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kuroopaisen · 3 years

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tiny love || vii

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. through a few strange twists of fate, you’ve ended up living with the very boy who’d broken your heart. but, perhaps it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be. he is the perfect gentleman, after all.

warnings: f!reader, depictions of intoxication

wc: 5.2k

m.list | ch. 6 ↞ ch. 7 ↠ ch. 8

You peered at yourself in the mirror, doing your best to not crinkle your makeup.

It’d been a while since you’d bothered to dress up this nicely.

You were just wearing a simple yet flattering black dress, offset by your favourite shade of red lipstick. You weren’t sure if you actually looked good, or if it was just nicer than anything else you’d worn that week.

You’d sent a photo to Amaya, but upon receiving her affirmation you started to doubt the authenticity of it. Not that she’d given you reason to; no, you’d just decided that she was far too supportive to trust for an objective opinion.

You sighed, tilting your head to the side as you looked at the mirror.

Whatever, you thought. This’ll just have to do.

“I’m ready!” You called out, slipping into the front room after grabbing your handbag.

“Give me a moment,” Iwaizumi called out. The tinniness of his voice implied that he was still in the bathroom.

You sighed, taking a moment to check the contents of your bag. Phone, wallet, lipstick, mirror… That’s all you’d need, right?

“You got everything?” Iwaizumi asked, almost as if he’d appeared out of nowhere.

“Mhm!” You smiled, looking up at him.

You wondered, for a moment, if there was something on your face.

He was staring at you, his eyes a little wider and rounder than usual.

You tilted your head at him. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” He blinked at you for a second, as if your words had shocked him back to the present moment. His eyes scanned your body slowly before lingering on your face again. “You look good.”

You hoped your foundation masked the heat rising in your cheeks.

It’s frustrating, how hot he looked without even trying. He was just in a black button up (the top few buttons undone, of course) and a pair of jeans, and yet he looked like that. He’d barely done anything to his hair, either; just a bit of gel, from the looks of things.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, finally breaking the excruciating silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded. Stupid Iwaizumi Hajime with his stupid face and his stupid black button up and his stuck jeans and his stupid—

“I’ll drive,” he said, patting his jean pocket.

“Oh, are you sure?” You asked. “You don’t want to drink?”

“It’s fine. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you,” he grinned, throwing you a wink.

“Hey!” You whined. “You haven’t even seen me drunk!”

“Oh, so you do intend on getting drunk then?” He chuckled, heading for the apartment door.

You gaped for a moment, searching for a comeback. “Well, you’re the one who said that uni parties are for getting shit-faced.”

“That doesn’t mean you should get shit-faced, though.”

You rolled your eyes as you followed him. “Whatever you say, dad.”

✧ ✧ ✧

You hadn’t known what to expect from your first visit to a rooftop bar, but suffice to say you were impressed. When you’d asked Iwaizumi how the club had the budget to book somewhere this nice, he’d just shrugged.

“A lot of Japanese students, I guess,” was his only explanation.

Upon paying twenty-five dollars to officially ‘join’ at the door, you started to formulate a strong theory as to just where the club was getting its money.

There were far more people here than you’d anticipated. You knew it would be big, you hadn’t expected it to be this big. People were packed in like the clothes in your wardrobe, barely giving each other room to breathe. It was a sea of completely unrecognisable faces – and yet, seeing all these people who looked and sounded like you made you feel a little more at ease.

The music – which seems to be a mix of songs you don’t recognized – thumped loudly throughout the area. You wondered if there’d be any noise complaints.

Iwaizumi led you to the bar, managing to find two seats. You weren’t entirely sure how; you mostly chalked it up to the providence of God.

“I’m just going to go to the toilet, okay?” Iwaizumi said. “You’ll be alright on your own for a second, right?”

You nodded. “Don’t worry about me!”

Iwaizumi gave you a look as if to say ‘that’s impossible.’

You fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him. That would only elucidate his point.

After a few more moments of staring (under which you thought you were going to crumble to dust), Iwaizumi eventually disappeared into the crowd.

You sighed, placing your hands in your lap.

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to do. You felt it only right to stay where you were, mostly to avoid giving Iwaizumi a heart attack should he come back and see you weren’t there. But, you didn’t have the confidence to order a drink, either. Or get the bartender’s attention.

“Hey.”

A voice that somehow managed to make itself heard over the music startled you out of your thoughts.

You whipped your head round, only to see a guy you’d never met before sitting in Iwaizumi’s seat. He had soft features framed by a strong chin and wavy brown hair. If you had to guess, you’d say he was around your age.

“Hey,” you said automatically, relieved at the fact that he’d greeted you in Japanese.

“You speak Japanese?” He smiled.

“You’d assume so,” you smiled back. “Seeing as I’m here and all.” You gestured to the room around you. Underneath the music, you could make out a bubble of conversation – most of which was Japanese.

“Hey, a lot of second-gen immigrants don’t necessarily learn the language,” he shrugged. His entire demeanour was so… good-natured. So polite. Even if he had taken a seat without asking.

“Oh, really?” You hadn’t known that. Albeit, it wasn’t really something you’d thought about too much.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “I mean, that’s what my friend told me.”

“Ah,” you said.

“I’m Kohei, by the way,” he gave you a little nod.

You returned it as you introduced yourself.

“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “What year are you in?”

“First,” you said. “I only got here a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh!” His face lit up. “Me too!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I’m from Tokyo!”

“Ah, so you’re a city boy,” you smiled.

He blushed a little. “Well, uh…”

“I’m from Miyagi,” you cut in. “Although, I did go to Sendai every now and then.”

“Oh, I never got the chance to visit,” he smiled. “What made you come to America?”

“I wanted to study psychology,” you answered. “I thought the options would be better here.”

“Ah,” he nodded. He had the sort of eyes that made him look like he was deeply engaged in whatever you were talking about.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to come here for the adventure,” he said sheepishly.

“The ‘adventure’?” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I thought it would be cool. But… English is a bit tricky, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, yeah…”

A squeal of your name cut through the crowd.

You turned, bewildered and a little frightened.

“Hi!” Yuna beamed, throwing herself at you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around her. From the flush in her cheeks, you could tell she’d already had a few.

“I’m so glad you came!” She whined. “And you look so pretty!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “So do you!”

Yuna whined again, drawing back to pout at you. “Why didn’t you come and find me immediately?”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you laughed.

She narrowed her eyes at you. “Fair enough…” Her gaze snapped to Kohei, her glare getting more intense. “And who is this?”

“This is Kohei,” you said, leaving them to introduce themselves to each other.

You scanned the crowd, a frown forming. Where was Iwaizumi? He’d been gone a while… Or did it only feel like a while? If Yuna dragged you away, it may be hard to find him and assure him that you were okay, because you just knew he’d be developing an aneurism…

You caught sight of him. He gave you a tiny wave, an expression that looked something like relief on his face. That look alone was enough to soothe you.

Tonight was already shaping up to be a good time.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Can you stand?” Iwaizumi asked, watching you with an expression of disgruntled concern on his face.

“Yes,” you said with far too much emphasis. You pointed at him with one very obstinate finger.

Kohei had bought you a drink, and Yuna had challenged you to a line of shots. Mei had pointed out that perhaps you shouldn’t go overboard. You’d been adamant that you knew your limit. That’d been a big fat lie.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, taking a step towards you.

“Yes!”

As soon as you said it, you toppled left.

Iwaizumi grabbed you by your shoulders, stabilizing you.

“Whoops,” you pouted.

He sighed, releasing you. “You alright?”

You blinked at him for a second. “Iwa…”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t think I can stand.”

Iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek. He was trapped somewhere between annoyance and burgeoning fondness.

“Alright,” he said, standing at your side. “Let me help.”

“Thank you,” you hummed, beaming at him as he leant down to drape one of your arms across his shoulders.

You leant your entire weight against him without warning.

He grunted, one arm grabbing your waist to keep you on your feet. “Careful now.”

“Sorry,” you whined. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Iwaizumi smiled, shaking his head. “Let’s get you back to the car, alright?”

“That is an excellent plan, Iwa. You should be proud.”

Oh, fuck, he thought. He just couldn’t keep that smile off his face.

✧ ✧ ✧

By some miracle, he managed to get you to the car in one piece.

Even better, the drive home had been relatively uneventful. You’d just babbled on about why Riza Hawkeye from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood was, in fact, the perfect woman. Iwaizumi had just smiled, nodding along whenever he was required to.

You still needed support getting up the stairs to your apartment; when you tried to take matters into your own hands, you always managed to trip.

But, finally, he’d gotten you both inside the house, your arm still draped over his shoulders and his arm still wrapped around your waist. It was, quite frankly, almost too much.

Iwaizumi sighed, opening your bedroom door with his free hand.

“But Iwa,” you whined, pouting up with him. “I need to have a shower.”

“You can’t stand up straight,” he chuckled. “You can have a shower in the morning.”

“But I’ve gotta wipe my makeup off,” you droned. “Or else I’ll get a breakout.”

“Hm…” He scanned your room, settling on the clutter of makeup on your desk. “Do you have anything you can wash your face with?”

The idea of you trying to stabilize yourself in the shower gave him more anxiety than he was comfortable with. You shouldn’t wake up with both a hangover and a concussion.

“Wipes?” You blinked, pointing at your desk.

Iwaizumi took a moment to find them. He assumed it was the little green packet that didn’t look familiar to him.

“Thanks,” you beamed up at him as he passed them to you.

He tried his best to ignore the squeezing in his heart as he noticed how your eyes sparkled as you looked at him.

You ignored him for a moment as you dealt with your makeup.

He looked away out of respect, eyes landing on the collage of photos stuck above your desk. He ambled towards them mindlessly, gazing at the myriad of images.

There were many faces he recognized. Tooru, Amaya, your mother, Kaori… He realised, not without a strange sharpness in his chest, that he only featured in a single photo. It was one from his graduation; one that you were both ‘obligated’ to be in.

But he knew his absence from these photos was his own doing. If he just hadn’t had been such an idiot, then…

“Is it gone?” You asked.

He turned back to you, biting back a laugh. “Uh… not quite.”

Your lipstick, which had already been in a poor state, was smeared all around your mouth, looking more like a rash. Your foundation was splotchy, some patches mostly removed and others untouched. And to top it all off, your mascara had been melted into a muddy puddle beneath your eyes.

Overall, you looked a bit like a raccoon he’d caught eating beetroots out of his garbage.

You whined, lying back on your bed.

“It’ll be fine,” he chuckled. “It’s just one night.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you emphasized, “makeup is bad for your skin.”

Iwaizumi grinned, grabbing what he assumed to be your pyjamas from the end of the bed and tossing them to you. “You’ll feel better if you change into something more comfortable.”

You glared at him from your horizontal position, the expression emphasised by a couple extra chins.

Iwaizumi left the room quickly and closed the door, making a beeline for the kitchen. He prepared you a glass of water, going through the checklist in his head of how to take care of someone well over their limit.

When he got back to your bedroom door, he was sure to knock.

He took the garbled ‘mhm!’ he got in response as affirmation.

He opened the door slowly, peeking round the door to see you sat cross-legged on the bed with a pout. From the looks of it, you’d put your top on backwards.

His heart thumped in that terrifyingly familiar way.

“Drink this,” he mumbled, handing you the glass.

You nodded, taking it with both hands and tipping it back with ferocity.

Iwaizumi gazed at his feet while he did so, trying to smother the burgeoning fondness in his chest.

He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I’m done!” You called out in a sing-song voice, thrusting the empty cup towards him.

“Do you want some more?” He asked as he took the cup from you.

You beamed up at him. “Mhm!”

Iwaizumi sighed. He wasn’t going to say no to that face.

As he went to get you a second glass of water, he kept trying to push those sorts of thoughts out of his head.

He’d been doing so well. Of course, he’d wanted to be friends with you again. Being able to get along would be key to making this whole living situation work. But the closer he got, the more he was reminded of what had happened two years ago.

And like an idiot, he’d tried to position himself as someone you could rely on. He wanted to be someone you could rely on.

But was that because it was the right thing to do, or because of something else?

He shook his had and blinked rapidly. He’s just thinking these things because he’s had a bit to drink. That’s all. It’s nothing serious.

He kept repeating those thoughts as he dragged himself back to your room, determined not to succumb to them.

The last time he’d fallen into them, you’d completely excised each other from your lives. That wasn’t exactly an option here.

He took a deep breath as he stepped into your room, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

You were laid on your bed, limbs curled around one of your pillows. Were you asleep?

Well, he thought, that’s probably for the best.

Iwaizumi sighed, placing the water on your bedside table. Chances were, you were going to wake up with quite the headache. But, he supposed, it’s something of a learning experience. It’s good to know your limits.

He carefully picked up the corner of your blanket and tugged it over you. It was fall, after all. He didn’t want you catching a cold.

Once he was sure everything was in order, he flicked your light off and left, closing the door behind him.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit him as he dragged himself back to his room. He didn’t dare check the time; he was sure it’d just upset him.

Better to just try and forget about this night and move on.

✧ ✧ ✧

After that party, you’d made a vow to never drink again.

The vow lasted for all about a week. Although, you were much more careful about just how much you were drinking at any given time.

You did, however, stick to your promise to never, ever sleep in your makeup ever again.

Though neither alcohol nor makeup had been an issue as of late.

You’d done your best to give yourself as much time as possible to work on your assignments, mainly so you could ensure that your language use was as proficient as possible. But, even that hadn’t been enough to stave off the beast that is procrastination.

The result, of course, was a flurry of three days wholly dedicated to one assignment about neurotransmitters. You were in total shutdown mode, nothing on your mind but getting this stupid thing done.

You’d even left your room and settled yourself at the dining table in an attempt to stop the ever-coaxing allure of your bed pulling you away from your work desk for yet another nap.

Oh, and texting Amaya at any given moment as a way of putting off your work.

Our time zones don’t line up that well, you kept telling yourself. It’s fine, I can justify this distraction.

“Hey.”

You looked up at Iwaizumi with a thoroughly worn-out expression on your face. “Hello.”

“You okay?” He chuckled.

“As much as I can be,” you whined, turning to glare your computer screen.

“Here,” he said, placing a glass of water and an apple on the desk next to you. You hadn’t even noticed that he had them.

Your heart thumped a funny little rhythm in your chest.

Sure, you were used to Iwazumi’s gentlemanly ways by now. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t race a little faster at each little act of kindness.

“Keep your fluids up,” he said, nodding at the water. “If you get a headache, we have some Panadol in the cupboard.”

“Thank you,” you blushed.

“No problem,” he smiled, turning around to return to the kitchen.

A new chat lit up on the corner of your screen.

[Kohei] [7:03 PM] Hey! How’s your assignment going?

[You] [7:03 PM] It’s… going?

[Kohei] [7:04 PM] Ahaha oh dear… that doesn’t sound good

[You] [7:03 PM] I am, as the kids say, suffering

[Kohei] [7:03 PM] Oh, I’m so sorry :( is there anything I can do to help?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. You just needed to get this stupid thing done. Then you’d finally be able to relax.

✧ ✧ ✧

You held your milk tea up to your face, peering at it closely.

“Something wrong?” Iwaizumi asked, raising an eyebrow at you. He was perfectly content with the grapefruit tea he’d ordered, as he usually was.

“I think they skimped on the pearls this time,” you mused.

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head. “Need me to talk to them?”

“No!” You shook your head quickly, any sign of malice disappearing from your face. “No, please don’t!”

“I’m just teasing,” he grinned, flicking your forehead lightly.

“Ow!” You pouted, rubbing the besieged spot gingerly.

“No need to be dramatic.”

“Quite the contrary, actually,” you shook your head, “I’m in my youth. It’s the prime time to be dramatic.”

Iwaizumi gave you the kind of look that implied he had no idea what you were talking about. In truth, neither did you.

You were just in an uncommonly good mood.

The two of you were on your way to a club meeting, organised by the Japanese Students Association. In all honesty, you weren’t sure what the meeting was actually about. All you knew was that you’d been invited. Specifically. Even though you were still just a first year.

And apparently, your presence had been requested by Mei.

Meaning you were actually wanted there.

The thought made your chest bubble with joy. You were wanted somewhere. People wanted to see you. On your merits. Not because of the family you’d be born into.

Sure, knowing Iwaizumi had given you a leg up, but they weren’t obligated to spend time with you, right? Right?

“Hajime?”

You both stopped in your tracks, turning towards the source of this new voice.

It was a girl you didn’t recognise – although you had to admit that she was quite stunning. Her dark hair was tied up in an impressively neat high ponytail, and her red lipstick was impeccable. The look, if she was going for it, was definitely ‘I could kill a man with the mere snap of my fingers.’

“Oh,” Iwaizumi blinked.

Was he… caught of guard?

“Ah, it is you,” the girl smiled, tilting her head at him. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said quickly. You didn’t miss how his grip tightened around his cup.

The girl nodded, her eyes fixed intently on his face.

You felt a bit like you were intruding on something very personal.

“Who’s this?” The girl asked, her gaze shifting to you.

You froze, unsure of what to say.

“Uh, this is my friend,” Iwaizumi said, gesturing to you. “Who also happens to be my roommate.”

You nodded at this girl as Iwaizumi introduced you, trying to ignore the swell in your chest at the fact he’d introduced you as a ‘friend’ first and foremost.

“Ah,” the girl smiled, nodding. “I’m Misaki, by the way.”

The warmth that’d just been spreading through your chest turned cold.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said automatically, trying to stave off whatever confusing mess of emotion was going on inside of you.

“You too,” Misaki smiled.

The three of you stood there for a moment, completely silent.

“We’re on our way to a meeting,” Iwaizumi said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, really?” Misaki blinked. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“It’s no problem,” Iwaizumi shook his head, holding a hand up. “You didn’t know.”

“Right,” Misaki nodded slowly, looking between the both of you. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, turning to you. “We should get going,” He didn’t wait for your response, walking off at a slightly faster pace than usual.

“Right,” you nodded, falling into step alongside him.

His whole demeanour seemed… off. Like something had really bothered him. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. But, you thought it best to get the facts instead of relying on your own suspicions.

“So,” you began, once you were sure Misaki was safely out of earshot, “who is she?”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, gaze stuck firmly to the ground. “Uh… she’s my ex.”

“Oh?” You replied. You didn’t want to seem too interested – even though, in fact, you were very interested.

“Yeah…” Iwaizumi nodded slowly. “We broke up a few months ago.”

“Oh…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “We didn’t suit each other.”

“I see…” Break ups were entirely new territory for you. None of your friends had really dated in high school – and if they did, the breakup usually came as some sort of relief. Your friends had never asked for comfort even if you’d offered it.

But, seeing how the two of them had just interacted with each other…

“How long were you together?” You asked. Was that too invasive? You weren’t sure.

“About six months.”

You tried to ignore the stabbing in your gut. Six months? Six months? Sure, that might not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but it sure sounded like a long time to you. You hadn’t even been living with Iwaizumi for six months.

“Ah…” You pressed your lips together, brow furrowing as you searched for what to say. “If you need to talk to someone about it…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi smiled. “Really, I’m over it. I just didn’t expect to run into her today.”

You nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Usually I’d get a heads up before seeing her,” he shrugged.

“Huh?”

“Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. “We see each other at events, sometimes. For the Japanese Association.”

“Oh?” Now that piqued your interest.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We actually met through it.”

Something twisted in your stomach. They’d met through the Student Association? It shouldn’t have made the thought of going to events weird, and yet it did.

“Oh really?” You asked, trying to seem unbothered.

“Mhm,” Iwaizumi nodded. “A lot of people end up finding a partner there.”

You frowned. Were you expected to find a partner there? Would you find a partner there?

Maybe you would. Maybe you’d finally find someone to date.

Although, you weren’t sure how anyone was supposed to measure up to Iwaizumi. Especially when he was standing right there.

“Anyway,” he sighed, picking up his pace. “We’ll be late.”

“Right,” you nodded, scurrying after him.

All you could hope for was to be able to push the thought of Misaki out of your head.

It felt petty, childish. You shouldn’t’ve been so concerned with Iwaizumi’s love life; his dating history shouldn’t matter to you.

But the questions swirled in your head as the two of you rushed across campus.

Had he dated anyone other than Misaki? Had he loved her? How far had they gone together? Did he miss her? Did he ever think about her?

Or, worse yet, was he on the look-out for someone else?

✧ ✧ ✧

“It’s not that hard once you understand the basics,” Iwaizumi said.

“Right,” you nodded, watching his hands intently as he sliced up an onion.

“If you place your hand like this,” he said, fist placed on the onion so that his knuckles ghosted the knife, “you’re less likely to cut yourself.”

“Ah,” you marvelled. “That’s actually a really helpful tip.”

“I know,” he grinned. “That’s why I’m sharing it with you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Iwaizumi moved onto the carrots, which you’d peeled yourself. Maybe you were a bit too proud, given the size of the task, but he let you get away with it.

He chopped the carrots with his typical proficiency.

You rested your elbows on the countertop, propping your chin up on the palms of your hands.

“We should have a dinner party,” you suggested, the image of all your shared friends gathered round your table, laughing and smiling, filling your heart with a precious warmth.

“That’s not what uni students usually do,” Iwaizumi smiled. “Not in America, anyway.”

“So?” You turned to him with a defiant expression. “We can all pretend to be upper-middle class for the evening,” you opined, tilting your chin at him. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” Iwaziumi smiled.

“Pft,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “Like it’s up to you. I can just hold one without you.”

You wouldn’t really do that. You’d met them through him, after all.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi grinned, a certain glint in his eyes. “What’re you going to serve everyone? Burnt rice?”

“Hey!” You whined. “It was one time!”

“How do you even burn rice?” Iwaizumi teased.

You pouted, lifting your fist and lightly punching him in the chest.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetheart,” he laughed, puffing his chest out proudly. “I barely even felt that.”

“Fine.” You went for another swing.

Iwaizumi caught your wrist, holding it above your head in a gentle grip.

You swung with your other hand, only for him to catch that one, too.

You glared at him – but you know he’s aware that you’re just having a bit of fun.

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” you huffed.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he smirked.

You tried to think of some retort, some witticism that’d catch him off guard.

Nothing came to mind. Not when you were so close to him, his hands wrapped around your wrists as he looked at you with that expression. Stupid Iwaizumi Hajime and his stupid face and his stupid voice and his stupid—

You brought your knee up to his stomach, making him flinch.

His stumbled backwards and you tried to tug your wrists away. But his grip was too strong, even when he wasn’t trying all that hard.

“Stop,” you whined. “Let me go.”

“Say sorry.”

“For what?”

“Punching me.”

“Oh, come on,” you pouted at him. “It didn’t even hurt.”

“And?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “It’s about the principle of it.”

“Of punching you?”

“Mhm. It’s not very polite.”

You tried to tug away again. Your mind was wandering much too far. Farther than it should.

“Brattiness is an inherited trait,” you said, “it’s just part of being an Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, finally letting you go.

Maybe the implication of your brother was enough to do it.

“You might be right about that,” he teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him petulantly.

Don’t make it hard for yourself, you thought. Not again.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sound of some generic eighties rock band bounced through your apartment as you and Iwaizumi tended to the DVD rack stood next to the TV.

“You have the taste of an old man,” you teased, glancing at Iwaizumi out the corner of your eye.

“These are classics,” Iwaizumi tsked.

“Kohei described them as ‘dad bands,’” you hummed.

“And why should this Kohei’s opinion matter more than mine, hm?”

“I never said it did,” you grinned, moving the DVD for Ferris Buller’s Day Off to its designated genre category. Why Iwaizumi had spent so much money on DVDs, you didn’t know. You would’ve thought that they’d just provide more clutter, especially if he planned on moving back to Japan.

You’d just surmised that it had something to do with his natural ineptitude with technology.

“What does this ‘Kohei’ even listen to?” Iwaizumi asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.”

“You know, you’ll look back at the music of this decade and realise most of it’s garbage,” Iwaizumi grunted.

“Okay, grandpa.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” you grinned, “you’ve got that look on your face.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at you. “What look?”

“You know,” you giggled, turning to face him. “This look.”

You drew your eyebrows together a little, narrowing your eyes just enough to make them a bit more intense. To finish it off, you turned the corners of your mouth down, performing your best impression of a certified ‘Serious Iwaizumi.’

He flicked your forehead gently, a fond smile on his face. “I don’t look like that.”

“Oh, but you do,” you stressed. “You’re going to get premature wrinkles if you’re not careful.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “At least I’ll have my arms.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The only thing left to do was return to your task, hoping that the very invasive thought of Iwaizumi’s well-built arms would get out of your head.

There was a tap on your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned to look at him.

He held up two DVD cases. “Blade Runner, or Back to the Future?”

You glanced between the two of them intently. “Huh?”

“We should take a break,” he suggested.

“Ah,” you nodded. “Which one’s less depressing?”

“Uh…” Iwaizumi looked between the two of them. “Back to the Future. Definitely.”

“I wanna watch that one, then.”

Iwaizumi nodded, turning around and turning the TV on.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Watching a movie with Iwaizumi, huh? Now that was dangerous territory. This time, at least, you knew to put a pillow between the two of you.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love #an hour and 20 minutes late but it's up #sorry about that lads

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sichengtual · 3 years

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�� summary: wanting to make his big break as a song-writer, jun gets assigned to work with a band that has every intent on making it big. but it’s the 70’s, and just as he’s about to discover, love and rock&roll go hand in hand.

— pairing: wen junhui x reader.

— au: 70’s, song-writer!jun, rockstar!reader.

— genre: fluff.

— word count: 15, 273 (15.2k)

— playlist: somebody to love — queen ; your song — elton john ; where you lead — carole king ; tiny dancer — elton john.

— warnings: alcohol consumption, some cursing, josh saying groovy every time he speaks.

— a/n: a part of me really wishes i was living in the 70′s and i think it shows here lol also, the moonwalker is inspired on the troubadour and the song jun writes is tiny dancer because it carried me the entire way, what an mvp.

this one’s for @chocosvt ! i really hope you like it <3

Jun is nervous.

The tapping of his feet against the cold, faux tiled floor produces no audible sound over the music coming from the speakers, but it’s still noticeable to him. He tries to keep a steady pace, even counting along to the beat as he plays the same words over and over inside his head. It’s his own voice speaking back at him, words a mere reminder, and, if he were to be completely honest, part of the reason behind his nerves.

He had promised you, on the very first day he met you, that he’d help you shine. That he’d make you succeed. Part a rush of the moment, part wanting to impress his boss and part a reassurance for himself, his promise had been easy to make. Then. And it’s not that he doubts himself, or you, but, at the end of the day, he’s a 24 year old making his debut in the music industry. And it’s hard, of course, because even when he’s not the one performing, it’s still his words that are being sung.

Doing what he does is harder than people usually think. Jun’s lyrics are heart-felt, authentic, with his entire soul poured on the paper and ready to be dissected by whoever got to listen to the songs he wrote. He surrenders it to the artist, basically giving up any kind and sort of hold he has over the feelings he’s just reflected, giving them away for someone else to interpret them the way they want. The way they can. And as difficult as it is sometimes, it’s part of the job, and all that he can hope for is for them to be interpreted in the most authentic way possible. It’s hard, definitely, but after years and years of trying, he knows that having them expressed are way better than keeping them in.

Following the loud bang of a drum, he looks around as he keeps the pace with his foot. The entire room smells like entrapped smoke, and warm coffee, and it looks somewhat like it too. There’s a thick, almost translucent layer of fog-like smoke hanging on the air, slowly rising to the ceiling as minutes keep passing. There’s also a big arrangement of paper cups, both full and empty, resting on all possible surfaces around him, almost reflecting the passing of time in their placement; 8 in the morning on the desks, 2 in the evening on the equipment luggage, and a few hours past midnight on some parts of the floor.

The practice room is a dimly-lit space, with a few round, orange and yellow glass lamps hanging on the ceiling and set a few meters apart, barely even enough to illuminate the entire room. In the evening, the last few rays of sunshine manage to break through the high set windows, reflecting on the tinged glass and breaking upon the dark purple walls in bright, warm shades of orange.

He hasn’t been there a lot, only a few days since he had arrived for the first stop of the tour, but as he sets his eyes on it, he can’t help but think it almost resembles a sunset. He can see the colors, the exact same ones that paint over the sky just as the night is about to fall down, and it serves to help him ease a little bit. Sunsets, even the ones reflected upon the walls of a world tour practice room, are the same all around.

“Why are you still getting it wrong? It’s all about the groove, man,” Josh whines. He’s sitting on a small wooden stool, his guitar propped up on his knee.

“I don’t know, Josh, I’m the one that wrote this riff and for some reason I just can’t play it correctly again!”

“Beginner’s luck,” Chan comments, not really involved in the argument, but never one to pass the opportunity to strike a joke. He looks down to tune down his guitar once Mingyu turns to give him a stare.

“That doesn’t make sense, I’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, it certainly doesn't seem like it! Just try to make it groovy!”

He’s still getting used to the band.

They’re a nice group of people; kind, loud and boisterous, but that’s just every band he knows. Having worked in the label for years, he’s used to seeing bands come and go, submitting his songs with no much more room for interaction left other than a Jun, they liked it! coming from his boss on the good days (the bad days are different, a little less remarkable, but they’re the ones he tries not to think about). This, his first time on the road with one of them, is a completely new experience, and if it wasn’t for finally seeing his dream beginning to get on track, it’d be one that would probably have him shaking in fear.

But they’re warm, laid-back and easy to talk to, which he appreciates, knowing he’s not the best at initiating conversations... or maintaining them. He had felt intimidated at first, looking into a group of rising rock stars from the outlook of someone who’s just as into their world as he’s out of it, standing somewhere between the line that divides the outside and the inside. But he’s entering, just walking in and slowly stepping his toes on the water; and he’s doing it by the side of people he’s glad he can finally get to call his friends.

“Jun, could you possibly tell Mingyu he’s been playing the wrong note the entire time?”

“Yeah Josh, I already know I’ve been playing it wrong.”

“Please stop fighting so we can practice!” Soonyoung says from his spot on the drums, backed up with a nod from Vernon, the bassist looking surprisingly bored at the altercation.

“Can you tell him to play the right note this time? And remember, make it groovy!”

He hadn’t heard the door opening, but you’re walking in the room just he finally tears his gaze from Josh’s bright red guitar. You turn to give him a smile, one he quickly returns, before turning back to the two bickering guitarists. He turns to look at the set playlist, with his name carefully penned down below all fifteen songs, and he tells himself that, despite his nerves, he might just be perfectly ready for the tour to start.

“Are you okay? You looked a little distracted today.”

The diner is quiet.

There’s really not much movement, with only another customer besides him inside the small establishment. He can focus on the clinging of his spoon as he moves it around in his cup, light, creamy bellows of steam rising as the aftermath of the ripples he creates on the dark liquid. The coffee really isn’t great, tasting a bit tangy against his tongue, even after he had added a small packet of sugar to try and ease the bitterness of the beverage. If he focuses enough, he can even make out a light buzz coming from the neon lights advertising the diner in the street, sound low but crisp against the pouring rain.

It’s cold, and a part of him really regrets coming to the diner straight out of practice without going to his room first. He had just needed to write, and to do that, he needed silence. He runs a hand up and down his left arm, the coolness from his rings perceivable even through the thick wool of his shirt.

He looks up, the ripples inside his cup long forgotten.

You’re standing in front of him, looking just as tired as he feels, with a completely different stance than the one you usually show inside the practice room. Or on the stage. It’s relaxed, at ease, a little shy, even, and he can’t help but wonder if, behind the whole rockstar facade, maybe the two of you aren’t really that different.

You take a seat in the chair in front of him, the laminated red seat squeaking as response to the movement.

“Huh?” He lets out.

“At practice,” you move, trying to get comfortable in the cold, plastic chair. “You looked a little distracted. Everything okay?”

Jun shrugs, smiling softly. “It’s just nerves, I think.”

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Jun smile, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. And, in complete honesty, it was the first time it had been completely directed at you. He had always been a little quiet, ever since he was first introduced as the “new song-writer” by the label director, and, because of the chaos that naturally ensued whenever surrounded by the entire band, your interactions with Jun had been few and far-between.

Here’s what you’ve managed to learn about him in the months you’ve known him: he likes to be alone when he writes, but he can also do it when sitting as far away from the speakers as possible. He likes drinking his coffee with both sugar and cream, and even if he doesn’t drink too much of it, he always finds a way to spill even a little bit, be it on his shirt or somewhere near his notebook (which has been the cause of many scares inside the practice room). He keeps a pen in his shirt pocket at all times, whether it be for writing down an incoming idea wherever he found or for clicking the seconds away whenever he got nervous.

And he’s surprisingly shy about his lyrics, even when he sounds completely confident in them. You can tell, whenever you’re given them to sing them, that they are words he’s proud of; words that came from his heart as bits and pieces of the most beautiful poetry you’ve ever read. And they’re always accompanied by a small, shy smile and the slight reddening of his cheeks.

“I know what you mean,” you say. You call the waiter just as Jun takes a sip from his coffee, not missing the slight purse of his lips as he swallows down the warm beverage. “I’m nervous too.”

“You don’t seem to be,” he comments. He looks back down at his coffee, hand still making circles with the spoon. “Whenever you sing, it’s like you’re completely used to it. It feels as if it were something you’ve always done, something you know like the back of your hand. And still… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you’re thrilled by it, even more so every day.”

Jun looks up at you, hiding his words behind a smile. You don’t notice, too busy ordering a cup of chamomile tea to make anything of the way he’s staring at you from the other side of the table.

“It’s amazing what putting on a brave face can do, then,” you answer. “I love being on stage. It’s just nerve wracking to think about it when I’m not there. It’s like Mingyu not being able to get his own riff right unless he’s playing in front of a live crowd.”

“Oh, please don’t remind me of the riff incident. Joshua’s voice hasn’t left my head the entire day.”

Rain continues falling. You can hear some melody coming from the speakers, which, even when it feels completely unfamiliar, makes Jun’s sway to the side as he rests his head on his hand. Maybe he knows it.

“I hope it’s not a bad sign,” Jun mentions, pointing to the window with his thumb. “Starting the tour with a little bit of rain.”

“Seungkwan was talking about that earlier, too,” you say, thinking back of the keyboardist’s words from before you left the practice room. “But you know, if anything, I think it might be a good sign.”

Jun purses his lips, head moving to the side. His fingers move across the table, fiddling with the empty sugar packet he had used. The bright pink paper shines bright against his hands, fluorescent yellow light reflecting from outside. It captures his eyes, and yours, and for a brief second, the both of you are stuck on watching how the packet’s shadow grows whenever Jun moves it around his fingers. It reminds you of him with the pen, a mere distraction. Or maybe just a way for him to set his ideas in order.

You can tell he’s still a bit hesitant about the interaction, not knowing if they’re nerves at talking about the tour or just nerves at talking to you. As soon as he looks up from his hands, you give him a smile.

“It’s a bit of a fresh start, isn’t it? And I think, right now, that’s what we all need.”

As much as Jun wants to say he’s not surprised at the turn-out, his eyes are wide open at the influx of people coming through the doors.

His heart beats loud against his chest as he looks down at the stage, empty of people but perfectly set with an array of instruments that are only waiting to be lit alive. The entire place is full of chatter; the ever-growing excitement of a crowd begging to be enchanted by an unknown performance. Up from his spot at the balcony, he can’t make out what they’re saying but he doesn’t miss how they’re saying it: and the pure excitement in their voices draws a chill from his spine.

It’s a scene like the ones he’s been hearing about for years. Like the ones he’s been dreaming of witnessing, of being a part of it. And now he’s in one, not only as an spectator, but as the man behind the words.

“It’s amazing, don’t you think? Or as Josh would say, incredibly groovy.”

Seungcheol, the band’s manager, asks as he walks into the balcony. Him and Jun went way back, much more than anyone else in their group besides the band themselves. They were the new generation, the young dreamers at the office that were only waiting to be given a shot to prove themselves. They had been hired at the same time, both meant to work with a completely different artist that had ended up not taking them because of how young they were.

They had built up their experience together, and it had been those late-night talks at the label’s office that made Jun able to call Seungcheol his friend, powered through by cheap coffee and tired conversations full of laughter. And they’re only part of the reason why Jun always refers to Seungcheol as a long-lost brother more than a newly found friend.

“It’s almost sold out!” Seungcheol continues. He’s wearing a dark pin-stripe suit, as he always is whenever he’s on official business. His hair is slicked back, and his usual pair of gold wire-frame glasses rest on top of his nose, specs perfectly clean. “People keep walking in and walking in and walking in! It’s almost as if they’re the freaking Rolling Stones and not a band barely making their debut. Is that Hoshi or is it Charlie Watts on the drums?”

“It’s the Monday night show, it’s a guaranteed success,” Jun mutters. He knows Seungcheol would be able to see past his facade, to make out the true meaning of his words. Three years after meeting him, there isn’t much he can hide from him. “I’m happy for them, though. The first night’s important.”

“Yeah, me too,” Seungcheol smiles. “Vernon’s been freaking out in the backstage since he started hearing the crowd coming in. He’s just staring at his bass and Hoshi’s about to smack his head with his drumsticks.”

“They’re gonna do amazing. If Mingyu gets his riff right, that is.”

“And everybody’s gonna love the songs,” Seungcheol says, pressing a gentle palm on Jun’s shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he was shaking. “If only they knew the stud that wrote them. I bet they’d even like looking at those nice bell bottoms you’re wearing. Since when do you like purple pants?”

“I bet they’re gonna prefer looking at Mingyu,” Jun laughs before Seungcheol does, and it almost distracts him from his surroundings. “Or even Josh. And Minghao gave me the pants, by the way.”

“Or even Josh,” Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head as he looks away from his friend.

“Groovy,” Jun says.

“Groovy,” his friend responds.

Jun’s nerves have calmed down by the time the lights fall down.

A half-empty beer bottle looks over the crowd, sitting immediately next to the balcony’s railing. He notices an entirely new atmosphere now that the room is only barely lit, as if the lights falling had only served to heighten the people’s emotions. It’s almost as if they’re in a different place altogether, with expectating hanging high in the air and out of everyone’s reach.

The Moonwalker they had walked in, just a few hours before, barely resembles the Moonwalker they’re in right now.

It had been lit by the natural light coming from the windows, bouncing over the wood-covered walls and reflecting over the little trinkets that served to adorn them. They had been the highlight of the place, attracting the eyes of everyone that entered to the rows and rows of pictures and memorabilia. What was that hanging over the bar, Bob Dylan’s hat? Jun had only been more impressed by the bright neon sign that spelled the bar’s name right on the center of the stage, after seeing it on newspaper cuttings for most of his life.

A few days back, when Seungcheol had told him of the gig they had landed the band through a friend of his girlfriend (bless you Lily!), Jun almost couldn’t believe his words. The bright blue cursive sign had been the first thing that had come to mind, consuming his thoughts as a sort of finish line at the end of a marathon. It wasn’t only the bar’s trademark, it was also the backdrop of some of the most amazing debuts in modern rock n’ roll history. And now, looking at it shining brightly against the low-lit room, a part of him still can’t believe he might be about to see one of them with his own two eyes.

He had heard of concert nights on the Moonwalker the same way he had heard the stories of the great mythic heroes. He had seen pictures the same way he had learned of iconic places and happenings. He remembers spending entire nights finding motivation in the dream of listening to his songs being played in the exact same place some of his favorite songs had been presented, of them finally finding their home within the same crowd that had once listened to The Byrds and Carole King.

And as you walk onto the stage, commanding attention with each step, Jun is sure tonight is going to become one of those. And that it’s his songs that will be sung back by the crowd, resounding against the walls and enveloping the entire place in their meaning.

The band had already been introduced by the club owner, but no one had actually turned to pay attention until you had walked on stage. You’re met by countless excited bellowings, a smile on your face forming at the sudden attention.

“We hope you enjoy the show!”

The rest of the band follows, and Jun is struck by a thought. Words materialize in his head as if prompted by the first few notes, threading together into a complete, coherent phrase. It’s a phrase Jun knows. He might have heard it from someone, or read it from somewhere, and it’s stuck in his brain the same way the bridge of the song you’re singing once was. Or maybe it was just something someone had once told him.

He knows that there are moments in an artist’s life that will define their career. Moments that let you know how it's gonna go. A preview of sorts. And he knows, looking at you shining under the spotlight, that he’s just witnessed something big.

The entire crowd has gone wild at the music, and Jun knows it’s only the beginning.

For now, he just smiles, and like the people dancing down below, he lets himself go.

The party is in full-swing by the time Jun walks in.

The house itself is small, one story and a few rooms that hold a big part of the party-goers. He can tell it’s usually used as a holiday residence, not exactly a place of staying but merely a place of passing, because every single thing that’s visible doesn’t really have a function different from simply looking good. The entire place is covered in small, colorful trinkets that look like they’re part of some random collection that everyone always sees but no one actually ever looks at.

It’s truly a rock-star’s house, because, really, nothing about it makes sense.

Countless bookshelves rest against the colorfully draped walls, an array of uneven, colorful wallpapers shining under the light of the multiple glass chandeliers, but not a single book is visible to the eye. The floor itself is a great quality wood, but everything’s hidden below a series of fuzzy rugs that somehow match the randomness of the wallpapers.

The music changes slightly as he keeps walking, an entire ensemble of genres, styles and decades all the product of a number of record players playing simultaneously all over the house. All of them are playing a completely different thing, but somehow it all blends into one cohesive beat. Jun could go into the technicalities behind it and say it’s probably in the beats per minute, or could maybe go somewhere into the meaning behind the lyrics, but for now, he just lets himself get immersed into the scene.

The party doesn’t resemble anything he had lived before, or even heard of. And it’s full of people.

The entire team (band and staff alike) had been invited to an after-party held by some music executive that’s friends with the owner of the club. It happened every monday after the show, they had said, entertaining executives, artists, and club-goers alike. And no one really cared who was which as long as there was music playing all around them.

“Jesus, is that Billy Joel?” Seungcheol asks as he walks closely behind Jun. The two of them and Minghao, the band’s stylist, had been the last to leave for the party, having to stay behind to finish the last of the arrangements that followed a successful concert at the Moonwalker, with the rest of you leaving with some of the club’s crew. “Guys, I think that’s Billy Jo- jesus, he’s talking to Chan and Seungkwan.”

“Of course he’d be talking to Chan and Seungkwan, they probably went right to him when they saw him,” Minghao says. “Hey, can you see Vernon around?”

“He’s probably sitting somewhere next to the drinks or something. Or maybe he’s outside, I think there’s a live band playing somewhere out there,” Jun comments.

“Damn, should’ve booked us too for that, right?” Seungcheol says, laughing with the words.

“Don’t you rather just enjoy the party and forget about performing for a bit?” Minghao questions. Out of the corner of his eye, Jun can see Seungkwan and Chan walking away from the group of people they had been talking to, probably on their way outside for some fresh air. “The guys seem to be having a great time. Let go for a bit, Cheol! Let’s enjoy this whole rockstar life even if it’s just for tonight!”

He can hear Mingyu’s laugh coming from somewhere nearby, even if his eyes can’t locate the tall guitar player. He’s surprised he can hear him, with how low his laugh usually is and how high the music is playing, but once Seungcheol points him out in the crowd, he’s only a few steps away. He’s entertaining a large group of people, with Joshua smiling by his side, the both of them holding two glasses of what looks like beer.

It’s no surprise the two of them would like to be around the growing crowd, with how easily they seem to be able to strike a conversation with whoever walks by. He had known them to be sociable, in comparison with some like Vernon, Minghao or himself. It’s still a bit surprising, though, how in control they seem to be of a conversation held with people they probably didn’t know five minutes ago.

“I’m gonna go find us something to drink,” Seungcheol says, patting Jun on the back before walking away with Minghao closely following his steps.

And Jun is left alone. Still, in a house full of people, he sticks his hands in the front bottom of his purple jeans. They had really been Minghao’s suggestion, along with the slick yellow button up and a pair of red boots. It was comfy, and Seungcheol had assured him he really did look good, so he hadn’t dwelled much on it when leaving the hotel room.

He debates joining Mingyu and Joshua’s crowd for a second, but the growing scent of tobacco and beer has him making his way to the door after he raises his hand in a greeting. Josh manages to signal him to the backyard before Jun leaves, and he wonders whether he’s simply pointing in the direction of the live band, or Vernon, or you.

As he walks outside, bumping bodies with a never-ceasing crowd, he discovers it’s the later. The outside of the house is just as impressive as the inside, or, as he finds once he begins to look around, even more.

The entire yard (or at least the part that’s closest to the house) has been decked in continuous rows of fairy lights, hanging from the trees like a mere reproduction of the constellations shining up above. There are at least five campfires, all surrounded by people holding guitars or dancing along to the songs being played by a live band nearby. Their silhouettes are reflected on the ground, a product of the blazing fire, and it’s almost like they’re dancing with the people themselves, more than being a plain reflection of them.

It’s almost like a scene taken right out of a move, only livelier than any he could ever think of.

Jun finds you with your back against a tree, sitting cross-legged on a furry carpet, completely enthralled in the music. There’s a series of carpets draped all over the grass, the exact same kind he saw inside, completing the part of the scene that connects both places. As he walks over to you, he wonders where the rest of the band is, with you being alone in the backyard, until he sees Seungkwan and Chan, still hanging close together, sitting a few feet away with what he assumes is another group. A part of him is thankful at the seeming privacy, finding a bit odd how comfortable he is in the middle of a growing crowd when just a few minutes ago he had felt overwhelmed by the loneliness behind it. But then he turns to look at you, smiling carelessly even with your eyes closed, and he knows it’s not a product of the environment.

It's because of you.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” Jun says, making sure to fall as carefully as possible as he sits down next to you. “Tonight was amazing. Truly, got me tearing up at all.”

“You’ve got your own lyrics to thank for that, mister,” you say, followed by a laugh. You’re still in your concert outfit, although wearing a pair of sneakers as opposed to the platform shoes that had been paired up with the colorful overalls. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t the only one tearing up tonight. I think Hoshi even cried a bit himself.”

“He probably cried at the crowd making tiger claws back at him more than he did at the lyrics.”

“Yeah, Vernon told him not to do it but he did it anyway!”

“Where are those two, by the way?”

“Somewhere next to where the band is playing,” you answer. You close your eyes as you speak, resting your back against the tree. “I just wanted to get away from everything. Sometimes it’s fun to just observe from a distance.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve been looking at life from a distance for so long, sometimes I forget what it is to actually be living it. I guess it makes for some interesting lyrics though, so it’s been kind of worth it, at least in that way,” Jun says, smiling at you even when you don’t see him. He moves closer to you as he hugs his knees to his chest, feeling the top of your shoulder brush against his. “I think coming with you guys on tour might change that.”

“It’s the rock-star life, huh?” You smile, and Jun can’t help but notice it’s a mirroring of his own smile. In some way, it looks just as vulnerable. He looks away when he feels his cheeks heat up. “You know, you’re much different from what I thought you were when I used to see you at the office.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. I just know I really like talking to you. Every day, I really look forward to being around you,” you laugh, and when he turns to look back at you, you’re finally looking at him again. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Wen Junhui.”

“Says the rock-star,” he laughs. He’s smiling, holding his knees as close to his chest as he can manage as he tries to hide his fluester in his body language. Not that it’s working, anyways. “I’m just some guy.”

“You’re the most interesting guy I’ve ever met.”

You shake your head, and by the way your eyes set on the sky, Jun isn’t completely sure if you’re talking to him or if you’re simply talking to the stars, trying to set your story in the skies for the entire world to see. It makes him smile even wider, anyways.

“I wonder which one shines brighter. From down here, they look almost the same. But maybe it’s just the distance that taints our perspective,” you mutter, pointing to the lights on the trees.

“I’d like to think it’s the stars,” Jun comments. “When I was a kid, I always enjoyed watching them. I’d find patterns and have them in my head for weeks as a sort of picture out of a coloring book. Somehow, the stars always seemed to have the answers to every single question that would run through my head, even when miles away.”

“You speak like that and call yourself ‘some guy’,” you laugh. “It’s always poetry coming out of your lips, and I’d listen to every single bit of it.”

The conversation stops, but silence never envelops the both of you, because there is music all around. And there are people dancing, so when you lose focus on each other and gian it in your surroundings, their movement is everything you see. It’s almost as if they’re dancing for the two of you to watch, and neither of you notice the moment your head comes to rest in Jun’s shoulder, way too immersed in a ballet of silhouettes to make anything out of the sudden movement.

“I hope tonight was good,” you say. “It felt different from other nights, and I don’t know what it was. I’ve never felt that way when performing at home. It felt almost magical, standing there, under the limelight, in front of all those people. Maybe it’s just me, though.”

Jun shakes his head, muttering a soft no as an answer. You turn to look at each other when he starts speaking, still as close as before. But now he gets to look at you as he speaks.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you must have felt. I’m not familiar with that side of the gig,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Somehow, the beer he had drank back at the club was still making his blood run wild through his veins, cheeks reddening at the eye contact. “I wish you could’ve seen it from my eyes. Listened to it through my ears, felt what I felt the moment you started singing. I’ve never seen you shine any brighter.”

"You’ve been attending our concerts long enough. Well,if the fifteen person presentations back home even count as concerts.”

“I’ve been to all of your concerts,” he laughs. “And believe me, tonight was really special.”

“It’s the Moonwalker’s magic,” you say, and Jun turns to look at you. “You saw the place, it was special. It made it special.”

And he doesn’t know if it’s the effect of the lights shining above your head, or the remaining adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he’s sure he can hear his heart beating against his chest. He can hear it over the loud music, thumping so hard his mind goes blank, falling closer to you as he begins to lean in.

Because even when far away from the Moonwalker, he’s still smiling the same. He feels just as happy, somewhere in the backyard of a stranger’s house. The place is special, for sure, but only as much as you made it.

“It wasn’t the Moonwalker that was magical. It was you.”

And you can hear him, because even when the world around you is spinning completely out of order, his smile is still front and center in your eyes. He’s smiling at you and everything else only but circles around it.

As a new song starts playing from a record player far away, Jun kisses you under a thousand fairy lights. You’re still not sure of which one shines brighter -the artificial lights or the stars high above- but as Jun’s hand finds yours over your lap, you decide you don’t really care.

A part of you would really like to think nothing had changed after the kiss.

In reality, the two of you had been so flustered he had ran back to Seungcheol and Minghao while you went to find Vernon and Hoshi, refusing to say anything about the moment to any of them. It was part of some unofficial and unspoken deal, sealed with only a look, sparing the both of you of any kind of conversation immediately afterwards. It had been a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, and nothing else.

That’s what you told yourself the entire night, even when questioned by Seungkwan about the sudden giddiness in your smile and the change in your gaze, slightly unfocused on the world in front of you, as if something more important was playing inside your head. As if that something was the memory of the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours, leaving your skin tingling as an aftermath of his touch. As if that something had been the way he had smiled at you right after, looking as if the affection you’d just shared was as unbelievable to him as it was to you.

In all honesty, Jun’s kiss was more than one of the many that were shared that night by the people around you. It wasn’t just a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, because the way you had looked at each other just before your lips connected had been a long time coming. That was the product of months of unknown pining; of you looking for him as soon as you entered the office, and of him not being able to take his eyes off you as soon as he saw you walking by. It was a product in the exchange that came with you singing for the world the words he had shared with you in messy scribbles over coffee-stained paper, something about the entire thing feeling growingly intimate the thought ran through your head.

Because even when he wasn’t writing songs for you, or about you, he still trusted you with them. In your eyes, that was worth more than him signing one of them with your name on top of the page for everyone to see. And while you were sure it wasn’t an act of love (or at least not yet), you couldn’t deny it always opened the door for that possibility to walk in. Or for you to walk towards it, at least. Just like his songs, and for months on end, Jun had always been there.

Well, at least up until the night he kissed you.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional or fate making a cruel joke out of your feelings, but Jun had been avoiding you. As much as he could be avoiding you in the span of a few hours, at least.

“Wanna sit with me on the bus?”

You can’t really tell what Vernon’s wearing. He’s sitting next to you on the curb in front of the bus, a pair of sparkly sunglasses resting atop of his nose. He’s wearing a yellow hat that matches the color of his shoes, but that doesn’t really go with any of the other pieces of his outfit.

“Aren’t you gonna sit with Hao?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Vernon drinks from a styrofoam cup he has on his hand. It’s the same as yours, so it’s probably to-go coffee from the hotel’s restaurant. “He’s been trying to talk about some outfit ideas he had during the concert last night. He called it a revelation or something. I’m pretty sure Seungkwan could be of more use to that conversation than me.”

You don’t really want to sit with Vernon. And it’s not that you don’t enjoy his company, because out of everyone in the band, he’s always been the one you’re closest to. But somehow, you know sitting next to Vernon will prevent you from any chances of even talking to Jun in the next six hours until you reach the next spot. You’re not sure if he’s even actually avoiding you, but you don’t really want to be correct.

“Are you kidding? You wear this kind of outfits and you think you don’t have a sense of fashion? Vern, if anything, you’ve always been the Mick Jagger amongst all of us.”

“Okay, those stage outfits were chosen by Minghao, it wasn’t really me putting together those suits and - whatever he has me wearing all the time.”

You roll your eyes, playfully.

“Although, I guess I could use this chance to keep him from putting me in another sparkly overall like the one from last night.”

“But you were such a star! It looked pretty nifty if you ask me.”

“Keep going and I’ll tell him to find the most ridiculous hats for our next concert, just you wait!”

The rest of the band starts walking out of the hotel, Chan’s laughter pulling your attention from Vernon. As they walk next to you, you decide to ignore Hoshi’s tiger print overalls and Mingyu’s conversation of how he had met and talked to George Harrison at the party once Joshua had walked away from him.

“I don’t believe George Harrison would ever like to be entertained by your presence, Gyu. There were definitely groovier people to be around last night.”

“It’s not my fault you decided talking to Seungcheol was more important than stickin’ around, we literally see the guy every day.”

“Hey, I’m your manager!” Seungcheol wines from the hotel door, walking behind a groggy Seungkwan.

“Yeah, we literally see you every day,” Mingyu retorts. He has one foot on the bus steps, only turning to argue with the eldest. “Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you so often, with all your random hair-do’s.”

“Can it and get in, we’re late anyways. Everyone keep steppin’!”

“The only reason we’re late is because you couldn’t stop talking to your girlfriend on the phone,” Mingyu lets out before climbing in, somehow managing to avoid getting yelled at yet again.

You get up after Vernon, following him into the bus as soon as Mingyu, Josh and Seungcheol had gotten in. You’d seen Seungkwan, Hoshi and Chan passing by, and quickly found them sitting together near a small kitchen area.

The bus itself isn’t much different from others you’ve seen, with rows of faux leather seats set one after the other along the central aisle. All the way to the back there’s an area with what looks like a small bed, a door leading to a tight bathroom and a small kitchen space consisting of two cabinets and a microwave. And every single thing is either muted yellow or a dark orange, making the entire espace look probably smaller than it actually is. It’s comfortable enough, though.

“Hey, Vern, come here,” Minghao calls from one of the seats. He’s resting his back against the window, with his feet on the couch and his knees pulled close to his chest. A small notepad rests on top of them, having only looked up from his sketches to greet the bassist. “Let me show you what I’ve been thinking of. I swear, the setting of the Moonwalker gave me so much clarity on what I want to put all of you guys in for the rest of the tour.”

“Hao, give Josh a groovy Bob Dylan inspired hat!”

“You wear the damn Bob Dylan inspired hat if you want, see how groovy it looks on your head.”

Vernon looks at you to give you a small smile before sitting down next to Minghao as you walk past, stealing one of Hoshi’s snacks before plopping down on the seat behind him. You shift in your seat, hearing the slick material of the seat squeaking against the courness of your jeans. You quickly look at the small smiling daisies Minghao had painted with black markers all over the light surface, making for an interesting pattern when looked at from far away. Your fingers trace over the figures as you rest your head on the window, closing your eyes until you feel someone coming to sit right next to you. You had quickly placed your book on the seat when sitting down, but you find it on top of Jun’s lap as you see it’s him who’s by your side.

“What an interesting thing to be reading!” He exclaims, looking at the beat up copy of On The Road. “You’re a Kerouac fan?”

“You’ve read Kerouac?” You ask.

Jun smiles. “Of course not,” he says, before breaking into a laugh. He doesn’t give you the book back, but turns it to read the back cover. “Read to me? It will keep us both entertained.”

Without focusing too carefully on it, you can hear the distinct crisp sound of Joshua’s guitar coming from the front of the bus, and can make out the first notes of the Stairway to Heaven solo. It sounds better than you’ve heard him play, most likely the product of constant practice. But it all disappears when you turn to look at Jun.

Smiling at you, Jun lets you straighten up on your seat before placing his head on your shoulder as he hands you the copy. You’re surprised by how familiar it feels, and feel your lips curling up at the memory of doing the exact same thing the night before.

And you know that things have changed from the kiss, because now you’re not able to ignore the feeling in your chest that arises when Jun takes your hand in his. And you can only wonder if he feels the same, because he lets out a soft sigh the minute you tighten the grip, nuzzling his cheek against the fuzzy fabric of your corduroy jacket.

Smiling at his touch, your eyes start glazing over the print as you begin to read.

“I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up…”

The dinner lounge of the second hotel is much fancier than the first one.

The entire place looks like it’s been draped in velvet, every single ridge looking as smooth as a crease in the fabric. There’s a combination of wooden panels and wall-height mirrors adorning the walls, only interrupted by the golden frames of the windows. A dome rises on the center of the center, a thousand red roses painted in a mosaic of tinted glass, while the rest of the ceiling is covered in the exact same wood as the walls. The tables are all draped in expensive looking tablecloths, placed carefully under meticulously set tableware, and they’re accompanied by tufted chairs, all of them in matching red. The dark colors in the scheme makes the entire place look dim, despite all the chandeliers shining bright against up above the clients’ heads. There are candles decorating the tables, along with fresh roses matching the ones in the dome, but they serve more as a simple ambiance decoration than an actual light source.

And, even though the city they had been in had been just as big as the one they’re in now, and the budget had not changed in the slightest, the shiny grand piano that sits at the center of the small wooden stage at the back of the restaurant had caught Jun’s eyes as soon as you had walked in for dinner.

It was supposed to be a group dinner, but Mingyu, Chan and Minghao had gone sight-seeing, Vernon had fallen asleep and Seungcheol had stayed back in his room to rest (and, probably, talk to his girlfriend on the phone while eating something from the room service). At the end, it’s dinner of five instead of a dinner of ten, and while it would have been nice to share it with everyone, the company you had was more than enough.

“This place is groovy! Oh, Seungcheol went all out with this hotel,” Josh exclaims as you sit down at a table neighboring the windows, all five of you immediately drawn to the exterior scene. “I’d say he did an excellent job booking if it weren’t for the fact I’m rooming with Hoshi.”

“Hey!” The younger exclaims. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent roommate. Best you’ll ever have, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, I’ll start thinking that once you pick up your dirty socks from the floor after taking them off, that’s not groovy at all.”

“Jesus, can we not talk about Hoshi’s dirty socks while at the table, that’s fucking gross.”

“You’re just overreacting, and please just stop saying groovy,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes and picking up the pastel pink menu from the table, locking his eyes on the cardboard. “Anyways, this one burger looks way too nifty to pass it up.”

“I was thinking of ordering the same thing,” Seungkwan says, closing the menu.

“Have you seen the kind of restaurant we’re in? Order a pasta, or a salad, not a plain burger, go with the groove.”

“Do you think we’re Seungcheol, Joshua? If you had asked for his card like we told you, maybe we’d be buying pasta and wine for the five of us without you having to tell us about it!”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re scary when you’re angry?” Joshua asks, probably deciding on a burger as well as he imitates Seungkwan and places the menu back on the table.

“Only sometimes,” Soonyoung responds, smiling.

You’re not listening to their argument, though, with your chin resting over your hand and your gaze lost somewhere in the movement of a stranger.

It’s funny how being in a completely different country, in a city a million miles away, there’s some sense of familiarity behind simply watching people walking by. You’re not sure if it’s just the mere action, or maybe a combination of the movement in a similarly urban setting, with the lights reflecting upon the crowd as a sort of kaleidoscopic filter, but it never feels entirely too different.

“Do you want to play a game?” Jun asks, whispering right into your ear. He’s leaning close to your body, sitting between you and Joshua. You can make out the scent of his cologne as he scoots even closer to you to point to a stranger outside the window. “Like when we counted the number of headlights on the highway on our way here.”

You nod, words suddenly stuck on your throat as soon as you see Seungkwan looking at the both of you. Because truly, it was oh so very easy to get lost in the moment whenever Jun was around, and the thought has you smiling as soon as you notice. It’s oh so very easy to get lost in him.

“Okay, we’ll make it interesting. Whoever wins buys the other a cherry cola!” he says, his voice still sounding just as soft. If he’s aware of Seungkwan’s stare, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “Let's spot all the people that look like they’re dressed by Minghao after looking at the Moonwalker, starting… now!”

But his words have you laughing, so deeply you can feel it in your chest as you throw your head back. He looks at you, a care-free smile etched all over your face, and he can’t resist the laugh that forms at the center of the stomach, completely imitating your actions as the rest of the guys simply observe. And it’s amazing, because somehow, you have found just enough comfort in the presence of each other to be able to forget about everyone else. It’s not shy smiles and nervous laughs when in public, but full on grins and bursts of laughter.

The thing no one notices though, completely distracted by the boisterous laugh, is Jun placing his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb moving in delicate circles against the fabric of your jeans. He doesn’t spare a second thought on it, finding way too much comfort in your closeness to make it a conscious action. And you aren’t even surprised on how natural his touch feels by now, because, somehow, it feels like coming home.

Or maybe they do, but they just smile at the sight. There’s something enthralling about watching two people falling in love, bit by bit, gesture by gesture. It’s a tell behind the warmth of a smile and the fondness of a look, and while it’s not entirely common, it’s too beautiful to disrupt.

“Josh, have you really been looking at your reflection this entire time?”

It’s late, and everyone but you and Jun have left the restaurant by the time the piano player arrives.

You’ve long since finished your meal, having shared a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs after Jun had said he wasn’t even that hungry anyways. You had ordered two cups of coffee and a shared berry panna cotta, way too lost in making conversation about everything and anything to actually notice the passing of time. In reality, it’s only when the coffee has run cold and the musician has started playing that you notice an hour has passed since the guys had left for their rooms.

The song is not one you recognize, but apparently does, judging from the movement of his fingers against the table. He’s looking at the musician while he runs his fingers on the tablecloth like it’s some sort of invisible piano, making sure to get every single movement right in a tempo that perfectly matches the one that’s being played. You’re not sure if he notices, but his body has begun to sway ever so slightly, somehow matching the movement of his fingers.

The place is the same, yet it feels like a completely different one, even when the only thing that has changed is the music. It’s almost atemporal, like it could be night and day at the exact same time, as if it was simply something out of a dream.

“Do you know this song?”

Jun nods. He keeps his eyes on the musician, and a part of you wonders if it’s because he wishes that were him.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he answers, smiling. “I used to play it when I was growing up, back when I was learning. I remember how excited my parents were when I finally got the movements right after years of practice. I guess a part of their excitement that day was a part of what made me fall so in love with music that I decided it was what I wanted to do with my life.”

“How did you learn to play the piano? Seungcheol says you’re really good, and yet, you’ve never played with me around.”

“My mom’s a piano teacher. She used to give classes at this one prestigious school in our neighborhood, and I would hide behind the kitchen door and listen whenever she had a student,” Jun says. “I always liked how it sounded, so one night I just sat down on the piano and started playing. My mom started giving me classes the very next day.”

“And what about composing? How did that start?”

You had ordered a refill for your coffee and drink from your cup as Jun starts talking.

“I don’t know, maybe with school, or maybe just with books in general. I was always dreaming, thinking about stories. Sometimes I couldn’t get the ones I was learning about out of my mind, and before I knew it, there were so many scenarios being born in my head that I simply had no idea what to do with them.”

“So you started writing them.”

Jun nods. “After some time, they started turning into songs. I would be looking at the lyrics and would suddenly start hearing a certain tune playing from the back of my mind. It was only a matter of time until I realized what I kept writing were songs rather than just tales, and they started meaning something more to me. Music makes the world go round, but it’s the lyrics that give it meaning.”

“Said like a true poet,” you say, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you raise your cup to then once more. “I can tell your lyrics mean a lot to you. I know it probably sounds a bit silly, but I can feel it, you know? The emotion behind them. The words come alive before they’re even in my mouth.”

“Sometimes I can’t really tell what I’m feeling until I turn it into a song. The words come from a place so deep inside I can’t reach them on my own, but have to turn onto a pen and a piece of paper to know what they are,” he finally looks away from the musician. He’s still smiling, softly, gently. “It's a little weird. They feel both so deeply personal yet completely different from myself, as if the Jun that exists in the songs is a completely different person from the Jun in the real world.”

You fall quiet. You try to make sense of Jun’s words in your head as he reaches to grab a hold of your hand, but they’re way too beautiful, too meaningful, for you to tamper with. So you feel your heart grow warm at the passion behind them, looking at the man in front of you like he had just painted the stars upon the night sky.

“Will you dance with me?”

“Jun, no one is dancing.”

“And when have you let that stop you?”

Setting the napkin over the table, Jun gets up from his seat. He stretches his arm out at you, offering his hand, his silver rings reflecting the light upon its touch. And he looks at you, eyes sparkling brighter than ever under the restaurant’s delicate lightning, completely absorbed in the way your body imitates his movements.

You let Jun lead you through the sea of tables, all the way to where the little stage is located. There’s a small space that has been left between the stage and the neighboring tables, and you wonder if maybe dancing is what it’s meant for, despite not being used for it. But Jun is quick to replace your thoughts until they’re only about him, pulling you close to his chest and letting his hand rest against your waist.

“Just focus on me and I’ll focus on you,” he whispers, moving to talk right against your ear. “Hold me a bit closer and forget about everything else.”

Pulled flush against his frame, you let your hands fall on his back, closing your eyes as you allow him to sway you to the rhythm of the music. He moves in a way that almost has you wondering if maybe you are flying, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his dancing or if it’s just because it’s him.

You recognize the song the minute Jun starts singing the words. It’s soft, so much you wouldn’t have heard him if you hadn’t been standing so close to him, basically hugging him flush against yourself. It’s Love Is (The Tender Trap) by Frank Sinatra, and you smile at the similarity between the lyrics and the feeling in your stomach.

He gives you a twirl and it’s like there are a thousand butterflies flying within you, knowing there really is no getting out, because there is no denying something that manages to make you feel so wonderful. He smiles at you and you’re sure you’re falling in love with Wen Junhui, thinking of the way his kiss had made you tingle once upon a starry night.

“Keep on steppin’, you’re falling behind!”

Jun laughs, turning back to face you. The breeze ruffles his hair as he moves, thin strands falling onto his forehead. The sky is a bright blue and the sun is shining with all its might, but Jun’s light blue button up and beige bell-bottoms still rustle in the wind.

“It’s not my fault you walk that fast,” you say, quickening your pace to catch up with him. He moves smoothly as you meet him, circling your waist with his arm and holding you next to him as you walk.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” he mumbles as he resumes his walk. His pace is not as fast, looking so much more at ease as he looks around at his surroundings.

It had been Jun’s idea to spend your free day walking around the city, after Mingyu and the rest of his expedition crew had talked about their experience over breakfast. Some of the other guys had left earlier, excited about going to whatever stores they had seen on the bus before reaching the hotel, leaving you and Jun to simply stroll around and see what you find.

“This is nice,” he mentions. “It’s been a while since I felt this relaxed.”

“It’s nice you can feel relaxed in the middle of a tour,” you say, giggling. “But I get what you mean, having a break in the schedule, even if we’re only starting.”

“I think you’re the only rockstar I’ve met that actually uses the word schedule in their daily vocabulary.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m the only ‘rockstar’ you’ve met. I mean, besides… Seungkwan. Honestly, he’s the most rockstar material out of all of us.”

“Okay, Barbra Streisand.”

“You have not met Barbra Streisand!”

“In my dreams.”

“Oh, I didn’t know those counted.”

The boulevard is lively. There’s people strolling up and down on both sides of the street, very much like you and Jun, with their pace and actions revealing there’s not much hurry behind their walks. Cars of all models and colors drive through the street, your walk having a varied background orchestra composed of revving engines, passing conversations and the occasional music that was audible from the entrance of some business. It made for the typical city noise, not much different from the one at home, but somehow perfectly fitting for the particularities of the sight.

The two of you walk while holding the other, occasionally bumping shoulders with some other pedestrian when not paying particular attention. There’s truly not much on either of your minds behind the wonder of getting to know yet another city and enjoying the warmth of a sunny Thursday evening in each other’s company.

“Is there anything you wanna do?” Jun asks, slowing down his pace but not completely stopping.

“Not right now,” you answer. “We could stop somewhere for a soda or something later, if you want. You know, since you won yesterday and all.”

“Let’s go in here, then,” Jun says, moving his hand from your waist to your hand, softly pulling on you to the side.

You quickly follow him as he walks inside one of the stores, never losing the grip on his hand. The front is small, walls painted red and a bright purple signboard hanging over the glass doors, reading Vintage Records and Books, along with a few music notes that look hand drawn over the surface in multiple colors. There are crates full of books and vinyls, the covers of all of them a bit faded by the sun or scraped over the passage of time. At a first glance you can identify some Johnny Cash copies alongside the assorted records, what must have been a bright green cover now looking surprisingly muted.

And once you walk inside, the interior is just as lively as the outside. The place is covered in shelves, littered with books on one side of the store and with records in the other, with small placards dividing the shelves and categorizing the products. You can tell it’s a wide variety, with hundreds upon hundreds of colorful covers composing a contrast with the burnt purple of the walls. There are horizontal lines painted all across the walls in a bright green and an almost creamy white, which is replicated in a triangle patterned rug of the exact same colors, resting in the middle of the store.

Among the shelves, there’s an assortment of indoor plants hanging from the ceiling in bright green ceramic pots, along with a few small trees located between some of the shelves themselves. On the rare vacant spaces in the walls there are band posters or book quotes, some of them autographed and some of them pasted one over the other with washed out tape.

It feels oddly warm inside the shop, and you wonder if it’s merely because of the way the light breaks in from the tall windows up front. There’s a faint scent of flowers that reaches your nose as soon as you walk in, mixing in with the smell of paper and wood. And it’s heavenly.

“Hey, welcome!” Says someone from behind the bright pink counter. He looks around Jun’s age, with a long mane of dark brown hair that goes below his shoulders. He’s wearing a black hat and a green jacket, grinning at the two of you over the pages of a magazine. “Let me know if you see something you’re down with!”

“It smells nice in here,” Jun tells you, but he must have spoken loud enough for the man to hear, because his grin grows in size.

“Thanks, it’s home-made potpourri! I make it myself when there aren’t as many customers coming in,” he says, gesturing to a few jars displayed on a small counter. A few minutes ago, you wouldn’t think it was actually possible for someone to smile so big. “It’s for sale too, and it works really well on large spaces! Looks pretty groovy when it’s on display, if I do say so myself.”

Jun smiles back, walking over to one of the tall stands where a bright orange sign announces a deal on the records.

“Oh, if you buy one of those, you can take a book from this bin right here for free,” the man says. You can’t make out the letters in his name tag from a distance, but you’re almost sure they start with an S. “You can try them out on that player over there, see if it’s nifty. They’re all second hand, but the quality’s off the hook.”

You look around as Jun’s fingers graze over the records, flicking them so quick you’re not sure if he’s actually reading the title before discarding them. You hadn’t noticed the man had a record playing in the turntable he had signaled to, quickly recognizing the guitar solo of Jimi Hendrix’s Love or Confusion.

“Hey, wanna get this Bob Dylan one for Josh? See if he likes the hat?” Jun asks, holding a record in his hand without turning back at you. “Maybe there’s a Kerouac book in that bin you can take with you. You know, for the next bus ride - oh, this one’s groovy!”

“Oh, of course you’d pick a Barbra Streisand record.”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend!” Jun giggles. “You know, besides from you. And Seungcheol, but he doesn’t really count.”

“I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry. He won’t know you like me better.”

“A lot better.”

You spend hours browsing the shop, laughing at the silly jokes made by the cashier (whose name is Seokmin) and talking about pasts spent together and pasts spent apart, conversations sewn together by a smile. You had even slow-danced to a couple Elvis songs, all while resting your head against Jun’s chest as Seokmin clapped at the two of you for, as he had said it, resembling a romantic scene from one of his favorite movies.

And you’re not surprised at how familiar it feels, because in the last few days, Jun had come to mean much more to you than anything you could have ever thought. If you were as much of a hopeless romantic as he was, you’d even think it’s because your conexion runs even deeper than the simple process of falling for a friend, but you merely smile as the thought begins to form inside your head. And you laugh at how much it sounds like one of his songs.

Because there’s as much beauty in the way he smiles as there is in the way it makes you feel.

The sun’s beginning to set by the time you and Jun leave the record shop. The wind has gotten colder and the breeze has grown stronger, but as Jun tugs you close to his side, you don’t think you’ve ever felt warmer.

He’s holding just as many records as you’re holding books, letting you make all the picks from the bin once he had purchased his vinyls, along with a jar of Seokmin’s home-made potpourri.

His hand searches for yours as soon as you step outside.

“Can’t believe we’re almost there.”

The walk back to the hotel is surprisingly quick.

Jun had been humming the melody to a song Seokmin had played back when you were at the shop, adding a slight bounce to his step as the pitch in his voice rose and fell with the beat of the song. He had smiled the entire way back, occasionally stopping his hum to point at the colors in the sky or their effects on your shadows on the ground, never failing to look at the smaller details that worked together in one beautiful, cohesive picture.

But it still feels so much quicker than it had been the other way around, almost seems shorter, as if it had been a different path altogether.

Maybe it’s because you’re not as distracted by the storefront and the other passerbys, or maybe it’s just the feeling of bathing in the setting sun when making your way back that somehow makes the entire thing seem shorter. Jun had stopped to get a pair of pastries and two cups of coffee at a small bakery you hadn’t noticed earlier but went unaverted once the signs lit up, which now await inside a small paper bag and in two paper cups, respectively. As you sip from one of the cups, you think it’s the best coffee you’ve had in a long while.

Jun suggests yet another game on the way back, making you smile as he tries to locate every single red platform shoe worn by a woman over 5’0”, which, surprisingly, aren’t really that many. And you should have guessed from the moment he had said it, but he was just trying to let you win (because, after all, he had won the last two games and just had to pay the coke back).

“Ah, you’re getting lucky with your pick!”

“You were the one that chose what we’d look for!”

“Just let it be our secret,” he says, turning to wink in your direction.

You can feel the coolness of the breeze nipping at your nose when you finally reach the hotel, walking through the glass doors with Jun following close behind. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

“Do you want to get dinner?” You ask. You can smell the sugar and the cinnamon from the pastries, and your mouth begins to water. “There’s this other pasta dish on the menu that sounds just as good as the one we had yesterday.”

Jun purses his lips, giving a slight squeezing to your hand. “Let’s get room service, I want to show you something.”

He starts walking towards the elevator, moving slowly and letting you admire the pastel green lobby in all of its glory. There’s some faint jazz music playing as you walk through the lobby, which you hadn’t noticed until then. A big tree rises from the center of the room, matching some smaller ones that are perched next to the deep green tufted couches and complimenting the flower arrangements that have been used as decorations in both the small coffee tables and the bar at the reception. It’s a slightly different vibe than the one from the dining hall, but somehow, both of them look just as fancy.

“What is it?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

“Can I get a clue?”

“No, you’re going to help me finish it.”

“Please don’t tell me you also collect those freaky deaky puzzles Chan likes to put together in his free time.”

Jun giggles, shaking his head as you reach the elevator. “Ew, the anatomy ones? No, no way.”

The way up to Jun’s room is spent with him trying to guess the elevator music by singing random lyrics and seeing which one sounds best. Not that he got a single one right, but it was certainly entertaining to watch him try. When you finally reach the 10th floor, Jun is singing the lyrics to Cher’s Where Do You Go to a jazz melody very much similar to the one from the lobby, and you’re sure he’s only doing it to make you smile.

“Bienvenue to my humble abode,” Jun mutters as he opens the door to his room, making sure to bow down and open his arm to signal the room, completing the entire gesture with a short giggle. “I escaped having Hoshi as a roommate so I have the room all to myself.”

“And you have Seungkwan’s piano,” you mention as you walk inside, pointing to the small electronic piano that was carefully positioned next to the window. “Does he know?”

“No, I stole it from the van last night,” he answers, laughing and plopping onto the bed. “Oh, I’m so tired!”

The room is not too different from yours; a muted orange wallpaper matching the fuzzy carpet. Both twin beds in Jun’s room are covered in a dandelion yellow duvet, one of them holding all of his luggage while Jun rests on the other one (the one he must have slept in last night, closest to the window). There’s a small television on the vanity, the box a combination of bright beige plastic and faux wood, surprisingly going along with the white lamps that stand on both sides of it.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” You ask, coming to sit in one of the chairs next to the vanity. They’re big, tufted, and the color matches with the one of the duvets. The chair is not the most comfortable, but as long as the bed is, you don’t really have to worry about it.

Jun’s purchases lay next to him on the bed, Barbra Streisand’s Stoney End sitting on top of the pile. He had bought five records, four for himself and one for you (though he had refused to tell you which one it was, insisting it would be a surprise). You had selected five books to match his purchase, including a copy of Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, which Jun had suggested you take because of the colorful cover.

“I’ve been working on a song,” he mutters, still facing down on the bed. The words come out muffled, but they’re still audible. “I think you’ll like it.”

You let out a laugh. “I like all of your songs.”

“This one’s special,” he says, moving so he’s resting on his shoulders. His hair has gotten a bit disheveled, falling all over his face as his lips curl up in a hazy smile. “I’m working on the melody, too. I just need to hear your opinion about it.”

“You’ve been inspired,” you comment, reaching over to the vanity where Jun had placed the pastries bag. You take a roll into your hand and notice it’s still warm.

Jun winks before sitting up. “You’d know all about it.”

“All I do is sing your songs,” you say, breaking a piece of bread and tucking it into your mouth. It melts as soon as it meets your tongue. “You’re the artist behind the art. Should I start calling you Da Vinci?”

“I like Monet better. I’m a huge fan of the Impression Sunrise, even got a poster of it up in my room back at home,” Jun answers. He moves so he’s sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Seungkwan’s piano, grabbing a small notebook from the bedside table. You recognize it instantly, because it’s the one he always carries with him. He pats the space next to himself. “Here, I’ll show you.”

You leave your things on the bed next to all his luggage, books carefully propped against a faux leather duffle bag. Jun takes a piece of the cinnamon bread as soon as you sit down next to him, moving closer as he does, a whiff of his cologne reaching your nose. The duvet is of fine linen, surprisingly soft against your fingertips as you place your hands at your sides.

“I started writing it the other day,” he says, opening his notebook and placing it on his laps. You try to take a peek at it, but the (messily written) words aren’t readable from a distance. It looks beautiful though, fine lines of black ink rising like a carefully painted artwork on the thick, creamy white paper. “When you fell asleep on the bus.”

“It’s your fault for making me read to you!” You laugh, moving and bumping his shoulder with yours. “And, in my defense, the top of your head was extremely comfortable.”

“Yeah it’s like a portable pillow,” he jokes. “Maybe I should start advertising it.”

“Bet Seungkwan would take you up on it, he got asleep on the bus too!”

There is something about Jun that makes everything seem lighter, helping the seconds run fast against the clock.

“Here, I’ll show you the melody,” he says, straightening his back and placing his fingers on the keyboard. The assortment of rings he’s wearing had felt cool against your fingers. “I stayed up all night to come up with it. I haven’t finished the lyrics yet, but the music is already here.”

“Is that why you asked me for help? Are you gonna fall asleep on me?”

Jun smiles, but doesn’t turn to look at you. “No, not really,” he mutters.

He plays a key, but doesn’t give it much thought. It’s a quick, crisp sound, not really one that’s a part of a movement, even less of a song. Maybe it’s a reflex, like the clicking of the pen had once been, a mere outlet for his nervousness. He keeps his eyes set on his fingers as he speaks, not really directing his words at you but surely saying them because you’re there to hear them.

His voice is soft, almost shy. “It’s because you’re the inspiration behind it.”

And he doesn’t say anything else, but lets his fingers graze upon the keys as he starts playing. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking of, mind and heart running a thousand beats per second as you feel it thumping against your chest. There’s a feeling growing in your stomach, and whether it's due to adrenaline or some deeper, more complex feeling remains a mystery.

You close your eyes as Jun plays, each note igniting fireworks in your head. The music flows into your ears like honey, setting light upon the darkest places of your mind, overflowing your senses with Jun’s interpretation. Every single note sounds just like him, as if he’s becoming the music as he’s making it. His fingers run over the keys in the same way an artist’s brush glazes over a canvas, immersing itself in their creation to a point their creation is all they are. He has become a song, a beautifully crafted sonata, making your heart feel warmer with every moment. You know it’s because the song itself is beautiful - but so is he, and that translates into every single sound, every single feeling.

You let out a gasp as he begins to sing; it’s broken, a few lines here and there. You can tell it’s the bits he’s finished, the ones he’s comfortable with, leaving everything like a game of fill in the blanks. He had sung to you before, either in the song demos or in some practices where he had been finishing a song nearby - but his voice had never sounded sweeter. Your heart tugs against your chest as you listen to him, words coming alive in your head like the ones in the pages of a romance novel.

“Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man…”

Your hands ball up into fists, scrunching the soft duvet as you try to keep your eyes closed, no matter how much your eyelids are threatening to flutter open. You don’t want to see anything that isn’t him, or his voice; don’t want to feel anything that isn’t the sudden warmth that rises all over your body, making you feel like you’re flying -

And he stops, hands suddenly moving away from the keyboard after a faulty note.

“Stop distracting me!” He says, laughing as his cheeks grow red in embarrassment. He hands his hands on his lap, fingers absentmindedly fumbling with the rings he has on.

You don’t open your eyes, joining him in his laughter and falling on your back onto the bed. You bring your hands to your face, hiding behind them as your laughter grows louder.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” You answer.

You feel the space next to you dip as Jun imitates your movement, resting onto his back. His notebook has fallen to the floor, open in half, but he doesn’t notice. He brings his hand to your face, taking your own and moving it away from your face. He props himself up on his elbow, connecting your fingers over the duvet in the space that separates the two of you.

“Did you like it?” He asks, words falling from his lips between jolts of laughter. His voice is soft, and it feels like velvet against your ears. “You know, before I messed up.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” you whisper, opening your eyes and rolling to your side to look back at him. “Did you really write it because of me?”

Jun nods. He’s smiling, looking at you fondly as he searches for the words inside his head. “You’re a song in and out of yourself.”

He doesn’t move as you stare into his eyes. Looking at him, you’re suddenly reminded of the night he had kissed you - the same constellations that had shined high above your heads now reflected in his eyes, drawing you deeper into his spell. You feel like you’re falling, the entire world falling as you lay on the bed, his hand on yours the only thing pulling you back into reality. It’s as if the world around you changes every single time you’re with Jun, spinning wildly out of orbit and transforming into an unknown fantasy, with the only sure thing being the way his eyes come to rest upon you. You’re not sure if anything else exists apart from Jun, because suddenly he’s all you can see. All you can feel.

“And I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” he continues. He keeps his eyes on you as he speaks, as if trying to assure you his words are only for you to hear. “Or maybe I already was, but only just noticed. I hear your voice in every word, see your face every time I turn around with your name etched deep in my heart. I don’t think I could get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried. And I don’t think I would ever want to.”

You hadn’t noticed there were tears forming in your eyes until one fell down on your hand, ice cold against the warm skin. You open your mouth, searching for words deep down in your heart, but Jun shakes his head.

“Just… let me say it, you can go after,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming of love my entire life. As far as I can remember, I’ve always dreamed of feeling it. It wasn’t just something out of a fairytale or a novel, not even a dream coming out to a song. It’s been the theme behind all my songs and the happy ending of all my stories. And never would I have thought it would feel like this. Never would I have thought those dreams would become you, but you’re there, in every single word. In every single thought.”

He moves, fingers caressing the back of your hand as he gives it a squeeze. He moves his hand, placing yours over his chest, directly over his heart. Although faintly, you’re sure you can feel it beat.

And you move forward, your other hand on his neck, connecting his lips with yours. It’s warm, and you can make out a vague saltness that is no doubt a product of your tears. But they are long forgotten, the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours setting your body on fire as his hands come to rest upon your skin. You can feel your every vein light up as you move as close to him as you can manage, the space between you always weighing upon the both of you no matter how much you try to reduce it, because the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other is one you simply can’t get enough of.

He opens his eyes, eyelids fluttering open at the need to see you; to set the final piece of the puzzle in his mind. It’s a puzzle that looks, sounds and moves like you, composed of a love that burns too bright to ignore.

And as he looks at you, resting comfortably on the soft linen sheets, he’s sure he has never seen such a beautiful sight.

The next few days go by in a flash.

The days start early, as early as the sun goes up and you have breakfast on some terrace with Jun by your side, with the sun reflected upon his skin like a golden veil. They’re spent in jolts of laughter with your friends, soaking in the sun when sight-seeing in all the cities you’ve visited. They’re spent carelessly singing in the bus, with Joshua and Chan backing up the vocals with loud strums of their guitars, not really caring about beat, or tune, or whoever may be listening. They’re spent getting to know the world with the people that make the entire thing worth it, smiling and laughing along. They’re spent in sleepless nights on stages or someone’s backyard, twisting and turning in Jun’s hand as he moves you to the rhythm of the music. They’re spent in him watching you from a balcony, dancing and singing along to the crowds adoring your every move, finding himself lost in your voice.

And they’re spent in composing, with Jun finding inspiration in the smallest of your movements, lyrics suddenly being born in the crack of a smile and the fondness behind a look.

By the time the song is finally ready to be sung, he’s still a bit nervous. It feels like a deja vu, with him tapping quickly upon a faux tiled floor.

He rests his back against a wall, standing next to a closed door. He tries to move out of the way as people pass in a hurry, carrying equipment or reading from lists, simply looking around as he tries to count on the passing of time. He tries to maintain a steady beat with his foot, counting along in his head as he reads from the piece of paper he’s holding. Trying not to think about the sounds of a growing crowd, he can feel the paper crumpling in his hand, thinking that his grip on it might be a little too tight. Nonetheless, he can’t loosen it up, no matter how much he wants to.

Night has fallen, and he can see the stars from the small window that rises at the top of the wall in front of him. There’s some moonlight breaking in, lighting up the ground and the glass detailings on the colorful tiles. For a second, he thinks of how familiar it feels, to be able to see a picture where there is none, and he smiles. Backstage or not, the night looks the same all around.

He lets out a big breath, moving his free hand around as he does until he hears the door next to him flutter open. A laughing Chan walks out from it, followed by Josh and Mingyu, all of them with their guitars strapped down and ready to be played. They pat Jun on the back before they follow the small arrows on the ground, walking in the direction of the stage.

He runs through the lyrics in his head as the rest of the band follows, you walking behind while trying to fix the back of your jacket. Minghao had suggested some fringes on the sleeves to add some “movement” but they had proven a bit impractical when getting stuck whenever you moved your arms.

“Hey,” Jun says, grabbing your attention. “Do you have a moment?”

You smile. “What are you doing back here? I thought you and Cheol were gonna watch from the balcony.”

“We are,” he confirms, nodding his head. “I just wanted to say hi.”

His voice is shaking as he speaks, as much as he tries to hide it. You take his free hand in yours, stopping his movements in midair, giving his fingers a slight squeeze as you attempt to bring him some comfort.

“Are you nervous?” You ask. He simply nods, smiling when he feels you tightening your grip on his hand. “Is it because of the song?”

“I know it’s a bit silly,” he comments. Despite holding the piece of paper, he runs his hand through his combed-back hair, causing a few strands to fall messily over his forehead. It looks so much better than when it’s gelled up. “But it feels different this time around. I don’t know, It feels a lot more personal somehow.”

Bringing his hand up to your face, you give it a kiss. He sighs at the feeling.

“They’re gonna love it, Jun,” you say.

He smiles at you. “As long as you love it, that’s more than enough for me.”

“Well, you already know that I do,” you giggle. “I’ll always love every single song you write.”

Laughing with you, he pulls you to his chest as he envelops you in a hug. Sighing against you, he tucks his face in your neck as he feels you hugging him back. You smile, feeling him press a light kiss on the exposed skin. He smells of sugar and cinnamon.

“Leave them breathless,” he whispers as he breaks apart from the embrace.

He kisses you one more time, quickly pecking the top of your head before he walks away. You give him one last smile, running your fingers down his arm as you begin to part.

You walk in opposing directions, and Jun quickens his pace as he climbs the stairs leading to the balcony. He can hear the crowd growing with every step he takes, feeling a knot forming in his stomach as he moves his fingers around in an attempt to control his nerves. The way up seems familiar, consisting in dimly lit hallways and semi-peeled off posters on the walls, and he doesn’t even notice a few minutes have passed by the time he finally reaches the balcony.

It’s not the Moonwalker, but the place shines just as bright. He greets Seungcheol, placing a palm on his friend’s back as he comes to stand next to him.

“Hey, I was about to go looking for you,” he says, as a form of greeting. He smiles at his friend and motions to the public below with his beer bottle. “Great turn out tonight! I think this is our biggest venue yet, it’s amazing! I was talking to some guy over there, and he says a story is being printed on the newspapers about how successful the tour has been so far.”

Jun smiles. “They deserve it. They’re an amazing group.”

“And they have amazing songs,” Seungcheol comments, nudging Jun’s shoulder with his own.

Jun sets his eyes on the empty stage just as the lights begin to fall. A limelight focuses on the center of it, right where the standing microphone rises high among the sea of instruments. You walk out from the side with the rest of the band following close behind, and just like his very own, everyone’s eyes are on you.

“We have a very special song for you tonight,” you say. You look up in the direction of the balcony, and Jun feels his heart beat loudly against his chest when you wink at him. “We hope you enjoy the show.”

A breath gets caught in his throat when Seungkwan starts playing, fingers delicately grazing over the keyboard of his piano. He can feel Seungcheol’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, but all he can focus on is you.

It’s always been that way, and the feeling on his chest lets him know it always will. It feels like a thousand butterflies finally setting flight.

He smiles when you begin to sing, forgetting about everything else. The world around him stops existing, and just as the words start leaving your lips, he lets himself go. Because he had spent his entire life dreaming of this moment, thinking about the feeling being born in his chest. And he’s happy he’s waited, because it feels better than he could have ever imagined.

Completely shaking off his nerves, he closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

Hold me closer tiny dancer…

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moonknightly · 4 years

Text

electric spark : duke leto atreides x reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Excerpt: “You liked getting him to the point where he couldn’t help but be a little selfish, where his own pleasure was at the forefront of his mind and the only thing he could focus on.”

Warnings: Smut with a little bit of plot if you squint. Dom/Sub dynamic. Cursing. Leto’s beard which is definitely a warning. Mild blood kink but hi hey hello it’s me.

“Long day?”

Leto was already in bed by the time you made it back to your shared chambers, his chest bare, graying hair a complete mess from having pushed his fingers through it over and over again. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, and not only physically so.

“It was a day like you wouldn’t believe, my love.”

You hummed gently, taking a moment to just stand there and stare at your husband, at the man you loved more than words could ever convey. There was a small cut on his chest, the blood long dried, more brown than it was red.

Of course he hadn’t cleaned it yet, but you couldn’t really fault him. He worked so hard, trained his men even harder. He hardly ever noticed when he wound up hurt during a sparring session. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to clean him up, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You walked towards the bathroom, grabbing a wet cloth amongst the other supplies you would need to disinfect his wound, letting the comfort that always came with just being in his presence wash your own worries from the day away.

“Anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

He sighed again, but didn’t move even an inch, his arms and legs so heavy. He thought he could stay in that bed forever and never move again.

“I’m getting too old for this.”

“You? Old?” you chuckled, peeking at him over your shoulder. “Never.”

You missed his smile, but you knew it was there, could imagine the way his nose scrunched up and how the lines beside his eyes became more prominent. You loved his smile and how it could turn your day from bad to good in an instant.

“Well I’m certainly not as young as I used to be.”

You only shrugged your shoulders, taking a moment to pull the pins from your hair and work yourself out of your clothes. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Leto shifted, the sheets rustling with his movement. “Is that so?”

“You know I have a thing for older men, darling.”

He let out a low whistle, and you finally turned to face him again, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

You weren’t sure if he was whistling because of your words, or if it was because you were standing there in nothing but your panties. You imagined both.

The duke tilted his head to the side, his eyes trailing up and down your almost naked body, lingering on every dip and curve as if he were trying to memorize the exact contours of your body with his eyes.

“C’mere.”

How could you deny him? With those stupid brown eyes and that seductive grin, how could you ever say no?

You made your way back to the bed, but before you could climb up onto it Leto’s hands were on your waist, pulling you into his lap. You spread your legs for him, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, just like every other inch of his body. Fingers, chests, lips — it’s like you were made to fit flawlessly together, always unable to tell where one started and the other began.

A collection of broken puzzle pieces, forming a beautiful picture once stuck back together.

“What are you thinking of, little dove?” he purred after watching you fall into your own thoughts.

You didn’t hesitate to answer.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Don’t seem so surprised.”

You were always thinking of him.

Taking the cloth that was still in your hand, you started to clean the cut on his chest, taking extra care to be as gentle as you possibly could be. It wasn’t deep, but you still didn’t want to chance hurting him.

Leto never let his eyes leave your face, and if the water or antiseptic stung, he didn’t show it. He’d always been so stoic, even when he didn’t need to be.

“Say more.”

You hummed gently, your gaze flickering from his chest to his eyes, moving back and forth a few times before they finally settled on his. He reached up, loosely wrapping his fingers around your wrist. He could feel your steady heartbeat through your skin.

“I’m just thinking about how much I love you.”

“Oh you love me?” he purred, his tone teasing in the lightest way. He knew you loved him entirely, never once questioned its authenticity. He just enjoyed hearing it.

“You know I do. You know I love you.”

Leto gently pulled your hand away from his body, his lips finding the inside of your wrist, soft kisses sending an electric spark through your veins, quick nips setting that spark ablaze.

“Might even be the reason I married you.”

“And here I thought you married me for my stellar looks and irresistible charm.”

“That might’ve just sealed the deal.”

Your husband chuckled, the sound deep, reverberating through his chest. He sighed contentedly and you couldn’t help but smile at seeing him so relaxed. He deserved it. He deserved so much and you wanted to give him everything.

“Let me show you just how much I love you, Duke Leto?”

A salacious growl left his lips as his title slid past yours, his large hands immediately flocking to your waist, gripping your body tightly. You felt his fingers splay out across your skin, and you loved how such a simple action exuded so much control and power.

“You want to be on top tonight, my love?”

You nodded your head, jutting out your bottom lip just a bit. His hold on your waist only tightened, and then he slid his hands down to your hips, pulling you in then pushing you down, grinding your center against his. You could feel him through the sheets, realizing that he was naked beneath them when you could feel the outline of his length so perfectly against you.

“You want to ride your Duke, sweetling?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as he continued to guide you over his cock.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging on them. You raised your hips for him, expecting him to pull them down your thighs, but he surprised you with another sharp tug, the thin band snapping.

You gasped, and Leto only smirked, balling the ruined piece of lace in his fist. “I’m sorry, were you fond of these?”

“Not anymore.”

Another chuckle escaped the man underneath you, and he threw the panties off to the side. He smacked your thigh gently, silently asking you to raise your hips again, and once you did, he pushed the sheet away from himself.

His cock laid against his stomach — thick and veiny and dripping with precome, the tip red. You’d seen him exposed to you like this more times than you could count, but the sight of him still made your mouth water.

But you quirked an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. “Been like this for awhile?”

“Darling, I’ve been hard for you since morning.”

It wasn’t a lie, really. Every time he’d had a spare moment to let his mind wander, he’d thought of you and his pants had instantly tightened. He’d been waiting to slip himself inside of you all day.

And he didn’t want to waste another single second, didn’t want another moment to pass without feeling your heat.

He pushed his hand between your legs, feeling over your folds, calloused fingers gentle as he rubbed at your clit. You were already so wet for him, he could smell your arousal dripping off of you, but he could never pass up the opportunity to feel it for himself, to watch as your face twisted when he worked your sensitive bud just right.

If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would’ve flipped you over and shoved his face into your pussy. Your taste was one of his favorite things.

Maybe he’d just have to wake you up with his tongue pulsing inside of you.

“Been like this awhile?” he smirked, echoing your own words back to you.

You shivered, bucking into his touch but you immediately stopped moving when his hand on your hip squeezed down.

“You know I can’t help myself.”

Leto only hummed in response, his other hand finding its place back on your hip as he started to drag you along his cock again, his eyes glued between your legs, watching as your slick made his skin glisten.

“Such a pretty pussy. Always so ready to take me.”

You whimpered at his praise, letting him move you around however he pleased. He thought he could watch you slide against him for hours, watch your lips part and spread over top of him then envelop his head before he pushed you downwards again.

It was almost hypnotizing. Almost enough to make him come on the spot but he wanted to be inside of you more than he wanted to breathe in that moment, couldn’t think about anything else at all.

He angled his hips, allowing himself to slip halfway inside of your pulsating warmth, only meeting a little resistance but you’d both expected it, had gotten used to the small push and the consequential stretch — he was just so big and you were just so tight.

“Finally.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at your husband and the sheer amount of relief that dripped from a single word. The tips of Leto’s ears turned a subtle shade of pink, and he grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before rolling his hips up once, effectively pushing the rest of his length into you in one swift motion.

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head at the welcomed intrusion, the most erotic sound falling from your lips that you couldn’t even begin to describe, but it was somewhere between a moan and a growl and a scream, and it went straight to Leto’s cock.

The stretch was always so delicious, the burn only adding to your pleasure and you felt dizzy from the sensation alone. It was nearly intoxicating and the sight of your husband underneath you had you going almost mad with desire.

You might’ve been on top, but he looked every bit as in control as he did while commanding his men, every bit as natural and competent. Completely in his element.

Leto adjusted his fingers against your waist, giving you another moment to breathe before he started rocking your body against his, his hips bucking upwards every couple of seconds, trying to push himself even further though he knew there was nowhere for him to go.

“S’perfect. So tight and warm around me.”

His words mixed with breathless moans and wicked growls and the sound of skin slapping against skin sent white-hot sparks of pleasure all the way to your fingertips. Your thighs, every single muscle already starting to ache and you weren’t even doing anything more than holding yourself on top of him with his hands on your hips to guide you, to show you just how he liked it, how he wanted it — slow and deep and oh so dirty.

Leto wanted you to feel every single inch of him. He wanted you to focus on how he slid himself in and out of your tight heat, how your cunt stretched to accommodate the size of his cock and how your walls fluttered around him each time he hit that hidden spot inside of you.

He slapped your side gently, trailing his hands down your torso until they found your ass, gripping your cheeks tightly in his hands, using it for leverage to properly bounce you on his dick. He slammed into that spot over and over again, pulling another sinfully screamed moan from you.

“Look at you, on top of me yet still making me do all the work.”

A soft whimper left your lips, and you tilted your head back a couple of inches, bringing your hands to your chest to grope your breasts for his benefit more than anything. You knew how much me loved to watch your tits.

“So let me take over.”

The Duke laughed, shaking his head from side to side as his eyes stayed glued to your chest, just like you’d predicted. “Not a chance, my filthy little girl. Not a fuckin’ chance.”

You whimpered again, trying your best to start grinding your hips but he stopped you with another smack to your side. He shook his head again, eyes dark and hard, calculated.

“That’s cute, you think you’re in charge here?”

“I-”

Another smack, this time to your thigh. “You think that you can do anything you want after your Duke tells you no?”

He flipped you over suddenly, before you even had a chance to respond to his question, staying buried deep inside of you, any sign of his exhaustion completely vanishing.

“Tell me, little dove.” Leto bent down, his lips brushing against your ear with each word he spoke. His teeth grazed your earlobe, nipping gently, sending a shiver down your spine. “Do you think you have control?”

Your chest was heaving, and you still couldn’t find it in yourself to say anything at all, the pleasure and desire making a complete mess of your mind.

Leto growled, the sound and ferocity of it making your core tingle and flutter around him. He gripped your chin tightly between his forefinger and his thumb, shaking you gently to effectively gain your attention.

“Tell me.”

“No sir.”

“Who’s in control?”

“You are, your Grace.”

Another growl, a little softer than before but still entirely erotic. “That’s right.”

He held both of your hands in one of his, pinning them above your head with complete ease, though you hadn’t even tried to resist him. Regardless, he was so strong, so much bigger than you — you were sure you could’ve pushed back with your entire strength and he still would’ve been able to pin you.

You watched as he took another moment to simply stare at you before he buried his face into your neck, his beard scratching your skin with the most delicious friction.

“But allow me to remind you.”

He quickly found a relentless pace against you, one that had your jaw falling slack though no sound escaped your lungs. You were nearly positive you stopped breathing entirely.

Leto snapped his hips against yours over and over again, and you relished in the deliciously full feeling that overtook your every sense, the heat that seemed to spread outwards from your core all the way down your legs and to your toes. Your nails dug into the palm of his hand, desperate for something to hold onto but he was completely merciless, his grip only tightening while his free hand held your hips to the mattress, forcing you down, angling your body so the tip of his cock brushed over your g-spot again and again.

You might not have been able to move your arms, but you could still move your legs, and you found yourself wrapping them around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, and he couldn’t complain for even a second. It felt too good, way too good.

His thrusts became harder, more desperate the closer and closer he came to his release, the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in sync bringing him to the edge in mere minutes but he was determined to make you come first. He’d been that way since your first time together, always wanting to see you fall apart for him before he even thought of his own orgasm.

But truth be told, you liked pushing him over the edge first whenever you could get away with it, liked being able to give your complete attention to the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you and the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The sounds he made, how his teeth would run over his bottom lip so hard he often drew blood. You wanted it. Maybe if you just-

You clenched around his cock once, twice, a third time, and you felt Leto’s hips falter as he desperately tried to push back his orgasm. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes stern, commanding.

“Sweetling, listen to me, you do not want to play like this right now- eugh.”

A fourth time, and his grip on your hip loosened enough for you to start rocking your hips to meet his. Any ounce of self control the Duke had left completely vanished in that moment, and you knew you had won once his pace quickened, once his hips were smacking into you so hard your skin turned red.

You liked getting him to the point where he couldn’t help but be a little selfish, where his own pleasure was at the forefront of his mind and the only thing he could focus on.

His thrusts became animalistic, his expression entirely feral as he chased his high, but he wasn’t about to let you off that easy. His fingers found your clit again, and he immediately started rubbing harsh, fast circles into you, the pressure causing you to try and pull away but you had nowhere to go, not that you really wanted to. It was just so much, it was all so much. His face, his hands, the feeling of his cock pounding into you, still stretching you-

You both let go at the same moment, a moan of his name that was more of a scream falling past your lips while he growled and bit into your neck so hard you were positive he broke skin. It only made your pleasure all the more intense, a second wave washing over your body, enveloping you in its warm embrace before he’d even started to come down.

Leto’s release dripped down your thighs as he continued to fuck you through your respective highs, his growls evaporating into throaty, breathless moan, maybe even a whimper or two. He sounded so completely wrecked and you couldn’t imagine a better sound.

His fingers slowly came to a stop, and he stilled his hips, letting himself collapse on top of you but you didn’t mind in the least, in fact you loved the comfort that came with his warmth and his weight. You weaved your fingers into his hair, slowly stroking his scalp, kissing the top of his head over and over again as you watched his exhaustion settle back over him.

He didn’t even get a chance to pull out before he was snoring softly, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind the fact that you were going to fall asleep with his come dripping out of you. He’d be up in a few hours, could never sleep through the night. You could clean yourself up then. You just wanted to lay with him and hold him and cherish him like he so deserved.

Your darling husband.

Always so good to you.

And that was only further proven when morning rolled around, sunlight shining into the room through sheer white curtains, casting shadows across your skin. When you weren’t woken up by the feeling of his tongue against your core like he had planned the night before, but instead to a warm rag and soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, a scratchy beard tickling your skin.

“Good morning, little dove.”

#duke leto atreides #duke leto atreides x reader #leto atreides #duke leto #leto atreides x reader

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lochsides · 3 years

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Yellow Metal - cathartic Review

Here’s something I did not expect to be reviewing this week but when Zayn drops a 24 minute rap track, you fall in line. I had to listen to it a couple times through before I could even begin to make sense of my thoughts because my brain sort of malfunctioned. I have never been prouder to be a Zayn fan. He’s such a nuanced songwriter and there is so much to unpack here.

I think this is the most unfiltered version of Zayn that we have ever been exposed to (and possibly will ever be). I am grateful that he said his piece in this because it needed to be said. As a brown woman, I felt so seen by this and I cannot explain what that means to me. Thank you Z, for your unvarnished truth in addressing racism and various forms of discrimination.

I’m doing a short lyrical analysis below the cut, but the TLDR is that this is a fantastic piece of art that deserves to be heard.

I wish he had released this as an EP because that would be easier to review than a single 24 minute song, structurally speaking. So instead, I have picked out some key lyrics, going from top to bottom, that really spoke to me and decided to study the song that way. His lyricism is hard-hitting in this track. It is beyond anything he has ever released before.

“The planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving until we ascend so fuck the fence.” — I have not seen this lyric being talked about in the fandom, because the lyrics that follow this steal the show, rightly so, but I wanted to give this line a moment because it’s important too. To me, this lyric speaks to where Zayn is at with his relationship with the physical world. He’s out on the farm (about which he even goes to say “tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor”) and I believe he’s happy in his space and he feels connected to nature (also see River Road). So it is a poignant and slightly jaded, but valid perspective that he shares on climate change. It’s never leaving until we ascend. The damage human beings have done to the planet won’t be undone until there are no humans left to do damage. It’s a single sentence that says so much about the depth of the climate crisis. I’m doing my PhD on urban air quality so this is something I care really deeply about and I resonated with.

“And until they stop killing colour, it’s fuck the feds.” — Yeah, agreed Zayn. The systemic racism that he calls out here is echoed throughout the song, in equal parts anger and boldness. I love that he isn’t glossing over it with metaphors, which he could easily do and it would be beautiful in a totally different way, but this makes it harder for racists to overlook. There is so much power in calling it like it is.

“Never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a Benadryl, keeping it green in general.” — It frustrates me to no end to see Zayn painted as this drug-addicted lazy musician that doesn’t care about his work, because we know how untrue that is. This narrative is tired and simply boring too, and I won’t get into the racist connotations of it when you consider it against his white colleagues who smoke as much as him but that isn’t one of their defining traits in the media.

“I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work … it was hard work that got me heard” — I love the juxtaposition in this verse. The public/media perception on his career is that Zayn doesn’t put in effort or that he doesn’t want it. This obviously stems from his leaving the band. It goes back to what I was saying before about narrative, when in reality, as Zayn has said on various occasions, he fights to make his own choices. And that doesn’t have to look the way everyone else expects it to (“I beg you, don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt”), he has his own struggles that have helped forge his path, but it is his path that he paved, himself. He works hard to be heard. He has to. It reminds me of something my parents used to tell me when I was younger about being immigrants: you have to work 10 times harder for the same opportunities just because of the colour of your skin or your name on the cv. It’s a harsh truth to grow up with but it was my reality, as it is for most POC.

“This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm you. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here ‘til they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80…” — There is something about the simplicity of these lyrics are the messaging that I love. He isn’t trying too hard to sound poetic but he still manages it perfectly.

“All I've been achieving, clocking miles in this region, moving like a legion. Promise that I made to myself, an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving? Staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving. // I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy. It’s time I grew up, a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on the mike.” — This is the only 1D-related lyric I’ll make reference to because this song is about so much more than that. That said though, we cannot overlook Zayn’s experiences in the band because that is part of his story. The tongue-in-cheek of “I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving” is hilarious to me. The line about not wanting to be his own enemy anymore and growing up from 17 reminds me of that quote Taylor (Swift) mentioned in Miss Americana about celebrities getting stuck at the age they got famous. I think this verse is similar to that. None of them ever wanted to be in the band and I don’t care what anyone says, Zayn leaving and proving success outside the band gave the rest of them the courage to follow their own solo careers. Sure there was drama surrounding the split but he did it for himself, to tell his stories the way he is now. Whatever else you have to say about him, you cannot deny his authenticity.

“I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane.” — I think this line tells us 2 things, the first being that this song was not leaked. Z knew what he was doing and his twitter likes tell us as much. He didn’t release it for any sort of attention, otherwise it would be widely available on streaming platforms and for purchase. Which leads to my second point, he released this song to get everything he talks about on the track off his chest. Its referenced in other lyrics too, like “now you see where I come from, the world don’t.” This was for whoever cared to listen, not the world. It’s inaccessible for a reason. I love that he threw those lyrics in. It makes the song feel more like a private conversation or listening to a friend rant. It creates a different form of intimacy between himself and his fans.

“Lessons that I’ve learned, I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself. So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt.” — This one is for anyone that buys into conspiracy theories surrounding Zayn’s personal life. He surrounds himself with real people, real friendships, real connections. I have never bought into the bullshit that he has zero autonomy over his personal life. I love the use of plastic melting as a metaphor for ridding his life of fakeness.

“Feeling trapped. This industry is a cage.” — Zayn is obviously not the first person to say it. Many artists talk about how suffocating the industry is ( which he further comments on in the sung portion: “I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this”). Fame is such a wild and unnatural concept and the exploitation and politics of the music industry only feed further into it. The industry being a cage makes me think of zoos and how celebrities are animals on display, when they should be free in the wild. I also really like the musical interlude following this part.

“Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views.” — Zayn toes the line between keeping to himself and speaking out on important issues, sometimes not very well. I am his biggest cheerleader, but I’m not up his ass. There have been many occasions where he could’ve done better. But I cannot fault him for being offended by the State because same, Z, same. I love that he took this song as an opportunity to real speak out, no punches pulled.

“See I’ve been facing the racists from back when I were a kiddie. Born up in 93’. Living in Bradford City, they kicked me out of the school. Said they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p***, still sit in the classroom, chilling. I’m angry now that I’m older cause I see they treat us different. Got me thinking I’m the problem ‘cause they never dealt with these issues.” — See what I meant about no punches pulled. He said that! He said it like that too. There is so much in this verse that I relate to, it hits a little too deep. I grew up as a brown in predominantly white communities where the colour of my skin was the reason I was outcasted. We know when that’s happening, clear as day. The lyric “got me thinking that I’m the problem cause they never dealt with these issues” says it all. I have many racial traumas that I’m dealing with as an adult because the adults around me when I was a child didn’t deal with racism in the classroom. They do treat us different!

“20 years later, I’m still in the same boat. Tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for. Man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? // Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them. ‘Boy your skin is so light.’ Ok motherfucker, take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.” — Zayn talking his shit is my new favourite art form. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? Something that I will always be enraged by is that POC are expected to de-escalate situations of racism. We have to push our feelings down, as Zayn says in the verse, because the institution is against us. All of the institutions are against us. The fact that he takes it a step farther to say that his name makes him a target for racism, even though he is half-white just nails his point home. Also, can we please quit the whole ‘Zayn is white-passing’ bullshit. He alludes to it again later in the song (“asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define”). Its not a compliment to erase someone identity in favour of white-washing them.

“My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.” — Oh, the amount of times we have heard that age old (v. racist) saying ‘{celebrity of colour} is the new [insert white celebrity here]’ as if POC aren’t allowed to succeed in their own right. It is wild to me that Zayn has to deal with this given his level of success.

“Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening. I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine.” — There is a subtle nod to racism (and Islamaphobia) in this line, because of course the brown man is a threat, but I like the way Z turns it around. I also like the rhyme scheme.

“Raised on the benefit for whose benefit? They’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.” — Okay I might be reaching here, but this is just my interpretation. We all know the benefit system in the UK sucks. Being raised on benefit implies a lack of money growing up, but the benefits aren’t really all that beneficial to the families that rely upon them.

“Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause I hit the nerve.” — Well, okay then, just call me out. It’s fine. I seriously feel like he’s talking to me directly with this line. I imagine a lot of us do. Its one of those lyrics that are a bit too honest but that why we love them.

“Cathartic, I’m an artist. Trying to put my heart in” // “Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name.” — So do we have an alternate persona for Zayn now? Alright, I’m down. I think these two lines are tied together, because both are mentioned in the song title. (I think of the song as cathartic, by Yellow Metal, aka Zayn, or Yellow Metal as the name of the EP if this was officially released). The lyrics that accompany both title lyrics, along with the subject matter of the song as a whole, suggest that his heart is in standing up against injustices. I said it earlier, this is the most unvarnished version of Z that we have ever been exposed to. Almost like the complete picture to the puzzle pieces we’ve been putting together over the years.

“They’re tryna kill us with disease.” — Why did this line scream out ‘COVID-19 outbreaks in developing countries’ to me? Again, I might be reaching, but there is a disparity between how COVID is treated amongst minorities, along with many other diseases, and not to mention rich, primarily white countries hoarding vaccine supplies while places like India (and my beautiful Bangladesh and I’m sure Pakistan too) suffer needlessly.

“Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next. Just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around ’til I’m the best.” — I think this lyric shows off Zayn’s sentimental side more than it does his ambitious side, because we know he’s in this for the long haul. Others may doubt that but his fans never have. But hearing him talk openly about being a father on a song is something else. It’s like Khai added this whole other layer of meaning and purpose to his life and it’s beautiful to watch. I’ve been here since the X-Factor auditions guys!! It makes me so emotional to witness him like this.

“Aint many of me around, p***, I’m just different. Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil, fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto.” — God, we’ve been waiting for a fuck the label moment in this house, haven’t we? I won’t get into my theories on his label or his team, but none of us deny the fact that they should be doing more for him than they are. He has the potential to be the biggest thing with the right team and promo because he has a built-in fan base that would go the mile for him. Obviously, there’s also his aversion to promo to contend with and that’s his decision. Even without it, he could shatter every ceiling. Another thing I want to mention about this verse is the nod to the complete lack of South Asian representation in contemporary Western media.

“Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse.” — I’m just putting this in here because it made giggle. Also going to take this space to say how much I love his energy in this song. He knows he’s the shit, as he should!

“Can’t be louder … so free Gaza on my banner.” // “They’re hating on Palestine ways.” — I love that Zayn has always supported this movement, years ago, before being ‘woke’ was a thing. But now, he has a daughter that has Palestinian heritage and I’m sure that makes this hit that much deeper for him, personally. The apartheid in Palestine is heart-wrenching. It’s so strange to me to watch it happen, because I never thought I would witness something like this happening in 2021, yet here we are.

“Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing. We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route. Say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown. I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.” — This verse is straight up savage and I am living for it! I find it hilarious that he called Biden a snake. This verse addresses the truth about politics, that even electing a left-wing leader doesn’t fix the system.

“I’m Tony Stark, still embarking on a dream” // “Gone green like Bruce Banner” // “He taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten.” — And to tie it all off, I wanted to take a goofy moment to mention all the superhero lyrics Z added in this song, really showing his personality because I’m such a nerd when it comes to this stuff and it makes me wish that we were friends so I could annoy him to death about it.

#reviews #zayn #yellow metal #cathartic #zayn malik

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crimsonheart01 · 3 years

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I Promise (Angel Reyes x Female!Reader)

A/N: Shout out to one of my day ones @chaosinourbones for this request! Love you boo!! It’s been a hot minute since I wrote for my other tall boy. Let’s hope I do him a world of justice. Enjoy some angsty fluff with our boy!

Prompt: 22. “How can you possibly look good with snow in your hair?”

Word Count: 2.3K words

Playlist: I’ll Be Home - Meghan Trainor [Spotify] [YouTube]

Warnings: None (surprisingly)

"I'll find my way back home And light up every tree We will hang our stockings for you and one for me 'Cause Santa called to make sure I'm prepared He said, 'Pack your bags and tell them you'll be late'" I'll Be Home – Meghan Trainor

He checked the time on his phone once last time before reaching out for the double doors in front of him. He shook his head in disappointment at himself. He hadn't meant to lose track of time, but he had a hard time coming up with an excuse to slip away from the boys. Irritated with himself, he closed his eyes for a moment before gripping the handle tightly and propping the door open. He ducked into the gymnasium as quietly as possible. He thanked whatever gods there were that the whole room was covered in darkness, allowing him to post up against the wall unnoticed.

He gazed around, taking note of the varying ages of those in the audience. He smiled. The turnout was amazing. He knew how important this project was and how much effort she'd given to it. Seeing how many people came out brought out a feeling of pride for his community. This was what holidays were supposed to be like.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he felt the sensation of someone watching. Turning his head, he found his Pops watching him with a keen eye. He smirked at the old man and nodded in greeting. They both turned back to the front of the gym as the lights on the stage flickered between reds and whites. He grinned at the spectacle of the moment.

The stage had been decked out in a perfect replica of a winter wonderland. No doubt to set the scene. He watched as dozens of kids lined the stage and began to sing out loud and proud. He couldn't stop the chills that covered his arms and the broad smile that grew. It wasn't every day that they got to see a production of this stature. It didn't matter that it was just the local community center's holiday concert. Seeing everyone come together to put it on was where the real magic was.

He leaned back into the wall, getting comfortable and enjoying himself. He knew he'd missed the first half of the performances, but he was happy to say that he'd been here for the second bit. It was better than not making it all, a promise he made sure he kept. His gaze roamed over the crowd, and he spotted her almost immediately.

He held back a chuckle at her outfit. She had chosen to go the authentic route with a long-sleeved Henley shirt and puffer vest. He noted the thick wool mittens she wore and the matching wool headband. There was no doubt in his mind that she was sweating, even with the air conditioning pumping through the vents. She took no shortcuts, always going that extra mile to make sure everything fit the scene.

He watched as she mimed the dance moves to the kids, keeping them in step. He let out a quiet sigh as he appreciated her. They were still relatively new in their status, but he knew she was the one. At least, he hoped so. Maybe it was the time of year that had him feeling this way, but he couldn't help but want to parade her around town. Show her off to everyone and anyone.

He'd yet to properly introduce her to the club, unsure of how it'd go. She was nearly a polar opposite of everything that they were. She was his angel. He rolled his eyes as he made the comparison. She should have his name, not him. In his opinion, she was much too good for him. He still couldn't fathom why she gave him the time of day in the first place, but he wasn't going to question it too much. He had her now, and that's what mattered the most.

The concert continued, and he watched with a strong emotion of pride the entire time for her and their community. They did it! They pulled it off. When the finale finally hit, he stood up to his full height and clapped along with everyone else, even letting out a few good-natured hollers in her honour. Once everyone was back up on stage, taking a bow, confetti and fake snow began floating all around them. The crowd roared with awe and wonder.

He found himself staring at her, melting at the smile she was sporting while she stood there. She'd outdone herself. Everyone would be talking about this night for weeks to come.

He kept himself sparse as the auditorium emptied. Finding an available seat off to the side and stretching his legs out in front of him, all while he admired her from afar. He wasn't interested in interrupting her, not while she was being congratulated by everyone, young and old. He carried around a specific reputation, and he wasn't ready to sully hers.

He ran a hand through his hair, knowing full well she'd tell him he was ridiculous. She never saw a problem with who he was. She knew he lived a very different life, that there was a lot of danger in his way, but she didn't believe that reputations determined who they were. He wanted to believe her, but there was always that voice in the back of his mind telling him otherwise, telling him that it was too good to be true and to take advantage of what he had with her before it was gone.

He was broken out of his thoughts by a hand resting on his shoulder. He glanced up to see Pops watching him and where his eyes had been glued a moment before.

"This who you've been hiding?" Felipe surmised.

Angel furrowed his brow, "No one's hiding anything."

Felipe stared at his son, his eyes telling him that he understood the situation exactly. Angel scoffed and shrugged the old man's hand off him. He shook his head and swallowed, attempting to ignore the sympathy in his father's gaze. Felipe took the hint and took a step back. Both men looked back up to the first row of seats, where she was standing and speaking animatedly with a few parents.

With a deep inhale, Felipe nodded and turned, "Give yourself the benefit of the doubt."

Angel clenched his teeth at the words of advice, annoyed at his father’s perceptiveness, but nodded his head as his father walked away. He wasn't hiding her, far from it. He was keeping her safe, at least that's what he was trying to convince himself of.

~(MMC)~

She'd spotted him as she took the stage in the encore and was overjoyed that he made it. She knew there was always a chance that he'd get caught up with the club, but she was happy to see that he found a way to make the event.

As the night wound down, she found herself expecting him to seek her out but instead, she found herself tugged from person to person while he kept his distance. She sighed internally, knowing that he was still in a questioning stage of their relationship. She'd hoped that by now, he'd understand that she wasn't afraid of him or who he was. She knew people had their own opinions, but she knew him better than them. That's what mattered to her. Him. Not everyone else and their beliefs.

She breezed through the stragglers wanting to get their thanks in, and in no time, it was just her and the lone Mayan in the gym. She stood facing the double doors, flattening her palms against each one, ensuring that they were closed. She heard the creak of the chair as he stood up and listened to his footfalls as he went. It took her a minute to realize he was walking away from her by the echo of his footsteps.

Creasing her eyebrows together, she spun around only to endeared by him further. He'd taken that moment to approach the stage and take in the full effect of the décor. She let out a small chuckle as she watched him run his hand through the mess of confetti and snow on the platform. He pulled his hand back and brushed his hands together to rid himself of the flakes.

She took stock of him as she stepped down the middle aisle, noting that he'd chosen to leave the kutte out of his outfit for the evening. It touched her in a way she wasn't expecting. She knew how much the club meant to him that it was his life. The fact that he chose to appear as something different for her production had her chest swell with emotion.

As she neared him, she reached out and toyed with the sleeve of his flannel. Her touch was light but enough to alert him to her presence.

"You made it." She smiled up at him.

He turned towards her and immediately slung his around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

"I promised, didn't I?" He quipped, but she could hear a subtle tone of frustration.

Not wanting to dwell on anything negative, see pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before linking her around his and pulled him in the direction of the steps leading onto the stage, "Come on, take a closer look at everything."

They ascended the stairs together, and she talked him through all the details of the decorations and set up. He kept up with her, asking a few questions here and there but for the most part just admiring the whole thing. She lead him to the middle of the stage, where the spotlight was still shining. Slipping her arm out from around his, she pointed up to where the blankets that held the snow were housed.

They both looked up as she explained how they managed to get it to float instead of just dumping it down on top of everyone. She even chuckled as she noted there were still a few swirls coming down. When she turned back around to face him, she laughed. He arched an eyebrow at her, and she stepped in closer to him. She grinned at him, and he couldn't help but respond in kind.

Reaching up, she thread two fingers through his hair, "How can you possibly look good with snow in your hair?"

His eyes shot upwards even though he knew he wouldn't be able to see what she saw. Her fingers daintily plucked out a few of the fake snow pieces, and she let them crowd the palm of her hand. She held it out for him to see, and he chuckled. He lifted his hand to cover hers, twining their fingers together. She smiled down at the sight.

Using his other hand, he lightly tapped underneath her chin, signalling her to look up. She accepted the gesture and glanced up at him. His dark eyes reflected the bright lights above them and took her breath away. His thumb brushed across her chin, and she bit down on her lip as he licked his. He bowed forward slightly as if he was waiting for her to deny him before clearing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers.

His kiss was tentative giving her a chance to react to him. She smiled against his mouth and fell into him. She caressed one hand up the center of his chest before fisting the fabric of his shirt in her hand. At her reaction, he let go of all his hesitance and dipped her back, pushing everything he was feeling into their embrace. She clutched at his upper arm with her other hand and let him hold her in his arms.

There was a strong need in his kiss. His passion seeing itself through and making itself known. She poured herself into the moment, wanting him to feel everything she was experiencing by being here with him. He made a small noise at the back of his throat, and it sent a wild thrum through, causing her to hold him tighter. She wanted him to know how much she cared for him. All of him. Everything that he came with.

Losing himself in the moment, he pulled her back up, their heated connection lost for a moment and spun her around. The remnants of the snow swirled around their feet, and she laughed at the momentum. This was her Angel. This was the man she'd fallen in love with. As the dust settled back around them, she looped her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his chest.

The sounds of the janitorial staff broke them out of their spell. With a sigh, she loosened her arms around his shoulders and looked towards the doors. Her arms fell away from him, but she made sure to catch one of his hands in hers. She led him off the stage and towards the front of the room.

"I only need to pass over the keys and discuss the finalities with the clean-up crew, and then we can get outta here, alright?" She glanced over her shoulder back at him.

He grinned back at her and nodded, "Sounds good querida."

He tugged her back to him before she was able to break away and kissed her soundly. She felt his smile through the kiss. She pulled back and gave him one last chaste kiss before spinning around to talk to the staff that had shown up. However, she made sure to never let go of his hand as she did so. He was hers, and she was his. Everyone was going to know. She'd make sure of that.

#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes imagines #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc imagines #12 days of ficmas 2020 #holiday prompts

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dreamii-yume · 3 years

Note

Would it be possible to have a chapter dedicated to Vil creating a poison to temporarily immobilize the reader so he can use them as a doll and fuck them however he wants to and however much he wants to~? Bonus points if he goes the extra mile and even dresses them up and does their make up like a pretty doll... I just. Mm. Can't get Vil and dollification out of my mind and I LOVE your writing!

Oh, gosh...Here we go! I hope I don't disappoint! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ but honestly, im not proud of this at all so...

♥︎ Warnings ♥︎

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

One kiss and they lived happily ever after just like that? Vil had always thought that something as half-assed as that is simpy unacceptable, just plain lazy writing in his opinion. If a romantic fairytale is what the world had wanted all this time, his love story with his Darling would’ve been better. Maybe then the world would know what it’s really like to live in a happy ending.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

It all started with a sip.

One sip of a seemingly harmless tea was all it took to ruin your life.

Your balance was the first to be cut off, allowing you to stumble upon your own feet and knocking the most authentic utensils off the table. You once tried to hold yourself from falling completely but even your arms had given up on trying to work. You landed on the ground with a rough thud, your heart was beating so fast in your ribcage whilst your brain was desperately processing for a reasonable explanation. You were left in cold sweat, unable to move anything aside from a few twitches here and there, even turning your head was a challenge. With your bodily functions suddenly falling so useless like this, you naturally panicked as a batch of heavy breathing escaped you.

A feeling of dread went up your spine, a poisoned tea was not the first thing that came into your mind during all of this, it didn't taste any different than the usual, and the aroma was as inviting as ever.

It was only when you heard the haunting clicks of someone's heel heading towards you that you noticed something very strange. His slender legs blocked your vision and you almost strained your neck just by glancing up at him, sweat dripping down your forehead from the tenacious effort. "V-Vil-san..." You called out his name, your friend's name. God, even your throat is uncooperative with your commands, merely speaking feels as if a thousand needles were all simultaneously poking your vocal cords open.

But really, you still find it very strange, especially now that he's looking down upon you so apathetically like this. Despite the fact that your body is clearly suffering from something that you have yet to find out, Vil seems to be awfully calm about all of this. "H...Help, please...!" But even with that suspicious trait, you still called out for him, who else could you turn to at this desperate moment? He was really the only one capable of doing so as of now.

Surprisingly, he did reach for your aching hands, clasping his smooth ones over yours as delicately as possible. "Are you familiar with the tale of the Princess who danced with Death upon eating a Poisoned Apple?" You couldn't help but be lost at what Vil had suddenly asked of you. He pulled your body up from the ground, until you were in his arms, embracing you by the waist since your legs have been practically rendered useless. "...But because of a Prince who fell in Love with her at First Sight, she was saved."

Vil sat you back down on the chair that you once resided in just a few minutes ago, watching as your body slumped down without any support. He placed your hands properly on the armchair, so that it doesn't limp on your sides. "How? You might ask. By a True Love's Kiss, of course." He said with what looks like to be a smile from your angle, you couldn't move your head to adjust your view of him anymore so you had to make use of what you can see for now. "What do you think of it? It's the perfect romantic story to tell the children, isn't it?"

Vil tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind your ear before holding your head up by the chin. There, your twitching eyes finally had a good look at his handsome features, looking down upon you with an unfamiliar emotion swirling in his eyes. "...But I always hated that ridiculous story." He confessed with a sigh, you could only stare up at him with widened eyes, wondering where he's trying to get at. "The Princess was just a naive little girl and the Prince was stupid enough as it is. Even as a child, my opinions never changed about it."

Then, you saw his other hand reaching for the unfinished tea you were drinking earlier from your peripheral vision, a spark of distress had suddenly come down upon you. With widened eyes, you glanced at Vil in hopes of finding out what he was going to do but you were met with nothing but a disturbing smile on his lips. "But doesn't it resemble you a bit?" He suddenly said, finally shifting his attention to you.

"Eh...?" You breath out, lips quavering as your body twitched in response. "What do you-"

"A naive child who writhes on the hands of the friend she thought she had upon drinking a cup of tea that she didn't know was tampered with." You widened your eyes as everything just slowly clicked by that single, meaningful sentence. Then, you gasped as Vil placed the rim of the teacup on top of your lips, the mesmerizing swirling liquid of the tea now looked so deadly when you took in consideration on its true purpose. "Similar, yes...Except for the fact that you don't have a Charming Prince that will come and save you."

"You only have me." His haunting words was left echoing in your mind as he opened your mouth and forced down the remaining liquid inside.

"M-Mmgh...! Aa...!" Gurgled sounds came out of you as warm tea flows down your throat, almost choking you in the process. Vil's hands was firmly locked onto your jaw, not allowing you to close them until he made sure that you have swallowed the drink until its very last drop. His nails were digging onto your cheeks, causing tears to escape your eyes whilst your lips quaver, a line of liquid escaping in the sides of your mouth had already dripped down and stained your cloth.

With a final gulp, Vil finally released you from his grasp, allowing your weak body to fall limp on the chair. The beautiful antagonist before you had crouched down to your eye level, carefully wiping your mouth with a clean handkerchief. "...If you think about it that way, doesn't your version of the story sound better?" He asked, but it was clear that he wasn't expecting any answers from you at all, not that you have any at the moment. "It's much more realistic and we can sweat about the tiniest little details."

Vil grabbed your body once again, resting your head on his shoulder before taking a hold of your legs. He neatly picked you in a bridal manner, gracefully turning around to transport you in a place that you can't quite see. "Come now, my Little Doll. Let's get you all dressed up." He said with a satisfied smile decorating his handsome face, as if he wasn't holding your shivering body against his arms. "After that, we'll talk and we'll play. Let's create a beautiful story for ourselves, much better than the ones out there."

"I wonder what kind of happy ending we'll get." With his heels resounding against the empty hallways of the elegant Pomefiore Dorm, Vil lovingly nuzzled against your cold cheeks, ignoring how your skin practically shies away from his touch, creating goosebumps as protection. He then stared dreamily at nothing, as if he was getting his creative side of brain to work. "But let's start from the beginning..."

"Hm...Let's see..."

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the Spice~?

Don't mind me, I'm just waiting for the day that the rest of chapter five comes up with Vil's official backstory and COMPLETELY debunks everything that I said in here ha h a

can i just mention how much i love writing for Vil? Yeah, that's it. Thank you for coming to Yume's ted talk-

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere #pomefiore #sinfic #spicy dream

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yolo1650 · 3 years

Text

Animal Crossing One Shot- Ten Star Rating (BobxReader)

Summary: Getting that perfect island turns out to be a lot harder than it looks.

Word Count: 1498

Warnings: No warnings here, it’s basically rated G, just two cute people, being cute together

——————————————————————————

Feeling nothing but a heavy sense of defeat, you closed the doors of the Resident Service building behind you. With the sun still high in the sky, there was still many hours of daylight left, precious hours that could be spend planting, refurnishing, terra-forming.

But all you could feel was the aching in your legs, clearly overworked by all the running around you did this morning. They couldn’t help but buckle beneath you. Giving in, you sat down at the center of the plaza, face in your palms, as you remembered Isabelle's advice.

"Let's get more greenery on this island by planting fruit and saplings. When it comes to tree varieties, we should really branch out!"

Your jaw clenched. While Isabelle's corny joke came from a kind-hearted place, it did nothing to cheer you up from your predicament.

Last time it was too many trees, and too little flowers. Now that I've spent the whole morning planting more flowers, you're telling me there's not enough trees?

At this rate, you many never get your island to a five star rating.

Then, you heard someone yelling, their voice getting louder as they got closer to you.

"Heeeeeeeyyyyyyyy!"

You felt Bob's shadow cast over you, giving you momentary relief from the afternoon sun.

"Hey Bob."

His shadow moved, and with it, his footsteps as its pattering sounds circled around you. Even with your eyes covered, you could still vividly see Bob's wide, carefree smile, and his arms outstretched like an airplane.

"The island looks great today! On my way here I stopped like, five times to smell all of the pretty flowers! Or was it more like three times? I kind of stopped counting after two, pthhpth."

Taking your face out of your hands, you leaned your cheek against one of your palms and did nothing to mask your exhaustion and disappointment.

"Still not good enough to get a good island rating though."

Bob stilled. Taking quick glances between you and the Resident Service building, he began to understand.

"Oh."

After taking a seat next to you, you look over to his uncharacteristically somber face.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Great now you messed up his groove. One of the happiest, most carefree villager is sulking because of you. Maybe it was better if you just got up and left, you should have never left your house in the first place.

But Bob beat you to it. Standing up with what seems to be renewed energy, he ran back to his house. You didn't have to wait long before hearing your name being shouted in the distance, its volume gradually increasing. When Bob came back his typical ear-to-ear smile was as well. He was also holding onto a medium sized canvas. With outstretched arms, he presented it exclaiming,

"Here! I gotta lil' something for ya!"

After getting up and dusting off your pants, you took the unexpected gift from his hands. Your eyebrows were raised high in astonishment. Pleased at your reaction, Bob shyly looked away while rubbing the back of his neck.

"But it's probably nothing compared to what you've done for the island so far."

As you examined the painting you weren't sure how to feel about it at first. Anyone back at your hometown would recognize immediately that this gift was clearly not your style. While you preferred romantic style oil paintings, the piece before you had to be best described as the work of a child. Abstract and sloppy, no distinct line art, and distinct brush strokes. That last part was the most peculiar to you. Did he use cotton balls to paint this?

You took a step back and looked at the piece again as a whole. Once you did, you felt a smile creep up on your face. This painting was clearly made with you in mind, as not only were you the subject, but you were surrounded by all of the things you loved on this island. The foreground was adorned with your favorite flowers, the background was the island's serene coast, and you were wearing your favorite outfit.

The colors were the most impressive, in your opinion. They were so spot on that just looking at it alone made you feel like you were right there, hearing the crashing waves. He even got your eye color at just the right shade, and remembered to add your dimples to your smile.

You found it difficult to contain your excitement.

"Wow! Bob, this is amazing! And you painted it? I didn't know you liked to paint!"

"Hmmm? Oh yeah, I like to do all sorts of drawing." Lost in thought, he started leaning back and forth between the balls of his feet and his heels. "But I especially looooooove finger painting! It's like ya got super powers 'cause everything you touch changes color!"

You chuckled. Paw prints, that explained the strange brush strokes.

"How'd you know my favorite spot on the island was the beach?" You asked.

Bob simply shrugged as he replied, "You're just there so often, I sorta figured it was like, your natural habitat or something, pthhpth."

"What about my clothes?"

He looked away briefly before clearing his throat to answer. "I, uh, always thought you looked the prettiest when you wore those." He couldn't help but blush a little. "Just 'cause you always smiled more when you wore those."

You then felt your own face heat up.

"A-and what about the flowers? How'd you know these were my favorite?"

"Oh, those? You were always buying those from Lief every time he comes over." His eyes glanced up in thought as he continued.

"At first I was thinking what made these flowers so special? You already had so many different flowers in your own garden. So then I bought a pot of my own, and boy do they smell deeelicious! They reminded me so much of you so of course I had to put it here, pthhpth!"

You tried to give a polite smile to match Bob's beaming face. But you weren't too sure how to take that compliment, if it even was one. Was he saying you were like a snack? Does he snack on flowers?

You decided not to dwell on it too much.

Now when you looked back at the painting, it was as if it completely transformed before your eyes during the short length of your conversation with Bob. What was once sloppy, thick brush strokes were now intentional, and authentic. What was once meaningless shapes of abstraction have now turned into a thoughtful presentation of who you were in the mind of Bob.

It was all so touching, you might have started tearing up a little.

You tightly wrapped your arms around Bob.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this right now."

He eagerly hugged you back.

"Like I said, it's nothing." His lips curled into a bashful smile.

Releasing each other from your embrace, you were surprised to see that somber expression return to his face. His brows furrowed in frustration.

"I don't know who's judging these islands, but if I were them, I'd give you a ten star rating just because you worked so hard on it!"

You didn't have the heart to tell him that island ratings only went up to five.

Bob continued on. Pride and determination lighting his eyes as he placed his paws on his hips.

"I might even throw in a prize, like a day off, or a life-time supply of brownies!" A nervous chuckle bubbled out of him as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, actually, that last part might be more of a prize for me than for you."

Now that he mentions it, you really do deserve a day-off, heck, maybe even a week-off. You put so much work into this island, it was only natural that you needed a break to regain your strength. Then, you'll be sure to get that five star rating!

You grabbed Bob's paw and headed towards the direction to your house.

"It's been a while since we hanged out, huh? Well then let's go to my place for lunch," you said.

"Really?!" Now it was Bob's turn to look surprised. Free food always got him excited.

"Yeah!" You smiled. "Think of it as thanks for the painting."

"Sounds great!" Bob had already skipped on ahead of you, his face radiant. "Race ya!"

"Wait, Bob! My legs are still killing me from this morning, can you-"

Too late. With arms outstretched, Bob zig-zagged his way towards your house, already leagues ahead of you. For a guy who was always hungry, he sure did have boundless amounts of energy.

You shook your head to yourself and smiled. Taking one last look at your painting before trudging along, you were already thinking of how to best frame it. You loved how brilliant it looked in the natural light. A nice spot by the window would be perfect.

——————————————————————————

This was requested by @teagibs I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long :’-)

Please bear in mind that I’m still in school, so if anyone else has made a request, or would like to request something, it might be a while. I will also be doing requests in the order they come in.

On another note, this was a lot of fun! Bob is one of my favorites, so I hope I did him justice. I currently have another one shot in the works (not a request), and ya’ll better brace yourself, cause it’s gonna be a dooozy...

Let me know what you guys think, constructive criticism is especially welcome here :D

-(･ω･)v

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

The Crimson Sun - Mature

Summary: Everything had been perfect with you and August after the Crimson Moon, until they weren’t.

Pairing: August Walker/You

Word Count: 8,257

Rating: Mature - Language, Angst, Soft!August, Trauma, PTSD, Mentions of Terrorism, Grief, Regret, Depression, Night Terrors, Smut - Fingering (F - Receiving), Oral (M - Receiving), Reconciliation

Prequel: The Crimson Moon

Inspiration: The Crimson Moon, that was an Anon ask that @littlefreya received (x)

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @sauvage-et-libre, @mis-lil-red, @angreav, @crazyandanonymous4u, @the-mighty-jellybean @henrycavell, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @iam-laiya, @worshipping-skarsgard, @thetruthandotherstories, @ruthoakenshield, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @theonetheycallhannah, @nina-skyee, @thatgirly81, @inanna999, @suueeeeeee, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @beckster07890, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @magic-and-the-macabre, @stxphmxlls, @radaofrivia, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @starstruckkittyangel, @heartfelt-pen, @stuckupstucky, @dummiesshort, @la-cey, @singeramg, @queenoftheworldisdead, @brooklymw, @raspberrydreamclouds,

“August.”

You whimpered in your sleep, head thrashing on your pillow. “August.”

“Baby.”

“August!” You screamed, snapping upright.

“It's all right, baby.”

A deep and sleepy voice whispered, a heavy and sluggish arm wrapped around your waist and slid you over to a heavy body, warm from sleep and the down winter blankets, to fend off the icy cold of the bedroom and the three feet of snow outside.

“Ssshh, lay down with me.”

A second arm coaxed you over the strong and muscular body, palm cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into a warm chest, a silent and choked sob muted in your throat, snot from your nose making a mess of the hair there, the solid and real thump of a heart against your cheek. A blanket was pulled over you, creating a cocoon, against the cold and the world outside of it, as strong and broad palms rubbed and pressed firm circles, up and down your back, fingers brushing through your hair, soothing your frightened and shell shocked body into relaxing.

“I'm right here.” August whispered, coddling you tenderly. “I haven't left you, Angel.”

August had grown accustomed to your night terrors by now, they'd been happening every night for the last three months, ever since the accident in Kashmir. He would stay awake for hours after you fell asleep, caressing your cheek and hair, keeping you tucked against his body, so you could feel the touch of his skin, the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart, making sure you knew he was still there with you, by your side, alive and healthy.

He was your Guardian Angel, he always had been and he always would be.

You rubbed your cheek against his snotty chest and let out a shaky breath, shivering against his body as you laid on top of August, the only place you really felt safe, in his arms. “I'm-I'm sorr--”

“Ssshh, Angel. It's all right, I keep telling you that.” August replied, kissing the top of your head and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “I can't have you being afraid. What kind of husband would I be, hm?” He cooed at you, the soft hairs of his mustache brushing your forehead.

“If I let you be afraid?”

August entered the spacious apartment you both shared, you had moved in with August a month after dating. It was a simple and minimalist apartment, the walls were a warm gray color, the floors, glazed concrete, a curved, seventy inch and mounted tv on the wall, in front of a lazy boy, big enough for two, you and August loved cuddling on the massive recliner, while watching your shows. The rest of the apartment was similar, other than August's decked out office for his business as a CIA Agent, and his even more secret work as the Chief Apostle, John Lark.

The room with the most attention to detail, was the bedroom, with a massive and elevated bed. You had slept in August's bed one night, before he tossed the mattress he had and bought the best and top of the line mattress to replace it. You had been severely injured on one of your first operative missions, which caused two pinched nerves in your left hip and bad lower back, so after that first night you woke up stiff and in agony. August wasn't going to stand for that, he didn't care how much money he had to spend on a mattress, as long as you were comfortable, pain-free and slept well.

“Angel?” He called out.

August had never called you by your name, first, last or middle for that matter. When you first met, he addressed you as You or Girl. After you started dating, August started calling you; baby, darling and sometimes, Bug. He'd call you, Sweet Buns, if he was in a mood, but, his go to was simply, Angel. You were his Angel, his beam of light, in a world that had been nothing but darkness and pain to him since he was four years old.

“Angel.” He called out again, brows creasing.

He knew you were home, your car was in its spot, your shoes by the front door and your favorite coat was hung up. He mounted the stairs to the second floor and carefully moved down the hallway, like a panther stalking its prey. August found the bedroom door for half open, the light on, but didn't hear anything on the other side, so he slowly pushed it open with one hand, while the other reached to the gun on his hip, expecting something bad. But, the bedroom was empty as well, his paranoid and suspicious nature starting to elevate, but he kept his usual calm and cool nature pristine.

“Angel?” He said in his normal tone of voice, carefully sliding the gun from its holster and thumbing open the safety.

“Gus?” You replied, coming out of the walk-in closet, holding something in your hand.

“What do you have there, Bug?” He asked, clicking the safety back on his gun and holstering it again, relaxing, seeing you were all right.

You held out your hand and August's face went slack. “Is this?” You looked up at him, jittery.

“You weren't supposed to find that.” August sighed, taking a box from you. “Were you snooping?” He asked, giving you a sly and mischievous smirk.

“No, I was packing.” You told him, blinking at him. “Moore contacted me an hour ago, with a contract for MI6, they're sending me to do some work in Belgium.” You explained to him, seeing that alerted look in his blue eyes.

August had well hidden and cultivated abandonment issues, from his father running out on him and his abusive mother, as a child. So, every time you told him you were packing to go somewhere for work, that little plant in his belly would bloom. You smiled at him, gripping his wrist and giving it three squeezes. That little blooming plant was never spoken about. You tried talking to August about it once, and it ended up with him flying into a rage and disappearing for a week, and when he came back he was a complete mess.

So, you'd developed a reassuring tick with him, touching him three times in any way, a squeeze or a tap, even kisses, if the situation allowed it.

“How long are you going to be gone?” August asked, gripping the box in his hand.

“At least a month.” You informed him.

“Well, this isn't at all how I planned it.” He sighed, releasing it and flipping open the black suede lid. “Angel,” He smiled brightly at you, dropping to a knee. “Will you marry me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you cupped his scruffy face in your hands. “August Walker, wants to get married? Who is this impostor?” You teased him.

He had told you flat out, on the first date, to never expect anything more than a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship, marriages were too messy and clingy, traceable and always fell apart.

“I know, I'm breaking my own code and rules on the matter.” He chuckled at you, turning his head to kiss one of your palms. “But, you've made me a changed man, Angel. I want to marry you, I want to keep you forever and ever.”

You felt giddy. “Yes, August. I'll marry you.” You giggled, excited at the prospect of being his wife.

The two of you married that afternoon, just the two of you, no one else in the world mattered. It was seven months after the Crimson Moon, and everything felt so good and peaceful.

It lasted like that for almost three years, three blissful years of marriage, kicking ass and taking names, for the CIA and MI6. But, both of you should have known better, having lived the lives you had, before and during undercover work.

It all started to crumble, when you got the missive at your accustomed drop off for them. Your hands shook and grew damp as you held the manila folder with the name, John Lark, type on the lip with a typewriter.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You mumbled, stuck in a loop and shaking. “Oh fucking god.”

You couldn't bring yourself to open it.

Shoving the folder into your bag, you scrambled back home, August was away on his own mission with Ethan Hunt, somewhere in Paris. You paced the apartment, spiraling between the deepest despair, furious rage and blinding tears, screaming at the top of your lungs; luckily your neighbors were used to August making you scream, and a variety of other noises that came out of the apartment, when you were both home together.

Finally, you just melted into a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor, knowing you had no choice, but to track down your own husband.

Once you pulled yourself together, you opened the folder, still sitting on the kitchen floor. There were archive photos on the Apostles, all blurred and barred, but you quickly identified August in nearly all of them, it was a wonder how no one put two and two together already. His signature mustache was as immaculate as ever, even back then, his height and build, that made your body react despite being in severe shock and it being a photograph.

“Damn it, August.” You sighed, finally getting to the mission report.

'John Lark, radical leader of the Apostles, splinter group from Solomon Lane's now dismantled, Syndicate.' Read the start of the report. 'Lark is credited with what is called, the Manifesto.'

You flipped over the report and saw the declassified copy of the Manifesto and the first line alone made you shiver. 'There has never been peace without first a great suffering, the greater the suffering, the greater the peace.'

“What the fuck have you been up too, Gus.” You asked aloud, rubbing the side of your face and going back to the rest of the report.

'Lark and his Apostles have already released the deadly agent, Smallpox, to kick start their Manifesto for world peace. Intel has reported that John Lark would be seeking a person only known as, the white widow, in Paris, in an attempt to retrieve three Plutonium cores and fashion them into some of the strongest bombs, since the Atomic bomb, during World War II.'

Your eyes were fixed on the last line, August, your beloved husband, was trying to make bombs to destroy half of the world, all in the frightening name of peace. It felt like someone was pouring ice cold water down your back, remembering all those nights in bed, after rounds and rounds of mind blowing sex, how August always promised that he would make the world a better place for you, tenderly playing with you hair and kissing your forehead and temple, til you drifted off to sleep.

To think this was what he had been doing in those long nights holed up in his office. Making the world a better place..

“For me.” You dropped back against the door of the dishwasher and stared down at the stupidly expensive wedding ring on your finger, wondering how many people August had killed to buy it for you.

Sighing, you unclasped a gold necklace August had bought you for your last birthday and slipped your wedding onto it, before slipping it back around your neck. You always put it there, when you were about to go on a mission, for both security, if your enemy couldn't see a ring, then they wouldn't have something to leverage against you, and it still kept August close to your heart.

Going upstairs, you pulled out your carry size duffle bag and the locked case for your firearm, putting on your holster and securing your gun to your hip, checked the rest of the kit you took with you and packed it with a couple pairs of clothing. Before you headed out to hunt August down, you stopped, picked up the report on Walker and Lark, shredded it and burned it in the fire grate, covering up any traces of having the file.

“Marco, it's me.” You said, getting into your car. “I'm going on vacation, can you make sure the plane's ready for me. Thanks.” You pulled out of your parking spot, looking up at the apartment that had been home for the last five years and wondered if you would ever see it again.

“How about a nice and warm cup of tea?” August asked, nuzzling your hair and knowing it was going to be a little while before you managed to fall back to sleep.

“Okay.” You whimpered, your voice distant and detached, the nightmare playing over and over in your mind.

Nodding and kissing your hair once more, August let you slip out of his embrace and got up, making sure your little blanket cocoon stayed intact as he did, knowing that being hidden in the blankets made the world feel smaller and less heavy for you. Biting his bottom lip against the hiss of icy needles shooting up his bare feet, the fire in the grate had long since died, so the raging blizzard outside had been able to reach its claws into the rest of the house as August padded his way downstairs to the modest kitchen. He pulled your favorite cup and tea down from the cabinet, filled the kettle and set it on the gas stove burner. He stood in the kitchen, staring out the huge breakfast nook window, seeing nothing but a blanket of snow on the ground and everything else blurred by the flurry of snow, whipping around the secluded house, it made August feel like he was trapped in a snow-globe.

He hated snow-globes.

Even though he was naked and his skin rippled with chills, August didn't move from his spot to find warmth. He felt that he didn't deserve it.

“I don't deserve it.” He answered his conscious back. “Not for what I've done to her.” He whispered into the white void in front of him.

Your words from Kashmir still echoed in his skull.

“August!”

He was making his way to the helicopter, he only had fifteen minutes to get away from the village, before it was too late, when he heard your voice. At first, he thought that it was just his imagination, it had a habit of conjuring your voice when he was about to do something dangerous, his little canary.

“August, stop!”

He froze, that wasn't his imagination.

His blue eyes steadily started to grow and a tight chill gripped his heart as he slowly started to turn around, praying under his breath that he was just hearing things, projecting your voice over Hunt's. But, no. There you were, standing a yard away, your gun trained on him and an utterly crushed expression on your exhausted face, you hadn't slept well, to not at all, for the week you had been tracking him down.

You could have just called him, like you always had, when you decided to join him on a mission, but you knew August all too well and he knew you even better. The moment he heard your voice, he would know something was up.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped at you, looking up the hill behind you, seeing Hunt appear on the crest. “Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, then held his hand out to you. “Come on, you have to come with me.”

“No, August.” You shook your head at him, blinking the blinding tears out of your eyes. “Give me the fail safe, August.” You held out your own hand.

“I can't, Angel.” He replied, shaking his head back at you and gripping the device tighter.

“Please, August. Don't do this.” You begged him, your hands starting to shake. “You don't have to do this.”

“But I do, Angel.” August let out a shaky breath. “I'm doing this for you, for us.”

“I don't want this!” You barked at him, exasperated and wounded.

“I'm going to do it anyway, come with me. It's not safe here, Angel.” He tried convincing you.

“No, August.” You shook your head at him. “I won't be able to live with this. Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering for the greater good' than my own conscious is?”

“No, Angel. It's not.” He gulped, thickly.

“Then, give me the fail safe, August.” You motioned for it. “Stop this, if not for the greater good, but for me. There's still time to fix this!”

August looked between you and the fail safe clutched tightly in his hand, you could see him starting to relax, slowly making up his mind about giving you the fail safe to the two bombs that were armed and ready to be set to their fifteen minute detonation countdown. He took a careful step towards you, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding since getting the mission to take August down.

“Walker!” A voice behind you screamed, sounding very pissed.

“No.” You whimpered, watching the stubborn and cold expression wash over August's face and eyes. “August, no!” You yelled at him, as he turned on his heel and started marching towards the helicopter he was going for, when you stopped him.

He got into the helicopter and it was like he didn't see you anymore, his eyes glued to someone charging up behind you. You dropped your arms to your sides, defeated, and heartbroken as you watched the helicopter fly away. The person that snapped August into his John Lark alter-ego slid to a stop beside you, looking after his helicopter as well, huffing and puffing, then looked at you.

“Who are you?”

“Ethan Hunt, I'm assuming.” You asked, a steely coldness washing over you, purely a defense mechanism against the turmoil brewing and raging inside of you.

“The same.” He answered, frowning at you.

“I'm an agent for MI6, tasked with stopping one John Lark, also known as August Walker.” You told him, your voice toneless. “And you just fucked that up, along with my life.” You hissed, turning on a dime and marching back to the helicopter you had arrived in, resolved to go after August before he could start the countdown.

'Is it more important for you to 'bring great suffering, for the greater good' than my own conscious.'

The whistle of the kettle pulled August out of his thoughts with a full body quiver of cold and guilt. He pulled the kettle off the fire and poured the steaming hot water into your prepared cup, then turned off the stove, setting the kettle on the cold back burner. He held your cup between his hands, driving out some of the cold from his chilled body; so cold now, that his cock felt like concrete. Sighing, August took the hot cup back upstairs to you, sitting your tea on the bed stand, then turned to the cold fireplace. Squatting down, August pulled out several logs from the firewood box, by the fireplace, and set about stacking them on the ashes of the previous fire, with an almost OCD-like precision. He stayed there for a minute or two, ensuring that the fire caught the oak logs, adding another log for good measure, before standing back up and sitting on the edge of the bed, where the lump of your body was in the mound of blankets.

“You can come out now, Angel.” He whispered, rubbing your leg through the blankets. “I got the fire going again, it'll be warm soon.”

Sighing, you fold back the blankets from over your head and look up at him, your eyes are dim, bloodshot, red rimmed and lashes wet with tears. It crushed August every time he saw your face, knowing he was the reason and cause of all your trauma, heartache and tears. He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently wiping away the stray tears before they could dampen your cheeks anymore than they had already.

“I'm sorry.” He muttered, for what could have easily been the trillionth time.

You frowned up at him, then cast your eyes away from him, at least you could look at him for a moment or two now and stand him touching you. For the first month after Kashmir, it was hard for you to look at him, or anything that even belonged to August, much less stand his touch or hear the sound of his voice. August took all of it, bearing his punishment, you shying away from him, the silent treatment and the long, cold nights of an empty bed, because being in the same bed, the same room, as him was just too much for you to take. You still barely uttered a word to him, going from head shakes, sighs and shoulder shrugs to single, monosyllabic words.

You hadn't even wanted to do that, you thought, sitting up in bed and reaching out for your tea.

It was the third night in a row.

That you woke up from the new reoccurring nightmare. August missed the first one you had, being downstairs, staring at the bright screen of his laptop. The second one, he just stood in the hallway outside the door of the guest room you hold yourself inside of, listening. You had woken up him, crying out his name. At first, he feared they had found you and were trying to take you, ripping blankets off his body, nearly tearing his pillow in half to grab his gun that lived under it now and raced down the hall to you. But, when his fingertips touched the door to your room, he stopped dead and cold, you were gasping for breath, like you'd been choked by a powerful hand, choking on your tears and snot, hugging yourself, nails digging into the skin of your shoulders and drawing blood, your mind's feeble attempt to prove you were awake, as you rocked yourself back and forth, back and forth.

The third one, some part of you no longer cared, you needed to be next to August, you needed the warmth of his skin against your cold skin, you needed to feel the soft waves of his breathing against your shoulder and neck as he spooned you into his real and intact body, you needed to feel the pounding of his heart against your back or cheek.

It was the only thing that chased the dream away.

The cold wind that blew against your face as you looked out the open door of your helicopter, August's own helicopter nothing, but a black dot, against the snowy peaks in front of you. You leaned forward and bumped your fist against the aircraft pilot's shoulder, a signal, to go faster. Nodding his head, the pilot picked up speed, pushing the craft as fast as it could go; which wasn't fast enough for you. You frowned, hearing the whoosh of another helicopter's blades getting close to yours. Leaning out and looking back, you saw the third helicopter in time to see someone get thrown out of it.

“What the fuck?” You snapped as it caught up with yours.

You met the determined eyes of Ethan Hunt, who stared blankly back at you. Growling, you flipped Ethan the finger and sat back.

“Ignore him.” You told the pilot over the headset. “We don't change course or directive.”

'I just hope we make it to August, first.' You thought, keeping your eyes out the front windshield of the helicopter, on the steadily growing dot of August's.

“Here.” He whispered, taking a soft throw blanket off the back of a chair in the corner and laid it over your bare shoulders, as you sat in bed, sipping your tea. “Better?” He asked, tilting his head to see your down turned face.

“Yeah.” You nodded around the rim of your cup.

“Good.” He half smiled, moving around to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers with you, seeking the fragile warmth he knew was there.

The room was quiet, except for your careful sips of the hot and flavorful liquid; August had perfected how you liked your tea, what felt like a lifetime ago, and the crackle and pops of the fireplace, the heat of which was finally beating the snowy cold back outside the walls of the master bedroom. Your mind wandered off to the only other subject it wanted to think about, how long would you and August be in hiding, here in the cabin he had hidden in the deep, snowy woods of Siberia. It had already been three months, and August had told you it would only take four, before everything died down, thinking August was dead.

But, that wouldn't stop what the agencies must be thinking about what happened to you, in the aftermath of Kashmir.

Hunt's helicopter managed to over take yours, much to your frustration and terror.

You were forced to hopelessly watch as Hunt tried dropping some type of payload on top of August's helicopter. Luckily, August's pilot was able to make an evasive maneuver and dodged it, sending the load crashing into a lake below. You had spots in your eyes from the levels of stress and migraines you had been suffering the last week of hunting your bull-headed husband down, always just one step behind him.

It wasn't until you ran into Ilsa, that you found out that August was heading to Kashmir, India, where he and Solomon Lane, who August helped break out and let loose, were planning on pulling off their coup de grâce, that the Syndicate had failed to finish, because of Hunt, and the Apostles were trying to finish, with the help of August and his damned Manifesto.

You slammed your tight fist down on your thigh, trying to control your temper as it bubbled up inside of you. You'd never forgive August Walker for putting you through this. You had begged him to keep you out of the Apostles' way. But, you had fallen on your own sword, when you fell in love with him and you had shot yourself in the foot, when you married him. You had broken the agency code and rules, 'don't fall for your enemy', and while August as himself wasn't your enemy, August as John Lark, was your enemy.

Why hadn't you just left him, when he told you the truth behind who John Lark really was? Why hadn't you had him cuffed, then and there, and taking in, to be interrogated and stopped, just like Lane had been?

The answer always came back the same, 'I love him.'

“Idiot.” You hissed out loud, catching the attention of the pilot. “Not you.” You barked at him, rolling your eyes.

You looked up and saw how close the three helicopters had gotten together, close enough for you to see tracer rounds and bullets flying out of the open door of August's helicopter and into Hunt's. It wasn't until almost too late, that the pilots realized how close to a mountain peak the three aircrafts were.

The pilot for August tried pulling back, which only caused Ethan to ram into the back of them, then domino into yours, all three colliding. Your helicopter nose dived, crashing into the other side of the peak and crushed the whole front of it, killing your pilot on impact. Hunt's flipped end over end, then rolled, while August's rolled and skidded to a stop, perilously close to the edge of the peak. He panted as his plane settled, and worked on trying to undo his seat belt, only to hear the rolling metal of Hunt's plane, still coming down the mountain side, slamming into his and sending them over the edge, to a shelf below.

Struggling for a moment and growling, you yanked the tactical switchblade out of your boot and cut yourself free of your seat belt, landing sideways on the roof of the upside down helicopter. Digging out some of the snow blocking the only way out of the wreck, you shimmied out of it and turned, blood running down the side of your face, your whole body throbbing and screaming, blood seeping through the shirt you were wearing, but you didn't bother looking at whatever the cause was. You had to get to August, just catching his and Hunt's helicopters colliding and slipping over the edge.

The cold was a blessing after all, as you trudged as quickly as you could to the edge, numbing away all your pain, psychically and emotionally, your mind too distracted on your target and mission to consider freezing or bleeding to death. Stumbling to the edge of the peak, you looked down and let out a breath of relief seeing August crawl out of his wreckage, mostly unharmed, but you also saw Ethan doing the same. You desperately tried to think of something to do, you couldn't yell, you were too far from them to hear you and the peak was too shear for you to try and rock climb down by hand.

So, you were forced to watch August and Ethan duke it out, fighting and fumbling in a dangerous game of cat and mouse, for the fail safe attached to August. You stopped breathing several times as you watched them get to the edge of the shelf, teetering, before righting themselves and moving away again. Ethan was finally able to grab the fail safe from August, both of them out of breath from their exertion and the high altitude. You watched them talk, too far to hear whatever it was they were discussing, no doubt trying to make a case for why each of them was right for what they were trying to do for the world. Ethan shook his head and August's body tensed with a rekindled rage, charging Hunt like a bull.

“August!”

You screamed, eyes huge as Ethan dodged out of the way and August went stumbling towards the edge, trying to stop himself, before he fell.

“August!” You screamed even louder.

He teetered for a moment, before the rock beneath him crumbled and he fell, your heart and stomach plummeting with him.

You had no idea how long you were out, or how long after watching August die, that you blacked out. But, when you woke up to an incessant and annoying beating sound in your ears, your exhausted mind became aware of how much pain you were in, a moment later, and whimpered, shifting and struggling.

“Hey now.” A soft voice called to you, a strong hand gripping yours. “You're all right now. You're safe, just calm down and rest.”

“August.” You mewled, the images of him falling flashing in your mind, like an old film reel. “Oh god, August.”

The hand holding yours let go, the sound of hard soled shoes clacking against linoleum, moving away, and a door opened, before the voice whispered to someone outside the room. “She's awake and calling for him.”

You lost consciousness again, only to wake a few minutes later, a warm palm cupping your bruised cheek, making you reach out and wrap a weak hand around a thick wrist. The room was quiet for a while, the only thing you were aware of was that warm hand cupping your face and the strong pulse against your own palm.

“August.” You whined, having drifted back off to sleep and dreaming about him again.

“Ssshh.” The owner of the hand replied. “I'm right here. Don't fret, Angel.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked up to see August standing by your bedside, a soft and tired smile on his face. He had a black eye and a split lip, but other than that, he looked perfectly fine. You frowned, wincing at you did, and shook your head, not understanding.

How was he there with you, you had watched him fall, there was no way he could have survived.

Could he?

“August?” You choked around a lump of tearful confusion.

“Yeah, Angel.” He smiled at you, gingerly sitting down beside you.

“Ho-how?” You licked your split and chapped lips. “I watched you di--”

“No, Angel. I didn't die.” He chuckled at you, then winced, pressing a hand to his ribs. “I managed to catch myself on a small ledge, not too far down from the shelf.” He explained, reaching out to pick up a paper cup with a bendy straw in it, tenderly holding it to your lips, so you could wet your throat.

“Hunt thought I was dead, and got picked up by his crew.” He went on to explain to you. “You know how much of a cautious man I am, bug. All I had to do was hold on long enough for them to leave, then I took this handy little thing out of my pocket.”

He removed a small, square device out of his pocket, it had a button on it and a blinking red light above that, it looked like a car fob.

“It's a GPS locator.” August answered your silent question. “I press it and my Apostles will show up, wherever I am.” He told you, putting it back into his pocket. “It's a lucky thing for you too. They saw you laying out in the snow as they flew over to land on the shelf. Two of them climbed up and got you, while the others pulled me up. I didn't have anything more than a busted lip, black eye and a couple of broken ribs.”

You laid there listening to him, trying to connect all the information he was giving you.

“You, on the other hand, have a pretty nasty cut on your head.” He, very gingerly, touched his fingertips to the twelve stitches along your hairline. “You have a concussion and been out for a couple of days. But, this was the injury that made me fear for you.” He said, pulling down the hospital blankets and moving your hospital gown aside, revealing a ugly gash on your side and stomach, just above your hip, closed with a line of staples.

“Part of the door handle to your helicopter got dislodged in the wreck and went through your side.” He frowned at the wound, feeling overwhelming guilt. “You lost consciousness from the blood loss, and would have bled to death, if it wasn't for all the snow you were laying in, and the boys getting to you, when they did.”

That cast your net of alarm farther than just August being alive. “Where are we?” You asked, eyes darting around the dark room.

“Somewhere safe, don't you worry about that, Angel.” August assured you, fixing your gown and blankets. “It's the home base of the Apostles, we have one of the top doctors in the world in our fold. He's the one that stitched you up.” He said, sounding incredibly grateful for it.

“What about Hunt?” You asked, not reassured at all. “The CIA, MI6, everyone else? They know you're Lark, August. When they find out...”

“Ssshh.” He hushed you, shaking his head and patting your leg. “Don't worry about any of that, Angel. Let me worry about it. You just worry about resting and healing up. I have somewhere we can go, for a few months. Then, everything will calm down, in four or five months, and we'll go from there.”

“All right?” He smiled at you, leaning in to kiss you on the lips, but you turned your head, his lips meeting your cheek; it cut August to the quick.

“I know you're upset with me, for doing what I did.”

You stared out the half shaded window in your room, taking a deep breath of the overly clean air, and nodded your head. You needed time to think and process everything, the man you loved, that you bound yourself to with an 'I do', three years before, and had broken your trust. You knew, you weren't innocent in the matter, you had known who August really was and ignored it, bottling it up and pretending it wasn't real. A part of you, deep down inside, also knew that August would one day step over that line that would force you to choose.

Would you step away from August, still loving him, but unable to live with his actions and move on? Maybe, even turn him in.

Would you decide to step over that line with him? You had promised and vowed, 'for better or for worse', and you had been through both with August.

You didn't know.

You wondered, if MI6 thought you also died in the crash on the mountain. But, they would investigate the area, they had to make sure August was dead, and would be suspicious, if they didn't find his body, and would probably start drawing speculations, when they didn't find yours, or when you didn't report in afterwards; telling them that you had miraculously survived and gotten off the mountain, somehow, on your own.

It all made your head hurt and made you feel like you were being slowly dragged down to hell.

Could you feign amnesia? Stockholm Syndrome? Blackmailed or kidnapped? If you did decide to leave August, and let him pay for all the wrongs he made, in the name of 'greater peace'. You probably could, everyone knew how dominant, imposing and persuasive August could be. He had almost fooled Sloane into thinking Hunt was really Lark, not naming the countless others he had manipulated and turned for his own uses and purposes.

'Holy shit,' You suddenly thought. 'Had August been manipulating me, for his own reasons?'

You looked at Walker from the corner of your eyes, he was resting back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he lounged, probably taking a quick cat nap, you kept him up most nights with your nightmares, so he was just as tired as you were. August had also been holding secret and down low meetings with nearly every member of the Apostles and other contacts he had out in the world. You were never privy to those discussions, he didn't want to drag you any deeper into his dark world than he hadn't already.

'But, what did that matter?' You considered yourself.

True enough, you had tried to carry out your mission, to stop August from blowing up half the world for his crazy notion of peace and harmony, but you had also failed at it. You had unwittingly helped August as well, you covered his tracks, keeping his secret life and dealings to yourself, ignoring every hint and spot of evidence that could send Walker to jail for the rest of his natural life, and his afterlife for that matter. Your bosses and colleagues had several briefings and meetings about the Syndicate, Solomon Lane, the Apostles and John Lark, and even though your palms sweat through all of them, you kept your lips zipped.

You would more than likely share the same dark cell August would, in the end.

“August?” You whispered, your voice rough from such little use and screaming out in your dreams.

August startled awake, blue eyes wide and searching the room, before they rested on you, the alarm turning into shock, it was the first time you had said his name, in the last three months, that wasn't from you dreaming. He gulped and sat up beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“What is it, Angel?” He whispered back, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Why?” You rasped, blinking at him, softly. “Why did you tell me about being Lark?” You asked him, clutching onto the little remaining heat of your tea, like a life preserver in the seamless ocean you were stranded in. “Why did you...” You paused and cleared your throat.

“Why do you love me, yet tear me apart with all of this?”

He sighed and pressed his lips to your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never meant to fall in love with you, Angel. I tried my hardest not to, please believe that.” He rested his fingertips under your chin and tipped your head to look up at him. “I never meant or wanted to drag you into this fucked up world I inhabit. I wanted to protect my sweet Angel, with everything I have.”

“But, I'm a selfish and greedy man. When I want something, I want it and nothing, no one, not even myself, can stop me from getting it. I desire you above all else.”

“Yet, you still tried blowing up the world, when I begged you not too.” You replied, bottom lip quivering, it hurt so much. “Why? Because it was Hunt?”

“Yes.” August sighed, nodded his head. “He stopped Lane from acting out his plans and I didn't want him doing the same to me. Though, he did, in the end. I can't take back leaving you there, I wanted you to come with me. But, I knew you wouldn't, not my Angel.”

“That I've started to corrupt, like the demon that I am.” He hissed into your ear, angry only at himself.

You closed your eyes and rested your temple against his forehead, tucking your almost empty cup between your legs. “Part of me hates you, for what you've done to our lives, what you tried to do to the lives of so many others.”

“I deserve that.” He whimpered, biting his lip. “And more.”

“But,” You mumbled, finger circling the rim of your cup.

“But—what, Angel?”

“All I really want.” You sniffled, tears dripping down your cheeks and August kissing them away. “Is to be with you.” You said it, so softly, it took a moment for August to be sure it's what you said.

August smiled, nuzzling your hair and face, his nose rubbing against your cheek and nose, pressing sweet and small kisses to your neck. He was shy about kissing and touching you intimately again, it had been nearly six months since the last time you both made love, the night before he left for Paris, with Hunt. He took it slow, in case you changed your mind and repulsed him, but so far, you had gently reacted to him, nudging your face against his.

Smirking, August took your cup and set it aside on your night stand and tugged the blanket off your shoulders, the heat from the roaring fire had made the room toasty, leaving you and August sweaty. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, turning into his body as his small kisses grew to open kisses, leaving love bites on your neck and throat, as he trailed down your chest, tasting your skin and the salt of your sweat. He moaned, closing his mouth around your nipple, flicking his tongue at it until it pebbled, then started biting and sucking at it, squeezing and palming the other one, so it didn't feel left out.

“August.” You panted, carding your fingers through his damp curls. “Ah, fuck.” You hissed as his fingers slipped into the waistband of your panties and started petting your neglected clit.

“You're so sensitive, Angel.” He cooed around your breast, his eyes a stormy-blue with lust. “You haven't been touching yourself, while I was away.” He teased you, giving your clit a couple of flicks of his finger, making you cry out.

“It's not the same.” You panted, your head falling back and fingers gripping his hair.

“Oh, then I definitely want that delectable pussy around my cock.” He laughed, finger teasing your entrance. “You are going to gush so hard around me, Angel. You're already a dripping mess.” He said, removing his hand from your panties and spreading his thick fingers, seeing the thick string and film of your arousal between them, sparkling in the firelight.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rumbled, sucking his soaked fingers into his mouth and moaning around them, your taste overpowering his tastebuds.

Your pupils blew out watching him suckle his fingers, eyes closed, in ecstasy. Growling, you laid back and lifted your hips, yanking your ruined panties off impatiently and tossed them to the floor. Sliding a hand up and down August's back, you coaxed him to lay down with you, moving your hand over his chest, caressing his cowboy beard, then trailed down his stomach, circled his naval, then dripped between his legs, finding his hard member, that never really softened. August slowly licked his lips and moaned, rocking his hips into your hand as you stroked his shaft, swiveling and rubbing your thumb over his purple tip, smearing pre-come all over your hand and his cock.

Letting his penis go, your hand ventured a little bit lower, cupping those egg-sized balls, squeezing and rolling them in your hand, like a pair of dice. August's body shivered in response, smirking at him, you kicked all the blankets to the floor and moved between August's legs, pushing his legs up, so his knees bent and snuggled down on your belly.

“It seems you haven't been neglecting yourself, Walker.” You told him, nipping the inside of his thick thigh.

It seemed, even though you both were in hiding, his scrotum stood out from the rest of his body at this angle, neatly man-scaped, while the rest of his body tended to be hairy.

“Rules are rules.” August panted, lifting his head to look down his torso at you.

You chuckled at him, taking a long lick over his sack and giving one of them a delicate suck. He had asked you to suck his balls not long after you both started having sex, they were exceptionally sensitive, and you had caused August to come by playing with them, more than once. But, before you agreed to do the deed, you told him you weren't putting them in your mouth, while they looked like two hairy gerbils. So, from then on, August meticulously groomed them, even when he was away from months on end, it had become a habit.

“I shave my balls more, for you, than I shave my face.” August moaned, as you swallowed one of them and teased his cock, feathering your fingertips up and down its shaft.

You laughed around his ball, the vibration made him gasp and tossed him very close to the edge, so you pulled back, edging the hell out of him. August looked down at you, a serene calm washed over both of you, a calm and peacefulness that hadn't been around for several weeks, the fear of being found loomed over the house.

“This isn't right.” August sighed, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you up to him.

“What?” You blinked back.

“You shouldn't be pleasuring me.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and turning you both on your sides. “I've wronged and hurt you, I've nearly cost you your life. I cost your job, and so much more.” He spoke softly.

Taking your leg and slinging it over his own hip, so the pair of you facing each other, chests pressed together and staring into each other's eyes, August's hips slowly rubbed against you, his hand pressed flat against your lower back.

“I should be pleasing you, making up for what I've done.” He said, moving just enough to slip the head of his cock between your folds. “Let me do this for you, Angel.” He hummed, fingers brushing your hair.

“Please.” He begged, looking so vulnerable.

All you could do was nod, your throat tight around a lump, and pressed your forehead against his, clinging onto him as he rocked into you. All fear, anger and even lusty desire, were gone from you and August now, all that was left was raw emotions and the need to find each other again. You hugged your leg around August's hip and waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you, flexing your walls around his shaft. Both of you grew warm and sweaty from the heat in the room and your bodies were so close together, the slickness of your skin made it easier to thrust into you; sharing the same hot breath.

“I love you, Angel.” He whispered, cupping your neck and thrusting more steadily into you.

“I love you too, August.” You moaned back, biting your lip.

Coming in tandem felt sublime and refreshing, melting all the stress and worries out of your bodies. Even as you both fell asleep, you were still connected and wrapped around each other. You let go of your questions and worries, it would be fine, you and August would figure out how to put your lives back together some other time

And, for the first time in months, you dreamt of something other than August dying. You dreamt of you holding his hand, him smiling lovingly at you, and walking into the sun.

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