really got in the way, and if you closed one eye and stretched out one hand, it kinda looked like you were holding some of the city in the palm of your hand. You didn’t even care about the fact that the apartment itself was a little small, and you spent most of your free time out on the balcony in a small garden chair, just gazing out at the world happily.

You only went out a few times a week for anything that wasn’t work, this afternoon being one such case, for groceries or other necessities. You had a small list in your hand, not trusting your memory, and got in the elevator. The doors were about to close when you heard someone running and you instinctively pressed the button to keep the doors open. A man trotted inside the elevator, a charming smile on his face.

“Thank you~” He told you, in clear English, and you smiled shyly back at him.

You shook your wrist out of pure instinct, the charms on your bracelet clinging together. It was a black bracelet with red roses and you realized the man was staring at it with cheerful eyes.

“Did you just move in? I don’t think I’ve seen you around this venue before.” He asked, green eyes sparkling behind a modest pair of glasses. He was cute, you told yourself, with his long blonde hair and little mustache.

“I’ve been in 1407 for a few days.” You said, offering your last name and a polite smile. He hummed, nodded, and then when the elevator reached the ground floor all too quickly, he pointed at you with a finger gun.

“Welcome to the building! Enjoy the show!” He said before walking out while whistling happily, his strides much longer than yours. You waved at his back dumbly, already getting the feeling that you knew him from somewhere. You pondered upon that as you walked to the store, feeling like you had the answer on the tip of your tongue. But, alas, you didn’t think you’d ever seen that man face to face before and so you pushed the thought out of your mind for a while.

The following morning found you in comfy clothes, the sliding door to the balcony wide open to let the breeze in. You were unpacking a few things, hanging some decorations, while your favorite album played in the background. You had one of those modern vinyl players along with five of your favorite records, all a gift from your family last Christmas, and you liked to listen to them like that, even though you had the songs on your phone. It’d be a shame to just let the vinyls gather dust, after all. You sang along, placing things on shelves and stacking empty boxes on top of one another. You were far from being a good singer, but being home alone gave you the confidence to try and hold longer harmonies or reach higher notes, all things you wouldn’t be caught doing out in public.

You half danced your way around your living room, putting things in their new places. You stepped out into your balcony, still singing happily. You looked at your plants, reminding yourself that you had to water them once the sun went down.

You stretched, butchering the high note on the song but belting it out regardless, and then you stopped dead when another, much more harmonious voice joined you. Apartments on the same floors technically all shared one long balcony, but it’d been divided by walls on either side so everyone could have their privacy. Thus, you couldn’t actually see who was out on their balcony. But the voice—male, for what you could tell—sounded impossibly close. They kept on singing along to your music, clearly not caring about being heard, and you ran back inside with a hand over your mouth, blushing like crazy.

You tripped on the rug and cursed out loud, knocking over a stack of books. Outside the voice laughed cheerfully and you wanted to bury yourself alive out in the garden. Thankfully, they said nothing after that and, not having seen their face, you managed to swallow down your embarrassment. You pushed back the feeling that you knew that voice, not wanting to even think about what neighbor had caught you singing like a teenager.

You came back from work one day feeling exhausted. You wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, listen to some music, and go to sleep. You stepped inside the building and immediately the guard stopped you in the lobby. He pointed you towards some boxes—at least ten boxes big enough to fit a medium-sized dog inside—and told you that they were yours. Of course they were. During your move a few of your things had gotten lost, you having moved from one end of Japan onto the other, and the moving company had promised you that the boxes had simply gotten mixed up in someone else’s move. You half believed that you’d never see those things again, but lo and behold, you got your things back. Now to get them up to your apartment all by yourself, since the guard couldn’t leave his post at the gate. Wonderful.

The first box was easy.

The third one felt a little heavier.

The seventh one had you gasping and you were honestly considering just leaving the rest of your stuff in the lobby until the end of times. You were tired and annoyed and hungry and still in your work clothes.

The elevator opened with a cheerful ding and you sighed, dragging your feet and taking another box with the word ‘books’ written on top. You attempted to lift it, the air leaving your lungs on that first attempt before you got a better hold of the box. Your back was killing you and your arms hurt, but you carried on towards the elevator. Unable to use your hands, you attempted to balance on one leg so you could free one hand just long enough to call the elevator, but no such luck. You lost your balance and, while you caught yourself in time, the box was heading straight for the floor. But then, fast as lightning, a hand reached out and caught the side you’d lost your grip upon.

“That was close! Almost missed a beat!” He said and you immediately smiled in relief.

“Thank you,” You said, a nervous laugh escaping you. You tried to take the box back, but the blonde man easily took it from you with a friendly smile. He was wearing a flattering red jacket and stylish black pants, his hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“I got it.”

You felt a little awkward, a little dumb, a thousand things, “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“No problemo. Happy to help!” He responded cheerfully, anchoring the box with his hip, and easily calling for the elevator himself. You felt hot under your shirt and you weren’t sure if it was because of the effort of the past boxes or what.

No, fuck it, you knew what it was.

“Hold on, let me get another one before the elevator gets here,” You said, practically running away. There were three boxes left, and you read over the words written on them to try and decide which one would be the easiest one to carry. Or should you take a heavier one? Which would be less embarrassing? You finally picked one that said ‘pictures’ and made your way back, getting inside the already open elevator. He looked over your head, chuckling at the sight of boxes still left behind. He put his box down and told you to wait and you watched in absolute dismay as he stacked the two remaining boxes one on top of the other, easily—easily, the smooth bastard— carrying them over.

You were beet red when he got in the elevator with you, his happy-go-lucky smile threatening to burn you.

“Not to pry, but what’s all this?” He said, almost teasingly, and you had to look away.

“Some boxes went missing during my move. I already got everything else in my apartment.” You said shyly. He hummed, nodding. When you got to the 14th floor, he got off the elevator with two boxes while you carried the other two, thankful that he’d allowed you to help him. He was the one helping you, you knew that, but you still felt embarrassed at the fact.

He’s just a normal neighbor, he’s being friendly.

You got to your door and you pushed it open with your hip, wincing internally at how plain and messy your place was. You lived alone and many of your things had been missing, so you hadn’t bothered with some of your things. Your favorite record was on the counter, right where he placed the boxes he’d helped carry. You turned to steal a glance at his face and you saw him pursing his lips together, trying almost in vain to bite a smile back and you wanted to jump out the window. Still, you inhaled slowly and pushed your embarrassment back, offering him a smile.

“Thanks for the help, really.”

“My pleasure. I’m here all week.” He shot at you with finger guns, almost posing as he did so, and you giggled. He was a little goofy, but you liked that.

“Do you want some help with unpacking?” He asked but you shook your head immediately. “N-no, I’m okay. Thank you, though, I really owe you one!” You gave him a wide, bright smile, and he stared at you for a second. His brows raised a little beneath his glasses and you looked down on instinct, thinking you’d made a weird face. Then you perked up, turning towards your kitchen.

“Oh! Would you like some water? I can also make some tea or coffee if you’d like!” You sounded nervous, you couldn’t help it, but you knew it was the polite thing to do now that he was inside your house.

“I’d love to, but I gotta bounce.” He said, smiling apologetically. You stopped to look at him and then, almost embarrassed, you walked towards the door by his side. “Duty calls, the crowd is cheering, you know how it is.”

You nodded, not really understanding what he meant but smiling regardless. He gave you a small salute and started walking away, you already closing your door behind him. Then, right before it locked,

“It’s Yamada, by the way.”

“Huh?” You asked, reopening the door and peeking your head out. He had another easy-going smile on his lips.

“My name. You told me yours but I haven’t told you mine. I’m Yamada.” With that, he left.

You closed your door with a dumb smile, pinching your cheeks to try and stop yourself from blushing like a teen. You were a grown adult for crying out loud, your cute neighbor helping you out shouldn’t be something to fluster over. Still, you smiled.

You sat right in the division between your balcony and your living room, wanting to feel the night breeze but also wanting to listen to your radio. The device was inside and the volume was low out of respect for your neighbors, and you sighed contentedly as one song ended and another began. Your breath blew away the steam coming out of your mug and you smiled, taking a small sip of your drink. It was a beautiful night, the view of the city looking as if stars had landed on the ground, lights twinkling everywhere.

You always had trouble falling asleep, no matter what you tried. Tea and music helped a little, but at your core, you were a night owl. Most days were the same, you working into the early morning just to make the most out of your nights, but Friday was different. Because on Fridays Present Mic did his radio show and you absolutely loved it. Three hours of music, both foreign and local, only interrupted by one of the most charismatic, funniest heroes out there. What wasn’t there to love?

And now that you had your new place, with that gorgeous view, well, you could’ve stayed out there forever.

“And we’re back! How did you like the new song, listeners?” A familiar, animated voice flowed out of your speakers.

“Tonight, my lovely listeners, I’d like to pose you all with a little situation.” He said, something he did every week without fault. He would ask something to the audience and then, after a few more songs, he’d read a few of the responses he got online. It was sweet and fun and a nice way to interact with his audience, not to mention the only way you had to even speak a word to the guy. For as long as you’d watched the show, your responses had only been read twice thus far and, while frustrated to not get your favorite hero’s attention more often, you were still happy with those two little shoutouts.

“Pardon if I get a little cheesy, but sometimes the melodies of the soul grow tender and you can’t help but wonder a few things.”

You took another sip of your tea, Twitter open in your phone just so you could answer as fast as possible.

“Do you think sometimes life works in our favor?” He paused, chuckled, and then cleared his throat. “See, I think we attract things our way. We write our own songs, if you will. But sometimes I’ll have these moments, where the universe really seems to be trying to get my attention and I won’t be able to tell if it’s really a sign as much as it is a coincidence, you feel me?”

You listened to him intently, your phone forgotten by your side. It was… odd. Really odd. You’d heard this man’s voice over the radio for years but something felt different at that moment. Maybe it was the tone of voice, or the subject being discussed, or who knows what, but you got a different feeling this time. But what was it?

“See, I’ve gotten a few this last week. And I’m sure you all get them all the time. And now I’m thinking that, maybe, if the universe sings to you, it’s only polite to join in, harmonize.”

Something crossed your mind, a quick flash, but you shook your head out of pure instinct. No. There was no way.

“My question, or challenge more like it, to you this week is this: if you think you’ve heard the call recently, answer it. Cause you never know who might be listening to you.”

You saw a flash of green eyes, you remembered two elevator rides, but you kept shaking your head. You even laughed, thinking yourself a total idiot. It was impossible, right? I mean sure the voice was eerily familiar, but that was just a coincidence...

Right?

“Of course, as the dutiful host that I am, I can’t ask you to jam out without a proper beat, so I’ll start. Here’s my attempt at seeing if this week has been anything other than coincidences.”

He went silent and you held your breath for a moment, your expression stuck somewhere between mocking and panicked. Then the next song started playing and it took you about two seconds to recognize it. Was the record sleeve still on the counter? Was the vinyl still beneath the needle, waiting to resume that same, exact song?

A few things crossed your mind at that moment. The superficial, more impulsive side of you kinda wanted to toss the radio out the window. The more intense side of you wanted to scream, because Goddammit, HOW HAD YOU NOT RECOGNIZED HIM AT ANY POINT!? Sure, the few times you two had crossed paths he’d been dressed in civilian clothes, he’d been wearing seeing glasses, and his hair had been held together by a simple bun, rather than the crazy updo that he usually wore. But still, you chided yourself, you’d shared an elevator with him twice already. You’d talked to him, face to face. He’d been inside your home, for crying out loud!

How? Hoooooow?

You groaned, letting your back hit the ground while you covered your face in absolute shame. You stayed down until the song was over and, as other songs played, you started going through every stage of grief, in order.

There was no way, absolutely no way. It was just a coincidence, that was all. Your neighbor just happened to be blonde and handsome and also happened to make a few musical references as he spoke, but that was normal. Anyone could do that. Besides, you’d never seen him in costume; there’s no way a respectable hero would go out wearing casual clothes. What if they ran into danger?

How had you not put the pieces together earlier? You were such an idiot, just talking to him as if he was a normal, cute guy. How had you let him carry your boxes for you!? He probably thought you were so dumb by now. How could you be so blind, so DEAF!? HE’D EVEN TOLD YOU HIS LAST NAME! Why had God cursed you with such stupidity?

At this point he started talking again, reading out some of the responses he’d gotten and encouraging people to ‘go for it!’

Oh God, there was no way you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. You’d never be able to listen to that song again without thinking of how badly you’d messed up, how badly you’d probably offended him by not recognizing him. You’d just moved in, too, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to step foot outside again. Why had he even played that song? Had he been the one to sing with you and then laugh at you? Oh great. He knew you were an idiot. Wonderful. It was over. Your life was over.

No, wait, maybe there was some way to fix this. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to sing and laugh, maybe he’d just listened to that from his own balcony and found it funny. Maybe this ‘sign’ was meant for the other person, the one that sang so much better than you. Maybe you were making all of it up in your head, a stupid fan moment where you really wanted him to know you, really wanted to be that close to him without even knowing. Besides, you could still sell the apartment and move somewhere far away.

You groaned again, pulling at your hair. You stared at the ceiling as the music stopped, as he gave his audience his usual, animated goodnight, even as the night air grew colder. It must have been sometime past midnight when you finally decided to act like a normal adult once more. You got up, switched the radio off, and closed your balcony door. You heaved a sigh, suddenly craving another cup of tea and a nice, long bath.

You shoved a mug full of water inside the microwave, not in the mood to boil the water properly. You watched the cup go round and round, the loud humming of the appliance giving you a crumb of comfort. You had to relax, you told yourself. Everything would be fine.

The sound of the power outage mimicked a sad sigh, the absolute silence of your apartment slapping you in the face. You sighed, resting your forehead against the counter. If the universe really did send out signs, then you wanted to slap the universe smack dab across the face. You glanced outside and, sure enough, all of the buildings and houses in your area had been plunged into absolute darkness.

“Anything else?” You asked to the heavens, slightly annoyed.

From the hallway, you heard a loud crash and a high-pitched yelp, and you sighed as dramatically as you could. You grabbed your phone, turned on the flashlight, and ventured out.

It was kinda creepy, you weren’t gonna lie. You hadn’t lived in there for long enough to grow familiar with anything, so the pitch-black hallway made you shiver. It was like a horror movie set up, you thought as you turned. You’d look down the other end of the hall and a monster would be waiting for you, ready to strike you down.

Except, it wasn’t a ghost or a ghoul. It was Yamada—should you call him Present Mic? Which would be less awkward to you?— with his green eyes wide and his hands outstretched. He’d knocked over one of those silver cylinders where buildings hide their fire extinguishers and you blinked a little at the sight. Why did he look so guilty?

“You okay?” You asked, stepping out of your apartment. You were glad that the light was aimed away from you, cause you knew you looked flustered and dumb.

“My phone died.” He offered as an explanation and you nodded as he placed the metallic container back in place. You shined your light down the hall, landing on the elevator and shivering.

“Thank God you didn’t get trapped in there.” You murmured. He looked up at you, then at the elevator and you saw him shivering. When he turned to face you, he looked sheepish.

“That would have been quite the show ender, huh?” He chuckled and you kinda smiled at him in the dark. This wasn’t awkward, why were you making it awkward on yourself?

You shone your light on the ground so he could make it over to you without tripping again, not that there were any other obstacles in the way. He gave you a disarming smile and suddenly you wanted to run back into your apartment and never come out again. Still, with the power out, your nice side won the battle raging in your chest.

“Which one’s your apartment?” You asked, almost a mumble. Yamada looked at you, blinking a few times, and you waved the light around a little. “I’ll walk you over. Wouldn’t wanna leave you in the dark.”

“Thanks!” He said, in English, and you nodded. He guided you down the hall into apartment 1403, which was on the same side of the hall as your own. Remembering your improvised little concert from a few days ago, you blushed madly. Of course you shared balconies, why wouldn’t you.

“Home sweet home,” He said, looking for his keys amongst an endless amount of pockets. He finally found them and you couldn’t help but smile at the keychains dangling from his set of keys. He had a little black cat, a rose, a little cloud, and a rubber duck, the last one making you giggle quietly. He looked at you in the dark for a moment, not even trying to find the right key. After a few seconds he snapped out of it and he unlocked his door in a flash. He pushed it open a little and neither of you moved.

“Aren’t I lucky you of all people were awake to shine my path,” He joked, sounding more nervous than you’d ever heard him, even from his radio show.

“It’s okay,” You smiled kindly, fighting back your emotions. “I did own you one, after all.”

He chuckled, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck. There was a moment of silence, both of you trying to figure out just what you should do next. You moved your phone, the light illuminating the wall.

“Why are you up so late, anyway?” He asked you. You had to bite back a panicked laugh, the events of the night replaying in your head. Not too late to sell the apartment, you told yourself.

“I was making some tea,” You said lamely, hands fidgeting. It was such a dumb thing to say since it didn’t actually answer his question, but it was all you had. “But then the power went out and, I mean, my stove’s electric anyway. I guess I’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

You added that last part as a segway, a crutch of sorts that would allow you to excuse yourself before you could say anything else that might make you look like more of a fool. It was a shame, really. If you weren’t so embarrassed right now then you might try to keep the conversation going. He was handsome and polite, after all. But no, you had too much in your head, songs and signs and vibrant green eyes and you should probably go now, you told yourself. You mumbled a polite ‘goodnight’ before turning on your heels, already set on going home. Behind you, Yamada hesitated. He swallowed thickly, cursed his dumb brain, and then,

“My stove’s not electric.”

You stopped, frowning.

“Huh?” You turned back, raising the light a little just so you could look at him without outright blinding him. He was playing with his keys, his eyes on the ground. Was that… a blush on his face?

“My stove works even without power,” He explained dumbly, eyes only focusing on you for one second at a time as he spoke. “And I have tea. I mean, I’m not… Do you wanna come inside?” He held out his hands, a quiet and shy offer now between you. It was an invitation, a question and a hopeful wish all in one and his face reflected that perfectly.

You blinked, feeling numb for a second before a warm, tingly feeling crawled up your arms. You wanted to bite back your smile, wanted to convince yourself that he was just being kind, but there were too many coincidences by now.

If the universe is calling, then it’s only polite to respond, right?

“I’d like that. A lot.” You said. His eyes opened wide, forest tones enclosed by a ring of lovely, pastel green, and you smiled. He grinned from ear to ear, finally opening his door fully and stepping aside to let you in.

You hummed for a second, feeling a lot braver than you had in a long while.

“By the way,” You said teasingly, “That’s not my favorite song in the album.”

He blinked, watching you walk into his home with an almost shocked expression. He finally laughed, closing the door behind you both.

[eris0330]

Hiraeth - Eight

☽Pairing☾ ; BTS | Reader

☽Genre☾ ; Angst | Fluff

☽Word Count☾ ; 1.7k

☽Summary☾ Returning back to Korea after years of being under the ground, to see your parents. You wished it was all it took, to feel complete again. The aftermath of confusion, betrayal and sorrow was the reason to never come back into the boys presents. But it wasn’t until, seeing one them enter the same cafe, at the right time.

☽M. List☾ ;  1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15 // 16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 // 21 // 22 [ongoing]

-----------

Shaking his head in frustration and relief, Jimin sprayed the remaining water everywhere in the bathroom. His towel neatly tied around his hips, walking out to the hallway, feeling the cold breeze embrace his heated body. Water dripping from his ash-blonde hair, he continued his quest to find some clothing he could wear in this winter season. It's not he cared about what he wore, due to the fact that he could possibly wear everything. But at this occasion, he couldn't help to find the blackest ripped jeans and oversize hoodie as an accompany, to prepare his own image of what to come.  

"Are you sure about this?" A voice from behind, breaking through the t-shirt barrier that were pulled over Jimin's head. Namjoon were leaning against the doorway, giving his usual 'worried' look to his members, knowing they were up to something that could turn out to more than they had imagined.  

"I don't see a reason not to... not after what happened" Jimin replied, tightening the black belt to secure his pants. He could tell by the way his harsh movements were engraving a light pain on his skin, that he was not himself. Sometimes, he's not aware of his moody self, but were easily detected in his actions.  

"What happened between Y/N and yo-" Jimin held up his hand, rummaging through his damp strands of hair with the other, stopping Namjoon to continue his sentence. There was a slight disappointment in his expression, but also a slight pain of what Jimin was going to reveal. Out of all people, Namjoon were the first to know about Jimin's night of frustration between you two. Not because he is the leader and has to know, but because no one else would understand.  

"What happened back then... is in the past. Can't change it." Jimin replied sternly as he grabbed for the hairdryer, receiving a heartfelt shrug from Namjoon to continue his doings. While blowing away the water drops, he texted Wonho a last message, setting up the meeting he promised.  

Seated at the table with two cups of coffee, steaming into the air while the radio could play out the latest songs and even better, making it less awkward. Wonho were not looking pleased, despite his chirpy personality and image. Jimin on the other hand, were trying his best to give him at distinct look. It's not that they hated each other, they rather hated themselves.  

"To answer your questions quickly; Yes, I did kiss her. Yes, we did do more than that. No, it wasn't when you two were a couple. It only happened that ONE time, so nothing after that" Jimin spat quickly, since he could feel the sting that formed in his chest at the thought and worse, it traveled to his eyes, sipping on his coffee cup to gather himself as Wonho processed his words. With crossed arms, he reached for his own cup, thinking if it's worth it to know more. But, he had to know.  

"Where did this take place?" Wonho couldn't help his own curiosity, wanting to know about the deep secrets you held from him. His own delusions of that he was your first, has withered away.  

"Busan, my home." Jimin were fairly determent having this conversation, as if nothing bothered him. Keeping a straight face, he wanted to answer what he could. Even if it meant, that every word he spoke, was like a knife to his heart. 

"When?"  

"After the terror with the other girls in Japan. I took her with me for a tiny holiday, and that's where it happened." Cold. Not the air, but the atmosphere changed. Wonho were expecting to be angry, to feel betrayed, like he did with you. He was looking something to make him suffer, but it turns out to be nothing.  

"Do you love her?" His final question setting chills down Jimin's spine, making his expression change of the thought. For these minutes of downing his coffee, he hoped he would get to walk home without having to bust his chest. His eyes adverted from Wonho's, to find an escape route.  

"I did." Jimin's chest felt tight having to answer, giving it all to make Wonho stop the interrogation. Even though, it was his own fault of promising something so stupid. It didn't take long, before Wonho gave a nod and left. It was quick, and nothing else to worry about, like ripping a band aid. In reality, Wonho's idea of suffering, was way different than Jimin's. His steps didn't feel lighter to exit the café, but neither did it help him move on. At least, that's what he believed, when it was because he couldn't let himself. Wonho felt hurt, by the fact that what he had dreamt of with you, was already taken. It didn't mean you were less worth to him, but it just became harder to remember those small things. He wanted to be the first in everything, and even if it meant to cheat. He wanted to feel important in your life, but it wasn’t easy, when you didn’t give him a reason to be. 

Jimin were still seated in the empty lounge, sipping on the last cold coffee. The bittersweet taste of your memories ripped open, to be confronted after so long. His finger twirling with the spoon, looking out the window to catch the remaining stars. Just like the night, you two went over to grab a drink together after dinner. Your faltered smile after the chaos of simple demons, wanting to make it all better. The first action of letting your fingers intertwine on the way home, excusing that it was the cold. The sin of letting your lips touch, thinking it was just the alcohol of a drink. But, after that, there weren't any more excuses. Jimin remembers how your scent were so sweet, and your hair feeling silky smooth between his fingers. Your lips, soft as the petals of a flower. The night, Jimin became a man and told you how much he loved you. 

Sitting alone at the café, he could finally let go of the tears he held back. His heart, breaking at each answer he had to give, remembering the exact memory with you. He couldn't let Wonho know, that he still loved you. The way your body felt so warm and fuzzy underneath him, while you told him that it's wrong, but it felt right. You were a mess, a beautiful mess that Jimin couldn't keep away from. 

"I love you..."  

"In your heart, I can tell you can fit one more...I don't care who was there before..."  

The words, that still lingered on his lips like a blissful song. Words that were supposed to be from the alcohol, but it's something he could never tell anyone else, than you. Who knew, he would end up confessing, and feel your heart beat every time in response. Jimin could feel every bit of your touch on him, and the way you made him feel. His heart beating in synch, and the way it all disappeared. A confession, he regrets to have told. The morning after, with you in his arms, secured from the hatred hidden in the trees. Your eyes fluttering open, to see the mess that you both had immerged yourself into. It was a mistake. Your mind was confused and vulnerable. Scared, of how the dynamics of the group would change, because you couldn't control that one thing called; Love. Jimin were awake, listening to your movements in the room. Locking every bits of warmth on his arms and sheets, debating whether to hold you back or let go. He knew how you felt around the boys, and the fear of falling into temptation. Your silhouette, only a metre away, on the way to leave and never return. All he needed to do, was to grab your wrist and tell you how it will be okay. But, he didn't. Turning his back, hiding himself within the sheets of memories, not wanting to witness you being scared to do something you'd regret. The room became quiet with his heart breaking and the sound of your wheels turning. With that, you were gone.  

Tonight, the visions of your smile brightening and the way you closed your lids, every time he approached for a kiss, were nothing but delightful nightmares. Everything kept replaying, with new endings but always the same hurtful feeling of your absent, never being able to take your hand as he wished. His biggest regret, was for letting it all wither away, like nothing had happened. The tears pooled in Jimin's eyes, and the last sight of you, set the waterfall on his cheeks. His cries, that were too damaging it was inaudible. Clenching fists, that didn't understand the level of anger he had. His head, bent down in shame and the tears falling on his thighs. He missed you. He missed you so god damn much. A hand softly put on Jimin's shoulder, and without having to look up, he knew who were the for him. Namjoon grew worried after a while, wanting to make sure that Jimin wasn't going to screw up. What he saw through the darkened windows, was his friend crying his heart out to no one. Namjoon knew what it felt like, crying alone to either the mirror or the razor blade that were too sinful to reach out for. He knew, that a hug could do more than words and that's what Jimin needed, someone to cry out to. His body were shaking horribly, attempting to find the right words of an apology. Namjoon were merely standing beside him, patting his shoulder, reminding him, that it's okay to cry. It's okay, to pour your feelings out.  

"I should have taken her hand..." Jimin whispered, finally getting the courage to speak. Namjoon pursed his lips, kneeling to catch his blood shot eyes in the dim lights. The trembling lip, turning sorrowful and the tears continuing to fall.  

"Why didn't I take her hand?! Why didn't it tell her it was okay?! Why?!" Screams of his regrets, wishing to rewind time to redo his mistakes. His voice cracking, chest burning and a headache taking over of the movie flashing before him. Namjoon couldn’t speak, neither did he want to. His hands grabbing Jimin's shoulder, dragging him into a warm hug. Jimin quickly clung onto his jacket, letting the remaining tears fall and cursing himself. Namjoon could only show his compassion and pained expression, letting his friend go through what he should, with someone by his side.

"Would she still be here... If I told her how I felt...? Would everything, have turned out differently... If I just held her tighter that morning...?" With the ongoing questions, Namjoon could only hold him tighter in response. Whatever he could have said, there was no way, he would know how the times could have changed, with a simple action. All he knew for sure, was that no one was going to suffer alone. It was something, they all learned after your disappearance.  

---------

[felicityb-reviews]

Kim Jonghyun - Feature Spotlight

Hello, babies!! My name is Jace (aka Felicity B), and welcome to the debut Feature Spotlight (aka your January surprise)!! Today we will counting down some of my favorite songs by the one, the only - Kim Jonghyun. Jonghyun is someone who was important to me, because he was somebody who fought tooth and nail to be happy and himself. And that's so important to someone like myself, because I have depression. It's actually the reason I created this blog - if I could keep myself occupied, doing something I love (talking about myself), then maybe the bad days won't seem so bad. Sometimes it's a fight for me to hold myself together, so seeing someone like Jonghyun, who was very open about the state of his mental health, throw his everything into being happy and free inspired me to do the same.

I figured if there's one thing I can do to honour him, it's to keep his memory alive through his music. And so that's what we're going to be doing for the month of January!! Today's Feature Spotlight will be drawing from Jonghyun's solo material, but the next three weeks will be dedicated to SHINee's discography. The next two Friday's will be lists featuring music from SHINee's Korean discography, and the final week will be music from their Japanese discography. I can't wait!!

Before we begin, we are some rules (I guess) I used to create this playlist -

The order is nothing special, sis; I don't like ranking songs, it feels Wrong™.

No feature tracks /Edna Mode Voice. Anything that has a music video AND was promoted on daily music shows is disqualified. These lists are for spotlighting b sides and music casual fans might have skipped over.

These lists aren't meant to a "The Best of". They're just a collection of songs I happen to like a lot, and think other people should list to, as well. Please do not get hung up on your favorites not being here, this is just my opinion, baby.

So now that we got all the rules out of the way (watch someone try me on this bullshit), let's begin with...

Hallelujah (BASE)

Hallelujah is a song that feels like it lives and breathes. No one created and arranged song to be what it is, it spawned into being the way it is. And boy is it an experience. The arrangement is sparse, but that's okay - it makes you pay attention to the few elements that are there. It's just an amazing listening experience, sis.

Inspiration (SM STATION)

Inspiration is about sex. Straight up. This song sounds like what I'd expect a filthy and rough fucking to feel like. But beyond that, this song is interesting because, despite how musically uncomplex it is, it sounds like there's way more going on than there actually is. Sometimes listening to Inspiration is like listening to a Hitchhiker song; idk if that was Jjong's intention, but I like it.

AURORA (She Is...)

AURORA is another one that sounds like sex, but it's quite the opposite of Inspiration. Where Inspiration is rough, AURORA is soft. Where Inspiration feels like pure need, AURORA feels like a soft want. Yes, that's cheesy af, but it gets my point across. AURORA feels like coming home to bae and relaxing into the sex cause y'all can. A brilliant track, if I do say so myself.

(And just so y'all don't get it twisted, Kim Jonghyun is the Kpop King of Funk; I will entertain no one else in this position.)

Suit Up (She Is...)

Oh look, another song about sex!! What can I say, songs about sex are great. Especially, Suit Up. Suit Up trades in the Funk elements of AURORA for a soft RnB back drop that is oh so effective. Suit Up is the Ultimate™ in soft sex songs (it's literally about having sex for the first time as a married couple). If we aren't dancing to this at my wedding, know I've been kidnapped and replaced by aliens.

Wouldn’t It Be Like That? (Fine) (The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

First of all, that title is extra as all hell. But I'd expect nothing less from Kim "King Of The Drama Gays" Jonghyun. Secondly, this is a very straight forward acoustic RnB song. But that's what I like about it - it's no muss, no fuss. Jonghyun is extra as all hell (as all the members of SHINee are), but he knows when to scale it back. And he does so very nicely here.

Orbit (She Is...)

Orbit is (surprise, surprise) another Funk song. And, for those of you who remember the She Is... teasers, the first of the songs we heard. Not quite what we were expecting with its left of center arrangement, but then again, that teaser was just weird as hell. Anyway, underneath Orbit's quirky arrangement lies a very standard Funk song. But as was the case with Fine, I am very much okay with that. Orbit gives me happy brain tingles.

Love Belt (featuring Younha) (BASE)

Oh Love Belt... you make me happy brain tingle so hard. If Jjong had elected to go for a more bombastic arrangement for this song, it would have gone completely wrong. This is a love song that plays fast and loose with it's major elements. But thankfully, Jonghyun decided to scale it back (notice a trend here), and let the vocals shine. And speaking of vocals, how you doin' Miss Younha?!?!?!? Such a lovely addition to song. In fact, I'd say her voice goes with it better than Jjong's, but I'm not trynna fight with Blingers today.

No, ma'amsir!!!

Just Chill ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

In case y'all haven't clockt my boring ass, I quite like what I love to call Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempos. They're pretty self explanatory - RnB songs you could listen to at a coffee shop. If you can't quite place the sound (even after listening to this list), just wait for Spring; you'll be bombarded with them. Anyway, I say all that to say that Just Chill is an excellently written Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo. There's just a lil Funk thrown in their to keep your ears interested as the rest of you blisses out to the pure happiness of the track. It's just so good, sis.

Déjà-Boo (featuring Zion.T) (BASE)

THE KPOP KING OF FUNK MEETS THE K-RNB KING OF FUNK!!! FUCK Y E S!!!

Deja Boo is a song I was not fond of, at first. I thought Jjong and Zion.T sounded really awkward together, but (obviously) the song has grown on me quite a bit. It's just a really cute and endearing song by two very cute and endearing people.

02:34 ( The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

02:34 has a few false starts (for lack of a better phrase), before she actually gets going. First, you think she's gonna be a ballad; then, you think you're getting a Funky uptempo; and finally, it resolves into an Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo. You'd think Jonghyun was playing basketball with hard he jooks us with that intro, sis. But I digress. 02:34 is a nice RnB midtempo with a touch of melancholy to it that keeps it interesting.

I’m Sorry ( The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

Oh look, a ballad. How quaint. You'd have thought the hardest part about doing this list would've been the uptempos, but it was actually the ballads that got me. Jonghyun has some very arresting ballads in his corner. Take I'm Sorry, for example. It's got the piano and strings that you'd expect from a song like this, but he throws out the classical ballad formula to do his own thing. And instead of using this as an excuse to show off his vocal prowess (we know that Kim Jonghyun can blow), he gives us a very breathy delivery that relays the emotion of the lyrics effectively.

Blinking Game ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

Blinking Game is, in many ways, a spiritual successor to Happy Birthday (a song that features on the first Story Op album that I was unable to fit on this list, but a very lovely song, nonetheless). They're both caberet songs - downtempo little ditties I can see Jonghyun performing in a club for his boo thang. He's sat at a piano with a band playing behind him, and he's got this content little smile on his face. A lovely image. But back to Blinking Game. Despite not feeling like a ballad, it's got the pulse of one; it doesn't have anywhere urgant to go, sis. I'd say it meanders in a circle, like a slow dance, till it ends. A really nice song to relax to.

Elevator ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

Listen to the first 10 seconds of this song, and you'll realize why this song is on this list. Idk if this is a standard diatonic progression or modal (my theory is not that good), but that progression makes my brain happy tingle like mad cray, fam. And then when Jonghyun sings... GIRL, WHEN HE SINGS OVER IT!!! It feels like I've disintegrated into a mass of star dust. God, this song is just so GOOD!!! I said that Jonghyun has some arresting ballads in his collection, but this one takes the cake, guys. I simply lack the words to fully describe the feeling this song invokes in me.

And that's it, guys!! Don't forget to tune back in on Wednesday at 6pm EST for my debut Review Roundup, featuring new songs from this week; and the first part of the SHINee Feature Spotlight on Friday at 6pm!! I hope you all have a lovely night (or morning if you happen to reading from, idk... Japan!!)!!

And he's the songs in a playlist, in case you wanna listen to the songs as you read my blathering. Love, you guys!!

[rscenarios]

Seungri - First Class

A request @withlovefromx from a long, long time ago (I hope the tagged blog is still the person who sent the request, sorry if not I will remove it!) “Scenario where you're flying (first class of course ^^) and you get scared and begin to harass the stranger next to you (aka Seungri)”

Hope you guys enjoy. -Admin Em

Warnings: fear of plane turbulence/death

You aren’t sure what brought on your urge to travel. The feeling settled in about three months ago, making you look at different travel destinations. You briefly thought about going to Japan since it wasn’t terribly far away, maybe a two hour long flight. But then you began looking at places such as Bora Bora, France, and Hawaii: each place making you more and more interested.

As you look at your ticket to Rome you smile to yourself, mentally thinking through all the things you wanted to see and do. You would see the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, go to the Palatine Hill, and much more during your week there. You check the gate number again before taking a seat and waiting. This would be your first solo vacation, which has you a bit nervous despite the excitement. Mentally you run through everything you needed to do before you got on the plane in case you needed to make a phone call before the board time in an hour. When you finish, you loop through the list again before you relax.

An hour later, you line up to get on the plane. The attendant checks your ticket before thanking you and allowing you on board. You quickly find your seat and store your carry on before settling in. The seat is comfortable with small little vents for heat or air conditioning. In front of you is a small TV for in-flight entertainment and a pull down tray for meals later on. The only thing that could ruin this was if the person in the seat next to you was awful. You glance around, watching fellow passengers settle in their seat before you see a handsome man looking at the empty place beside you.

Before he can notice, you look away so he doesn’t catch you staring. You definitely don’t want things to be awkward on this flight, which leaves you unsure if you should say anything to him or not. The soft click of the seat belt alerts you that he’s now settled in so you risk glancing at him in your peripheral vision. He’s handsome with short dark hair with some light makeup on. In a weird way you can feel a sort of confidence in his aura. As the safety announcements start you look forward and pay attention, although a small piece of your mind screams that the plane is starting to move to the runway.

You try to stay calm and focus on other things once the announcement finishes. The gum you’re chewing seems to already have lost flavor with how rapidly your jaw is moving. The seat feels as if it’s trying to swallow you whole as your body presses against it. A weigh seems to press on your chest, only adding to the feeling of being pulled into the seat. Your eyes can’t help but take note of the world moving outside so you close them, trying to imagine yourself standing at the Colosseum.

The small fantasy brings you comfort as you allow yourself to continue imagining everything. Your eyes only open as the announcement tells you that you can remove your seat belt to move around and use small electronic devices. Glancing out the window you see the world is nothing but white fluff. Pulling out your phone you take a photo, capturing the beauty and your accomplishment of flying on your own.

Tension leaves your body as you watch the stewardesses coming to take any drink orders. You order your favorite drink on the menu while the guy next to you orders a rum and coke. His voice is almost soft and musical and you almost want to hear more of it. Still, you can’t find it in yourself to introduce yourself in case things get awkward during this long flight. Better to be in a comfortable silence than to have an awkward one. When your drink arrives you give thanks and sip on it as you watch out the window a bit before you start to read the book you’d brought with you.

Things stay calm for a few hours so you finally decide to try and sleep, Which is of course when the plane starts to shake. Your eyes shoot open and your hand quickly latch onto the first things they can for support: an arm rest and the stranger’s arm. In your panicked state, you don’t register your actions until you hear a voice beside you asking if you’re okay.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, forcing your grip to loosen so you can remove your hand. A small whine leaves your lips as the plane shakes again and the seat belt sign lights up.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be alright. It’s just light turbulence that happens now and then.”

“You mean this is normal?! It’s going to continue?!”

“Shhh,” the stranger says quietly. “It won’t be constant but it might happen a few times more. I fly a lot.”

“That doesn’t make this safe.” Your voice is quieter as you look at the darkening world outside.

The person next to you leans over and closes the window shade. “Just think about something else.”

“You make it seem so easy. As if we might not die at any moment.”

“Like I said, I do this a lot.” He gives a small sigh.

“So you’ve said,” unable to control the hint of annoyance in your voice. “Why would you willingly put yourself through this so much? Only a crazy person would do such a thing.”

He gives you a small chuckle. “It’s mostly for work, but sometimes for fun. And I’m only crazy sometimes. My name is Seunghyun, but most people call me Seungri.”

“Seungri...what an interesting nickname. Well, Seungri, even if you are paid well I don’t think it’s worth risking your life. I’m ________________.”

“The pay is good, but it’s more the reward that I enjoy. Nice to meet you.”

“It would be nicer to have met you on stable ground when I’m not worried about dying,” you whine as the plane shakes again, your fingers digging into both the arm rests this time.

“I’m sure it would be,” Seungri laughs. “It’ll be alright, it’s lighting up.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“The shaking is less frequent,” he points out.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Seungri lightly taps the back of your hand, “Because you’re shaking.”

“O-oh...can you blame me?”

“No. It can be scary to go through this by yourself. Maybe next time take a shorter flight to start,” he teases.

“I barely want to finish this flight so thinking about another is out of the question. Oh no, how am I going to make it home? What am I going to do?”

“One step at a time. Let’s find you a movie to watch,” Seungri suggests, looking at the movie options. Eventually he’s able to help you settle on something, although by then the turbulence has ended. “Now will you be okay watching this so I can sleep?”

“Sure...I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“It’s okay, but be careful since you may not be next to someone so nice on your next flight.”

“Noted,” you nod before he puts on a sleep mask and settles back in his seat. YOu give the movie your attention until you drift off to sleep.

By the time you wake up, Seungri is already awake and finishing off a small meal. “Rise and shine,” he gives a small smile when he sees you looking at him.

“Are we almost there,” you yawn, stretching in your seat.

“Another two hours,” he says, looking at his watch. You nod, getting up to stretch your legs and get a meal ordered. When you settle back down, you lift the window shade to see nothing but white clouds. “Don’t look too long, you might panic again.”

“Oh shush,” you roll your eyes.

“You harassed me first so I’m allowed some teasing,” he points out as your food arrives.

“Fair point,” you muse as you start to eat. “I can handle your teasing since you were so nice to me.”

And with that Seungri is quick to get witty with you, but soon it turns into polite conversation for the remainder of the flight. You’re actually quite calm during the landing as you continue chatting as you chew your gum. You walk together to find your luggage.

“Well ______________, this is where we part ways,” Seungri tells you once he finds his things. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You as well,” you smile as he walks off. It’s only moments later when you have your bag that you never got any contact information. You mentally curse yourself the entire trip to the hotel. As you check into your room you accept there’s nothing you could do about it now. With everything settled, you decide to take a stroll, much too tired to go true sight seeing. Tomorrow you would go to Trevi Fountain and the surrounding areas.

For now you just enjoy a bit of the new country before you head back and get some proper sleep.

The following morning you make your way to the Fountain, camera snapping photos along the way. Soon enough you are standing before the travertine creation, marveling at it’s beauty. Photos certainly did not do it justice. Still, you snap a few and even ask someone to take a photo of you for a keepsake. The stranger happily does so before going about their business. You look at the careful workings and listen to the running water for a moment before pulling out a coin. Fiddling the object you think of what you want to wish for, your mind eventually drifting back to Seungri. You should wish for good fortune, but you can’t shake the image of him. Even if you could just meet him again, that would be enough.

Slowly you turn, using your left hand to throw the coin over your right shoulder.

Even if you didn’t get to see him, this would at least mean you would return to Rome someday. Content with your time here, you move to the next place on your agenda.

Five years later you find yourself standing in the same place, fiddling with your coin. Slowly, you toss it the same way you had done last time. “Did you wish for a safe flight home?”

You try your best to glare, but the smile on your face won’t go away. “Shut up, I wasn’t even bad on the way here!”

“Then what did you wish for?”

“That my idiot husband will get smarter,” you tease, making Seungri dramatically clutch his chest.

“How can you be so cruel on our honeymoon? After I made such a nice wish too. It might not come true since you’re so mean.”

You quickly kiss his cheek. “I’ll be nice since you’re so cute. And I’m sure your wish will come true, this fountain is magical.”

He gives you a quick kiss, before holding you close and asking someone to take your photo. As the two of you look at the picture he whispers. “Being here with you is magical.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“I’m a dream come true and you love me.”

“More like a wish, but yes, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiles.

[amillionmillionvoices]

casually sitting on each other’s laps during ensemble cast conversations or scenes, river x twelve pls

The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly in the silence, and the Doctor furls and unfurls his fingers against his knee to keep from fidgeting.

“So,” Amy says, gaze unflinching.

The Doctor taps his foot twice then stops. “So,” he says, to a point over her head.

Rory clears his throat, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in the air, and he'd told River this was a bad idea. Not in so many words—actually, in no words at all, because it’s the only thing she's asked of him in their three years on Darillium, a hesitant request to visit her parents.

He'd almost told her to go without him, but the thought of separating from her like that made his stomach clench, a whirlwind of horrible imaginings, of crisscrossed timelines and mistakes and what if she was gone too long, what if she never came back, what if something happened, what if—

And she'd been looking at him so cautiously, like he might say no, which was absurd, because River does what she likes and he likes it that way, until she’d caught his gaze and looked away and he’d realized she was waiting for him to say, no, go alone, I won't.

So he’d swallowed the chalky feeling in his throat and said, yes, of course, and her smile had been so wide and so stunning he’d forgotten his unease until now.

Now, with Amy and Rory sitting on the couch opposite. Amy with her eyes narrowed. Rory with a look of awkward frustration.

“You're dead,” Amy says, and he flinches, hard enough to disrupt the echo of the clock in his ear.

Rory says her name softly, and when he looks back at them, she’s pursed her lips, expression apologetic but still wary.

“I just mean—”

“It’s fine. Yeah. I died.”

Amy squeezes Rory’s hand. “When?”

He shrugs. “A while ago.”

“How?”

“Amy—” he starts, but his voice is too gruff, not the voice of her old friend, her best friend.  “It’s a long story,” he says finally, more of a sigh than words.

“Were we there?”

It’s Rory who asks, Rory who looks him in the eye, Rory who knows the answer before he says, “Spoilers,” and it’s Amy who winces this time.

The clock ticks, and he tries to focus on the sounds coming from the kitchen, a cabinet opening and closing, the soft clatter of plates, the whistle of the tea kettle. He looks longingly at the door, skin itching for her to come back.

The stillness guts him, in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for.  He misses Amy’s warm smiles and laughter and joy at seeing him; misses Rory’s quiet fondness, misses the family he’d once had, even though they’re sitting right here.

He imagines they feel the same.

He looks around their home, the home he couldn’t remember a detail of—the color of the walls or the paintings or the bookshelf.  He knows he’d lived there for a while, the slow path, but the details are inky—something about cubes, something about flaring and fading and Amy’s head on his shoulder.  But he remembers the love, remembers the feeling of home that had been almost enough, that had been more than enough whenever River stopped by, when they would sit in this very living room and drink tea and watch telly and River would drop herself in his lap.  He remembers his nervous smiles, his blushes, the way he’d forced his hands to stay visible, distant, under the glare of an ancient Roman.  He remembers how River seemed not to care, the way she’d curl into his chest or plant a kiss on his cheek or lounge back on the sofa and prop her feet up in his lap, the way he’d always bolt upright and knock them down.

Swallowing, he looks down at the floor where the carpet is stained from the wine he’d spilled once doing just that, and the ache is suddenly more, heavier, crushing, and he looks back at the door to the kitchen, feet sweating in his boots with the desire to go to her, to fix it.

He clears his throat.  “I should see if River—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Raggedy Man,” Amy says, and he startles, eyes snapping to hers.  She’s smiling slightly, hesitantly, a question in her gaze that wasn’t in her tone, and he nods slowly, settling back into the cushions.

“I am, you know,” he says quietly, holding her gaze.  

“What?”

“Still the same.  Not exactly, but—”

“Do you still like fish custard?”

She sounds so hopeful, and it breaks his hearts to look away.

Amy sighs.  “That’s okay.  New mouth, new rules, right?”

He looks up again, surprised she remembered, although he knows he shouldn’t be, and nods.  He doesn’t tell them about the confusion, the disorientation, the memory loss.  He doesn’t want to tell them.  He isn’t sure what he can give them, if anything, the way he used to, and she’s staring at him now with an expression he can’t read, not anymore.  

It makes him want to run, but he can still hear River in the kitchen, still hear the clock, so he stays.

Silence settles back over the room and he grasps for something, anything, to break it.  Amy stares at her nails and Rory stares at him and he stares at the wall and the tick, tick, tick is heavy and leaden and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to breathe much longer, the air stifling, everything suffocating, everything—

“Here we go.”

He jumps at her voice but she doesn’t notice, too busy setting a tray of tea and biscuits—the kind he likes now—on the table in front of them.

“It’s a new blend, from Arthos Nine I’ve been dying to try; we went two weeks ago but I’ve been saving it for you,” she says, seeming ignorant of or unfazed by the tension.  “And I got you some of those cakes you like from Nima, chocolate, right?”

Rory smiles faintly up at her, nods, and takes the tea she proffers.  “Thanks, Melody.”

If he hadn’t been watching her face so intently, he thinks he’d have missed it—the nanosecond of heartache that flickers in her expression.  It’s gone before he can blink, before he can even register it, and he knows neither Amy nor Rory had noticed.

“That’s the one with the buttercream?” Amy asks, taking her tea, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at the pleasantness of it, the absurdity, and he knows now that River’s doing it on purpose, trying to lighten the room, and his hearts squeeze in his chest.  She tries so hard, for everyone, all the time.  Tries to be what everyone needs, what she thinks everyone wants.

“Technically it’s a nectar,” River says, “From what’s called a boula plant.”  She turns, and passes him a mug, strong black tea with a drop of milk, exactly how he likes it, her fingers sliding soothingly over his hand.  “You can eat it right out of the stem, but it’s a bit sour, so they dilute it with their equivalent of sugar.”

Amy nods and hums and compliments the tea.  Rory does the same.  River fixes her own cup, and before he realizes what’s happening, drapes herself across his lap, throws her free arm around his neck, and continues chatting about Nima flora and fauna without pause.  

Rory’s eyes widen and Amy coughs a bit on her tea, but River just curls her fingers gently in the hair at the nape of his neck, her touch like a balm to a wound only she can see, and it’s easy for him to secure his arm around her waist, thumb hooking absently in the belt loop on her jeans.  He holds his tea with his free hand, mug on his knee when he isn’t drinking it, and listens to River recount their adventure, the “bees” he’d accidentally disturbed, the fight she’d got into—”Started,” he interjects, pinching her waist lightly—the sunset that lasts less than a minute, but casts a purple glow over everything white.

And slowly, everyone relaxes.  Amy teases him about being Scottish, Rory scolds River for stealing a bus (”It was one time,” she says, elbowing the Doctor when he snorts into his bourbon, thinking of at least five separate instances where theft and buses were involved), Amy talks about work and Rory talks about Amy and River curls into his side when she returns from the kitchen, passing him a glass of water.

“You get dehydrated when you drink,” she says quietly at his frown, too confused as to how she’d noticed to mind as she nicks his glass and finishes it off.  And then, louder, “You can’t fly the TARDIS on the best of days, what makes you think I’d let you do it drunk?”

“Oh, you mean like that time you nearly crashed us into 25th century New Russia?”

River flips her hair over her shoulder and sniffs.  “Better than burning alive in 17th century Japan.”

“I didn’t see you coming up with any great ideas—”

“—I had an idea—”

“—that didn’t involve high heels and handcuffs—”

She pouts, “But you love when I use the handcuffs,” and Rory says Stop and Amy says ugh and River grins wickedly.  

“Still not more detail than you gave, Mum.”

Amy takes a long drink of her wine.  “Don’t remind me.”

River twitches, and this time Amy catches it, she must, because her eyes soften and she quickly adds, “About that conversation.  Not that I’m your Mum.”

River relaxes, says, “I know” but he knows she didn’t, and he nods at Amy in thanks.  River catches the melancholy that hovers over the room, so the next time he eats a biscuit, she kisses the side of his mouth, tongue darting out for a crumb.

It works immediately, fragility broken as Rory groans and Amy says, Mind your manners, young lady, and River laughs, head thrown back onto his shoulder, reminds them who she was before she was their daughter and If I had to listen in excruciating detail to all your exploits— and Amy flushes and Rory says, what do you mean, all? with a furrowed brow and insulted air and Amy and River laugh again, laugh at his expense.  He huffs, throwing the Doctor a sidelong, commiserate with me? look, until Amy kisses his cheek and says, Just our exploits, stupid face.  

“More than I needed to know,” the Doctor grumbles, and River chuckles low in his ear, You and me both, sweetie.

When she pulls back she’s smiling, so he smiles, and when he finishes his tea, abandons the cup on the table to curl his now-free hand over her knee.

He gets pulled into the conversation at some point—something about marriages and robots and he’s still a bit sore, if he’s honest with himself, and the bickering escalates until Rory’s heaving a sigh saying, Alright, enough you two, and River smacks his chest with the back of her hand.  

He catches it easily, his thumb sliding over her pulse to feel it jump, but it’s nothing compared to the hitch in her breathing when he presses his lips to her palm, eyes closed, nose pressed to her skin.  

She smells like gardenias today, one of her favorite lotions.

He knows that now, and he loves that he knows that, and he forgets almost everything he knows when her lips brush his so softly.  It’s hardly a kiss, but it makes him feel so warm and light, her hand on his cheek like a brand he’ll gladly carry the rest of his life.  

There’s a cough, and he starts, eyes narrowing as he zeros in on the offending sound that distracted him from his wife but it’s Rory, watching them with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance and pride.  

“If you’re done fondling our daughter…”

“I’m not fondling,” he says, and wishes his voice weren’t so scratchy.

“I’m afraid you are, darling,” River says, and shifts, and he realizes his hand has fallen to her ass.  

He freezes, gulps, about to pull away completely when he catches that flicker again, that heartbreak, that not enough, never enough expression he sees in the mirror sometimes.  He catches her too-big smile and the expectant stiffness in her shoulders, waiting to pushed aside, and he can’t.  He won’t.  Never again.

So he hauls her closer, shifting his weight so she shifts hers, his hand sliding away from her ass but not before he gives it a quick, sneaky squeeze out of Rory’s line of sight.  She jumps, just a bit, and he grins stupidly, letting her rearrange herself but keeping his hands on her at all times, her leg, her back, her hip.

Turning to Rory, he shrugs. “Can’t be helped,” he says, and hears River’s sharp intake of breath in his ear.

He expects a fight, some kind of ridicule, and his hands tighten around River instinctively.  But Rory merely softens, and nods, a small smile tugging at his lips.  

“Just keep all your clothes on this time, alright?” Amy says, breaking the moment and Rory groans and River laughs and the Doctor resists the urge to nuzzle his face into the curve of her neck.

She gets up a few times, to refill the kettle, to get snacks, to use the loo, but she always resettles in his arms in one way or another, and every time she does, the room seems to soften.  

He knows what she’s doing—telling them that he is, without question, the Doctor, their Doctor, her Doctor.  That she won’t allow him to be treated like a stranger.  That he’s her husband, still, always, and if they weren’t in her parents’ living room he’d snog her senseless with gratitude.  

He thinks he might just do it anyway.