#river is a ball of angst during every moment of her day

[teddybeartoji]

˗ˏˋ AUTUMN - THE SMILE

a reuniun between a prince and a knight, filled with laughter, giggles and tears. you should've seen it coming.

☆. contains: prince!satoru gojo x gn!knight!reader; fluff, angst, just a tad bit of violence toward the reader but they can take it (right?), knight!suguru makes an appearance as always, talk of shoko and her childhood

☆. word count: 6k

☆. note: got very real in the end. it'll pass, though. surely. tagging my beloveds too bc i want to. @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat & @elusivemoon & @staryukis

+ here are the masterlist, the previous part & the soundtrack

it's autumn.

the yellow and red leaves paint the town in their warm colors. the people are wearing matching scarves, some already mittens too. the wind can be unforgiving during this time of year - it hides itself behind the last few drops of sunlight and reemerges the second a cloud appears.

it is sunny today, though. a few clouds here and there but not doesn't scare anybody. the town is as bustling as ever. and the prince is out on his daily walk again. he loves being outside, the castle makes him feel so restricted, so caged in. outside - whether it's the shadowy woods or the lively town, he feels free, even if it's a mere moment. he loves taking in the sun - he isn't wearing his blindfold again, aware of the hard fact that he'll get a sickening headache after, but he just can't help it. he wants to see the world around him without the silly restriction his eyes beg for him to wear. he wants to see the leaves, the vines growing on the houses, the river flowing along with the fish in it, the townsfolk. he knows the people, he loves the people; the old lady selling flowers on the corner, the blacksmith with one eye, the doctor, who taught shoko everything she knows, the kids playing ball, the cats nudging themselves against his calves. he loves it. and the people love him, too.

sure, there are many, who'd like to see him dead but those are just power-hungry dogs and the prince knows that. he loves his people and they love him. whenever he comes out, he always plays with the kids. always. he plays ball with them, he plays house with them, he even planned a tea party for them once. he always visits the flower shop lady to look and smells the flowers, even when they're the exact same ones from the day before. he always buys some, insisting that he pays when the lady says otherwise. he buys loads and loads – some for his own room, some for his mom, some for the dining room and some for suguru and shoko. they always roll their eyes at that but the prince knows they appreciate the gesture; he's seen shoko admire them on the balcony of her room, observing every single petal in detail and he has seen suguru smelling them, when he thinks the prince isn't looking. suguru's nose is sensitive, so the prince takes his time picking out the ones with a smell that won't make his nose scrunch up.

suguru walks with him often, but not today. his knight duties called – the king's guard specifically requested him. 'how fancy' the prince said with a grin, earning a punch to his shoulder. he's proud of his friend, though, always. suguru makes an excellent knight and he couldn't be happier to have his best friend with him at all times (at most times).

he likes to visit the blacksmith, too. and every single time he begs, begs, to try out the job. he wants to get his hands dirty, he wants to try new things. he gets excited; it's freeing. a few times, when the prince is alone, the blacksmith allows the boy to help him.

the doctor is someone he also visits regularly. just to check up on her and to talk about shoko – he is insistent on knowing everything about her childhood but she herself won't tell him all that much. he always brings the doctor freshly brewed coffee from the tavern across the street. from her, he has learned that shoko had a rather tough childhood. well, he did know that much. he did learn that the doctor took in shoko when she was just eight; gave her a warm house and a bed and made her into an apprentice. shoko never budged an eye at the blood and the screams, which threw the doctor off a bit but she supposed it's from the life on the streets.

he has also learned that shoko had a friend, who was ready to do anything for her and for others for that's sake. with a deep sigh, she confessed that she regretted not taking in the other kid. shoko was more quiet, more well-behaved in a sense but the other kid – they kept getting into fights with the knights of the castle. "i kept scolding them over it. but no, they just kept going. later i learned that all of those beatings and slashings were for other kids." her head hanged low as she spoke. "they kept taking the blame for the younger kids, so that they wouldn't get hurt. stole food, so that they wouldn't starve. i didn't know that."

the prince nodded along, surprised to hear about this noble kid. his age, too. "where are they now?" he asked in a whisper, a little scared of the answer.

"they left. around the time they were twelve, i think. shoko was miserable. brought me and her flowers and bread; the most polite troubled kid i ever saw." she sighed."i was stupid."

the prince never mentions all that he knows to shoko; of course, he wants to know more but if she needs time to tell it to him herself – so be it. he offered her a room at the castle after he and suguru made her patch him up after a little accident. it's funny really, one of the prince's fondest memories.

though, the prince can't lie about being very fascinated the mysterious kid, who left town. why did they leave in the first place? why take the blame? who is this person? where are they now?

it's an old conversation that popped into his head as he's making his way to see the very same doctor today. why today? a cold breeze makes a shiver run down his spine and he looks up at the sun. it's so bright. fuck, he's definitely gonna get that headache. a group of kids run by him, laughter filling the street. he thinks about how there are no street kids now – he made sure of that. his father wasn't a fan of his idea of lowering the taxes and building a house for the alleged troubled kids. he hired some people that take care of them and that's another place he'll visit later today. he loves the kids so much and he just wants them to have a good life in his town. he won't be like his father — he will be better.

a warm smell of pastries suddenly floods his nose and he hums – it's thursday today. it's when they bake the biggest batch of goodies. his mouth is already salivating just thinking about it. he'll have to bring some to his friends too. as he's reaching his destination, a familiar glint of armor catches his eye. it's you. standing before the doctor's house, looking up at her with what can only be described as hope, as she's pointing toward the castle with a small smile. you give her a small nod and go for a hand shake for good measure but the doctor grabs your hand with both of hers and holds it to her heart. she tells you something that makes your lip quiver just a bit, just a litte. nodding again, you bow your head and bid your goodbye. the doctor is left standing at her door, watching you walk toward the flower shop.

the prince is stopped in his tracks, only managing to stare at you from a distance. he hasn't seen you since your little meet-cute. not for his lack of trying, though. oh no, he's been all over town, trying to find his little knight but to no avail — gone like the summery wind.

but now. here you are.

you make your way to the flower lady, greeting her with another bow of your head. so polite. the woman just beams at you and the prince feels his own lips twitch into a smile. you two engage in conversation that he cannot hear but once in his life, he doesn't want to interrupt. the flower lady says something that makes your head fall before she bursts into loud laughter, something teasing he thinks. it's like she knows you, why else would she be so comfortable with a new knight in town? he catches a faint, the faintest, little smirk playing on your lips and his knees are ready to give out.

after the short conversation with the woman, you make your way through the town with the prince tailing you. he watches you take in the people, the kids, the houses. the familiarity of it all. many of the older people seem to recognize you, bowing their heads as you pass by them.

reaching the stream that runs through the town, you lean against railing and tilt your head toward the sun. you bask in it. the light warms your skin, accentuating the scar across your eye. it looks cool. you have the same cuirass on from the months before, the little specks of rust still there. he looks at your hands, the bandages covering your fingers and the back of your hand. he's so curious about them. how'd you fight? how'd you protect? who'd you save? where have you been? it's eating him alive, he just wants to fucking ask you about the—

"you do that often, your highness?"

hm?

you address him without turning your head and it makes the prince jump a little. you knew he was here? he looks behind him just make sure you are, in fact, talking to h—

"yes, i'm talking to you."

"wha— how'd you know i was here?" his voice is a pitch higher than usual, genuinely surprised by having your attention on him.

"well, you're bound to spot the royal idiot standing with his mouth wide open in the middle of the street, your highness." you tease.

"i was not standing in the middle of the street! i am perfectly on the side, i don't know what you're talking about." he takes a step toward you, so– so eager to finally have you here with him.

"that's what you took from that sentence?" your fist raised in front of your lips, surpressing a grin.

the prince is more observant than you'd think. his fingers twitch by his side, eager to remove your hand and let your smile shine.

"i haven't seen you around."

"oh, were you looking for me, your highness?" it's supposed to be another tease but it doesn't fall through becaus—

"yes." the prince deadpans. humming, you try to brush off his straigh-forwardness.

"missed me, your highness?" you decide to give it another go.

"yes." and it doesn't work. you feel heat crawling up your neck, so you raise a hand to massage it. to hide it from the prince's keen eyes.

...

"you're ridiculous. don't you have other people to play around with?"

"oh, tons and tons. but they're not you." he leans toward you, tilting his head, boring his pretty blue eyes into yours – he really does look like a puppy like this. you've never seen one, you've only met teeth-baring wolves in the woods. you don't know what to do with him.

"has anyone mentioned, you have a terrible staring problem, your highness?" you retort.

"i just can't help it. and, anyway, i'm trying to figure out whether this is a dream or not."

"why would this be a dream, your highness?"

"i was momentarily convinced that our whole little date was a dream after i woke up, too, actually. but thank god, suguru was there to tell me that you did, in fact, save me. and, and you – yes, you – kindly refused the money and even told me to go and buy myself a new outfit." it's so off-putting how matter of fact it sounds. like he really thought it was a dream. you wonder, whether that's a good or a bad thing.

"well, did you?"

"i did. it matches your eyes. if i had known my little knight was in town, i wouldn've worn it." he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes before setting his gaze on the river below.

another breeze bristles through the two of you, rustling the prince's hair. the desire to fix it is weirdly strong, you push it aside. a cloud appears and moves in front of the beaming sun, casting a shadow upon you.

"i'm not your knight, your highness. nor am i little." straightening your back, you try to remind him of that. it's hard, he doesn't really take you seriously like that. it irks you.

"yeah– yeah." he brushes it off with ease. no harm done. the cloud moves a little and a few sun beams drop down onto the prince, leaving you behind into the shadows for a moment before lighting you up again.

"by the way, can you stop doing that?"

"doing what, your highness?" you inquire with a raised brow.

"that. exactly that."

"that what? use your words, your highness. you're a big boy, i know you can do it." it's funny to tease him. the honored prince.

he turns to you, his lips pursed. "your highness."

"your highness?" you push.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about and i need you to stop it."

"why would i, your highness?" of course, you know what he's talking about. he was crying about it the last time you saw each other. his name.

"because, because, because," he pushes himself off the railing, fully turning his body to you. "i want you to call me by my name."

"i won't, your highness." it's a statement. you won't budge. you won't.

"but why? i need you to say my name." his shoulders fall as he looks at you. like a puppy.

"why are you so hell-bent on that? i cannot do that, your highness. it's wrong."

"it's less wrong than calling me an 'idiot' every two seconds?" that — is a good point. you won't tell him that.

"what do you think will happen if you say it, hm? there's nobody here; nobody to shame you for it and even if somebody tried – i'd protect you." the last part tugs the corners of his mouth up, nailing them there, showing off his pearly whites.

"what do you think will happen if i say it, hm?" you shoot back.

his parted lips close. "other than world peace and an end to the famine? i just get to hear it, simple as that."

he's doing it again. kind of trying to claw inside your ribcage. thankfully you're wearing armor; you won't let it happen. you can't. it's crazy, how much his sincerity irks you. and his jokes. and his smile. and his eyes. and the way he won't leave you alone. and the way he keeps bugging you about the name. you won't, though. you will not.

"i can drop the 'your highness', if that'll make you leave me alone."

"yes!" he does a little celebratory movement with his fist and the urge to punch him is back. "that's a start. we're getting somewhere now." flashing you a smirk, he leans back onto the railing.

"we're not getting anywhere, stupid."

the prince smiles to himself as you two have another moment of silence. you're both looking at the same two fish in the river, swimming in circles with each other.

while you're distracted with the river, the prince decides to take another good look at you up close. his eyes scan you from head to toe. another glance at the scar – it's deep and it's old. your eyes look a bit tired, but the prince convinces himself that the little glint in them is because of him. there's an almost healed cut in your bottom lip. there's another scar on your neck. he looks over your cuirass, wondering how heavy it is. your sword hanging from its scabbard. how heavy would that be.

"what happened?" he asks, pointing to your bandaged fingers that you keep fiddling with.

"fought a bear."

...

"what?! you can't just casually say you fought a fucking bear and then just stoically look in the distance?" he's ready to bounce off the walls, three words filling his adrenaline gauge immediately.

"nothing special about it."

it's taking you everything to hold back your laughter.

"wha— what the fuck do you mean 'it's nothing special'? you fought a bear?!"

he's unbelievably naive, actually, because does he seriously think you fought a bear and got away with some scratches on your fingers and nothing else? he's deluded. just for you.

"how big was it? was it mad? did you kill its babies? oh, i hope you didn't kill its babies, that's so bad. wait, did you kill it? why'd you fight it in the first place? c'mon, please tell me. please."

it all comes out in one breath and he looks like he's about to pass out.

"well, i was sent for it actually."

"you were sent for it?"

you hum in agreement.

"a few days after being in town, the flowershop lady sought me out with a problem of hers. the knights of the castle didn't take her seriously, that's why she had to turn to me."

the prince nods, already hooked to your story. he knows the older knights, his father's knights, can be assholes.

"she told me – a bear, like a really, really big one at that, had visited the town on a quiet night. and that it'd stolen some of the flowers from her stand."

he nods again, albeit faintly this time.

"so i went to find it. for her. took me days, the journey was rough." you sigh deeply before glancing at him, almost stopping your false little story because of his confused expression. he's cute. no, he isn't. "t'was an easy fight, though. you know how good i am with the sword. i returned with its head just yesterday. that's why you haven't seen me around."

he looks at you blankly, like a kid, who's parents are trying to convince him that santa claus is indeed real.

"i'm just fucking with you, my liege. i didn't fight a fucking bear, s—" you bite your lip to stop the word from falling from your lip and for your sake, the prince doesn't seem to notice.

"that's so not funny, you know. i really thought you went and fought a bear." he dangles from the railing, sporting a jutted out bottom lip and big doe eyes. poor boy.

you just can't stop the small smile that spreads across your face.

"you thought i fought a bear and got away with a few bandages! it's your own fault, really. you're too naive."

his own lips begin to mirror yours. "so mean. i'm just being positive, okay."

"yeah, okay."

it's a second. where it's all quiet – just you and him, looking at each other and smiling. it's weird. and so good at the same time. you don't know what to do with yourself. he bumps his shoulder into yours before leaning back down. he stays close, an inch between you and you fight the urge to pull away. you're scared. not used to this. it was just a fleeting touch and he doesn't seem that affected. (he is). your eyes flick from the river to the fish to the flowers by the water and to the sky above you. you don't know what to do with yourself.

suddenly high-pitched giggles erupt from somewhere behind you, catching your attention. three little girls in their little pastel dresses, they all have flowers behind their ears. the prince turns around and takes the world's biggest bow possible, making the girls titter once more.

"well, hello to my very favourite girls." he's wearing that sickeningly sweet smile again. he kneels down and beckons them closer. all of their eyes flick over to you and the need to step away is killing you. but as if noticing your uneasiness, the prince tugs on your hand, pulling you down with him. he sends you a reassuring smile and motions for the girls again. this time, they don't hesitate.

one of the girls reminds you of shoko. it's a bit uncanny, really. brown hair and big brown eyes. and she even stares at you the same way, just like she did when you were small; with a sense of curiosity instead of the usual distain you were used to. you try to give her a cautious smile, so afraid she'll be frightened by your sharp teeth, by the scars.

she beams.

the little girl flashes you a grin as if she's ready to compete against the sun or the young prince beside you. her little eyes shine, her little hand reaches out. "can i touch it?"

"touch it?"

"th-the scar." she nods. she's excited?

"oh."

the prince is quietly observing you from the corner of his eye while braiding one of the other girls' hair. the girls taught him that. he's very good at it, too. the third little lady is talking his ear off about the next tea-party they're having. he loves them.

"uhm, you can. yeah." clearing your throat, you lean a little closer to her. the small hand stretches out, her fingers ghost over the long bump across your eye.

"does it hurt?"

you shake your head. not anymore.

"cool." she takes a step back, still looking at you.

the prince swears there are stars in your eyes, and he's determined to make them stay there.

"do you want a flower, too?" one of the other girls asks. she has on a purple dress and she has the biggest bundle of flowers in her hands. there are reds, there are blues, yellows and pinks. it's such a colorful bouquet, you wonder where she found them all.

"i– sure."

"i think..." the prince's hand reaches for the flower, his fingertips ghosting over yours. "this..." he raises it next to your ear. "should go here. what'd you think girls?" they excitedly nod their heads. "yes! yes!"

and to top it off, he whispers a 'be good' to you.

a grumble, is what escapes your tight throat but the quiet giggles that emit from the girls help it relax. the prince's nimble hand pushes a hair behind your ear and places the flower aside it.

"would you look at that, hm?" there's a teasing lilt in there somewhere, you're sure of it. you just can't hear it right now. surely. his eyes are glued to you, making your lips purse. the heat is back, back on its way up your spine and to your neck. this is so silly.

'so pretty' is what one of the girls whispers, followed by a small 'yeah'.

your eyes flick over to them, still waiting for them to just run off but they're there. admiring the knight with the flower behind their ear alongside their prince. the heat is now clawing its way up your neck and onto your face; the warm tint on your cheeks makes the prince coo. that's enough.

standing up, you glare at the prince, who simply cannot put away his smile. switching to the girls, you merely lean over them. "run along now." it was supposed to sound harsh, demanding, but once again you're greeted with their warm smiles and giggles. they wave to their prince and they wave to you before running off.

a tug on your bandaged hand makes you jump. "are you coming to the party?" it's the mini-shoko. tugging on your arm like when you were young.

your eyebrows raise – you don't know the answer to her simple question. it should be a no, but how can you say that to her? you just want her to smile, to keep smiling.

an arms slings over your shoulder, making you glance at the hand and then at the face. he's so close like this.

"they're coming!"

"really?" her eyes have doubled in size, genuinely excited and ready for another knight to attend the party.

"i promise!" he sticks out his pinky and waits for her to do the same. they link them together with mirrored smiles before she, too, runs off. the prince turns his head and your noses almost brush together, making your eyes widen.

"it looks good."

"fuck off." shoving him off of your shoulder, you give him a firm punch against his chest, loud laughter rumbling through it. god, he's annoying.

settling back to your spot resting against the railing and closing your eyes, you take another moment to enjoy the sun. you can feel his eyes on you; it's impossible not to.

"stop staring."

"i can't."

you slightly open one of your eyes and peer at him. his leaning on the thing, cheek mushed against the palm of his hand, eyes set on you. he looks beautiful.

"why don't you wear the blindfold?"

"i don't like it."

"how come?"

"i wanna see the world."

"and you don't with it?"

"yes and no." he rubs his eyes before closing them and mirroring your pose – head turned up to the blue sky. "yes, i technically see everything and no, in a sense that i want to look at people and i want them to look at me. i want to connect with them. with the world. with you." he tilts his head toward you, peeking at you. you shy away from his gaze, scoffing under your nose.

"i heard it gives you headaches?"

"it's worth it."

he means it. you hum.

"it's gonna rain soon." you say it more to yourself than to him.

"no, it won't." he opens his eyes and stares at the clouds slowly drifting in wind above him.

"yes, it will."

"what, you a psychic all of a sudden?"

pointing behind him, you gesture to the way darker clouds now moving in the town's way.

"oh..."

idiot.

"you sure you can be outside when it happens?"

"hm?"

"i heard that little boys like you get washed away in the rain. 'm jus' looking out for you." your eyes are glued to the other side of the river in a stoic manner, whilst the prince gapes at you like the fish in the water.

"i— am not a little boy."

oh, and his voice cracks.

...

his cheeks flush but it's worth it because the next thing he hears is like the sweetest melody in the world – you laugh. you actually laugh.

"right... not a little boy but a pretty little princess instead." and you can't help it, another chuckle bubbling up your throat.

he's in awe. the sun peeks from the grey clouds and soaks you in it's golden light. his knight.

"i—..." and he can't contain his own laughter. "okay, first of all – i'd make a gorgeous princess, for all you know!"

"oh, i don't doubt that." you scoff.

the prince takes a step from the railing and spins himself around, hands outstretched holding his imagenary gown, he bends his knees and bows his head like a true princess.

"the girls have taught you well, i see." your hand rises again to hide your foreign expression; rough, scarred fingers covering the softest grin. "you really are ridiculous..."

"just for you." his voice is always so confident, like he really means it. for you. but he isn't. he isn't for you – you seem to be forgetting that. mistakes like that tend to get punished.

he does another twirl but his feet can't keep up with him and he stumbles backward, a moment away from falling when cold fingers wrap around his wrist, steadying him.

"i don't understand how you're so good with a sword when you can't even stand up without the danger of cracking your skull open."

"you think i'm good with the sword?" he beams.

"that's not— that's... i mean, you're good for a person, who has been training for the most of his life, yeah."

it's the best compliment; you trying to conceal it under some fake little comment won't stop him from him writing it down in his little journal later.

his wrist is still caught in your palm and he doesn't plan on letting you go – swiveling his hand to properly grasp onto yours. it doesn't burn. with a smile he pulls you down the small hill, down toward the river.

"hey!"

your little complaint falls onto his deaf ears; he's determined to keep you with him. forever and ever.

the dark figure staring at you from the distance is hidden by the sound of the prince's addicting laughter. you've let yourself go for a minute and you're about to be punished for it. are you ready?

he drags you right to the calm stream, never letting go of your hand. it feels right. your hand in his. he bends down, you with him, to see what he's up to - only to be splashed right in the face.

"wha— you little fuck."

giggles emit from his throat as he takes a step back, watching you dip your hands into the water. "come here, boy."

it's so easy to forget with him. to forget everything. that you're not supposed to be acting like this. playing like children. especially with the prince. you're not supposed to be laughing. having fun. you're not supposed to.

you splash him back, child-like laughter falling from your lips with ease. it's your fault.

this little chase goes on for a couple of minutes before the prince takes another stumble, bringing you down onto the grassy bed with a thud!

this time – your noses really do bump together, an immediate flush spreading across your face. your armor is heavy on his chest but he doesn't mind. doesn't mind when it comes to you. when you try to get up, his fingers latch onto the metal, gently pressing down on your waist.

his blue eyes gaze up at you but you don't really know what is it that swims in them. you're not acquainted with stuff like this. you don't know what the fuck this man is thinking about right now, but you do know that this is inappropriate. you shouldn't be doing this.

"this is stupid." you try to push yourself up again.

"stay."

you glare at him, gauging the meaning behind his word. is he joking?

"stay." he whispers.

your eyes flick down to his lips. his flick down to yours.

his heart jumps in his chest when you don't push away a third time. he does sense a small scolding ahead though. and he's right because your lips part, curving just the right way—

he knows what you're about to say. what you're gonna start your sentence with. it's coming. he can almost hear it. the smooth 's' on the tip of your tongue—

"boy!"

...

your eyes widen and your lips sow themselves shut in the blink of an eye, forcing the prince watch you swallow his name; push it deep down – as far as it could possibly go. never to be seen again. the weight of your armor lifts from his chest, but another kind remains heavy on his heart.

"boy!" the same voice calls. the prince doesn't need to look to know, who it is. a big figure looms over the two of you, ontop the very hill you spent the last thirty minutes on. even though the man's voice is directed at the prince, his eyes are set on you. scrambling to your feet, your head falls into a shameful bow before the king's guard.

how dare you?

it takes no time to close the distance between him and you. the sheer size of the man hides the prince behind him. from you.

the prince's mouth opens – ready to defend his knigh—

a slap!

the man's back of the hand meets your cheek, jolting you, awakening some well-hidden memories deep in your body. your eyes shoot up to face your foe. you know this man. his eyes are cold; cold as the sudden autumn wind, a wind you know will give you a fever and nail you to your bed. your cheek throbs – a dark pink pool of shame; pure shame and digust of oneself.

"a thieving child dressed as a warrior? hah, this isn't the time to play house."

how dare you?

a sharp intake of breath and the prince is hurling towards you but a strong hand keeps him in place.

"don't." suguru. his arm drapes over the prince's chest, holding him back.

slap!

on the same side. the pink tint rapidly turning into a deep red one.

how dare you?

the prince thrashes in suguru's grasp. a raindrop falls onto his forehead, dripping down by his eyebrow, hiding his already watery eyes – 'a sensitive boy' his mother always said.

the heavy brash rain washes away the light that had been shining in your eyes, turning them back into a pair off dull ones; the beating heart behind your ribs rattling in its cage. stupid.

"never did have any respect for your superiors, did ya? you oughta kneel before your prince. and beg for his forgivess."

"no!" the prince barks.

a tch!

his heavy fist lands against your worn back, stumbling you forward. he doesn't need to tell you twice. you don't wanna hear it twice. with a throbbing red cheek you step before the prince and slowly fall down to your knee, into the mud. where you belong. you reach for the prince's hand, raising it to your face.

"forgive me, my prince."

after what seemed like entirnity, your eyes meet. it's not you. it can't be. chapped lips graze the back of his hand, trembling in your hold while you keep your cold gaze on him. the flower behind your ear has wilted, laying limp, just about ready to fall and sink deep into the ground.

the knife in his chest turns and he can't breathe. another tear brimms in his eye, spilling over the plump of his cheek and blending together with the rain soaking his shirt. it hurts.

"why don't you accompany the prince inside, his father is expecting him." the man orders the dark haired knight.

suguru doesn't look any better than the two of you; his lips indefinitely turned downward, guilt seeping from the hands holding his best friend. he knows he can't do anything for you and he's sure you know it too, it doesn't take away the god awful feeling, though. he feels the prince turning more into a puddle by the second, his grasp on him faltering.

he tugs him a step back, the prince's hand slipping from yours.

"please."

it's only for your ears, yet you don't know what he's asking for. you stand with a head held up high, the cold raindrops easing the burning in your cheek (but not in your chest). you watch them saunter away, watch the prince glance behind him exactly three times. three times too much because he just doesn't get it. he doesn't understand that this is it.

this won't happen again; it cannot happen again. he's just a boy — a boy, who wants to play house, knowing there won't be a punishment for his fun. a mere slap against his fingers that he'll respond to with a frown but nothing more. but a knight? playing house? it's absurd, laughable even. it is disgraceful.

who do you think you are?

who are you to touch the prince with your dirty hand? who are you to stain him with your tainted touch? how dare you muddy their little doll? their precious prince? you're some foul creature seen on the street; an agressive dog, ready to chew up the prince. he's not for you to touch, to have — he's theirs. he is everything and you are nothing.

and in the end — you're not even a real knight.

[river--moore]

River’s Police Interview.

WHERE: Hollowick’s Police Station WHEN: Early evening, 11th July 2020.

It was a bit of an inconvenience for River being called down to the police station that evening. Of course, it was – how dare they pull her out of her depressive slump and away from the fifth of vodka that sat waiting for her in her living room. Alas, she had no choice. She didn’t want to become a suspect by not turning up to a basic police interview.

She wore casual attire as she stepped into the station – black skinny jeans, a comfortable grey jumper and leather ankle boots, her braids grazing the small of her back as she walked inside. She allowed her stick to support her weight as she stated her business at the reception desk, and followed the officer into the small questioning room soon after. The room was pretty drab – blank walls with a crack of sunlight creeping into the room through the tiny window on the back wall. Very unstimulating room to say the least, but gave her more incentive to get out of it quicker.

River took their seat at a desk situated in the middle of the room, opposite the officer who’d taken their place in their own chair; flicking through their notes and wasting no time before they clicked play on the audio recorder on the desk, and began their questioning…

THIS INTERVIEW IS BEING CONDUCTED AS PART OF THE PROCEDURE OF AN ONGOING INVESTIGATION AND IS BEING TAPE RECORDED. THERE IS NO NEED TO WORRY, I’M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND. COULD YOU STATE YOUR FULL NAME AND DATE OF BIRTH FOR THE RECORD?

With a discontented sigh, River crossed her arms over her chest and sank further into her seat as she listened to the officer in front of her. She figured this thing would go quicker if she cooperated rather than being difficult so she decided she would comply with whatever they wanted to ask of her. Besides, she was on a major comedown from whatever intoxicant she decided to take last night, and her head was thumping – she didn’t want to be here longer than needed. “River Moore. 15th August 1986.”

IS THERE ANY NAME YOU’RE MORE COMFORTABLE BEING REFERRED TO AS?

“Just River,” she replied dully, her words monotone as she looked at the officer opposite her. Just River, she relayed in her thoughts; an excuse her father would use to dismiss her needs as a child, when she would come downstairs, starving; begging for a scrap of food left by her father and the friends he’d had over that evening to get drunk and watch football. It’s just River, she’s fine, he would say. She would always go to bed hungry those evenings.

ALRIGHT, THAT’S NO PROBLEM. DURING THIS INTERVIEW WE WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS AND WE REQUIRE YOU TO ANSWER HONESTLY. LET’S START WITH YOUR BACKGROUND. HOW DID YOU COME TO LIVE IN HOLLOWICK?

She fidgeted in her chair, trying to get comfortable, but with constant ache in her lower back it was hard to get comfortable in even the softest of seats. “Born here. Lived here all my life. Unfortunately.”

WHAT ABOUT YOUR EDUCATION, COULD YOU ELABORATE ON THAT PLEASE?

A question she detested, knowing full well her education records were poor. “Public education. Didn’t graduate high school. Dropped out at 15. Being passed around between different foster families tends to mess that kind of thing up.”

I SEE, AND YOUR CAREER? WE’D LIKE TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT ABOUT WHAT YOU DO AND HOW YOU GOT THERE.

“I’m a freelance musician and composer. Sometimes I do the occasional DJ sets if they don’t want live music. Whatever pays the bills,” she explained, thinking back to the few times certain establishments just wanted dull chart songs to be pumped through their pub so people could listen mindlessly as they got slugged back shots of tequila, rather than enjoy a live, stimulating performance. It was a waste of her talent, but sometimes she wasn’t in the position to refuse a paycheck. “I’ve always been into music. A natural connection, natural talent, you could say. Figured it made sense to follow that career path.”

DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? DO ANY OF THEM LIVE WITH YOU HERE IN HOLLOWICK?

Letting out a dry laugh, she shook her head. “Nope. All dead.” Normally, she would leave it at that. It was a little insensitive sounding, as if she didn’t care that she was the only one left out of her family, but honestly; it hurt to talk about her family too much. Not her mother and father, but her real family; Judy and Mark. The only people to show her love, ripped away from her before she even had a chance to live her life with them. She could tell the officer wanted an elaboration by the way they looked at River expectantly, so she sighed. “My mother died during childbirth. My father overdosed when I was a pre-teen. My adoptive parents died in a car crash. Wish I died with them.”

I’D LIKE YOU TO THINK ABOUT YOUR PERSONALITY. COULD YOU PERHAPS DESCRIBE HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF TO ME?

“Depressive, self-loathing, stubborn piece of trash mainly sums me up.” She eyed the officer’s pen as they scribbled notes on paper, wondering what they were saying about her. Probably something along the lines of ‘mentally unstable and extremely pessimistic’, although those words were probably too kind compared to how she really thought of herself.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY YOUR GREATEST STRENGTHS ARE?

River had to take a second to think about that question. Strengths? She barely knew anything other than weakness, but a few things did come to mind. “I’m good with music. Creativity. I know how to piece together a song in minutes with little inspiration. I can also put on a show that stays with people for weeks,” she spoke, almost proudly, about her achievements in her career so far. “I’m also exceptionally independent. I don’t need any help from anyone. Disability or not.”

AND I’D ALSO LIKE TO ASK YOU TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU PERCEIVE YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESSES TO BE, IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND.

Again, she could only let out a dry chuckle. “Well, my back and legs don’t work very well, to start with. You can thank the car that drove head first into ours for that. I don’t get far without my stick and can’t walk for long distances. I can’t stay on my feet for long periods of time, either,” River explained, motioning towards the walking stick that rested against the side of the table before her. “Also… pretty stubborn, like I said. I do things how I like, when I like, where I like. I’ve gotten through life without any help so far, and I don’t need any help now.”

THANK YOU. NOW I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT THE NIGHT OF JUNE 14TH, 2020. WHERE WERE YOU THAT EVENING?

“I was at home,” she paused, wracking her brain for a better story than ‘sitting alone, high as a kite on the cheapest stuff she could get a hold of at such short notice’, since she assumed the officer wouldn’t appreciate that very much, “writing. I was having a pretty shitty night and writing music helps me relax. I didn’t leave the house at all that day, actually. My back was giving me some issues and my leg wasn’t supporting any weight, so I had no choice but to be house-bound.”

DID YOU KNOW THIS MAN? [THE OFFICER SHOWS YOU A PHOTO OF JAMES MASON.]

Taking a second to look at the picture she was shown of the man, she shook her head. “Not personally. Seen him a few times around town, but that’s about it. Never even spoke to the man.”

WHAT ABOUT ANY OF THESE PEOPLE? [THEY SHOW YOU SEVERAL OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. THE IMAGES ARE OF THE VICTIMS OF THE REAPING FROM WHEN THEY WERE ALIVE]

Shaking her head again, she shrugged. “Don’t recognise any of them, honestly. I usually keep to myself, so I don’t know many people if I’m being truly honest.” She’d always been a bit of hermit – didn’t really have an option when she was so antisocial anyway. No matter how nice people were to her, she always had that thought nipping at the back of her head: don’t bother, you’ll just lose them eventually. And she always listened.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. DO GET IN TOUCH IF YOU FIND ANY INFORMATION. STAY SAFE.

[littlefishbigsea]

Siren’s Umbra | Chapter 1

Author’s Note: This took far longer than I was expecting, but here it is. This story is an extension of a small scene I wrote a while ago (which will make a reappearance within the context of the story once I get there). I hope you enjoy. If you’d like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. 

Story Summary: Azriel finds it increasingly harder to stay afloat adrift in his own darkness. As tensions rise between himself and his found family, an unlikely but welcome distraction takes the form of a young priestess. Eager to prove her worth, to learn, and empower herself, Gwyn aligns herself with the aloof spymaster. With the continent scrambling to avoid yet another conflict, Gwyn and Azriel must work closely to unravel the secrets of Mount Ramiel.

Trope: Friends to lovers

Word Count (so far): 3.2k

Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Smut

Additional links: AO3

Chapter 1 - On Leathery Wings

It was early spring in Velaris. The sky was a weighty blue velvet drooping over rooftops. Ironically, since the attack, the dawns had been breathtaking. As Azriel stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the townhouse his shadows all but disappeared.

“Well,” his brother said in way of greeting, smirking up at him from the street. “Don’t you look like shit? I thought moving to the townhouse was meant to give you peace?”

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” Azriel grumbled, voice flat. “Why are you here?” And grinning, but he didn’t need to ask that to understand why Cassian wore such a look.

He’d been wearing it for weeks now. Azriel had been attempting to remove it during practice but the general was more resilient than Az gave him credit for. Cassian’s happiness was decidedly infectious.

“I’m here,” Cass answered, “Because Rhys would like to see us. He’s up at the House.”

“Why didn’t he-“

“Look,” Cass interrupted with a shrug. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you - I mean you almost killed one another at the cabin - but you need to work it out.” He waved a hand back and forth at the spymaster who scoffed and stepped past him. “I’m serious,” Cass went on to explain. “I could use a night out. Just us. It’s been a while.”

Good luck with that, Azriel mused to himself. Rhysand hadn’t left the River House since Nyx was born.

“Married life chaffing, Cass?” Azriel teased, biting back a smile.

“We’re not married. Yet,” Cassian corrected. “Emerie and Gwyn have been over almost every night this week. As much as I love-“

This is where Azriel tuned his brother out. Call it cruel, but this was the same one sided conversation he’d had with Cass, oh, three times now. Was it really conversation if only one of them were speaking? Azriel didn’t personally believe head nods and hmphs counted as conversing but he’d mastered the art form.

He sympathized. He really did. Cassian recounted being kicked out of his own bed, finding a small Pegasus in his boot and how one of the girls had, once again, inked something inappropriate on his forehead while he’d been sleeping. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that, though he erased it quickly.

Cassian might complain but Azriel knew his brother adored his mate and her friends. Even he had to admit that the girls brought an abundance of laughter and joy to the House whenever the trio graced it’s halls. A rare and intoxicating sound that had even roused him from his room multiple times only to catch Cass peeking curiously at them from around a dark corner.

Though if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was, Azriel was beginning to find the townhouse, comparatively, suffocatingly quiet. Too far removed from his family and friends. Late at night Azriel felt the creeping dark closing in, a sinister umbra spreading through him like venom. It was with great mental effort that he stayed his darker thoughts, but he was finding it more challenging of late. His ongoing feud with Rhys wasn’t helping.

Shadows dashed, darting from his shoulders to comfort the spymaster only to reel back in the morning light. Azriel focused his attentions away from the dark corners of his mind to beat of his footsteps. The last thing he needed to dwell on was what happened during Solstice.

It was still early morning in Valeris. The war-torn homeless still slept against the walls of buildings and the ice carts weren’t even out making deliveries. He preferred this time of day, just before the spring heat shimmered against the streets and curled the ends of his hair.

Aside from Cass, who was waving his arms, going on about the amount of women’s underthings he’d found in all sorts of strange places, it was mostly quiet. There was no one to stare or utter harsh whispers as Azriel passed.

Normally he flew or called shadows to him and winnowed within their comfort but this was a rare moment when Valeris was tolerable. He’d once described the city as the loneliest place in Prythian and he’d meant it. Tens of thousands of people flocked these streets and not a single one looked him in the eye. Very few did.

With one brother mated and the other in the process of being so, Azriel hadn’t felt more alone in his life. He had no stories to share with Cass on their morning walk. None that would make the general laugh or smile. No, his stories were best kept to himself - locked away were Rhys could extract what he needed and not question his shadowsinger’s techniques.

“You’re not listening,” Cassian suddenly accused, huffing a sigh. His arms dropped. The courts greatest general defeated.

“I’m always listening,” Azriel corrected. “You’re frustrated you don’t have your mate all to yourself anymore.”

“You-“ Cassian gave him a glare worthy of Amren. “And when have I had her to myself exactly? Every time-“

Again, Azriel tuned his brother out.

The House of Wind came into view, a great gleaming crown atop the mountains. His gaze lingered on the lower levels that housed the library. Not that most would know to look there as the windows were magically kept from view. The dozens of priestesses that worked in those stacks were kept hidden and protected. Just as Rhys had promised them.

Light flickered as shadow danced across his wings and over his shoulders. Braving the soft, dewy light to whisper in his ear, their chilling touch reached up his neck before spilling secrets.

She was at morning service.

A flash of color, heated cheeks and bright teal eyes - it wasn’t clear to him, still, this obsession his shadows had taken on. Over centuries he’d gathered unmeasurable amounts of information on his kingdoms allies and rivals. Yet, he couldn’t speak to what his friends had for breakfast this morning. He was painfully aware, however, that a certain priestess had sipped honeyed tea and eaten a single slice of rye smattered with butter and cinnamon and that her nose scrunched when she-

“Nesta wants you over for dinner,” Cassian commanded, ever the general.

“All right.”

“I have to go by the River House. Elain made a bundt. Nesta will likely murder me if I forget to bring it back,” Cass huffed. “Bundt? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“It’s cake.”

“Why not just call it cake then? Why be confusing?”

“It’s a type of cake.”

“No, chocolate is a type of cake.”

“Cass, chocolate is a flavor.”

As they approached the thousand steps that led up to the House, Cassian and Azriel kicked off in tandem aiming for the open balcony above. The air was cool as it passed over their skin, heated from the walk over. Matching the steady beat of his heart, Azriel’s enormous wings cut through the mornings low hanging clouds.

Rhysand, their High Lord, waited for them. Once he caught their approach he turned, heading inside. Azriel’s gut tightened. Their fights didn’t often escalate to this level. On a single hand he could count the times they’d fought to the point of not speaking.

His boots touched down upon stone before Cassian’s. He held, waiting for his brother. His hesitation to follow Rhys inside didn’t go unnoticed.

“Azriel-“

“He ordered me to stay away from Elain,” emotionless and flat, the words left his mouth before he could think better of it.

Silence settled between them. The rare outburst had Cassian’s eyes growing round and Az couldn’t tell if he was going to yell or laugh. Maybe both.

“Why,” Cass drawled so slowly Azriel almost missed what he was asking. “What have you-“

“I haven’t,” Azriel stopped him.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I didn’t, I just know it wouldn’t be good.”

“Point,” Cassian admitted with a tilt of his head, “but why would Rhys ask you stay away if nothing was happening?”

“Something almost happened.”

“Something? Almost happened?”

Azriel sighed.

“Lucien-“ Cassian hissed.

“I know.”

“Feyre and Nes would have your balls.”

“Would they?”

“Yes!”

“Glad to know just how unworthy everyone thinks-“

A strong grip on his upper arm had Azriel turning, eyes flashing gold. Cassian’s gaze was hard, unapologetic. His hand dropped, fully aware of the rising shadows that now threatened to gobble his brother whole. The Night Courts general understood danger.

“It has nothing to do with worth,” he grumbled angrily in a rare sign of lost temper. “Everyone is overly protective of that girl, how are you surprised?” Azriel blinked down at him. “She has a mate, Az. Regardless of how either of you feel - which I really don’t want to know about, by the way, please leave me out of that shit - but like I was saying,” Cassian blew a breath from between his lips before going on in an even tone. “whether she wants it or not, she has a mate. She has a decision to make regardless of you.”

He had a point, one that Azriel laid awake at night thinking of.

“Besides,” Cass continued, turning to walk into the House. Azriel followed reluctantly. “You’ve been around each other all of what, 6 times? I mean, how involved are you that Rhys had to - you know what, I said I didn’t want to know.”

He almost smiled at Cassian’s bluster. Azriel was grateful for both his brothers and their never ending, often un-needed advice, but conversations like this if had with Rhys often descended into quick-tempered arguments.

The High Lord of the Night Court waited for them just inside. He held himself casually, pouring another mug of hot tea. The top buttons of his crisp shirt were undone but the stiffness in his shoulders told Azriel that Rhys was prepared for a fight at most, and at best he had news they wouldn’t like.

“Morning,” Rhysand greeted, lifting his face to them. Bright, amethyst eyes regarded each of the Illyrians, looking for anything amiss.

“Morning,” they answered in unison.

“How’s my boy?” Cass asked greedily, boyish grin in place at the thought of his nephew.

“Well, as is his mother,” Rhys replied eyes warming at their mention. That warmth didn’t last when his purple gaze met Azriel’s.

“I have something for you,” Rhys stated without so much as a lead up. Straight to business then.

“The queens are no longer a threat,” Cassian mused, dropping into a nearby sofa with no desire to confront Rhy’s straightforwardness.

“I need Azriel at Mount Ramiel,” Rhys corrected, tone leaving no room for discussion.

Cassian’s eyes darted between his brothers as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Leaning against the far wall, shadows coiled and snapped at the spymasters shoulders. His lips parted, an argument rising from his throat.

“The outside interests surrounding Ramiel concern me. Given Nesta’s vision, I believe it’s something we should look into with haste. If there is something of interest there, Azriel will find it,” Rhysand offered, cutting off the shadowsinger.

None of this came as a surprise to Az other than being kept out of the decision making. Ever since the Blood Rite, the war camps had been acting suspiciously and he knew it bothered Rhys to the point of keeping the high lord awake at night.

“You’re sending Azriel to the war camps,” Cassian barked. “Are we cutting them loose? Razzing them to the ground, then?”

“I’m not sending you to deal with the Illyrians,” Rhys corrected, eyes on his spymaster, and shook his head.

“He’s sending me to sneak around in the dark,” Azriel offered.

“You are quite good at it,” his brother smirked, violet eyes flashing in reply. “I’ve had the priestesses pull everything from the library, including my own personal collection. Lore, histories, whatever they could find.” Rhys took a long, slow sip of tea, eyes closing only briefly. “Gwyn has offered to assist in translations. Her command of ancient language is rather impressive.”

“Should you really be dragging the priestess into this,” Azriel accused.

“She volunteered,” Rhys countered with a shrug. “Besides, I think she’s proven herself to be capable, don’t you? She’s identified some areas of interest around the eastern slope. A good place to start.”

Seething, Azriel attempted to put a damper on his temper. He couldn’t help but feel that Rhys had gone behind his back. It was one thing to order him about, but what was he thinking involving Gwyn? The priestesses were never a part of this side of the kingdoms business. Icy rage spilled, drip by drip, down Azriel’s spine.

“Cassian,” Rhys observed, turning to their brother, “Elain was waiting for you at the River House this morning. Something about a cake needing to be retrieved? If you go now you might catch Nyx before his mid-morning nap.”

There was no argument from their brother. Carefully his gaze met Azriel’s, a gentle warning in their depths. He often found himself in the middle of their conflicts and Azriel had to respect that he didn’t complain about it. Much.

“I’ll let Nes know you won’t be at dinner,” he said. With a heavy sigh Cass lifted from the couch. He nodded his dark head at Rhys and then Az before sauntering back out into the light.

“What is this really about,” Azriel asked, voice as cold as his stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Rhys cooed with a raised brow.

“Why wasn’t I included in the planning?”

“I didn’t need you for it.”

The declaration hit Azriel in the chest like a fist. Air rushed out between his lips in a shocked gasp. He stepped forward, dragging shadow with him.

“Rhys-“

“It’s nothing personal, Az,” Rhys pleaded.

“Personal,” Azriel growled, voice low. “I’m your spymaster and brother.”

“Az-“

“You’re overstepping,” Azriel went on, the words flowing like the Sidrah - cold and unstoppable. “Again, you’re taking everything on yourself.”

“I’m only doing what I can to keep everyone safe.”

“Safe,” Azriel accused, “Is that what you were doing keeping Feyre in that bubble? Honestly, how do you find that any different than how Tam-“

“Enough!”

Beneath them the mountain shook, rattling glass and sending a few stray books to the floor. Rhys was on his feet, wings snapped open behind him. On opposite sides of the room, one bathed in shadow the other night incarnate, they regarded one another.

“Brother,” Rhys once again pleaded with his spymaster. “I know you’re angry with me. I admit, I have not been myself. Between Feyre and Nyx, you and Koschei - the fucking Dread Trove,” he trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “We’re spread thin, you know that. We need our allies. Old and new.”

He’d all but said the same on Solstice. After all these years did Rhys not see him? See beyond the courts infamous torturer? To the male that lurked inside his own shadows? A long, tense silence labored between them. As always, an impasse.

“Azriel, let yourself feel something for once. I don’t care who-“

“Is that all,” Azriel grunted, moving his gaze away from the high lord’s. If Rhys opened his mouth with more shit to give he was sure he’d lose what was left of his shredded control.

“Dismissed,” Rhys conceded, shoulders dropping.

Azriel was outside and shooting off the balcony into the sky before Rhys could utter another word. His wings churned the air with each vicious beat. Burning agitation flooded through him. HE could feel it in his very bones. Attempting to soothe, his shadows coiled close, whispering.

Rhys had a lot of nerve. Of anyone, he knew Azriel best. Mor always accused them of being too similar and its why they didn’t always see eye to eye. He wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment. Rhys was level headed and controlled. Azriel felt as if he were unraveling. Control wasn’t the way he’d describe it, rather an effort to hide it all away so it didn’t need to be dealt with.

The training rings came into view as he rose but he didn’t linger, swinging wide so that he’d remain unseen. Dots of color milled about. The priestesses were gathering for training. He could sense Nesta below with Emerie. And her.

He would have to send word to Gwyn about postponing their lessons. Meeting with her had become something of a guilty pleasure. He found he enjoyed teaching the doe eyed priestess more than he thought he might. Training was Cassian’s thing. Az found he didn’t often have the patience or care for it.

Shadows hissed, warning not to rely on Clotho for this. Azriel would be better served sending a note himself. The thought of those large, sea glass eyes darkening with disappointment made his chest ache.

Let yourself feel something.

Rhys’ words replayed in his ear as Azriel made the descent to the townhouse. He’d moved his things over months ago though Cassian always seemed to find some excuse to get him back to the House of Wind. Despite living there for years it no longer felt like home to him.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Rhys had asked him to chaperone his brother and future mate. Neither himself nor Rhys actually expected Azriel to have to step in between the two. Rhys had simply wanted a backup in the event Nesta lost control which was likely to happen given how often her and Cassian argued.

So, Az had let them battle things out on their own. And they had. All over the House in fact. Repeatedly.

Though he had to admit, interrupting them at the most awkward times had become a game to him. But, he had, in all the ways one would being around a newly mated pair, grew incredibly frustrated. In a way it had become a torture of its own.

That frustration was likely what fueled his blunder the night of Solstice. One look at Elain and he’d been as hard as the mountainside the House of Wind was carved from. Azriel hadn’t been able to help himself. She was beautiful and everything he forbid himself. She wanted him, it was obvious, which made the entire situation all the more confusing.

In the end, he wasn’t sure where he stood with the girl. Cassian’s hadn’t been wrong in his assessment. They’d barely spoken to one another, let alone discussed her intentions with Lucien… Azriel would rather not think on the male who’d sat idly by while his high lady’d been tormented.

Landing at one of the terraces, Az made his way into the townhouse. He’d taken the largest room upstairs. It had the most wall space for his blade collection.

Azriel threw daggers and maps into his pack with such force, they almost went through the bottom of the bag. Rhys was right to send him on this mission. He needed space. A couple months in the mountains would do good to clear his head.

Before he locked up after himself, Azriel grabbed some paper from his desk and wrote a quick note to Gwyn. His careful words sounded clipped and overly formal as he reread the hastily scratched message, but shrugged off the concern with indifference.

Without goodbyes, the shadowsinger quietly left the city of Velaris. His wings carried him away, further into the mountains. He tucked all thought of his brothers and the priestess with molten hair from his mind. Wrapping himself in shadow, Azriel became the cold, unfeeling monster his reputation afforded him.

He felt nothing. Was nothing. His Illyrian wings carried him further away until he was nothing but a bruise against an otherwise perfect sky.

[oftenderweapons]

Illicit Affairs — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 11.2k

Genre: Smut. A tiny little bit of angst and fluff too but. Smut.

Rating: 18+

Hi bumblebees! Thank you for staying with me so far and for being so kind with hey works and my continuously shifting schedule.

Quick plot! Hoseok and Giggles have just met: Giggles was the substitute for Mickey’s vet and she helped the doggo and Hoseok during an emergency, however the hour they spent together was enough for Hoseok to develop a quite intense crush for the young woman. He decides he wants to invite her to a date and picks his apartment as the location, going out of his way to try to impress her. However, the elegant dinner miserably crashes once his poor nerves abandon him. Fortunately, Giggles can take the reins, but is also willing to give them up at the right moment.

Special thanks to beta extraordinaire, @hobiandsprite​ I really love you. Please, don’t be sad and let those giggles out every now and then.

Moving on to The Big Stuff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, swearing. Basic BDSM training, Sir!Hoseok x sub!reader; safe sex, briefest mentions of masturbation (male and female), grinding, humping, making out, lots of tongue action, food play (and very messy one at it), cum play, cum eating, mild choking kink, one (1) breast slap, mild fetishism (panties, perfume/smells). Hoseok is overall very controlling, especially while he’s giving her basic training. There’s some sort of exhibitionism (if you like,,,, squint). Also Hoseok is a neurotic mess, Giggles is also quite tense and both like each other a lot, which leads to a few moments of weakness here and there. Mentions of vet emergency (don’t worry, Mickey is doing alright, he was just suffering from the hot temperatures).

Here you can check my full masterlist

Enjoy 💜✨

Jung Hoseok was nervous.

He was tense, palms sweating, nape drenched in perspiration.

He was a ball of nerves and he had never felt like this in a long time. Maybe ever since his first performance in the U.S.

Not like the day of their debut, but close.

And all of this for a stupid date.

He just wanted to know you, see if the image he had built of you actually corresponded with your actual personality.

He cracked his neck and shoulders, pacing back and forth, wondering if it were a good idea having you at his place.

After all, you were Mickey’s vet. He could be safe with you, right? You wouldn’t expose him now, would you?

It was the first time he ever brought someone in his home and he was way too nervous to feel comfortable.

He immediately picked up his phone.

“Jung. Hoseok. I don’t even know why I picked up this call. Why aren’t you getting prepped and polished for your date?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet and gravelly from the other side. It was seven pm, he shouldn’t have been sleeping, Hoseok mused, shaking his head once he realised Yoongi was spending the weekend with Kitten and the two had probably been dozing off on the sofa all afternoon.

“I think I fucked up. I like this apartment, I can’t jeopardise my home.” He panicked, finally losing his cool.

Yoongi inhaled and groaned as he stood up, leaving Kitten alone to rest undisturbed. “She seems a kind person. A smart one too. Just talk to her.”

“You know I suck at talking!” Hoseok whined, combing his hair off his forehead. “I don’t know why I want to impress her so bad.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Because you have a crush on her.”

“But I don’t even know her!” Hoseok protested, sitting on the sofa for a second before standing up again.

“That’s the key ingredient of a crush. Once you start getting to know her, you either grow out of it or fall in love.”

Hoseok cocked his head and toyed with his earlobe nervously. “Do you think she’ll like me? I mean, she looks so sweet, and so innocent and I can’t even imagine her being into—”

“Don’t judge. Strange fits sometimes work. Think Jimin and Princess. Seokjin hyung and Angel. They work. Strange, I know, but they do.”

Hoseok exhaled.

“Stop pacing. Don’t be too hard on yourself. First date is always a bumpy road. Maybe you’ll find out she’s not your thing and all these worries will be gone by the end of the night.”

“What if I like her and she doesn’t like me?”

Yoongi softened. “It’s all part of the game, Hobah.”

Hoseok nodded. “I have to go see if the chef needs help.”

Yoongi grinned. His friend was really going out of his way. Once, all he wanted were hotel rooms and quiet, curvy brunettes with so many sins they had officially given up on heaven at least a lifetime ago. “No matter how it goes, I’m sure you’ll find someone right for you.”

Hoseok nodded curtly before realising his friend couldn’t see his reply. “Thank you, Yoongi.”

“Sweep her off her feet, Casanova.”

With a bubbly laugh, Hoseok interrupted the call, headed to the private kitchenette. “Can I help you in any way?” Hoseok asked, still keeping his hands on his stomach, trying not to touch anything that could possibly cause a disaster — which considering the setting and his poor cooking skills meant everything.

“It’s okay. I can take care of everything. Don’t worry. Relax.” The chef almost wanted to take a second to pat the younger man’s back. He was probably six years his senior but the stress of a first date was timeless.

And the poor guy was sweating disastrously.

“Okay, then I’ll go check the table.” Hoseok murmured.

“Already settled. And the cake  is waiting in the fridge. It’s still too hot for it.” The chef replied as he turned off the stove since the sauce for the noodles had reached perfect texture. “Maybe a small glass of soju could help?”

Hoseok shook his hands in panic. “Oh, no. That would make it all worse. Why is it so hot in here!”

He walked away from the kitchen, once more staring at the table near the wide floor to ceiling windows. The view would soon turn stunning, the Han river running like a pitch black road, cutting the city in two, Itaewon lighting up in the distance and emerging like a glowing mirage against the night sky.

What if she’s scared of heights?

He banged his head against the wall, pacing again, texting the group chat.

HS: “What if she suffers from vertigo?”

SJ: “You didn’t place the table by the window, did you?”

Hoseok tugged at his hair, undoing a button on his shirt. Why was everything so fucking hot?!

HS: “Should I move it? I have ten minutes! I can move it.”

TH: “Don’t. You can place her with her back to the window if she feels uncomfortable.”

JK: “You’re such a loser, hyung. Relax, it will work out.”

HS: “DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX YOU UNGRATEFUL RASCAL”

JM: “Okay, let’s calm down. Personally I would feel even worse with my back to the window. You can move to the coffee table. It will feel more informal and you will FINALLY GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS,

JM: “she probably just wants to chat over fried chicken while you’re going to make her uncomfortable with all that finesse.”

NJ: “Gotta agree with Jimin on this one. She’ll simply want to chat. You’ll want to chat and get to know her.”

YG: “I told you it will be alright now stop spamming.”

HS: “AND I SUCK AT CHATTING”

JK: “yeah, you kinda ramble”

JM: “not helping Guk.”

The doorbell rang.

Fuck.

He pocketed his phone and headed to the door. “Yes?”

“Uhm… It’s confusing here, I think you need to pick me up.” You said anxiously over the intercom.

“I’m coming. Wait in the foyer.” He slipped on his shoes and got in the elevator, cracking all the joints of his fingers as it descended, going through the process again once he had cracked them all. He dumbly wished he had more fingers.

The door opened and there you stood with your back to him, your shoulders covered by a messy tumble of hair.

“Hello?” He called, making you turn around immediately.

His stomach turned upside down when you hit him with your sweetest, most radiant smile as you faced him. “Hi!”

He felt dumbstruck. You looked adorable, way too pretty for him. Way too incredible for anyone in the universe. “Hello.” He repeated, feeling a nervous smile constrict his face.

It almost looked like a grimace. For a second you thought you had somehow disappointed him. Maybe your dress was too informal? Were you too underdressed?

Staring at his outfit, you realised you were.

“You look very handsome.” You flattened your dress nervously, aware of every movement you made, feeling ridiculous.

“Oh, thank you.” He emitted the most neurotic laugh. Pull yourself together, Jung Hoseok, he innerly scolded himself before gesturing to the lift. “Shall we?”

You nodded, your glee completely lost. Staring at your dumb flats, you approached the opening doors and entered, Hoseok following suit.

You both stayed silent for a couple floors. “How was your day?” You managed to find the guts to ask.

“Uhm… Okay, I guess? My family came to pick Mickey up the other day so it’s been very quiet and a bit lonely.” He smiled but he looked sad.

You nodded. “Pets really change the whole feeling of home.”

He noticed you pressing your hands together before your lap, tucking your elbows against your sides as you tried to shrink yourself enough to disappear. You knew you should have bought a nice dress for this. You cursed your childish tastes and your sweet saffron dress, too demure and cheap for him. You had maybe spent 30,000 won on it, probably the equivalent of his shoelaces.

Screw that — obviously even his shoelaces cost more than that.

You started sucking at your lips, frowning at yourself for messing up your lipgloss. Out of nerves, you started twisting slightly side to side, your dress moving slightly with the motion, your eyes still focused on your shoes.

He was intimidating. Why in the world did you accept a date with him? He was way out of your league! All it would be was one date you would remember someday in your old years, annoying your grandchildren with that one time you had dinner at one of the most incredibly powerful and famous artists of the world.

Hoseok surreptitiously dried his palms against his trousers. He looked at you. His stomach turned again. He wondered how he would manage to eat all that food. All he could do was look at you and take in the cute freckles, that peppered your nose and cheekbones, and your arms too.

“You have freckles.” He noted absentmindedly, a thought unwillingly turned into speech.

You turned your head to him, batting your lashes confusedly. Was it a good thing or a bad thing?

“Yes.”

“You look like a strawberry.” Jung Hoseok, what the fuck.

You frowned. Again, was that good or bad?

“No one has ever told me that before,” you replied with a tense giggle.

He cocked his head at the sound. That was sweet. He liked that. Could he make you laugh like that again? “And you look very pretty in the dress. That shade of yellow really compliments you.” He confessed, feeling his whole face blush.

This felt like his first crush, when he would hide behind corners not to face the girl he liked, and when he would hide his face because it made him feel strange to be looked in the eye by her. She was way too pretty for him.

Thank the heavens, you thought as the doors finally opened on his floor.

He was drenched in sweat. He could literally feel the back of his shirt stick to his skin. He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

He smiled again, this time more relaxedly as he led the way. The lighting was perfect, the deep night sky splashing its colour over Seoul, the billowing darkness of the Han, the magical glimmering of Itaewon, like a flock of fireflies in the distance.

“Goodness gracious,” you exclaimed, walking toward the window and looking out, completely ignoring the table. “This is… It’s like flying.”

He smiled and let his shoulder sag in relief, his elated exhale cooling his heated chest. “I was panicking because it kind of hit me that you could be scared of heights. Like one of those last minute panic thoughts.”

You turned to him to comfort him. “It’s—”

You noticed the table. You noticed the gargantuan quantity of bowls and dishes and plates and cups spread all over it.

Suddenly it all made sense.

“Was this supposed to be a formal dinner?” You asked, your whole face scrunched in perplexity.

He froze in utter confusion. “Just dinner.”

“Are you okay?” You asked, looking as his left eyelid started pulsating with small flutters.

He hurriedly placed his hand over it, turning his back to you. “Yeah, just… Hot weather, blood pressure...”

You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was drenched. “Jung Hoseok,” you called calmly.

You could feel his heartbeat get three times faster.

“Hoseok. Turn around,” you told him sweetly, rubbing his shoulder-blade softly, completely ignoring the way the fabric stuck to his skin.

He turned to you, still cupping the left side of his face with both hands.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, feeling the ridge of his shoulder with your fingertips.

He nodded shyly, giving you the smallest pout.

“And you got a full meal for this? Were you trying to kill me by overfeeding me?” You asked with a tiny smile.

“I— I didn’t know what you like and I hired a chef so we could have excellent food here at home and—”

“This wasn’t necessary, you know that right?” You rubbed your thumb against the muscle and bone of his shoulder. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate it, but it seems like you went maybe… slightly out of your way for this.” You noticed more details, like the flowers and the candles and… wait, he hired a chef? There was another person that would take part in your date as a silent, distant viewer?

“Is it too much?” He asked, frowning and grimacing.

You offered him a lopsided grin and tipped your head to one side, then to the other, back and forth in a so-and-so gesture.

He covered his whole face with his hands and collapsed on the sofa. “Shit, I fucked up so bad.”

You crouched down before him, making sure that the dress didn’t expose too much of your thighs. “It’s okay. Would you like to have a formal dinner?”

“I just wanted to make a good impression.” He whined, tugging at his hair once more.

You touched his forearms, trying to ease his tension before realising that you were technically strangers and maybe he didn’t like being touched. You scolded yourself for your over-tactile approach, and your dumb habit of treating everyone like abandoned puppies. Embarrassedly you placed your hands on your lap, his face raising to meet yours as he felt your fingers leave his skin. Had he done something wrong? Had he made a fool of himself one more time, without even knowing?

“You already made a good impression—”

“I wanted to confirm it!” He wailed exasperatedly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tried to calm him down. “We can walk this walk or do something more low-key. More... relaxing,” you suggested, smiling easily, calmly.

He could feel himself calm down. “Would it disappoint you if we just… I don’t know... ate some noodles over a glass of soju and beer?”

You giggled. “That would make me ecstatic.”

“Let me go call off the chef then.” He stood to his feet. “Thank you so much.”

You shrugged and beamed at him. “No biggie.”

In two minutes the chef came out of the kitchen, bowing at you while you still sat on the sofa. “Good evening. I wish you a good meal. I hope you’ll enjoy the food.”

“Thank you for your hard work! I’m sure I’ll enjoy it!” You replied politely and warmly, watching the man collect a bag from the entry room and bow to Hoseok as he accompanied him out.

“He had already finished cooking.” Hoseok exhaled. He looked ten years younger and significantly less stressed. “The meat had already been grilled, it just needs to be warmed up in the oven.”

“You mean there’s more food?” You asked, eyes wide in terror.

He started shaking his hands in equal fear. “We don’t have to eat that too. Maybe just a couple short ribs?” He wondered.

You stared at the rice and side dishes on the table. It was probably four times what you normally ate, and that was without considering his half of the table. “You have glass noodles?” You asked, and he nodded excitedly at your interest.

“With aubergines and mushrooms and pork belly?”

You felt your mouth water. “Can we have those though?”

He smiled excitedly. “The chef was stir frying the vegetables so we would have to finish that.”

You shrugged. “I can do that while you go get changed, if you’d like. Wear something fresh and cozy.”

He looked around nervously.

You immediately realised what was wrong. How could he let a stranger wander through his house? And he wasn’t just anyone. He was a celebrity. A famous person. What if he thought you would sneak through his private spaces and sell information about him to the press?

“Uhm—”

“Oh my god. No, it’s okay. Who would let a stranger stay in their home while they’re in the shower. Dumb me. Sorry.”

He blinked a couple times. “It's the first time I have invited someone in my house, except for my close friends.” He looked down and smiled, his cheeks shooting up in a complicated mix of sadness and joy. “I'm nervous because of that too.”

You nodded. “I know it could sound dumb to say but I care about you. And I'm not interested in gossip and press and all of that. I will respect you and your home. It's basic human decency,” you said, sitting next to him. “I only suggested you go get a change of clothes because that cannot be comfortable and I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted out of that.”

He looked up at you with big, soft eyes. “It would really be okay?”

“Yes, it would, Hobi.” You flinched at the nickname. “Hoseok. Sorry.” You wanted to tear your own tongue off.

However, just as much as you felt disappointed at yourself for the small slip, he felt warm about you calling him by a nickname. He wanted you to say it again. And again. And well… again but in other ways.

“I'll be back in five minutes, just to rinse off and get comfy.”

You nodded. “I'll wait here and then we'll get the noodles ready.”

Hoseok felt extremely relieved once he changed his clothes. The loose linen joggers felt like a soft cloud around his legs, air already circulating better against his skin. And the satin shirt made him feel classy and casual at the same time.

He was pleased at the comfort-looks ratio of his outfit and exited the room confidently. He was further reassured once he found you scrolling through your phone, sitting there innocently, smiling at him once you saw him appear.

“Okay, ready to go?” He asked, standing in front of you, all set to accompany you to the kitchen.

You nodded and took his hand as he helped you up. “Let’s go.”

He smelled amazing, like anise and patchouli. Something sweet and manly at the same time. It suited him perfectly.

Standing a bit too close after he tugged you up, you surreptitiously tried to sniff him, your eyes falling shut once the vaguely honeyed fragrance met your nostrils.

He observed you as you stood there, clearly entranced. Heat crept up his cheeks as your breath tickled down his neck: he was slowly becoming aware of your presence, of the warmth that your skin radiated, of the way a strand of your hair skimmed his arm.

“I like your perfume,” you whispered.

He felt his knees grow vaguely wobbly, a swoony, shy smile stretching his lips.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised his face was just a few inches away from yours, his blush visible in high definition right before your eyes.

He looked so incredibly, adorably embarrassed. “Thank you,” he replied quietly, almost afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.

Your eyes met his, and for a second he hoped you would get on your tiptoes and kiss him, but you casually turned around and started walking away, turning to him only to ask about the kitchen.

Trying to keep his delusions on the low, he led you to the kitchen, where all you could see was the tidy chaos of creation.

A few bowls were piled neatly in the sink, together with lined up utensils. You let him show you the several drawers and cabinets, explaining where to find a frying pan for the vegetables, the noodles already cooked and marinated in the secret sauce the chef had prepared.

All he could do was stare as you easily made your way through the motions, the main dish of your meal ready to be served after a few minutes, the vegetables keeping a crispy texture while the noodles hit a chewier feel once you mixed the two together.

You set both on different bowls and offered them to Hoseok. “I’ll put a couple short ribs in the oven.”

He nodded and reached the dining table, frowning at all the food spread there in cups and plates and dishes and bowls.

His disappointment was short-lived.

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmured gently, completely incapable of keeping yourself from tracing his spine in between his shoulder blades.

You watched his back straighten, the glossy satin glimmering at the shift of muscles and tendons underneath.

You wanted to see that again. No shirt on, next time.

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, trying to awaken yourself from your fantasy.

He set the bowls down and you sat in front of each other, thanking for the food quickly before you started chatting about which food was where.

The meal went on calmly while you talked about your family, your job, and the pets you had visited during the day. At the same time, he explained some of the undercover dynamics of his job, like all the training and briefing and preparations necessary before interviews, photoshoots, or even something as basic as a public appearance where all they had to do was stand and look pretty for the photographers. He teased the theme of the Run episode they had just filmed — which was almost fifteen episodes ahead to the one that had just been aired.

You chit-chatted for a long while, your conversation resembling the sound of chirping birds thanks to Hoseok’s naturally melodic intonation of speech. He was lovely when he stumbled a bit over his words, the ridge of his ears scarlet with embarrassment once a slip of tongue had him making a lewd allusion you caught with a mischievous grin he couldn’t quite catch since your eyes were glued to the table; he had been too busy being ashamed of his freudian lapsus to actually notice that you had enjoyed the reference.

He was saved by the sound of the oven beeping, telling him that the ribs were warm and ready, which made him excuse himself.

He returned just a minute later with more soju and beer, asking if you were okay with the serving or if you were full.

The smell was so inviting you let him convince you.

No matter the large dinner and the several dishes, you managed to eat way more than what you thought, only a quarter of the table remaining untouched.

“Okay, maybe we could pack up the leftovers.” You suggested, standing up once your conversation hit a natural pause, comforted by the feeling that Hoseok no longer felt like a stranger to you.

You helped him, easily getting acquainted with his living room and kitchen. It felt nice to get gradually more independent, enough that you could easily help him up with the containers and that you could assist him with organizing the tupperware in the fridge.

It was all going okay until you were standing in front of the open fridge, ready to close it when his hand landed on yours on the handle, holding the door open. He leaned against your back, grabbing a paper box from the top shelf.

“Sorry,” he spoke quietly, all chirpiness gone.

Shivers propagated from your spine to your limbs, your brain suddenly struck by the feel of perspiration coating your inner thighs. You felt wet and you weren’t sure if it was sweat or actual arousal.

His perfume came in again once he stretched to reach the box.

Hoseok’s attention moved to the mole on your neck as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Careful, it’s heavy,” he said, giving a quick look at your lashes, at the freckles peppered over your cheekbones, your face turned to the side, ready to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

His hand was hot against yours, his back light and solid at the same time.

He parted from you, feeling disappointed with the fact that he had to move, biting his lip as his arm struggled keeping the box upright.

You caved slightly as cool air replaced the warmth of his chest, still feeling the phantom presence of his touch.

“Let’s go back to the living room.” He bit his lip, grabbing another bottle as you almost ran from him.

You weren’t okay with what was going on. Not one small bit. You were not okay with the idea of getting drenched and making a mess of yourself on the first date. You were even less okay with the idea of going back home and spending all night with your hand between your legs, thinking about the mind-blowing sex Jung Hoseok was most definitely capable of performing. With a body like that and years of pilates lessons, there was no doubt he could rearrange your organs as your legs and arms bent to accommodate him and please him.

You were even less pleased by the way you craved to satisfy him. You wanted to hear him moan and whine with his melodious voice. You wanted to hear the symphony of his pleasure, the sound of his cries, the smashing of skin against skin, and maybe the legs of the bed scraping against the floor, the headboard thudding against the wall.

You wanted his perfume on your neck, against your chest. You wanted your thighs to smell like him, the scent of your sex mingling with his cologne. It was primal and visceral and obscure and thrilling.

And then a sick side of you wanted to wake up all the neighbours, let them know he was living the night of his life. And since you could only hope of getting a second chance, you found yourself ready to use the night you’d been granted, if fate would allow you an in to the sinful heaven you were imagining.

After all, you weren’t even sure he still liked you.

As he sat in front of you, Hoseok observed your side profile while you stared out of the window, completely lost in your thoughts, your cheeks reddened because of the alcohol.

He was so whipped for you.

However, he knew the initial thrill would eventually fade and leave him with an adorable, beautiful young woman who could never own his heart or tend to his vulnerable side. It had happened so many times before that he was just waiting for his interest to die down.

Because right as he stared at your dreamy expression, he realised he would never lay a finger on you.

You were far too precious for him to sully you with his dirty paws and devilish ways.

With a sliver of sadness tainting his smile, he placed the cake in the middle, preparing two forks, one on your side and one on his.

“I’ve heard champagne is great with strawberries,” he commented, opening the bottle and awakening you from your daydream.

You blinked a few times. “Oh, just a little or I’ll end up dizzy,” you replied with a small smile. “This cake looks beautiful.”

“I hope you aren’t allergic to strawberries or dairy products,” he mused, lifting up his glass to clink it with yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you repeated before answering his questions. “Luckily I don’t have any allergies. Usually I prefer eating fruit and vegetables, but I’m pretty cool with any kind of food.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hoseok replied before realising he’d better never see you again. You were too tempting, too pretty, too gentle and overall too attractive for someone like him. Chances were you would be a bit disappointed but would find a proper date within the next two weeks. Women like you were far too requested and treasured in a city like Seoul.

You were suitable from head to toe. You had a degree, a job, a place to yourself, you were accomplished. And then your innocent looks, your kind manners, the caring side he had the fortune of catching a glimpse of.

You would be taken in less than three weeks. He could tell.

It was a mystery to him how you were still single after eight months in the city.

He found the courage to look up from the dessert, only to regret it immediately.

Your mouth was wide open in an attempt to chomp on a huge strawberry, your lips rosy, your nose smeared with cream.

I shall not.

I cannot.

I should not.

He paused.

Fuck. I will.

He placed down his fork and stood to his feet, your eyes following him as he came to your side.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking at his stone-cold expression.

You put your fork down, staring back at him with concern.

His hand moved tentatively to your cheek, laying gently along your jaw.

Turning to him, you stared some more, your chest inflating and deflating rapidly and deeply — which was not lost on him.

Too afraid to look, you closed your eyes as he leaned down his thumb moving closer to your mouth, parted as you found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Your whole world was dark and hot once his breath fanned over your face.

With overwhelming desire coursing through him, Hoseok stared at every single detail, drinking you in with eyes so hungry, like he could swallow every freckle, every mole, every bit of plump flesh and bony edge.

With his hand trembling slightly at the strange position, he dragged his thumb against the tip of your nose, collecting the cream smeared there.

Your eyes opened in surprise at the unanticipated motion, meeting his lowered eyelids, his lovely lashes making an appearance against the fair skin.

And then his thumb met your lips, covering them in sweetness.

“You had cream on your nose,” he said, his eyes never abandoning the curves of your lips.

Jung Hoseok knew he was a sinner already. But with heartbreaking realisation, he knew the next action would deem his fall.

His tongue slipped out of his mouth, guided by a need so deep he could barely control. With the worst intentions, he focused on touching you as little as possible, trying to scoop up the cream caught on the gentle petals of your lips.

What he didn’t expect was for your own tongue to slide out and brush against his.

From there, it was only ruination.

His tongue slid in your mouth, catching on all the flavours of the dessert. It was strawberries. Strawberries everywhere; your freckles, your hair, your shampoo, your dress, he was possessed by them, drowning in a forest of strawberry bushes growing all over him, climbing into his mouth and underneath his clothes.

“Hobi,” you called weakly as he let you go, your body shooting up on your feet as you tried to chase after his mouth, tried to have his arms around you.

He moaned and caught you, placing his forearm against your lower back and holding your cheek with the other. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. “I promised myself I wouldn’t but you’re too hard to resist.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, kissing his jaw, trying to reach the underside of his ear. “Please.”

You tried to calm your breathing by inhaling deeply through your nose, which in retrospective was an awful move since his scent filled your lungs and all you could do was whine in reply, the sound ridiculous and embarrassing to your own ears.

“I’ll do bad things to you, honey. We should stop now,” he said, trying to be judicious.

“Please,” you begged again, rubbing your face against his neck, already trying to cover yourself in his perfume. “Just a kiss, please.”

Closing his eyes, he gave in, following the line of your neck, the sweet mole at the base, drawing your throat with the inner side of his lips.

“Hobi…” You whined once more before receiving a gentle tug at your hair.

“I’m getting there, don’t be impatient,” he growled, making your neck stretch backwards. Once more his tongue slipped out, drawing a line from the hollow between your collarbones all the way to your chin, stopping at your lower lip. “If you’re patient you get a reward, see? That’s how it works with me, sweetheart.”

He kissed your mouth, first delicately, tentatively, trying to feel you open up and give in.

Once you did, he locked your face against his with the hand of his nape, following your body as you walked backwards, reaching the sofa.

“What do you want to tell me, my pretty strawberry?” He teased once he allowed you to let go of him.

“Thank you.”

It was not what he expected, but it made his stomach churn with longing. He needed to please you more, give you more, just to hear those words again.

“You’re welcome, honey. Now, tell me. What do you want me to do, sweetie?” He watched as you sat on the carpet.

You remembered how soft it had felt earlier under your knees. “I wanna make out?” You asked, lashes batting. You didn’t want to sound eager.

“Just make out?” He asked, sitting down in front of you. There was no way he would allow you to blow him tonight.

You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He wanted to dive into them, to feel the magic they held glow inside his body. “Am I allowed to ask for more?” You questioned with the sweetest pout.

“You can ask me anything, honey.” He skimmed the skin of your jaw with the back of his fingers before feeling the hot curve of your neck under his palm.

“Would you think ill of me if I asked for more?”

He shook his head and smiled softly. He would never think ill of you. Not even if you asked him to fuck you for a whole audience of connoisseurs to stare. “You're my cute, little strawberry. I could never think lowly of you.” He cooed.

“What if I wanted you to… to fuck me?” You asked, biting your lip nervously before looking at him.

He thought about the consequences for maybe half a second. He felt awful because, at the end of all the reasoning he knew he would hoard you and every single ounce of pleasure he could coax out of your body.

“Are you sure you want that?” He asked, letting his hand follow the path between your breasts, down to your waist gripping your side.

You licked your lips and nodded. “I'll be so good to you.”

His grin was outright evil. “I know you will, baby.” He kissed your temple. “I need to go get protection if that's what you want. I'll give you a minute to think about it and if you still think so when I'm back, then we're gonna deal with your needy head, mh?”

You nodded, staring at him as he stood up, incapable of not studying his crotch where his cock was visibly tenting his loose trousers.

He chuckled as he watched you stare. “It'll be yours if you still want it later.”

Your eyebrows raised in disappointment as you watched him leave.

So… it was actually going to happen. Did you want it to happen?

What a stupid question! Yes. Of course.

You wanted him and it scared you and thrilled you at the same time.

His footsteps reached the room once more, disappearing once his feet touched the carpet.

“Okay. Here we go, sweetie. Are you still sure you want to have sex with me?” He asked, kneeling and moving your hair off your face, your head reaching his sternum from your seated position.

“Yes, I'm sure,” You confirmed curtly. “Please.”

Oh, to hear you beg. He could cum from that alone. It was intoxicating. And he wasn't even touching you. He could only imagine what sounds you would make once his cock would fill your cunt.

“You want the bedroom—”

“Here. Please.” You shut your eyes tight. You felt like an animal, willing to fuck wherever, and the immense temptation of feeling the plush carpet underneath your back, the city lights illuminating his skin…

Hoseok inhaled.

You were wilder than what you looked and such information aroused him immensely.

“Lay back, honey.” He murmured, extracting three small squares of foil from his pocket and laying them on the coffee table.

Slowly, you lowered your back to the carpet while he kneeled close to you, your legs rotating so that your feet laid right in front of his knees, your legs bent and pressed together.

“That's nice, ____. Lovely,” he said before placing his hands on your knees. “Would you like to spread your pretty legs for me?” He asked, his fingers sliding down your thighs, reaching the hem of the dress.

You looked adorable once you demurely parted your feet to offer him some space between your knees, the hem of the dress moving closer to your lap.

His legs slotted between your thighs and he bent down, reaching for your face. “Such a good girl,” he praised you, cooing once he noticed your cheeks redden. “So adorable.”

On all fours on top of you, you felt the unique shape of his mouth draw your throat before giving a lick. “I bet you taste like strawberries all over.” He started kissing down your chest, rubbing his cheek against your small breasts. “You make me feel like a man starved,” he continued, kissing your stomach, your abdomen, laying one small peck on the fabric covering your belly button.

“Hoseok,” you whined, feeling his hands around your hips.

He stopped brusquely, his body entirely leaving yours. “Now, now, sweetie. What did you just call me?”

You batted your lashes as you stared at him in confusion. “Hoseok.”

“Okay. If you want to have sex with me, honey, that name will not do.”

You stared at him some more.

“I’m Sir,” he affirmed sternly. “The moment you get wet between your legs, I become Sir to you, understood?”

You nodded quickly, breath and brain completely stolen out of you.

“No nodding, my cute berry. Either ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir’. Let’s try again. Is it clear what you must call me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He grinned and kissed your belly again, just a bit lower. “That’s excellent. Well done, ____.”

You smiled and placed your hands on his hair, feeling the soft locks as he looked up at you.

He growled at that, your fingers naturally curling in fists as you brought them to your chest. “A very good girl indeed.”

You propped yourself up to your elbows once he lifted the skirt of your dress.

He could barely believe you. “Goodness.”

“At first I thought my dress was stuck on my underwear when you called me strawberry.”

Under the cutest, loveliest, most girlish dress he had ever seen, he was met by another adorable surprise. You were wearing a playful pair of ruffled panties in gingham print, with a small strawberry embroidered on your mound.

“You’re going to kill me,” he moaned, eyes closing before he dipped his head between your legs, studying the patch of wetness on the gusset of your panties, drawing a line from there to your clit, eliciting a moan. “You’re so sweet. And so evil at the same time.” He bit your inner thigh, making you wince. “Can’t believe that song predicted you on my carpet.”

You giggled and arched your hips against his face, your wetness meeting his cheek lewdly.

He inhaled you, completely intoxicated before he came back up, his arms caging your head. “You really rubbed yourself against my face, honey?” He asked with a stone cold expression.

You were afraid again, but that didn’t keep you pussy from clenching around nothing.

“Yes, Sir.” You replied, the respect in your voice nothing but a taunt.

“If you make a mess you gotta clean it, sweetie. Understood?” He asked, grabbing your face and angling his cheek to your mouth. “Clean it.”

“Please, Sir,” you mewled, trying to push your crotch against him, crying out once you noticed his body was too far away for you to find something to grind against.

“Clean after yourself. Now.”

You did as he told you, feeling the salty, bitter tang of your arousal transfer from his smooth skin to your tongue.

“All of it,” he muttered once you stopped after the first lick.

You completed your task, his pelvis lowering to yours as a reward. “There you go. Now thank me.”

Your arms moved around his torso, trying to get him closer, just to brush your chest against the soft, smooth satin of his shirt.

“I said, thank me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You felt him cave immediately, giving you his hard and lithe body against your chest, your crotch, right in your arms as your legs wrapped around him. You felt crazy, grinding against him like a teenager, ridiculously reminded of how you used to go off by humping a pillow. “Please, inside,” you wailed, your sigh hitting his chest and disappearing underneath his shirt. Once you inhaled, his cologne felt like a bruising kiss, your hips meeting his harder, faster.

“You like my perfume?”

You nodded furiously.

Not again. He violently separated himself from you. “What did I tell you about replies?” He scolded you.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You looked down with repentance. “I like your perfume very much, Sir.”

“That’s right. Good girl. Now, after I praise you, thank me.” He pushed your dress up as his hand dragged heavily from your crotch to your throat.

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied obediently, watching as he got on his knees and tugged his trousers down, the white boxers underneath surprising you as they outlined his length perfectly.

“You want it out?” He asked, watching as you sat up straighter and licked your lips.

You were almost ready to nod when you caught yourself, Hoseok smiling proudly once he saw you correct your behaviour. “I want it out, Sir.”

“Excellent.”

He lowered his underwear too, his cock standing erect immediately, it fluttered even straighter once you kept looking, your hands touching your breasts needily.

Hoseok stretched to the coffee table, grabbing a condom and tearing the foil open, sliding the latex on quickly and firmly.

“My cute berry, I need you to be very careful about this. You know what a safeword is?”

You shook your head. “No, Sir.”

He momentarily covered himself, needing to get all your focus on his words. “Safewords are what you use to communicate with your partner in a BDSM scene. A safeword means that you don’t like what is going on and you want to slow down or stop. We will use the traffic lights system. If you say ‘yellow’, I will slow down, if you say ‘red’, I will let go of you entirely and help you recover from whatever it was that hurt you, mentally, emotionally or physically. On the other hand, ‘green’ means that you’re okay and you are ready to get back into the scene after a ‘yellow’. If I ask you your colour, you reply with those. All clear?”

“All clear, Sir.”

He grinned proudly. “Then explain to me how it works.”

“If I want to slow down, I call ‘yellow’. If I want to stop, I call ‘red’. If I’m all good, I call ‘green’ — Sir.” You added for good measure, knowing that one too many wouldn’t hurt for sure.

“That’s my good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled as he looked in your eyes. He knew he would remember you forever, even if he never developed any feelings for you. You were by far the most unique woman he’d ever had under him so far.

For a second he observed your cute, frilly undies, wondering if he wanted them off.

No. 

He took his cock out of his underwear, letting the waistbands of his trousers and boxers rest on his mid-thigh.

“Wanna keep these pretty panties on.” He murmured once he laid on top of you. “Tell me if the elastic band hurts you.” He said, moving the gusset aside and testing your wetness with his fingers, spreading the slickness over your folds. “So fucking soft. Dammit. Can't wait.”

He dipped his head against your neck. “You want it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You placed your hands on the small of his back, his eyes closing as he relished in your touch.

“Beg for it.” He murmured, dragging the tip up and down your slit.

You rolled your eyes. “No, Sir.”

“You won't beg?” He asked, looking at you.

You pouted. “Why do you want me to beg?” You asked with a frown.

“I need to know you want me, my sweet berry,” he pouted back. He touched your face giving you a few kisses to convince you. “I want to hear your sweet voice saying 'please', just one more time,” he whispered, feeling merciful, especially after all the ways he had already pushed you.

Your will bent to his. “Please.”

And just like that, his tip entered your warm, tight cunt, a moan exiting his mouth. “Yes, yes, ____. Yes, baby,” he groaned, at which you responded with a mewl.

“Hobi…” You cried, squeezing around him once he bottomed out.

“Don't make me punish you,” he murmured, exhaling raspily. “You've been such a good girl. Don't get naughty.”

“Sir, please.”

He started snapping his hips out, slowly, then in again, one inch at a time, so deep and slow, over and over. “Yes, baby. Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels too good, Sir, I'm…”

He hummed in pleasure, feeling the skin of your neck under his lips. “Too good. My berry, you're so tiny and tight.” His hips trusted in quickly and unexpectedly.

“Holy… Sir, please, again, please.” You squealed, feeling his thumb slide your panties further aside to reach your clit.

He breathed out with effort against your ear as your mouth reached his earlobe. “Fuck, not there, Berry. Not there,” he said, tugging his ear out of your mouth.

“But Sir—,” you tried objecting before his pace became irresistible. While one hand reached the crown of his hair, holding him against you, the other one met his glute, your nails sinking in his flesh. Your breath started coming in short hiccups, leading you to your climax as he outright hammered into you, his back curved away while his forehead stayed glued to your neck.

“Am I fucking you right, ____? Is it good enough for my golden girl?” He growled once he felt you tightening around him more intensely, with longer squeezes.

“It's perfect, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” you reacted readily, shaking your head as pleasure started overpowering you, trying not to hurt him.

“Cum, my sweet berry. Show me.”

The hiccups of your breathing started turning in tiny whimpers, then squeals.

You were ready to bury your head in the ground and never come back because you knew what would come next.

The squeals turned into an uncontrolled cascade of giggles. Giggles.

Hoseok picked his head up at the curious sound, only to see your palm covering your mouth in an attempt to bottle the stupid reaction.

Hoseok smiled through gritted teeth, going faster, harder, deeper now that he understood that the sweet gurgling laugh was due to your orgasm peaking.

He pinned your hand away from your face, basking in the desperate joy of your bliss before he felt himself ready to blow.

“I'm gonna slide out now,” he warned, making sure that your high had faded and your body laid limp and drained underneath him.

Your body relaxed against the carpet, your eyes closed, your lungs still working hysterically to give you back some oxygen after the ruthless fit of giggles. You whimpered once you felt him pull out.

“Look at me, honey,” he called, making you prop your upper back on your elbows as you looked down, only to be met by the sight of Hoseok slipping off the condom. “Let me cum on your cute panties, mh? Can I? I promise I'm clean, I can show you the—”

“Do it,” you replied, giving him official permission.

“Really?”

“Really— I mean, yes, Sir.”

He smirked and started pumping himself furiously, his expression frantic as his tip pressed to your mound and he came apart, his hot seed drenching the red and white cotton, an animalistic growl making his whole chest shake.

You welcomed him in your arms once he collapsed on top of you, right hand smeared in slickness. “I’m gonna call you Giggles.” He said, kissing your mole, the precise spot where he could feel your blood run underneath the skin, the hollow just under your earlobe. “It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

You felt your whole body blush. “It’s so stupid but I can’t stop it.”

“Don’t stop it, it’s adorable.” He sniffed at your hair, “you still smell like strawberries.”

“Must be my shampoo.”

“Fuck. So good.” He sniffed some more. “I thought it would kill me earlier, by the fridge.”

“I thought you would kill me.” You said, feeling his neck with your lips. “Your perfume might be aphrodisiac.”

“You’re too tempting.” He chuckled. “I might need another round.”

“I can’t believe you actually fucked me on your living room carpet.” You said, combing his hair as he still regained his energies.

“Aren’t you happy?” He asked, suddenly panicked.

“No, I mean. I’m… I’m really happy. I’m just… incredulous that this is happening to me.” You replied with a surprised laugh.

“Maybe I should give it another go to make sure you actually understand what’s happening.”

“Would you mind helping me understand on the dinner table?” You batted your lashes cutely and paired that with an angelic smile.

“Are you even real?” He touched your face with his clean hand, giving you an inquisitive look. “You appear, all cute and innocent and then you want me to get you all dirty and filthy?”

Your smile widened. “The other ones were a bit scared by this side of me.”

“I won’t be scared of your needs, Giggles.”

You blushed again and hid your face.

“No hiding,” he reprimanded before rolling on his side, leaving you some room to obey the orders he was about to give you. “Keep giving me those sweet giggles,” he said, tracing your belly with his fingertips before trying to tickle you.

The effect was immediate. You clenched your legs and slapped his hands away from you, the torturing sound parting from your lips in a series of childlike gurgles. “Stop! I’m gonna mess up!” You screamed, trying not to stain your dress or the carpet. “No! No! Wait! Yellow!”

At that he took his hands off you immediately, your body laying on your back breathless.

“You good, Giggles?” He asked, voice drenched with worry.

You nodded, still panting.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He questioned, watching you move your head in confirmation.

“Okay.” He looked at your dress, trying to find a zipper. “Should I—”

“Start with my underwear, please?” You asked, your breath laboured due to arousal rather than exhaustion.

He nodded and licked his lips as he slowly tugged your panties down, careful about keeping his release from touching the carpet or your legs. Once the garment unhooked from your ankles, he folded it carefully to keep the wet fabric tucked in.

“Kneel, Giggles.”

You followed his command blindly, watching as your hands slid up under your skirt and tugged your dress up, his palms meeting your ribs and dragging the fabric upwards, past your breasts, then up against your armpits and backwards to your shoulder-blades, slipping the the neckline past your head.

Dress off, he let it fall distractedly to the floor, his eyes going from your face, to your hair, to your nipples — sinfully rosy — following the line leading from your breastbone to your belly button. He kissed the first piece of skin that met his lips, someplace where his heartbeat felt like a drum, like the bass coming from an old boom box. It was so comforting in a way he barely understood.

He needed room to think. “Get on the table.” His voice was once more stern and distant, especially once you watched him grab the opened foil containing the tied up condom, then stand up and leave.

You followed his direction nonetheless, standing awkwardly by the table, watching the cake and stealing a strawberry since the orgasm had awakened a certain sweet tooth in you. You dipped the strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, relaxing just a little after you heard the water run in the kitchen.

He was probably washing his hands.

You took you time licking up the cream, only to start chomping down on the incredibly large fruit right after. That’s when Hoseok appeared.

He was shirtless now, the garment dangling from his spindly fingers before he laid it neatly against the back of the couch. You stopped mid-bite.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your snack, go on, honey.” He licked his lips and gave you a steamy look before going to the table and pocketing the condoms left. “Is it good?” He asked, walking to stand right in front of you.

You felt slightly unnerved as he seemed completely indifferent to your naked body.

“Sit on the table,” he ordered

You frowned and hesitated.

At that, he let his hands hover over your hips. “Shall I help you with it?” He asked, giving you the chance to avoid his touch before laying his fingertips delicately on your skin. “Gimme a colour, Giggles.”

“Maybe yellow.” You bit your lip, insecurity getting the best of you.

He moved his hands to your face, suddenly turning comforting. “Quick tip, my pretty berry.” He caressed your face in a way that made you feel way too at ease. “If it’s a ‘maybe yellow’, then it’s a yellow. How can I help you, ____?”

Your real name made you come down to earth. You shook your head and looked away, Hoseok suddenly scared of having gone too far.

“I’m not comfortable with the way I let you control me, maybe.” Which was not entirely true. You were not comfortable with the way you craved his control after spending maybe four hours with him — including the afternoon he entered the vet studio with Mickey in his arms and a hopeless, lost look on his face.

“It’s all up to you, ____. I know it’s a cliché thing to say, but the answer is really within yourself. I can’t make you more comfortable with how you feel,” he said, still not even considering your nakedness in front of him.

In such a moment his indifference was welcome.

You looked down, your hands disappearing into your hair. Maybe this was the only night you were granted. Did you really want it to end already?

He did not touch you as you mulled over every option.

“I’m… I’m not— We’re technically strangers, I shouldn’t be trusting you like this, you shouldn’t be trusting me like this either, I mean this is all so— all so twisted and wicked and fast and—”

Hoseok was ready for reality to slap him across the face. He was ready for your regrets and you walking to your dress on the floor and cursing your messed up panties which you most definitely could not wear to go back home. He was ready for you to call what you did a mistake and say that there was no way for a woman like you to be with a man like him.

“My mind tells me I shouldn’t, but I want it so much.”

He lifted his eyes from the floor, finally finding the courage to meet yours.

“I’m sorry, that’s not true. I’m comfortable with the way you control me.” Slowly you took a step back, your ass meeting the surface of the table. “I’m just questioning what that means to me.”

He nodded. It explained a lot about your innocent, greedy approach to sex. You were exploring and you had found something you didn’t expect to even remotely consider.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and sat on the table. “No, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot up before he regained his composure. “Colour.”

You allowed yourself to stare at his chest. He was so well-built. Harmonious. He looked like a painting. “Green. Very deep, dark green. Sir.”

He took a step closer. “Green?”

“Forest green. As green as a clover.” You felt his hand on your belly, dragging against your skin all the way to your throat, pushing you down as you lowered yourself on your elbows.

“If you feel uncomfortable emotionally or mentally speaking, you call a yellow. Please, promise me you’ll be very careful about it, Giggles. I care about your mindspace. It means everything to me.”

“I promise, Sir.”

He removed his hand from your throat and placed it against your cheek, placing a chaste kiss on your lips once he bent over you. “You’re talking to Hoseok right now, ____. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on how your mind’s doing. Promise it.”

You kissed him back, closing your eyes once his tongue caressed and molded against yours. Breathless, you parted from him. “I promise, Hobi.”

“I don’t want you to regret anything about tonight. It would break my heart, okay?”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you nodded. “I’ll take care. I promise.”

“Good girl. Now stay right there, lovely. Look what I got for you.” He found the cake, placed carefully away from your laying body. Skillfully, he dipped a strawberry in cream and brought it to your lips, dragging the tip of the fruit across them like lipstick.

He bent down and licked a fat stripe following the seam of your mouth, only to repeat the gesture once more; however, this time you let your tongue lash out and tangle up with his, the strawberry held away from you, trying not to catch it in your hair.

“Open up,” he commanded, pushing the treat past your lips, into your eager mouth. “Suck. Now.”

Your gaze became bubbly once more as you followed his lead, your cheeks sucked in at the pressure you were making with your mouth, the strawberry emerging completely clean from your mouth.

He smirked at the sigh, arching an eyebrow at the result. “You make it hard not to push my cock in your mouth.”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to do.” You raised an eyebrow right back at him, getting cocky.

“Not happening. I wanna hear that laugh again, Giggles.” Tentatively, he gave a small slap to your breast, surprising you and making you arch your back, gasping in pleasure. Your legs tightened around him, trying to clench your thighs shut at the feeling of arousal slipping out of your hole and sliding down to your behind. “And don’t you dare be a brat to me. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Your voice was squeaky once you managed to reply.

“Did you like it, Giggles?”

The treacherous sound escaped your mouth once more as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Sir.”

You wondered if you would ever get tired at the reply. You doubted it very highly.

“Let’s see if you like this too,” he mused before pouring more champagne in a glass and dipping the strawberry in the wine. He fixed his stance between your legs. “Remember our safewords?”

You confirmed before he lifted the strawberry and let a droplet fall right in the middle of your chest, splashing heavy and wet on your skin. Cold too.

“I’m going to make you my dessert, my pretty strawberry. Remember? Strawberries go well with champagne, lovely.”

He let one more drop fall to your breast, your breath stopping completely at the coldness, Hoseok’s eyes amused at the sight of your nipple awakening and hardening, lengthening even. It became impossibly rosier as another drop fell.

It felt stupid not to repeat the same treatment to your other nipple, which responded twice as quickly now that arousal was abundantly flowing through every single inch of you.

The strawberry drew a neat line of champagne pearls from your belly, which you sucked in at the cold, all the way up to your neck — a line that Hoseok followed with his mouth, letting his tongue stretch out of the way whenever a droplet rolled out of place.

He let the strawberry fall into the glass, extracting the condoms from his pocket and placing them on the table before taking off the rest of his clothes. He tugged at himself a couple times, getting hard enough to wear a condom.

His hands were going to get dirty, therefore he had no other options than getting ready very quickly.

“Giggles?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, Sir?” You corrected yourself in a millisecond, not wanting to risk another delay in your pleasure.

“I’m going to get really dirty now, lovely. Would you be okay with showering here?”

You let your lashes flutter a few times before nodding.

He gave a curt nod in reply before wearing protection and letting his cock rub against your crotch. His body stretched over yours, his thumb collecting a dollop of cream and dividing it with his other thumb. You observed his movements attentively as his clean fingers laid against the side of your breasts and his thumbs landed on your nipples.

Your mouth opened silently once the sensation flowed in, his digits starting a rolling motion over your peaks, playing them in small circles that innocently reminded you of a joystick.

“Colour.”

“So, so green. Can I have a blue for mind blowing good.” You tried to pick your head up, letting it thud back down once his cock dragged perfectly against your clit, eliciting a purr from your throat and a groan from his, his sex perfectly sandwiched between your and his belly.

“Blue— I— ” He talked in small babbles and hiccups. “I get what you— ah— what you mean.” His forehead met your collarbone.

He found unspeakable strength and managed to rise from your breasts, collecting half a handful of cream spreading it over his entire palms and fingers like lotion before grabbing your breasts and kneading them, his hands dwarfing them entirely.

“Sir, please, I need your cock,” you found yourself ridiculously begging, ready to hump anything that met your core.

“Slip it in for me, Giggles.”

The moment he got inside, you didn’t even try to keep it down, riding him no matter the difficult position or the awkward angle. You let your hands scratch down his chest and grip his arms — and he allowed you.

You were getting more and more unhinged and he wanted to see every little detail, every little second, every single step that brought you to bliss and ruination, giggling like you’d never been half as ecstatic in your life. His hands slipped and groped your gentle curves, his mind growing hazier by the second.

All his control came back once he noticed your legs leaving the ground, as you scooted back just by a few inches, your calves latching behind his back before you shook your head.

“What?” He asked, bending his arms to get closer to you.

“Position. It’s…” The soles of your feet met the edge of the table, your hands securing your legs in position before you felt your hips hurt.

“Bend them to your shoulders,” he suggested, helping you fix your knees with his elbows. “Good. Can you touch yourself for me, Giggles.”

You obeyed without even replying, feeling him groan as the new position allowed him to reach deeper and rub your g-spot in the process.

That’s when the squealing started. And then there it was, pleasure. Right before you.

“Give me all the giggles, my sweet berry,” he cooed, nodding and smiling once the soft laugh started.

He let himself grow wild, his fingers sliding to your neck, gripping it gently before he led them against your chin and into your mouth, bathing your tongue in cream — or rather, what was left of it.

The other hand secured your waist, using it for leverage as he rammed into you, pushing his cock in your cunt, constricting it after the muscles remained tense after the orgasm.

This time he came inside you, still covered in latex, but inside you.

He was too fucked out to think of how you would feel without a condom, too fucked out to care that he was pressing his mouth — fuck, his entire face — against your dirty chest, getting his hair sticky with cream, his cheeks and chin and nose and eyes and forehead… His mouth welcomed the sweetness, sucking at your skin before his tongue came out to lap at the sugary mess. He was too lost to care, sinking deep and staying perfectly still as he enjoyed every second of his high inside your most intimate place.

You came to your senses just in time to watch him process the situation he was in.

“Oh, hell.” He rose from the table, standing up, looking at you, at his hands, running the back of them against his cheeks before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He settled down again, your legs wrapping around him.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, rubbing your palm against his spine.

He hummed in confirmation. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” You mussed up the hair at his nape.

He licked up your nipple, catching it with his lips and suctioning it into his mouth.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the cuddles. From the exhaustion radiating from his body and the overall disaster you both were, you knew your night was over.

“Can I go clean up please? It’s getting chilly.” You asked, using the excuse to get some space to yourself.

He stood slowly, slipping out of you attentively. He took off the condom, completely lost in his silence, knotted it up and kept it carefully between his fingers as he slipped on his underwear. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

Once he showed you the way, you let him understand you didn’t want him to shower with you.

Feeling the scent of his body wash cover your skin was painful now. You tried to indent the name in your mind and hoped it wasn’t too expensive. Once you managed to exit the shower stall, you dabbed your body dry, realising too late that you hadn’t brought your dress with you.

You wrapped the towel around you and opened the door, walking out once you were sure you wouldn’t drip over the floor.

“Hoseok?” You called.

Once you reached the living room, you found your dress, slipping it on and realising a second too late that your panties had disappeared.

“Giggles?” Hoseok appeared from the corridor, still shirtless, with a pair of bermuda on.

“Uhm… I should… Go, I guess?” You said, staring at the floor awkwardly. “I…”

Hoseok felt fear grip him once he thought this could be the last time he would see you.

“Wait. I—” He stretched his hand toward you. “I think— Uhm, underwear. Since I messed up yours.” He rubbed his nape. “I could wash your… panties and return them to you… Next Friday?” He looked up at you with a sheepish smile. “Over fried chicken and a chill dress code?”

Your cheeks shot up as you felt yourself smile. “So this is not a one time thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded, increasingly convinced.

You gingerly wore his boxers, noticing they were relatively comfortable on you, the cotton breezy and light, definitely soft over your abused skin. “Then I’ll return these on Friday. Over fried chicken and chill dress code. And maybe my peach frilly undies?”

“It’s a deal then, Giggles.”

“Deal.”

[sif-the-tsunami]

When you fall apart

But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart. 

Warnings: Yes, all of them. No smut all angst. and no promise of a happy ending. gallows humor, pregnancy loss, infidelity, self medication, spicy language. 

Summary: Sy is a cheating bastard and his wife has had enough. 

Pairing: Syverson, now a Colonel and his long suffering wife Josephine. (marriage is great guys, I promise.)

Just over 3,300 words.

This might not have been what you were expecting @oddsnendsfanfics​

My mother was a genuine Southern debutante, I grew up with pictures of her on the walls with her gorgeous smile and pretty pearl necklaces. Blonde hair and green eyed, she was the most beautiful little slice of American apple pie. Her daddy was the ‘Old Money’ type, and she was his finest accomplishment, she looked, behaved, spoke perfectly. Never once have I heard that woman raise her voice to a man. Hell, I never heard her pass gas in front of anyone for that matter. She is the picture of privilege, she went from her daddy’s house to her sorority house to her husband’s house. Some how, even though she smokes a pack a day, she still looks like she could pass for being forty instead of almost sixty. The last time we saw each other, my friends told me they didn’t know I had an older sister.

Mama married a gentleman who had the good sense to enlist in the military to help support the lifestyle she demanded he provide for her. He was never around much but he gave her a nice house with a lovely front yard, and two little perfect children. He was another one of the old Southern types, I don’t think he ever outright said “I love you, Josephine,” or “I’m proud of you, girl.” Looking back, I don’t think anyone ever did that for him either, so he probably didn’t know how to tell that to me or my brother Theodore. I’m almost sure that he and Mama loved each other once upon a time. Daddy worked hard, he broke his body serving his country, and when he couldn’t do that anymore he broke his own heart trying to please Mama. She must have been disappointed in how her life turned out. She might have had dreams once, when she was younger. I’m pretty sure the last of them were crushed when Daddy died balls deep in the woman who used to perm my Mama’s hair.

Mama played the grieving widow perfectly, not a single person knew that they had been miserable for years. She has worn black out in public ever since. I think the only thing that has really changed is that she has started day drinking now because she’s lonely. I don’t blame her really. She pushed us really hard to be as perfect outwardly as she is, so it is safe to say that she is really disappointed in your truly.

You might be wondering why this all matters, dear reader. However, I find that it is important for you to know this when I tell you I’m remembering this sitting here in the county sheriff’s office, waiting on my Mama to come pick me up because my probably soon to be ex-husband and I got into screaming match, and I may have drunkenly thrown my bottle of tequila at my probably soon to be ex-husband’s head. The details are a little fuzzy at the moment.

“Josephine Syverson, your mother is here to pick you up.” The Sheriff’s deputy starts in his slow drawl, “Now don’t you go pickin’ no fights with your husband. You’re lucky he ain’t pressing charges. Go sleep it off now, Ma’am. I’m sure you two kids will work it out.”

I wait until he can’t see my face to roll my eyes. And low and behold, there she is, my Mama drove four hours to come and pick me up. She’s in a black vintage driving coat, and her hair is covered by a dark gray satin bonnet. It doesn’t matter that it is half past midnight, she is still the beauty queen she has always been. I drank enough Jose Cuervo tonight that my head is still swimming, but I walk with the grace and dignity she taught me.

“Oh my Lord, Josie, what have you done to yourself?” She asks. “Thank you, officers, I’ll get her back on track.”

We make our way out to the car and Mama unlocks the door for me. I slide in and as soon as my butt hits the leather of her seats, I start crying all over again. She gives me the packet of tissues she keeps in her purse then hands a little make-up bag.

“So, what was is this time, Josie, I swear to Lord Jesus that if he laid a hand on you, your brother and I will bury him in the back yard.” She says turning on her Cadillac. “Get cleaned up, you are coming home with me. Maybe James will be smart enough to figure out where you went.”

“Mama?” Who was this woman? She never talks like this.

“Come on, your mama isn’t as dumb as she looks. Although he evidently is.” She lights up a cigarette and offers me one.

“I quit when we started trying… Even after… well… everything, I didn’t start back up.”

She pats my leg. I unzip the bag to find makeup wipes, mascara, face powder and some brick red lipstick. We might not get along all the time but she is a damn life saver. I have black rivers of my own eyeliner and mascara from earlier today streaking my face. I clean myself up as much as I can and then reapply some make-up. “There, now that you are looking better, tell me what happened...”

“Where do you want me to start? I swear this started after his first deployment.”

“Okay, Josie, start there.”

James Syverson is an Army Ranger, I met him after he finished officers school. Because of the nature of military special forces, they deploy more often than most jobs in the military. I understand that they are under a lot of pressure during these deployments and because he is in a position in leadership I opted to give him as much room as he needed. The other officer’s wives informed me that I needed to recalibrate my expectations of what could happen. They warned me that what happens on deployment shouldn’t be held against him when he gets home. And I didn’t, until a girl barely old enough to visit a bar came up to my door asking for my husband with a hand on her belly. She was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I just looked up Syverson in the phone book, and I didn’t know he was married.”

“Is it his?”

“Ma’am?”

“I can see that you are pregnant. Is. It. His?”

“I… I don’t know…” She said quietly.

“He is still over there. Do not come here again unless you are requesting a paternity test.” And I slammed the door shut. She did come back for the test results when he came home. Turned out that the baby wasn’t his. Small favors, right?

I never faulted the women who fell in love with him. I knew how special he could make them feel, its how I fell in love with him in the first place. After everything he’s put me through it almost doesn’t matter when it is just the two of us. All I have ever wanted was for it to be just the two of us again, but I don’t know think I can wait for him to retire.

“How many times do you think he’s done it?”

“At least once a deployment. The most recent one saw us at the movies last night. He was holding my hand like nothing had ever happened. When he was coming back from the concession stand, a little redhead stopped him and asked who he was here with. When she saw me, she looked like she saw a ghost. He came back up, handed me my pop, kissed my cheek and wrapped his arm around me. He said ‘I promise you, it is not what it looks like.’ but the bitch and her friend kept looking over their shoulders to peek at us. I saw her texting someone and then his phone vibrated, but he didn’t look at his phone until I wasn’t with him.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” She lit up again. “And you’ve just been sitting on this, the entire time?”

“Yeah, I learned from the best, Mama. I didn’t want to let you down. You taught me to never let them see me cry.”

“Oh, my baby girl...”

The rest of the night at the movies, I kept it to myself, I’ve had enough. The boiling, seething hatred I was feeling for both of them. I hate that they are always younger than me. I hate that it always makes me like I’m not enough. When I woke up this morning had a beer in the shower. I always save the last one for him, so taking the last one was a big “fuck you” to him. He tried to climb in with me until he saw me drinking in the shower.

“Woman, what are you doing?” He asked. Like he wasn’t the one who introduced me to the idea of a shower beer.

“I’m going to keep drinking ‘til my heart stops hurting, Sy. I don’t know what else to do. But whatever it is that we keep doing, I can’t keep it up anymore. Get out.” I have never denied him, no matter what he wanted. And up until this morning, I had been an amazing wife to him. In the fifteen years of marriage, he has only had to do his own laundry when he was away from home. And even then, he probable conned someone into doing it for him. I have lost almost every friend I have made from relocating so often. I have started and stopped working on my Master’s degree more times than I can count. And now here I am, mid-thirties with none of my own goals accomplished to show for all of the work I have done over the years. If I had opened my mouth, even once, about his indiscretions, he never would have made it to Colonel. Not once have I complained.

After I dried my body off, I walked into the kitchen, naked as the day I was born and grabbed my trusty kitchen sheers. I needed a change. He paused the game he was playing long enough to watch me walk past him with my scissors and the bottle of margaritas.

“Jo, it’s nine in the morning. Being a little dramatic, aren’t we? We going to church today?”

“Why, James? You’ve been yelling ‘Oh my god,’ between some whore’s legs fairly regularly, I’m sure he knows you are a big fan.” I walked away before he could reply, locking the door behind me to our bedroom. He pounded on the door a few times but got the hint that I was not in the mood to be talked to when I turned up Chris LeDoux as loud as I could play it. Then I went to go give myself bangs.

When the music fades, the house is silent. No video games, no football, nothing. I continue to drink from my bottle and the world becomes a little more tolerable. Now, I am not a heavy drinker. Sy teases me all the time about how cheap of a date I am.

“Josephine!” He snaps at me in his soldier voice and I drop the margaritas.

“Jesus fuck, Sy, why you gotta scare me like that.”

“Oh, you are the one getting scared, woman, I have never seen you act like this before.”

“That’s because you ain’t here every time one of your indiscretions comes knocking on the door of my house. Never once have I expected sainthood from you, James, I learned better after your first deployment,” he won’t look me in the eye, either he’s ashamed of what he’s been doing or he is going to punch a whole in the wall tonight. “You would have seen this if you had been around after my daddy died. This is your wife, Syverson, she goes a little crazy from time to time.

“You know how hard I tried to come home for that, that is not fair Josephine.”

“I’m sure you did try. I wish you would try a little harder when it comes to picking out these dumb sluts who think that you are just going to run away from home as soon as you come back from the sandbox. I have received notes on my car windshield telling me that you were going to leave me for them. How you loved them and you were just suffering with me. That I’m hateful, and spiteful, and they could treat you so much better then I ever could. What have you been telling these girls, James, for them to think I am some kind of monster? Haven’t I been a good wife to you? What did I do to you to make you hate me this much?”

“I had no idea that they were doing that. I don’t hate you, baby. You have been a better wife than I probably could have ever deserved. Is that what you want to hear? I know I’m a rotten bastard. How long have you been holding this in, Josie?” His face darkens, I can see all the rage boiling up in him too.

“Don’t you call me that name, you son of a bitch.” I spit at him.

“How long?”

“Since Cassandra came up holding her belly, waiting to tell you that she made you a daddy. Too bad it wasn’t the first time, or I actually might have been worried that you’d leave. I hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet before she tried to take you.” I snarled back at him. And he face drops. Twelve years ago, we tried. I was seven months pregnant when I lost our son. Sy’s squad was wiped out after a night of heavy combat. He barely made it out alive himself. I got a phone call about his injuries and I must have made a deal with the devil himself. I would put up with the womanizing, the long distance, the heartache, just please have him come up to me. I would give anything to save him, I had thought. An hour after I got the call that he had woken up and was safely on a ship in the Mediterranean sea, I started to go into early labor.

“Oh, fuck me. That long?” He whispers. He rubs his face, the stubble was getting long, unless he was out in the field, he kept himself within regulations. He reached out to hold me but I shrug off his touch. He walked away from me, thinking that maybe he might let me calm down and we would go back to being a picture perfect couple again. He could just do whatever he wanted and I will grin and bare it.

I cleaned up the mess I made then went back to the bedroom to put on something on me other than shame. We gave each other space until the evening came around. He came in to ask if I had any plans for dinner. Wrong question, buddy. I walked to the kitchen in my tight black yoga pants and a tank top, went to the liquor cabinet, grabbed my favorite bottle of tequila and took three long gulps.

“That’s my plan, worry about yourself.”

“You haven’t had any real food today, you need to eat something.”

“Eat my ass, Colonel.” With that he pins me to the wall, the room spins around me and I start thrashing against him. He’s got probably 100lbs on me and more combative training than I can remember, so as you can well imagine this is going super great for me. I stop long enough to see the tears forming in his eyes. “Was there ever anything special between us, did you keep any part of yourself just for me?”

“Josephine, you are the only woman I have ever loved. I never even implied that I had any feelings towards them. They knew from the beginning it was simply recreational. Jo, you know you are my best friend.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me? Why am I not enough, Sy? Why do they keep getting you at your best, and I have to put all of your broken pieces back together again when you finally do come home.” Remember every time he woke up screaming the names of his fallen friends. When we have to leave BBQ’s early on the 4th of July because the fireworks remind him of mortar shells.

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. It has never been anything other than stress relief with them.” The first tear rolls down his cheek. “I love you, Pussycat, now please lets get some food in you. Are you going to be good?”

“Haven’t I always been good. Been good, but not good enough.” I whine and slide down the wall once his hands are off of me. Good lord, where the hell is my dignity. 

He lets me go gently and leaves to make me a peanut butter sandwich. While his back is turned, I grab the bottle one more time and take another long swig. This is where the rest of my night is very fuzzy until I came to in the back of the squad car.

He evidently tried to take the bottle from me, I threw it at him, it went wide and smashed against the wall. He took me to the ground, just tried to keep me from hurting either of us and I screamed at him every vile thing I could think of until the sheriff showed up. They tried to take him in, seeing that I was a sobbing mess on the floor. I told them I tried to hurt him, so they handcuffed me and took me in. Before they drove off, James brought a sweater and my purse out for me. I watched a couple of nosy housewives standing at the end of their drive ways. I’m pretty sure I flipped them the bird and they looked at me with disgust.

Now I’m sitting here, in Mama’s Cadillac, licking my wounds.

“Why in the name of God have you not told me about any of this?” Mama asks, this is now her sixth cigarette. I think she’s trying not to turn the car around.

“I thought you would have told me to get over myself and save face.” I say as we pull to her house.

“No, baby girl, I wouldn’t have. No one, especially not my daughter, deserves to be treated like that. Ooo I never liked the boy. Your daddy used to say that cowboy was all hat and no cattle. Let’s get some sleep, Princess. We will go get your stuff in the morning.”

I make my way to my childhood bedroom and collapse down on the bed. Before I close my eyes for the night, I finally check my phone. He had been blowing up my text messages.

I realize that I have never apologized to you about my short comings. But I swear to you, I will get out of the army if you want me to. We can move anywhere you want to, we can start over, just the two of us. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry that you kept this all from me. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t love you. These where from six hours ago.

I don’t know when you will get your phone back, I love you. This was from before my mom collected me.

They told me you have been released from custody but didn’t say to who. Who ever picked you up asked them not to tell me. Are you safe?

I love you. Please. Let me know where you are, I’ll come get you. I hope that you are just ignoring me because you are asleep.

I reply to him with a simple Mama picked me up. Get some sleep. We will talk in the morning.

No ‘I love you’ from me tonight although it killed me not to tell him. Tomorrow, I will figure out if what we have can be saved. But that is tomorrow Josie’s problem.

[woodzwrites]

good to me | song mingi

► genre: enemies to lovers!au, high school!au; angst, fluff

► pairing: reader x mingi

► word count: 8.8k

► warnings: explicit language, underage drinking/alcohol

everyone has had their fair share of first times. but for you, this surely wasn’t your first time attempting to get half-wasted: drunk enough to have fun with your friends who aren’t as half as giddy and energized as they are during the school day, but to also be able to drive back home safely before midnight and fall sound asleep in your room as if nothing happened.  and it’s not your first time at mingi’s high-scale hilltop pad. everyone knows that he probably came from a line of old money, but he was never treated like the new kid. miraculously, he immediately fit in when he transferred to your high school in the first year.

you stood on the side of the ping pong table, which had turned into an impromptu beer pong table for the sake of mingi and his friends’ constant gaming bets on each other. your close friend was up against mingi, who was standing on a wooden stool as if he wasn’t already a tree himself. he just had to make sure that everyone knew that this was his house. “y/n! help me out here huh?” she smirks from cheek to cheek and raises her cup too high with a little too much power that a couple of drops of beer spill out.  “what am i gonna gain from this?” you shouted at her over the loud trap music. “a chaance!” she shouts even louder than you as she tilts off the side of the table, tipsy. she falls back onto the couch behind you. “jesus....” only she knew about your slight, perhaps very minor, attraction to mingi since... sadly, freshman year. it had gone on and off, but it got worse as you got closer and closer to his friend circle and he started to (at least) acknowledge your presence. you still felt like a nobody to a lot of people but tonight, you wanted mingi to remember your name in the worst way possible. “hey mingi!” you screamed as you raised a solo cup filled with the beer you were still iffy about. he laughs with that stupid smile he’s had for years and squints to see that your friend isn’t there anymore. “y/n, who you tryna fight?” he takes a step down from his stool as he continues laughing. “you, headass.” his friends around the table all boo in unison towards mingi at the outlash from a girl like you. “oh, MY bad. let me put a fight with you, and we’ll see.” “wanna bet?” mingi’s head freezes and turns at you as he realizes, even over the entire commotion of his party, that you stole his line. his iconic line. “you win, you leave. cause i know you wanna leave. you lose, you’re stuck at my house until the crack of dawn until you make this house crystal clean,” he smirks and takes a larger sip of his beer as he gains a little more confidence from talking big with you. he always has. “damn......” almost the entire group around him echoes. “deal.” you smile even brighter at him and toss the first ping pong ball without his cue and immediately make it in. after countless rounds and the commotion around the game room getting louder and rowdier, it’s finished when mingi tosses the last ping pong ball.  “KOBE!” splash. an instant win as the ball floats on top of the solo cup, ever so gently on the cheap store-bought beer. everyone around mingi starts crowding around him as if he’s made the nba playoffs of the season, and you flip him off. your friends all laugh it off as you take your last shot of beer, and of course, you join in on the laughter. you text your mom that your friend is taking you and the “girls” out for boba, and that you’ll be home by midnight. yes, you were expected to be home by 10 because you sleep extremely early for a high school upperclassman. instead, you’re stuck with mingi and his dog cleaning up his house—which seems to have no end to it, from what you’ve been sweeping after for almost 30 minutes now—and being the slight gentleman he can at least be, he offers to take you home. “no, it’s fine,” you say from across the humongous kitchen with a swiffer in your hand. “my car’s parked down the street. i’m sober now, so i can drive.” “what, did you sneak out here?” mingi looks up with a questioning look. “maybe, maybe not,” you shrug and continue sweeping. “i didn’t expect the party to end that early,” he sighs and takes a nice, cold glass of water from his (take this) third samsung fridge in the house.  “maybe because it’s the middle of summer and people are actually tired? the best parts of summer are when it starts and ends. in the middle, you’re kinda scraping to make plans and do something,” you say from experience.  “damn facts,” he laughs and places his elbows on the side of the acrylic island as he gazes at you. you pretend not to notice, but walk farther away from the kitchen. “i’m gonna turn on some music, it’s too quiet.” “aren’t you already sick of being at your own party with the music ten times louder than it should be?” you turn around before you can maneuver away from the living space. “what? can’t hear you!” mingi had already planted his body into the silky soft couch by the fireplace as the spotify sound rang through the room.  you dropped the swiffer and called it a night. whatever, his cleaning ladies would come over whenever he would need them. before you could put on your lanyard attached with your car keys, mingi called you. “yo wait.” you didn’t look back. “you never look like you’re having fun at my parties. these are so exhausting for me to try and sneak all of these when my parents are out!” mingi whines. you don’t feel like replying so you flip him off again, signaling to him that every time you get caught up in his summer parties, you always end the night feeling ticked off.  “just dance a little.” you roll your eyes at him. “you’re literally one of the best dancers at school, i’ve never seen you dance normally at a party.” the compliment he sneaks in between the conversation makes the heat rise up to your cheeks a little, but somehow, you still find yourself walking back to the living room. “cause maybe,” you step harshly. “i don’t. want to.” “tuff,” he stands up and changes the song to goldlink crew. “how the hell do you want me to dance to this, this is like our chill song.” “damn you listen to my playlists?” you immediately object. “what? no- no, no. i mean like, everyone knows this song but i’m not gonna dance to it.” little did he know that you always listened to his playlists. you guys had similar music taste but you never fully admitted it to him and always said to people that you were open to all genres. in complete and terrible pitch, mingi throws himself around the countertop to face you. “she see money all around me,  i look like i’m the man” you roll your eyes at how obnoxious he’s being because it feels as if the party never ended. and yet somehow, you end up cracking up at him as he continuously becomes more and more drunk as the song continues. you tiredly give into singing along. “you came out of hiding, girl don’t act like i’m your man” you point at each other as mingi uses the crushed red solo cups left on the floor and you use the beer cans accidentally thrown into the sink as mics. now you know he’s completely drunk when he decides to stand on the counter top, his 6’1 looking ass nearly touching the ceiling. you try to pull him off by tugging on his arm, but end up losing balance yourself. you almost fall back when mingi comes down in an instant and catches you before you hit your head on the fridge as crew still plays in the background. you’re in this position for what feels like forever, but what hurts more is the fact that mingi has never looked at you like this for more than 3 seconds. you’ve been nothing but an acquaintance to him, maybe even a vision. barely a friend until tonight. from the constant bickering in your friend group, to the multiple plans that both of you have flaked on for being “busy,” many of your friends thought you guys genuinely hated each other. truth is, it’s just that you’ve never had these moments like these with him. the feeling of him getting comfortable with you made you uneasy, but to him, it doesn’t feel foreign.  but you thought, hey, seize the moment before the moment seizes you. and everything after that happens in a blur. you grab his wrist to pull him closer and immediately crash into him, eyes already closed. it doesn’t feel foreign at all. it’s almost as if this has already happened in a past life, a deja vu with the same feelings. mingi doesn’t believe what’s happening. the girl he’s always thought of as one of the boys is kissing him right now as if nothing else mattered. and it wasn’t just a normal kiss. it felt like the climax of a kdrama, when the main lead couple finally confesses to one another. a person in the couple is shocked and keeps their eyes open as the kiss unravels, until they finally melt. but mingi didn’t fall so easily. his eyes were indeed open, but the way your hand effortlessly grabbed and fit into his, and the way that everything that just happened in the past 5 minutes seems rehearsed is insane. you’re insane. you know that this doing this would immediately fuck up any kind of friendship or relationship you guys had going on, but you knew that this was the only way to have mingi remember you that summer once and for all.  you pull away from the kiss and can barely look him in the eye. he’s looking at you even deeper now, almost as if they’re screaming at you “what the hell just happened.” you brush off his wrist and remind yourself where you’re supposed to be going. fuck, it was probably already midnight.  “i.. i. i’m going now,” you shape your left hand like the figure of a prospector’s hand pointing towards a river full of gold.  “u-uh. yeah.” “going.” you put on your sneakers and throw around your keys, feeling more conscious than ever now. “b-bye,” you wave and bow to mingi besides the fact that him and you only have a small age difference. “yyeah. bye.” he waves with no emotion. and the first thing mingi does when you close the front door is touch his lips with his fingers to feel that same weird, burning feeling. and though he doesn’t put his hands up against his chest, he can hear his heartbeat beating so loudly and fast in his ears. and the first world that he can spew is: “fuck.” — “you’re off.” “off? who’s off?” mingi smiles at his childhood friend, hongjoong. out of the entire friend group, hongjoong had been the one who had matured greatly and could easily tell whenever his hyungs didn’t feel like themselves. their crazy group has been through a lot, and hongjoong knows he’s spent his high school days well. “i don’t know man, who do YOU think?” he stuffs a french fry in his mouth as mingi, hongjoong, yunho, and wooyoung huddle around a carls jr. table after a summer class lecture. yunho, being the scholar he is, recommended all of his friends to take the early summer classes since they had more space and it generally felt better. but everyone knew he used that as an excuse to sleep in for the rest of the day until he would get wasted at mingi’s house again. “you’re not saying much,” wooyoung shakes his head. “yeah... cause i’m hungry, i don’t know. today’s lecture was boring,” you try to change the topic. “this is the first lecture this summer that you didn’t manage to fall asleep in the first five minutes of. something on your mind, man?” yunho noticed. “no. you guys are so dramatic!” “and this is how he changes the subject. go ahead mingi, tell them you’re having another party tonight for pete’s sake,” hongjoong remarks. “i’m not having a party tonight.” “WHAT?” all the guys go googly-eyed towards mingi. “wh.. why? my dad is coming home tonight,” mingi insists. “you said BOTH your parents were gonna be out all week. yeah, something’s definitely up,” wooyoung immediately directs his attention to his phone to look up nearby cafes because he couldn’t stand eating this cheap fast food anymore. “you stopped texting me at like 1. AND you were drunk, so how did you knock out so easily? you weren’t even on league...” yunho tries to recall all the little details he knew from last night. “i don’t know. it’s kinda foggy but after the party, i remember drinking a little more and then knocking out on my bed.” “that’s... that’s never happened. ever,” wooyoung almost laughs at the statement. silence fills up space on the fast food joint’s table until hongjoong looks up from his phone after scrolling a good amount on instagram. “oh shit. did you...?” “did i...?” yunho catches onto what hongjoong is suggesting immediately. “bro. y/n.” “well like, no. kinda yes but no.” mingi sighs and knows he’s gonna immediately get grilled for this. he doesn’t worry too much, though, he knows that you have probably told at least 5 of your close friends at this point. “when we were cleaning because of that bet, i accidentally tripped, she caught me, and we kissed,” mingi said it so effortlessly, the fact that he said it with no worry in his tone scared the guys even more. “DUDE!!!!!!” chaos amongst almost-grown men in a fast food joint after your third lecture of the month feels unsettling. it feels like he’s in a mirage. ”what the hell are you gonna do now? er i don’t know, maybe cause you have someone named yerin on your dick right now?” yunho’s eyes dilated at the way he said yerin. if yerin ever knew... “apologize or something. we were both drunk, so we just gotta acknowledge that whatever happened in the past is already over.” and you’ve had your fair share of meltdowns. this time around, you haven’t left the house since the party and you still haven’t told your closest friends. and so what? you were busy with summer classes and you didn’t feel the need to hang out or text them. you distracted yourself as much as you could at home, and every time you would have go on campus, you ignored him. you knew damn well that he was there living his best life acting like the kiss probably never happened. because of her. because of the stunning, mysterious yerin.  yerin, in short, could probably be the love of mingi’s life. when you first barely befriended him, you only heard and saw bits and pieces of conversation of how much he loved her and how she didn’t reciprocate that love back. and that’s got you thinking. would mingi ever tell yerin about this? it seemed like they “like” each other, but you couldn’t imagine all the tea she would be able to stir up if she ever found out mingi kissed you when first of all, she wasn’t even officially dating mingi. mingi would always hold her hand and look at her like a little puppy, but it was almost as if she was slightly embarrassed by him. you’ve seen the pictures and videos they’ve had together, but it seems like there always had to be a friend there too. it had never been just the two of them.  the most unsettling part of their so-called relationship is that every time a dance would come around, yerin had to confirm that they were going out as friends. even when mingi kissed her multiple times when asking her out to prom. confusing, isn’t it? so you’ve been doing well by dwelling at home and attempting to distract yourself in all ways possible and going out with family more. until he texts you. mingi: hey mingi: you free rn? we should talk y/n: uh why mingi: typing... mingi: wdym why mingi: you good mingi: i haven’t seen you at class for a while y/n: yeah y/n: mingi just get straight to the point and don’t waste my time “yikes, she’s fierce. this the same y/n who was the big nerd in first year?” yunho sat next to mingi as he sent these texts as he was the one who convinced him to send them. mingi: have you told anyone about ... y/n: no y/n: i’m being fr mingi cringed before he could finish his thought. “dude, why do i have to say this!” mingi groans as his head falls back on his sofa. “because your ass won’t stop thinking about it. so it’s better if she just lets go of everything right now, and it’ll be good on both of your sides. don’t you have a date with yerin tonight?” yunho asks. “no, she cancelled. she keeps cancelling but she still nods and says hi to me on campus,” mingi wonders. mingi: why did you mingi: er do it y/n: typing... y/n: cause i was drunk headass y/n: i have pretty vague memory past that party but i do remember having to stay longer at your house y/n: i knocked out p badly.. i think i slept in my clothes you held your knees so tightly in bed and bit your fingernails after making up that lame excuse. you were completely sober when that happened, so you’re just gonna act like you knew nothing. y/n: we didn’t...? mingi: oh god nonono “DUDE WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING IT!” yunho groans louder. “because she genuinely doesn’t remember! if she doesn’t remember, it never happened,” mingi justifies his awkward texting. “or maybe, she’s just saying that because she doesn’t wanna get into the talk about yerin. or worse, get this. her feelings for you.” mingi is on the verge of screaming and losing his mind. “since when has she liked me, jesus christ!” “ooo...........” yunho whistles and turns his eyes into the other direction. it was his way of showing through actions to mingi “you absolute complete moron.” mingi: so you good then?  mingi: you’re not sick or anything from my party right? y/n: nope y/n: nice talk mingi: uh yeah mingi: nice and that was the last message. “god, that was so exhausting,” you fall back onto your bed before you can scream even louder into your pillow. “dude, you’re fucked,” yunho smirks. “but hey, no date tonight? looks like we’re going to wooyoung’s pad tonight.” he stands up and pulls mingi up from the sofa. “wooyoung? what, are we watching movies tonight?” “no, party tonight. have you completely lost your sense of time?”  “oh,” mingi voluntarily nods. he kind of forgot wooyoung still held parties during the summer, but he was more focused at the fact that it’s almost been a week since the kiss. and going to this party became one of the worst decisions if not his life, then this summer. ��truth or dare, mingi!” hongjoong, slightly tipsy, shouts amongst the crowd in the outside pool area. “aight, truth,” he raises his cup towards hongjoong. “do you think yerin really fucks with you in that kind of way?” hongjoong laughs and his friends around him echo that same laugh. mingi knows hongjoong wouldn’t pull those type of questions in front of his friends, but it geniunely made him think a little bit.  yerin cancelled almost every date this summer, and many of them are without excuses. mingi, being the gentleman he is, lets her and doesn’t ask why. but now, it’s reaching july, and the last time mingi talked to her one-on-one was at an awkward encounter at hongjoong’s place with all of her girl friends.  “i mean, yeah, why wouldn’t she?” mingi shrugs and smiles with the side of his mouth.  and that question lingered until later that night. mingi has been childhood friends with wooyoung. though they weren’t the closest of the bunch, their families were friends and they always ended up going on vacations together. it wasn’t until high school when wooyoung finally moved to mingi’s school and he immediately fit into his friend group as if he was the missing puzzle piece. he was sure the crowd-pleaser, but mingi knew he was an ambivert, and enjoyed a lot of his time alone, reading a book too. maybe that was why mingi thought he was so eccentric back when they were kids.  mingi was exhausted, but it was merely eleven. maybe thursday wasn’t his best party day? mingi: yo woo i’m coming up to your room mingi: i’m gonna play smash on your switch ok he ran upstairs and made a beeline to wooyoung’s room, clearly identified with a poster of the smiths taped up on the front of the white door. he rattled the doorknob and realized it was locked. “silly wooyoung,” mingi knew the trick since they were little. he shook the knob three times and then turned the knob counterclockwise completely until he heard some sort of cracking noise. what he didn’t expect to hear was a moan coming from inside the room. and he doesn’t wanna believe what he sees when he opens the door. “m-mingi.” wooyoung looks up from the bed with disgruntled hair.  and there lays yerin, literally fucking him on the bed mingi and wooyoung grew up on. “what the fuck.” “it’s not what it looks like.” “yeah, i’m pretty damn sure it’s not what it looks like when both of you look like you’ve been fucking each other for the past hour.” yerin and wooyoung look at each other after realizing that he’s right.  “min-“ wooyoung calls him louder this time. “fuck off.” mingi storms out of the house and goes out the back way so no one can see him leave. he’s always gone this way when he and wooyoung would go on late night skating trips back in middle school, but never in his life would he expect yerin and him together in that situation. angrily, he holds his driving wheel even harder with his fists hardening with each turn. before he gets home, he decides to drive around town, maybe grab a cup of boba before he heads home. anything to distract himself. he heads to the asian strip mall a couple miles away from his neighborhood and parks upfront to the boba shop. and there, he sees you. he doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised, but it was extremely late and he wanted to ask why you were working this late during the summer. you notice him. and you notice how much longer his face had become since the last time you saw him. something must have happened. you knew that he didn’t even like boba that much! why was he here? “oh, hi mingi,” you gather the last ounce of respect you have for him and wave to him as if everything’s splendid. “hey y/n. could i just, uh, get a wintermelon milk tea. with boba.” “y-yeah. what’s good man? you never come here,” you refuse to make eye contact with him.  “yeah uh. rough night. why do you work here?” “summer job. late-night shifts pay more so i thought, hey, why not?” you smile. he hated the fact that you smiled like nothing was wrong all the time. except all the times you’ve smiled like that, there was always something wrong.  “can... c-can we talk? are you free?” mingi hands you his money. “oh! uh.. yeah, we can. i can’t take breaks during night shifts but whatever. there’s like 2 dudes in the back, we’ll be fine,” you grin. he never noticed how free-spirited you were until now, and it kinda makes sense from the way that you hated parties but you would much rather be down for cliff diving or late night drives to the city. “so uh, what’s good?” you try to make the atmosphere not awkward. especially the fact that you were still in your boba shop uniform and your hair was completely down, a violation if your boss ever caught you. “uh... god how do i even say this.” “no, take your time,” you smile. you were incredibly nervous. there’s no doubt he was gonna talk about the kiss again. why else would he look so down? “i kinda uh. caught wooyoung and yerin fucking in his bedroom during his party tonight.” fuck.  “oh, shit...” “god, this doesn’t even feel right, i feel sick.” “how’d you even end up there?” “i texted wooyoung that i was gonna go play smash in his room during the party.” “and instead, you ending up seeing him literally smashing your girlfriend.” “oh my god, if you put it that way,” mingi wanted to scream. you were laughing so hard and he was wondering how you could take situations like these so not seriously.  “yeah uh... i don’t even know what to say about this. my childhood friend and the girl i was in love with... literally hooking up.” “was?” “i hate to say this, but i think i’m falling out of love with yerin.” “that’s crazy. it can’t just be because of this,” and you’re hoping he still forgot the kiss. “yeah, you’re right. she’s been canceling every date, literally acting all embarrassed whenever i come hang out with her and her friends, and she just doesn’t feel the same.” “as in?” you hope that they hadn’t hooked up before. you knew mingi had strict parents from whenever you came over and did projects with him, and it probably took his parents a while to adjust to the fact that he was dating her in the first place. “i think i was just so over my head back then and i kept thinking that she was the one even though she didn’t do anything to me. hasn’t mina already told you this?” he seemed slightly annoyed that he has to say this to you, but you were more. “mina doesn’t have to tell me everything. i can get to know a person however way i want them to. but i guess we’re doing this in a boba shop,” you laugh it off. mingi liked that about you. you didn’t need anyone to tell you what to do and you gave zero fucks. “hey, come with me,” you guide your hands to the fire exit. “what?” “don’t ask. just come.“ you ran through the fire exit door (which surprisingly didn’t beep this time) and ran up the stairs, causing mingi to run up against you at the same pace.  “and welcome to my secret haven.” it was the roof of the three-story strip mall and you could nearly see the entire city from here.  “god whatever, i’m over this,” you take off your brown visor and apron with the boba shop’s logos on it and threw it into the direction of your backpack, which was already up on the roof. he somehow found it 10 times more attractive when you fixed your hair and laughed over your stupid boba shop uniform.  “i go up here almost every night when i get breaks to myself, and i don’t really talk to myself, but no one can hear you up here. so i SHOUT LIKE THIS!” mingi’s startled and you laugh even harder. “WHY LIKE THIS?” “BECAUSE I CAN TELL PEOPLE TO FUCK OFF AND THEY WON’T KNOW!” then mingi starts cracking up and you see that classic eye smile. if only he knew how hard your heart was beating. she was living her kdrama cliche right now. the dude that she’s given up on is suddenly giving interest to her and it feels so out of place. “whenever i got fed up at home with my parents, i would go to work then come up here. i would just scream these long strings of curse words until i got exhausted.” “it’s really pretty up here though,” he looks around the entire rooftop, then back to you.  “yeah... a lot of my emotions were just spilled out here and i’m glad they did.” “what about the night i kissed you?” and there it was. “the night i- what?” “don’t lie to me, y/n. i know you weren’t drunk.” mingi didn’t look at you. it was silent for a moment. “i lied because i was so fed up over the fact that i probably made you so uncomfortable...” your voice faded into the night air.  “why?” “because you were literally dating the love of your life, what the hell was i supposed to say to justify an entire kiss?” mingi almost laughs. “can’t wait to hear what yerin has to say about her and wooyoung hooking up. she would fuck anything with a pulse except me.” “listen, i’m sorry if i kind of left you hanging. we don’t even talk much, so it felt so out of place after that.” “we used to. so let’s make that change,” mingi suggested. “dude, if you want her to feel ok after what just happened, treat her well. take her to the mall or something and just make her feel like a good friend. she’s not your good old mina, but she’s done something that i know it would take a long time for her to forget. make her forget,” yunho tells mingi after he counsels him about the kiss. “what?” “we should just... talk more. maybe it wouldn’t have felt so weird and out of place if we actually talked. i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable before,” mingi adds on to his long overdue apology. “no.. no it’s fine. don’t apologize,” you wave him off. “so we’re starting fresh? something like that?” “starting fresh.” you reach your hand out to signal him to shake hands with you, and he gives you a big, genuine smile. — two weeks later “oh my god, you’re joking.” “i’m not, look at this order!” a postmates order pops up on the kitchen ipad as you come running in. 20 whole orders of boba that have to be done by 8 pm. “an entire fucking fraternity just pulled up,” mingi laughs. “how are we gonna finish this?” you read over the entire order just to completely sure that there are twenty, two zero, orders of boba. “leave the newbies to do it and we run back up?” mingi smirks. you hate him. “mingi, you’re literally a newbie.” he shrugs and laughs as he rings up his last order of the night, that is, if he doesn’t take care of that fraternity order. “i’m just saying...” mingi opens up one of the cabinets atop the kitchen exit with his backpack and his nintendo switch peeking out of it. you grunt, but you seriously want to leave too.  “hey newbies?” two sophomores in high school turn around from behind the tea jugs.  “do you mind if we take our break for a little bit? it’s been a while. one of you take the cashier and one of you take care of the online orders. is that alright?” “yes miss!” you snicker at the “miss”. “no need for formalities. just call me y/n,” you grin and flip your hair back unintentionally as you take off your uniform visor. so fucking flawless. mingi thought to himself as he stared at you from the door. why were you so good at everything? and why were you so incredibly nice to everyone? except him, of course. it had been a week since mingi had called it off with yerin. it wasn’t really official, it was more like a breakup text that wasn’t really a breakup. it was essentially yunho and hongjoong giving emotional support to mingi as he wrote lame replies to explain to yerin that he wasn’t in love with her. it took a lot of manpower, but the job was done. what job wasn’t done was you working at your part time job at the boba shop. and what you didn’t expect was a day after being exposed by mingi about the kiss, the man himself walking in with a resume in his hand once he was accepted, he wanted to have as many shifts with you as possible even though you hadn’t been working there for long so you weren’t considered a senior. you also wondered why he wanted to have a summer job, out of all things, to spend one of his last summers as a teenager.  “imagine this. huge letters on a newspaper. local asian fuckboy works at boba shop instead of having parties at his parents’ rich place because quote, he’s tired of it,” you sit back on the beach chairs you two set up on the roof a couple weeks ago. “i am! why don’t you believe me?” “you’re not me, mingi. you’re party animal mingi, the cool basketball player every girl looks up to both figuratively and literally because you’re a living tree.” “i mean... so?? it’s nice to have a break since i’m done with my exams and i can get extra money. and free boba, of course,” he still felt kind of flattered after you said every girl looked up to him. it was a stretch. “imagine needing extra money when your parents already have that much money...” you sighed. he threw a piece of popcorn chicken at you. “shh. watch the movie.” you guys decided on “the interview” tonight. every night shift, you guys alternate on choosing movies on netflix to watch on your laptop up on the roof. things have changed for the better or worse. it’s only been a couple of weeks into summer now, and your life has been surrounded by mingi. same goes for mingi. all his parties have been cut down to night shifts with you, shopping for his dog and his own wardrobe with his personal stylist (you), and even driving to summer classes with you. just when you thought you could finally get rid of him, he becomes your honorary annoying best friend. though yunho and hongjoong were rooting him on, they didn’t expect him to be so involved in it. when he forcibly apologized to wooyoung and he did the same, things with yerin were still uncomfortable. to make things easier, mingi announced to everyone that he would never date her ever again. and although wooyoung doesn’t want to lose mingi’s trust, he knows. mingi knows that they’ve been secretly going on dates ever since the apology and not much as changed. so much for a girl and his childhood best friend, huh? mingi meanders over to check his phone and sees that some of his group chats have blown up. “yo, fourth of july is tomorrow. i think wooyoung wants a party,” mingi nudges. “sure. i mean, not at his house. ptsd for you,” and then mingi remembers the situation all over again. “god, yeah. my place then?” “sure. haven’t been there in a while,” you laugh. the shift ends in less than 30 minutes and the two of you have missed nearly the entire shift. you take the back entrance and wave him goodbye as he’s assigned to lock up for the night. you drive back to your house to see your older brother already asleep, the rest of your parents out of the house to visit family up in the city. the lame excuse of “college preparations” was how you escaped a week-long trip upstate to do nothing but babysit your cousins. mina 🤢 is calling... you take a beeline to the almost entirely dark living room and fall on the couch to pick up your friend’s call. mina? Y/N WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ? I’VE BEEN CALLING YOU ALL NIGHT what? girl i- you open up your phone app during the call to see 8 missed calls from the devil herself, mina. oh shiiit. sorry dude, i was at work. work? this late? i thought the shop closed at 10. nope. closes at 12, mingi locked up for me so i’m home a little earlier. well.  mina seemed fazed by you and mingi and more concerned about her “issues.” anyways, i was TRYING to call you because i had a little emergency. you worried a little bit since she had been in quite a serious of a relationship with her boyfriend. oh, what’s wrong? well nothing’s wrong. actually, i know this is something you’ve wanted to do for a while since we’ve made our freshman bucket lists. remember that? you laugh softly into the phone and nod, forgetting that mina can’t see you. anyways, my boyfriend wanted to take me down on the coast highway after the 4th of july party that wooyoung? i think, is holding. you know him right? man, do you. we wanted to watch the sunrise together and bring a couple of friends. mina, that sounds fun. you’re right it’s been on my bucket list for a while. great! oh, not great. right. your ass took 70 years to reply so my boyfriend already left town and his sister doesn’t want to take us. no hard feelings of course, but it’s kinda awkward when this was meant to be a romantic thing and with you of course. oh. mina! why’d you tell me?? i don’t know, maybe we should keep this on a tab. don’t forget about it, and you should definitely have someone to go with next time besides me, if you know what i mean. i don’t, mina. i wanna go with you! these were my teenage plans with you back then. sis, you might wanna check your notes. you got up and turned on the kitchen lights — not the living room lights because they were way too bright and you were planning to knock out on the couch immediately after this call — to open up your notes and read better. you scrolled through the long checklist that had been updated constantly throughout your high school years, to find “drive up the highway and watch the sunrise with my s/o <3” in bright orange text, somewhere embedded in the even longer bucket list.  oh god. how do you even remember me writing this? you’ve been wanting this ever since you’ve been wanting a solid relationship with someone. and when you did have a boyfriend, this never worked out so... mina! sorry sorry! i’m just saying... keep it in mind. mina, i’d still love to take you tomorrow after the party because yes i’m dying to see this sunrise but. you have someone, i don’t. we’ll save this one for next summer, ok? before you can let mina finish, you say goodnight. wait, y/n! you cut her off and turn off your phone.  sweet dreams, you whisper to yourself as you delve deeper into your couch. then the annoying marimba ringtone of your generic iphone rings once again. mina- mingee the frog is calling... mingi? yo, can you take the shop keys for tonight? i feel like i’m gonna misplace this with the party being tomorrow. oh, oh yeah, sure.  you straighten yourself up and (finally) turn on the living room lights. you can come over now, i’ll be at the door.  actually, i’m already in front. WHAT? you run to your front door to see mingi in (not but maybe) your favorite black hoodie and keys in his right hand in front of. no. you unlock the door and jog out in the freezing midnight mist. “SONG MINGI! the ROVER?” “what’d you think, huh? thought it would be good revenge against wooyoung. gotta take her for a ride one of these days before i leave,” he laughs. mingi spins the lanyard of keys in his fist in resemblance to a teenage girl who just got her license and you immediately recognize that he’s only carrying wooyoung’s lanyard and not the lanyard with the shop keys. “where are the shop keys?” you tilt your head.  “gave them to the sophomore who took care of the frat orders. now, the range rover. isn’t she a beaut,” he steps away from the huge car and shows it off like a golden trophy. you facepalm and know that he only brought you out of your house to show you that he had balls to steal from his own (also rich) cousin. “ok and... what about it? it’s cold mingi, go home,” you yawned and waved him off even though you weren’t that tired. you exaggerated because you just wanted to be in the safety and comfort of your own home. “come with me.” “what?” you turned around. “come with me. i’m still super awake because i put like, 4 shots of monster in that last cup of boba i had,” mingi points to the empty boba cup in the white range rover’s cupholders. “mingi, very funny. now drive yourself back to wooyoung’s house before he beats your ass and go to sleep. you have a party to plan tomorrow, don’t you?” “i don’t plan parties, babe, i just let them happen,” your heart skips over the slight pet name mention. you don’t wanna reply and hope your speed walk back to your door will make him go away. “oh and... your bluetooth is still connected to wooyoung’s car from last time he gave you a ride. not sure when.” “oh, sorry. disconnect me, would you? good night, mingi,” you bow and wrap your hands around the silver knob of your door. “i might have heard you and mina talking.” you stop.   “and... i might have heard about you wanting to watch the sunrise. with someone. preferably someone who could drive you up there who isn’t mina or her boyfriend.” you want to smile, but also kind of scared that he heard everything you said to mina. you still don’t look back at mingi. “so here i am. making an excuse to be at your house at 1 am to drive you to the beach until sunrise using wooyoung’s car, in which i’m gonna get killed for anyways.” “mingi, just go home.” your sudden sternness as you look into his eyes comes out of nowhere, maybe out of anger. held back feelings. it comes off as rude. “see you at the party tomorrow,” you finally step into the house with the door unlocked. “i’ll let you listen to my playlists because i know you secretly like them. i’ll let you wear my hoodie. i’ll let you lie down next to me watching the stars because i don’t wanna be anywhere else when i’m near you.” you close the door. “song mingi, is this how you asked out yerin? am i just your emotional fill-in for yerin?” the way you said his full name shocked him. you’ve called him everything for the past month except his full name. but everything he just said about you made your heart race faster than it did in years. the atmosphere was stiff despite the sudden one-sided confession. “i-“ “i’m kidding with you, jesus christ, kid. you should have seen the look on your face. and thank you, i’ll be taking your hoodie, it’s getting cold,” you lock the door behind you and run up to mingi. mingi’s left breathless. y/n is nothing but trouble for him. you run into the shotgun seat and grabs the black screen printed hoodie on the seat. it’s from a j cole concert he went a couple years back and it still smells like good old mingi. you don’t want to say it, but you want to keep it forever. you also don’t wanna say much in general, because mingi may or may have not just confessed to you. “sunrise is at 5 am. you ready?” he jumps into the driver's seat with nothing but a smile on his face as he sees you already in his hoodie. “born ready.” he starts the car and backs up from your driveaway, and puts his arm on the back of your head cushion to see behind him.  “oh-“ and your horny ass thought he was about to pull you in for a kiss because of the vicinity his body was to you. “what?” he turns around, knowing exactly what he just did and smirks at your flustered face.  “nothing. just hope my sister doesn’t kick me out for coming back at home at literally 7 am.” “don’t worry, just sleep over at my house after and say you accidentally knocked out after work,” he shrugs as he leaves your neighborhood and enters the junction into the larger highway towards the city. “i feel like she already heard me coming home...” “so? i’m sure she wouldn’t mind you coming home from a guy as good looking as me,” you wanted to throw up but still had the urge to keep looking at the way he drove the range rover like a master. this was only his second time driving it, but you didn’t need to know. you spent the rest of the half hour drive listening to his night playlists (undoubtedly some of the best songs that you both know and like) and stop by a 7/11 and a couple of gas stations for some snacks and soda to take to the beach. by the time you two reach the coastal highway, it’s almost 3 am (oddly) and the highways are almost completely empty.  when mingi sees you rapping along and holding his hoodie tighter, he wants to say something but he can’t. it’s the wrong timing. he’ll have to wait just a little, but he hopes you still want to return the half-lived confession. “couple more hours. what are we gonna do?” mingi asks over the music.  “i don’t know. talk. walk around the coastline. push you into the water.” “if you do, i’m gonna make sure you do bathroom duty next shift,” mingi threatens with zero intention because he knows he really wouldn’t. the kindness he felt towards you had also occurred out of nowhere and it felt way too foreign. “i’ve never done this before so... enlighten me, lover boy.” “who said i’ve done this? only i would take your lanky ass to the beach at 3 am because, wait-“ he rolls down the windows and turns down the music. “smell the air.” you both take deep breaths in of the cold, salty air and grin. you’re so grateful to be alive right now. mingi turns and stops by the side of the cove to drive down to an empty parking lot. the beach is closed so mingi will manage to park in front of the huge beach mansions on the side of the streets. rich people won’t care about another rich person trying to park in front of their house now, will they? it’s almost 4 and it’s beyond freezing now. as you both exit the rover, mingi grabs his keys but notices you slowly walking out of the car without saying anything. “still cold?” “... uh... just a little bit,” you say slowly, hoping that mingi won’t even be able to comprehend you. he walks to the back of the car and opens the trunk with a button on his keys. there inside the trunk is a stack of blankets, food from the convenience stores, and his backpack. on top of the blanket stack is your favorite blanket that you left on the boba shop roof since it was your favorite. “song mingi. have you been planning this ahead of time?” you laugh at the sight. he rolls his eyes cutely and shrugs while mouthing i dunno.  you walked down the side of the street while still looking at him. he could feel your gaze as you walk down towards the beach, but at this point, both of you were too nervous to say anything. you find a spot mid-way to the coast and the fencing off the cliff of the beach and set down all your stuff. it was nearing 5 am and you noticed the sky getting lighter. you were also extremely exhausted, but you let it pass. as you yawned and put down all the blankets, your first move was to lay down and close your eyes.  “hey don’t sleep yet!” mingi threw a pillow at your head.  “i’m tired as fuck, leave me alone,” you groaned as you pulled his hoodie tighter and turned your body to the side. mingi sat down and made the area around you comfier, then pulled out another blanket to put around himself.  he checked his phone for the time, then looked towards the horizon. “ya... ya! it’s almost sunrise!” you were still facing the other way. “oh my god...” he said in the worst accent possible as he tried pushing you off the blanket. “y/n!” at this point, you knew you were just teasing him. but instead, he pulled your arm closest to him, hoisting you up, but all too fast that your entire body was within 1 cm of his, too close for comfort. “u-uh, i,” you said as his face was a little too close to yours, all while you attempted to look away at the sun that was beginning to rise up the horizon. mingi knew it was now or never. and he wasn’t gonna let you have the chance of initiating it again. “y/n.” you looked back at him dumbfoundedly. he had been staring at you this entire time, right until he pulled the side of your face closer and crashed.  his lips meeting yours wasn’t foreign at all. despite the spontaneity of the last instance, both of you still remembered the taste of it. and both of you secretly wanted it again, so badly.  you were still shocked at how fast he managed to do that, but you regathered your senses and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.  shocked at the movement, mingi pulled away from the kiss and looked at you. “wait wait wait, hold on. do you even..?” your arms still hung around his neck as you gazed at him. “yes. a lot. for a long time. having to act like i didn’t care about you for the longest time was so exhausting. glad we’re on the same page now,” you winked and smiled. “oh my god,” he gazed at you with all the euphoria in his chest. how were you so perfect? and how was he so oblivious to how perfect you were for him this entire time? this time, he couldn’t hold back. he pulled you in even closer by holding your hoodie ties and deepened the kiss from last time. you closed your eyes immediately, and held one of your hands on his neck. his chest was bursting and although he couldn’t feel it, both of your hearts were beating erratically. you still couldn’t believe that the song mingi, the boy who you crushed on from the opposite side of your math class-then-turned somewhat enemies, is the reason for your happiness right now. mingi grabbed your hand and tightened it as he felt the cold within your palm. he pulled away again, but just to look at you and smile. he then turned towards the sunrise that had been going on the entirety of the confession, and the reflection of the warm hues that had been painted on of you. you were so beautiful in this light, and you never wanted this moment to end.  “so...” “so...” “wanna head back to my place and sleep over?” and you knew that that meant an entirely new definition of going back to his place now that you both have basically spilled your feelings to each other. “hmm... maybe.” you wanted to keep him guessing, just for fun. he stood up and picked up his blanket. “alright then, i’m leaving,” he started turning away. “okok, i’m joking, take a joke,” you giggled and stood up. you ran over and tippie toed so that your arms could reach around his neck. you placed a kiss on his cheek and smiled even more brightly than before. he smiled back. he was so lucky to have you, and you wanted to know every single part of him as you fall deeper and deeper into him.

—

a/n: hi ! my name’s chae and this is my first writing published on tumblr. because this is my first work, please excuse any grammatical mistakes and writing errors!! ive been reading fics and au’s for a while on tumblr for a number of kpop groups, but i hope that i can debut some of my blurbs on here in the future.

please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, it’s gonna help me a lot in the long run : ,,)

also my requests are open!! i don’t have any restrictions on what prompts/pairings/groups are allowed right now, but i mainly write reader x, and my ult groups are ateez, skz, and x1/produce male trainees (see header).

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt (E.D.)

Summary: Some stories start with a meet-cute, but this one starts at the end. 

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of sex, swearing, ANGST

Word count: ~ 2100

Hurt - Series Masterlist

Ethan said he loved her and she took him at his word. He said she was his soulmate and over the years he had become an integral part of her being. You see, Ethan Dolan wasn’t one to go around throwing the L-word so carelessly. He’s the kind of guy who shows his feelings, and he did. Day in and day out, for four years. Then one sunny Sunday, under a cloudless sky, the pair sat in comfortable silence in their backyard, watching over Grayson’s kids as they ran wildly around. And he spoke, changing her life forever.

“I’m in love with someone else.”

Ethan Dolan doesn’t say the L-word so easily…that’s why the pain of hearing it said about someone other than her had nearly shattered her. And sitting across from him now, each armed with a lawyer by their side; this wasn’t how she imagined her marriage with Ethan going.

The worst of it all…she never saw it coming. He simply announced he was in love with someone else. It would have been kinder to kill her. She couldn’t even react in the moment, staring at his side profile in shock as she tried to collect herself. He didn’t even look at her. Not even a glance.

She wanted to throw a fit and curse him out, but she couldn’t. Not when she had promised Grayson to keep his kids happy for the day. She couldn’t act out in front of the little ones.

“I’m sure you’ve gone over the details.” Ethan’s lawyer spoke smugly, thinking this would be an easy win. But Ethan? He was still too much of a coward to look her in the eye again.

“We did and my client finds the offer ridiculous.” Her lawyer remarked, making Ethan roll his eyes and sigh. He played with his late father’s ring, twisting it continuously – a nervous tick as Y/N remembered.

“Considering there was a prenuptial signed, I’m sure you can see my client has been more than generous.” Y/N chuckled dryly, unable to contain her emotion. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling out of control, the unusual situation seeking an atypical response.

“I’m sorry, but does she need a minute?” Ethan’s lawyer asked with contempt, noticing the young woman start to collect herself and the pieces of her sanity that were so evidently far from picture-perfect. There were many cracks in her mind and heart right now, the ability to cope shunned by other, much stronger emotions.

To survive, she must be this person filled with a bitterness she can’t control.

“She

is to be the mother of his children, the kids they planned to have together. Had he at least given her some reason to think there was anything wrong or lacking in their marriage, she’d be much more accepting. But there wasn’t. Hell, they even had sex almost every day during their marriage, even that Sunday morning after which he decided to tear her heart out and stomp on it.

Since then, the girl he met years ago on the beach, the one with the big eyes and the bigger heart is now consumed by a hatred she never knew could take root. She wasn’t human anymore, but a persona she crafted to keep herself going.

“Who is she?” Y/N asked, her voice firm with a slight crack at the end. She poked his chest repeatedly, talking in hushed tones while the kids were taking a nap, not wanting to alert them to anything being wrong.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Ethan replied, almost annoyed by her show of affection and the betrayal in her eyes that have been swimming in tears for the past two hours…tears she swallowed and kept hidden deep inside.

“It matters and you know it.” She felt herself cracking at the seams, her hands latching onto her hair as if she fears her brain might explode. “Did you fuck her?” She bites down on her lip, shaking violently as the thought of his body on top of hers makes her sick. He had been kissing every inch of her skin merely five hours ago…he whispered the sweetest things in her ear as he guided her to her orgasm. He had interlocked their fingers as he thrusts deeper, cumming inside. This morning, his hands on her, his cum dripping out of her…it was all endearing. Now? It made her sick to her stomach.

“I didn’t.” Ethan looked at her, a fleeting glance more than a proper look. It’s as if he’s assessing the damage, checking if she’s about to break. And she was. She was standing on the edge of a very tall cliff…the one she believed was his love. But now he was on the other end, pushing her down and he had no intention on catching her when she falls.

“I didn’t even kiss her. I wanted to wait until I told you. Out of respect for what we had.” He added, looking at his hands instead of her face. She wanted to chuckle…she wanted to strangle him. That’s how much she hated him right now. She could have killed him and not batted an eye. She never understood how crimes of passion were possible. How could a person experience emotion so severely, so deeply and all-consuming that they were blinded by it?

She understood now.

“Respect? If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t have been fucking me this whole time like I was still your number one girl. You wouldn’t have whispered ‘I love you’ this morning when you woke up to my smiling face nor when you were balls deep inside me. You have no respect for me. I see that now.”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Especially since I’m not accepting these terms. Not by a long shot.” Y/N stated plainly, clasping her hands together as she placed them on the glass table in front of her. Leaning in, she smiled wickedly, a decisive glint in her eye – one that would scare Ethan had he dared to look at her.

“The prenuptial I signed had a clause on cheating. I wouldn’t get anything had I cheated or if I had been the cause for our divorce on any grounds. And I wasn’t. Your client here couldn’t wait to tell me he is in love with someone else and that he’s simply waiting for me to be aware of the fact before he starts fucking her. I believe I deserve a little more than twenty thousand dollars for his actions.” Her eyes narrowed at Ethan, wishing he’d just look at her. She wanted more than anything for him to look at her and see the monster he created. She wanted him to beg for mercy…for forgiveness. And only then would she tell him to fuck off and leave him on his knees. She wanted revenge.

“And what is it that you’d like?” His lawyer decided to indulge her. Just for a moment.

“The house is my number one request.” She wouldn’t even live in it. In fact, she can’t stand being inside. Those walls carry too many memories, most of which are now tainted. No…she’d have it on the market the moment she got the deed on her name alone.

“The Jeep.” She’d sell it for parts, just as a cathartic experience.

“And I want never to see his face again.” Her harsh words finally made a dent. Ethan looked up just in time to catch her fiercely wild gaze, enough to see the hate within.

“Not gonna happen.” His lawyer stood up, tapping Ethan on the shoulder but he found himself too engrossed in her, almost as if she put a spell on him. He was in disbelief. How quickly her love turned to hate as if she didn’t even fight it. She let that negative emotion swallow her and pour acid into her soul, but he understood why. He deserved, he was aware. It didn’t lessen the hurt that overcame him as he saw she was no longer who he knew.

“You changed.” Ethan threw the statement in her face as an insult. It was meant to make her feel inferior as if she was the one making the mistake. Like this was her fault.

“Yes. I did. Drop the judgy tone. You don’t get a say in how I fix what you broke. You don’t get a say in anything concerning me at all.” She stood, leaning on her sprawled out hands that stuck to the table like they were glued to the glass. “You’re the one who cheated, remember?” She added, feeling herself growing faint, but she refused to show how her knees are on the verge of buckling or how the back of her neck is drenched in cold sweat.

“I changed by turning my skin from porcelain to steel. I’ve become stronger, fiercer and a lot less trusting. If my ‘soulmate’ could do this to me, anyone would do far worse. I’ve learned from my mistake and I’ve adapted accordingly. But you? You’ve become a coward.” She spat, the weakness she felt in her legs now consuming her body.

“And why is that?” Ethan snorted, looking down on her trembling hands. He knew her well enough to notice something isn’t quite right. But he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to overreact. She wouldn’t want him to show he cares anyway.

“This is the first time you’ve looked me in the eye in the past two months. And you still can’t even keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.” She felt herself falter, her mouth dry as she blinked faster to keep her vision from blurring.

“You LEFT ME!” She raised her voice, her tone alone is an indicator of her fading. “And I hate you for it.”

That’s the last she remembers as her eyes closed shut and her body dropped to the ground. It wasn’t rigid sort of a blackout, rather limp. Managing to knock her head on the desk, she began bleeding from the cut the glass edges left on her scalp, the blood excessive and unrelenting.

“Call 911!” Ethan ordered his lawyer, jumping over the table without a second thought. He checked her pulse, drawing a deep breath once he realized she’s still alive. For a moment he feared she was gone and it scared the life out of him. It felt like his world collapsed on itself and he found it hard to breathe.

He pressed paper towels against the cut blindly. He couldn’t even see where it was, only the blood gushing out.

“You’ll be okay. Okay?” His own voice was no longer as steady as before, a river of emotions breaking through.

The paramedics came in quick, forcing Ethan to step back as they loaded her on a stretcher and into the ambulance. He remained in the office, his clothes mattered with her blood – his on-brand clothes ruined.

By the time she came through, Y/N had seven stitches in place and a killer headache to match. Her back hurt from hitting the chair on her way down and her arm was lightly bruised from the fall as well.

“Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be fine. Took a nasty fall, but you and the little one are just fine.” The older nurse reassured her, placing a hand on her lower abdomen with a soft smile on her pale lips.

Y/N smiled, nodding in relief. She was worried about her…wait a second!

“Little one?!” She exclaimed, seemingly more panicked now then when she just came to.

“Yes. The baby. Oh, guess the fall was a little rougher than I thought.” The nurse laughed, but Y/N caught her by the wrist just before she walked away.

“Pregnant? I can’t be pregnant.” Y/N insisted, the sound of her heart beating drowning everything else.

“Have you had sex?” The nurse remarked. Y/N went silent, closing her eyes in utter defeat as she realized what’s happening here.

“Not since the day I found out my husband is in love with someone who isn’t me.” She replied in resignation, swallowing thickly as tears pooled in her eyes.

She wanted to look back on her life with Ethan fondly, to preserve some good memories. That wasn’t possible…at least not yet. Not when she found herself linked to him once again and this time it wasn’t just by a piece of paper that stated they were legally bound in matrimony…this was much worse. He was literally inside of her and while she wanted to be the mother of his children more than anything, this was the final blow.

“Can you please get me a doctor? I’d like to talk about my options.”

PART TWO

PART THREE

Tags: @dolandolll @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @peacedolantwins @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @ethanhes

[idontknowwhatsarcasmis]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your writing. Can you or are you planning to write a fic about Maria or Natasha being jealous? I need some angst in my life.

Helloooooooooooo! 

Nawwww! That’s so nice, anon!! Thank you so much! I’m soooo sorry this took a wee bit! WAs lacking inspiration, buuuut here it is now! 

You asked to see either Natasha or Maria jealous and I thought…. Why not both!? =D

It’s quite short, but I wrote it really fast cause I’m working on other stuff (sorry), but I dooooo hope you like it! It was really fun to write haha

Also, it takes place during Iron Man 2, soooo it is a Lost Moment as well but a prequel! =D

Anyways, enjoy!

P.S.: this fic starts with Natasha’s POV and alternate with Maria’s every “Xxxx”, kay? Sorry if it’s confusing!Ao3

Ff.netXxxx

“Sooo, Hill asked you to her room, eh?” Clint’s voice was loud and far too happy for her taste.

“It’s for a mission, Barton.” She stated, not bothering to look back.

“Actually, she never said that. She said, and I quote, ‘Romanoff, my room in 10, and  keep the idiot that tends to tag along away.’” He said.

Natasha smirked.

“We always knew she was ridiculously smart.”

She didn’t need to look back to know he was rolling his eyes.

“And ridiculously attractive?”

It was Natasha’s turn to be exasperated.

“I never denied that, Clint.”

“True, but you keep saying that’s all there is…”

She finally stopped to look at him, right outside Hill’s door.

“Yes, so? It is.”

He just looked at her.

“It is, Barton. I’m the Black Wi-“

“Widow, I do not do love, infatuation or crushes. I have no feeling. I am a dark knight, yadda yadda.” He cut her off, shaking his head. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh, and yet we’re best friends, Miss I-feel-nothing! And you keep flirting with her!”

“Friendships are different, and jury’s still out on that, fyi. I flirt cause it’s fun. I wanna see how far she can take it.”

He gasped in mock outrage.

“I am hurt! Also, I’m betting marriage and two kids.”

Silence.

“What?!” She whisper-shouted.

“How far she can take it. Marriage and two kids.”

“To the Black Widow? You’re out of your mind.” She turned around and opened the door before he could say anything else. It was just harmless flirtation. Hill didn’t even acknowledge her, most of the time.

As soon as she walked inside the room, however, she stopped. A very unpleasant feeling crept along her spine, and a heaviness settled in her stomach. Right in front of her was Coulson and Hill. Less than an inch between their faces, staring deep into each other’s eyes. Coulson’s hand was on Hill’s shoulder and Maria’s on his sternum. She clenched her teeth and put on the best fake smile she had ever plastered on her face.

“Oops, so sorry! Are we interrupting something?”

It was with very little pleasure she saw the two officers spring apart, a blush rushing to Coulson’s cheeks. As her gaze locked on Maria’s, she felt her perfect spy smile diminish a notch… there was also some redness on the older agent’s cheek.

Natasha clenched her fists.

Just harmless flirtation…

Just fun.

Then why the fuck was her stomach clenching more than her fists?

Fuck Clint.

Xxxx

“I hate that bastard.”

Coulson rolled his eyes and closed the laptop that was in front of them.

“I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Just blatantly flirting with every woman that passes by him. What is wrong with him?” She started muttering, drumming her fingertips on the table. ”And what is Romanoff thinking? Actually answering to it like that?!”

Coulson laughed at that.

“Come now, Maria, she’s hardly answering in an encouraging manner. She’s being more sarcastic than anything.”

“Well, Stark keeps on going, so she’s not stopped him.” She continued, even though she knew there was absolutely no point in doing so. There was just… this unpleasantness in her stomach. She did not like it.

“It’s in her best interest to keep him thinking she might be interested, but either way, Stark is harmless in that regard, Maria.”

“There is no point of view or regard that could or would EVER make Tony Stark harmless, Phil.” She kept glaring at the laptop in front of her.

He stopped gathering the stuff around the table at that.

“Fair, but worry not. There is no way Natasha would ever look at him that way for real.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What does that have to do with anything?” She asked, knowing it was futile, but trying for a confused tone, even as her fist clenched under the table.

He just stared at her.

She stared back.

Silence.

Sigh.

“She’s far too busy making goo-goo eyes at you to really notice anyone else.” He finally caved, rolling his eyes.

Maria scoffed even as her heartbeat accelerated at that.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Maria, the other, day when we told her about her new assignment to Stark and she saw us close to each other, she almost killed me with her eyes. I was honestly quite scared for my life.” He mumbled that last part as an afterthought, but Maria chose to go with that.

“Serves you right for teasing me so much about her!”

“I was just showing how she stood with you the other day! You were that close, and don’t dare say it was nothing, otherwise she would not have been that jealous.” He quickly answered, throwing his hands in the air. Maria rolled her eyes.

“I’ll just ignore that, and say that we can’t have a handler being scared of his agent, now can we? Maybe we should give her to someone else?”

He laughed at that.

“Sure, to you maybe? It’d be fun to see the Black Widow’s impeccable record plummet ‘cause she couldn’t pay attention to any debrief by being too busy making heart eyes at her handler.”

Maria huffed at that, getting up and starting to fix some papers herself.

“Enough with the eyes this and that already. I’ll start to think you’re the one with an infatuation.”

“Huh.”

She stopped at his tone. The paper in her hands crumbling a tad. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. He looked pensive.

What.

“What?”

“She is quite attractive.” He shrugged.

“What the fuck Coulson?”

He held her gaze.

1…2…3…

He exploded in laughter.

Fuck.

“Oh my god, you should have seen your face!” He breathed out, still laughing.

She clenched the bridge of her nose, pissed at herself.

She could not believe she’d fell for that. What the hell was wrong with her.

“Oh my god, you’ve got it bad!” He said as he kept on laughing. She counted to ten. “I honestly thought it was just a harmless crush, but for you to glare at me like that! Oh my!”

… Maybe one hundred… Fury would kill her if she killed Coulson.

“Maybe I can make her even more jealous next time she’s in for a debrief! Oh, this should be fun.” He mumbled, wiping the tears in his eyes.

Or maybe she could do it and just ran away. Or make it look like an accident. She was quite the agent, after all, Fury would never find out.

“Oh, stop planning my demise! You know you can’t live without me!” He said, coming around to her side and patting her back. “Also, making Romanoff jealous might work in your favour!”

Silence.

She would not ask.

Silence.

Sigh.

“Why is that?”

“Maybe she’ll finally make a move, you’ll have dinner, bang, fall in love, get married and adopt a couple kids!” He said joyously as he walked towards the door.

She stared after him for a few stunned seconds.

“Are you high?”

“Nah, can’t. I’m on the clock.”

“Then maybe I should just ask Fury to reevaluate your mental stability.” She deadpanned, because okay… maybe she did harbor a bit of a… ahm… liking… for Romanoff’s flirting. It was… nice… and funny. The Russian woman was quite creative. And maybe she often awaited those moments. Also, she maybe did realize her glaring at Phil last meeting. But from that to ‘marriage and a couple kids’? What the hell.

“I’m pretty sure he’d agree with me!” He called over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn back.

“Well, I’ve always known he had one or two loose bolts.”

Coulson laughed at that and looked at her once more right before closing the door.

“Fair, but anyways, remember one thing, Maria.”

Against her better judgment, she nodded at him.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt.” A wink and a closed door were done faster than the paper weight she tossed in his direction. Damn him.

She looked back at the table in front of her, which had a picture of Stark starting at Natasha’s ass as she walked away.

Maria calmly picked up the paper… then promptly crumbled it into a very tiny ball.

Maybe Phil had a point.

Fuck.

Xxxx

“Ooh, another meeting, huh?”

Natasha had to very count to ten very quickly as she made her way through the halls, Clint hot on her tail. She had no idea how they were friends.

“I called for it.”

“Hm, couldn’t keep away, huh? The assignment kept you too far apart for too long, I know. I get you, I get you.”

Worst part? He did. She hated it.

… Not.

Best friend indeed.

“Not the point of the meeting.”

“Maybe, but a bonus, for sure!” He said cheerfully as they rounded the last corner. Soon she’d be free.

He was making good points, though. Maybe he did deserve something.

She stopped and turned around, making him almost lose his balance trying to stop before hitting her.

“Fine, I’ll give you that. A very good bonus.”

“Aha!”

“But not the best part.”

“Hah, and what would that be?”

“You’re not in it.”

She smirked, opened and closed the door on his face. She was almost fast enough not to hear the small ‘liar’ that came from Clint’s voice. Even so, she was still satisfied with her last word.

As soon as she looked inside, however, her smirked died.

“What’s he doing here?” She said before she could control herself.

The three other people in the room looked at her with wide eyes at that. Fuck.

Silence.

“He is your handler, Romanoff.” Fury finally said, looking between her and Coulson.

Right.

“Right.”

Coulson had a little smirk on his lips. Why did Coulson have a smirk on his face?

Silence.

Long silence.

“Is there a problem, Romanoff?” Natasha’s heart skipped a beat.

The question came from Maria.

Swallowing both her pride and absolutely nothing, she turned to look into blue, blue eyes.

Was that… a smile on her face?

God.

She was beautiful.

“Romanoff?” She raised an eyebrow.

Right. Question. She looked back at Coulson.

“No, of course. I was just surprised.”

“Good, ‘cause after your report, we thought of a few changes.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Stark. And you’re meeting me there.”

“Already?”

“It’s time. He’s become too dangerous.”

“Worried about me, Commander?” She smirked at Hill. To her surprise, the other agent mimed her.

“I worry about all my agents, Romanoff –“

“Oh?”

“And their missions.” Hill completed over her, but her smirk grew.

“Stark is the mission. You worried about him?”

Maria’s eyes narrowed at her at that, and a brief glance around showed Coulson and Fury fighting to keep laughter in. Interesting.

“Well, hard not to. Being played with by a pretty girl is quite the hardship…”

Natasha did not hear anything else said, her mind froze on one single thing.

“You think I’m pretty?”

As Maria’s smirk grew, Natasha was very proud of not blushing, even with Coulson and Fury’s barely contained laughter as she focused on Maria’s blue eyes.

“Well, I had meant Pepper, but…” She trailed off, and this time Natasha could not stop the blush.

She had been played, yes, but… That was not a no.

“The complete report, Romanoff.” Nick had apparently decided to take pity on her and she turned to the matter at hand. But before she could focus on the one-eyed director, she saw Maria.

Not Commander Hill, Deputy Director. She saw Maria Hill’s shoulders shake with silent laughter and an easy and content smile on her lips.

Natasha’s heart did funny flips and flops at that, translating into just the slightest pause on her speech to Fury, barely noticeable to anyone but herself.

Damn… Maybe Clint was right.

It was more… And she was jealous. But Maria had laughed with her, looked at her. Called her pretty (indirectly, but still…).

Fuck.

She was in deep.

Xxxx

“Where’s ‘Phil’?”

“Where’s Stark?

Silence.

Clearing throat.

“Phil is at a date I set him up on, he’s my best friend, and he needs to get over his infatuation with a mutual friend.”

“He’s hopefully on a date with Pepper if either of them took my many hints that although he’s too good for her, she loves him.”

They said at the same time, eyes snapping back to meet each other at that.

…silence.

Oh. Both Phil and Fury had been right about Stark, then. Maybe… maybe they were right about Natasha as well.

They started at each other for a long time.

Maria cleared her throat.

“Well… that, ahm… that was a very good mission, Romanoff. Congratulations.” She passed over the completed dossier.

Natasha smiled at the papers for a moment, then moved it on to her.

“Another compliment? Why, Commander, a girl could get used to that.”

Heart beating so fast it felt like it would come out of her chest at any time, Maria answered, deciding not to deny that she had indeed called Natasha pretty. She was. Beautiful in fact.

“Well… I’d love to keep them coming, Agent Romanoff.” She said, deliberately slow, as she got up and around her desk, coming face to face with the other woman.

“Oh?”

“Aye, you just have to keep excelling at the missions.”

Natasha smirked.

“Are you asking me to keep being a good girl?”

Maria was very proud of not choking at that.

“A good agent.”

Natasha hummed.

“Is that an order?

“It is, agent.”

“Aye aye, Commander.”

[getthefckouttahere]

Two Hearts Fixed, One’s Still Broken

prompt/thank you to @lifesasickjoke​: nikki cheats on the reader (his fiancée) with tommy’s fiancée, tommy and the reader fall in love and get married. nikki is super upset and that’s why he did the whole drug thing at the wedding pairing: tommy x reader (with a nikki x reader history) A/N: hey this is my first fic for the dirt/mötley crüe so yeah i hope y’all like it and yeah, i guess reader replaces heather here. warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, mentions of drugs, angst and fluff

“Hey Y/N, d’ya know where Nikki is? I want him to meet Roxie and my parents.” Tommy asked her, giddy like a child on Christmas.

Man, he looked so happy and so excited to get married, she just wished that Nikki would show the same enthusiasm toward her.

Sure, it wasn’t all his fault, seeing as the only other woman in his life had been nothing but a bitch to him. She understood that he couldn’t trust anyone, because the two people that he was supposed to love had let him down, but it still made her sad that he always spoke to she so coldly.

The day he asked her to marry him was both the happiest day of her life and the most relieved she had ever felt in the course of her relationship. She found out that he really did love her, it was just difficult for him to show that strong of an emotion. Because he didn’t know how to.

“He’s probably still in his dressing room getting ready. Follow me.” she replied, walking down the hallway with him following suit.

“You ready for the wedding?” she asked him, grinning when a little squeal emitted from him.

“I’m so pumped! I really like her, dude, and I’m totally ready to spend the rest of my life with her. Maybe even see some little Tommy’s running around the house, y’know?” he snickered.

Tommy really was ecstatic, but what made her feel bad was that his fiancee, Roxie, wasn’t all that interested in him. She had met her before…she really wasn’t that great. Pretty, but that’s where the good qualities end. It just seemed like she wanted to marry him because he was famous and he could buy her things.

It hurt to see her friend so blinded by love, that he can’t see how much he’s being manipulated and taken advantage of.

“Eww, that’s gross! I don’t wanna think about that!” she said, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder.

“What, it’s a perfectly normal part of life! Don’t you have the same thoughts with Nikki?”

“Well, yeah. But honestly if it were to happen, it’d probably be by accident. That man doesn’t make love, he fucks.”

“Fuck that’s disgusting, Y/N!” he laughed.

“Payback, asshole.” she giggled, deciding that her goal was now to make him as uncomfortable as she can.

“I’m serious, man. The noises he makes are basically inhumane-”

“You mean like the ones that are coming from his room right now?”

They were standing outside Nikki’s dressing room door and she only payed attention to what Tommy said right when he mentioned it.

And he was right, those were normally the sounds she’d bring out of him on a regular night.

But now, it was some other girl doing the job for her.

And it wasn’t just some other girl.

“Hey, those female sounds seem familiar too.” Tommy commented, his voice turning softer. She assumed that he had put two and two together.

He knocked on Nikki’s dressing room door and deepened his voice to make himself unrecogniseable.

“Yo Nik, you ready? Tommy wants you.”

They heard the shuffling of feet and what she supposed was them clambering to find their clothes, accompanied by muffled curses.

The door sprang open and confirmed all of their suspicions.

“Shit.” Roxie breathed out, freezing when her eyes met her fiancé’s.

His whole face had gone pale, his bottom lip was trembling. And she could’ve sworn that she could see tears glistening in his bright, blue eyes that were normally so full of joy.

Which was also the moment where she realised she weren’t even hurting for herself, but for him.

“Babe-” Roxie started to explain herself.

“Don’t.” his voice croaked as he turned and ran away.

“I hope you fuckers are happy.” Y/N spat in her face, shooting Nikki, who was stood behind her, a dirty look.

Maintaining the eye contact with him, she slid the engagement ring off of her finger and threw it at him before she ran off after Tommy.

“Tommy! Wait!”

He froze and turned around, tears were starting to fall down her cheeks when she noticed his own tear stained face. It broke her heart, because this was her fault. All of this could’ve been avoided if she’d just told him how bad Roxie was and she was bound to break his heart one way or another.

But she didn’t. She stayed quiet. And now, she was witnessing her best friend’s heart shattering before her.

“Y/N...shouldn’t you be yelling at Nikki?” he said between sniffles.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He couldn’t reply, he just smiled sadly at her while his sobs grew bigger. She ran towards him, wrapping her arms around his torso and buried her head in his chest. He was way too tall for this to be any sort of comfort to him, like he only wanted to comfort her.

But the reminder that the man she loved didn’t love her back made her weak, her knees buckled under her and he fell down with her.

It all felt like an out of place movie scene, the way that her tears slid down the leathery fabric on his shoulder, arms clinging to him while his own hands tightened their embrace.

The way Nikki had given her hugs in the past was nothing compared to how Tommy was holding her. She felt safe, warm and, dare she say it, she actually felt like she was needed. Loved.

She picked her head up from his shoulder to greet his eyes again, tending to the small strands of his black hair that had stuck onto his face. He gave her a toothless smile as a thank you. After all, the last time he ever got a hug that reassuring was from his mom.

Things were tense between the band and Y/N from then on. She had moved out of Nikki’s place in an instant, Tommy by her side helping her as she stuffed all of her belongings into a suitcase.

Tommy himself kicked Roxie out as soon as he could, not even giving her a chance to explain herself.

He cried himself to sleep that night - and every night onwards. He had never had a relationship that ended as messy as this one did, he had never loved a girl as much as he loved Roxie.

The pain got to him, so much that he had to isolate himself from the band for a while, as he couldn’t even manage to look at Nikki without having the urge to punch him.

Not because he stole his girl.

Because he broke Y/N’s heart.

The pair found themselves growing closer together. Tommy would frequently invite her over and they’d spend the day sprawled across his sofa, a platonic tangle of limbs, watching whatever distraction was on TV at the time. But she would never spend the night there.

Until one day where she left her coat at his place and only realised it when she got home. She excused herself out of the apartment she shared with her friend again and drove back to his house, entering his unlocked house, at this point she had her own set of keys, surprised to be greeted by sniffles.

Y/N knew that a week isn’t enough to get over something like this, but she was always under the impression that he was getting better. She immediately ran into his room, where she saw him curled into a ball, rocking back and forth. She took her place next to him.

“Hey, Tom.” she cooed, placing a hand on his shoulder that was shaking as a result of his continuous sobs and tears.

They subconsciously slowed down at the sound of her voice, because he was so used to being soothed by her gentleness, even when they talked about something random like the best flavour of Twizzlers.

Being around Y/N was like a soft, warm blanket, shielding him from the horrors of the world. She, herself, was his safe space.

She helped him sit up and he immediately wrapped his arms around her.

“She fucked me up, man.”

“I know.”

“I’m never gonna find anyone like her.”

That formed a pit in her chest.

Sure, she knew she was just a shoulder to cry on and the only one that offered to comfort him, but she couldn’t help wanting more. It was wrong of her to even think about it.

“No, you’ll find someone better.”

He pulled out of the hug, their faces no more than mere inches away from each other, while Y/N thumbed away the river of tears that had flowed down his face.

“I think I already have.”

She could feel his eyes switch between hers and her lips as he licked his own. He leant toward her, entwining his soft, pink lips with hers and the taste of salt had never been sweeter.

Maybe it was because their fond for each other had grown deeper, or maybe it was because they were both needy and desperate for someone to care for them again, but the kiss just felt right. 

Like it was meant to be.

At least, that’s what she told him during their wedding vows. And the two of them laughed her asses off at the fact that her vows were almost identical. He too mentioned that the kiss felt like something that the angels above controlled.

And it would’ve been the happiest day of Tommy’s life, if it wasn’t for Nikki deciding to act like a dick throughout. He regretted asking him to be the best man, but no matter what they’d all gone through, he was still a brother to him.

“She’s really gonna marry me, huh?” Tommy had asked the band when he walked into the lobby, straightening his tie. Vince was sat in a big armchair, spinning around as a result of his boredom, while Mick stared into space, fighting the urge to murder his friend every time he could hear the chair squeak.

“This isn’t some kind of a sick joke, is it?”

“Life’s a sick joke.” Mick chimed in, being the life of the party he normally was.

“Hey, what time is it? I think we should get out there. Hey Nikki, let’s hit it.” he said, looking at him. He was quite clearly doped up again, practically unconscious across the couch. That wasn’t what he meant by ‘hit it’.

“Yo, best man, let’s go! I got a wife waiting.”

Still no response.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tommy muttered, walking over to him.

“Nikki! Wake up, asshole!” he continued, slapping him awake.

“Fuck, dude.” Nikki grumbled as he sat up.

For a split second, he thought that the world he frequently hallucinated every time the heroin entered his bloodstream was real, that this was all for him and the boys were getting ready for his special day with Y/N.

But then he saw the rings placed neatly on the pillow next to him, the rings that weren’t in any way shape or form like the ones he had proposed to her with (he hated to admit it, but they were much better. Tommy had really outdone himself), the reality of what was actually happening hurt him more than Tommy’s slaps.

It got to a point where he was practically stabbing needles, careless whether it drew blood or not. He just wanted to use the heroin as a replacement for what (or who) was once the best part of his shitty life.

His primary sources of happiness were mostly reliant on Y/N and the band, so what else could he have turned to when he drove her away and broke the band with it?

He found his hand flying toward the necklace he never took off, the one Y/N bought for him on their one year anniversary - just a month before he proposed. His fingers toyed with the engagement ring threaded in the necklace, the one he wanted her to wear today. He had been wearing that ring around his neck since the day he broke her heart - and his along with it.

“I’m good.”

No, you’re not. Your best friend is getting married to the love of your life.

“It’s all good, man.”

No, it isn’t. That’s your wife. This was supposed to be your day, but you just had to fuck that up.

“It’s most definitely not ‘all good’, man, but whatever. Just clean up-” Tommy started to spit back, growing sicker of his sarcasm the more time he wasted.

He was interrupted by the sound of Nikki getting up, knocking over the contents on the table in front of him when he leant on it for support.

“Hey!” he yelled, grabbing Nikki aggressively by the shoulders, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

“Get your shit together. I don’t want Y/N to be embarrassed, okay?”

“I’m embarrassing? Cool.” Nikki scoffed. He pushed himself out of Tommy’s painful hold.

“Let’s go marry your fancy ass hand-me-down in this fancy ass hotel-”

“Hey, at least I know how to love the woman.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. Neither of you even know how to respect a woman, not to mention love one. Nikki just set the standards really low so she fell instantly for Tommy.” Mick rolled his eyes, getting up with some struggle.

“I can be the best man instead if you want, Drummer.” he continued, losing the same amount of hope as Tommy did for Nikki.

“Nah, ‘s cool. I got the rings already. Let’s just get this over with.” Nikki sighed, making a start out of the hotel lobby, not looking back to see if Tommy or anyone else was following.

The time finally came when the boys had taken their spots in a semi circle around the vicar and Tommy, waiting for the heart and soul of the ceremony herself to walk down the white-carpeted aisle.

And what a truly magnificent sight she was, her hair and makeup done to the 9s and her dress…

Fuck, Nikki thought, his hand gripping tighter around the ring on his necklace.

Her dress was the exact same one Nikki had confirmed would be the best one for her.

He felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs and when he looked over to Tommy, he saw that he had the same expression.

That’s when he realised how much this meant for his best friend. He couldn’t ruin this day for him.

He found himself growing more nauseous as she walked toward the front of the church and a huge grin on her face.

The same grin he saw when he proposed. Or when he made cookies that were perfectly crunchy, but also chewy, fit for her liking.

“And do you, Thomas Lee Bass...”

Nikki could barely hear what was happening over the voice that echoed through his head.

You deserve this.

“...take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife

You deserve to be hurt,

“…to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.”

sad,

“To love and to cherish…”

and jealous.

“from this day forward, until death do you part?"

You brought this on yourself.

“I do.”

“I do.” Nikki found himself whispering.

“Yo Nik, the rings.” Tommy whispered. When he didn’t reply, he looked behind him to see that the veins on Nikki’s hand were about to burst, his cheeks the colour of tomatoes.

“Nikki!” he said a little louder this time.

“What?” he jumped, blinking away the tears that started to burn up in his eyes.

“The rings.”

“Oh. Right.” he replied, giving the pillow to the officiant and stepping back, not meeting anyones eyes.

"And now, by the power vested in me by, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Their family and friends all cheered and applauded the happy new couple, giving Nikki the perfect opportunity to slip out unnoticed. He felt as if he would throw up if he spent one more second seeing Tommy in the spot where he should be.

Admittedly, he was happy that Tommy had gotten his moment with a girl that really did deserve it. That she deserved to be loved in a way he couldn’t.

He just had to live with the fact that, if he had gotten his shit together, if he could’ve been a better boyfriend, if he just had the chance to apologise and show how much he really loved her, this would’ve been his moment instead.

-

let me know what you thought :P

tags (for the dirt fics), ask to be added or removed @thathappylandfill @merlehs

[the-pav-archive]

500 Follower Raffle Prize (A.K.A. something that is looooong overdue)

It’s been a long time since the announcement for the raffle winner was made, and I’ve finally got the prize for our lovely winner @jirouisbestgirl done!

Instead of a sticker, a playlist themed around Denki Kaminari was requested (which you can listen to here!)

And for the writing piece, our winner requested some angst between her OC and Denki! I put my own little spin on it with the Blossom AU (an AU of my own design that I will elaborate on more some day), and I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 1,774 words

Blue eyes set on that glowing screen, wide with disbelief and watering with betrayal. It couldn’t be legit. 

It could not be legit. She refused to believe that it was.

Fingers tapped the play button again, shaking as they were drawn back from the glass. 

“Please be someone else, please be someone else…..” She muttered under her breath, watching as the video came to life once again. 

“Come on, Buki! Kiss him!” A voice called off camera, causing a couple of cheers to echo close to the camera. A young woman with red pigtails (very vaguely familiar) entered the frame, looking at whomever was videoing what was happening and sticking her tongue out slightly. “I’m going, I’m going!” She laughed, heading to a familiar head of blond hair. And- when she tapped on the shoulder that belonged to said blond- he turned around, offering her a grin. It was less than a fraction of a second later when her lips were on his, arms around his neck and fingers tangling in his hair. And it took even less time for his hands to go to her hips, pulling her closer and rubbing small circles on them with his thumbs. Cheers erupted around the person filming again, and when the two pulled apart from their kiss, they shared a soft look. After a few brief seconds were filled with the pulsing of music and the sight of the pair talking, the screen went black.

Already feeling the telltale poke of flowers coming through her skin, she choked down a breath, those tears flowing down her cheeks like a river as those blue petals rested just above her skin. Hands shaking as she sent a text back to the person who had sent her the video, she barely had even sent it before the tears blurred her vision. Dropping her phone on her pillow, she curled into herself, letting it all out.

Not only had Kaminari lied to her about the night before- he claimed that he had been feeling under the weather- but clearly, he and this other girl were very comfortable with each other. Way too comfy to have been ‘just friends’.

Gripping tightly onto her blankets, the ravenette fell asleep after what seemed like an eternity of tears, the dark and fleeting embrace of sleep one that she ran into gratefully.

~~~~~~

The next day, everyone knew that something was up when Ayumi walked into the main school building with morning glories framing her face and peppering her exposed skin. Most looked at her with sympathy, bright smiles with sad eyes briefly acknowledging the pain she was feeling. Others steered clear of her, weary eyes settling on her as she walked past. 

You never really knew what could’ve caused the flowers to bloom unless you were there- and you really wouldn’t want to be the asshole that caused even more of them to bloom.

The soft clopping of hooves nearby snapped Ayumi from her thoughts, and when the familiar voice of her friend hit her ears she looked to her left.

“I’m going to throw hands with him.” Galil muttered, his voice just barely above a low and rumbly growl. “I am actually going to kick his ass.”

“Don’t, Gal…..” The ravenette muttered, looking down to the floor. Another flower popped up on her skin, petals unfurling and adding to the freckles of flowers on her body.

“But what he did was shitty!” The satyr-like teen burst out, those honey-colored eyes blazing with anger. Red larkspur flowers began to seemingly sprout from his curly hair, growing around his ram-like horns. “He fucking cheated on you, Ayumi! That shithead lied to you, and I’m not going to excuse it. Period!” His hands balled themselves into fists, nails digging into his palms as his voice went down into that deep growl once again. “He better fucking hope that he and I don’t get paired up when we do fight training today….. I’m not going to hold anything back if we do.”

Letting out a sigh, the girl’s gaze stayed on the floor, taking a deep breath in in an attempt to keep more of those flowers from coming out of her skin. She blocked out Galil’s ranting for the moment, only really snapping back into reality when she realized he had stopped.

The pair continued to walk in silence until they got to the classroom that they resided in for a better majority of their day, entering and heading to their respective seats. 

Ayumi- once seated- retrieved her notebook from her schoolbag, opening it and briefly looking through the pages. All along them, there were little pen doodles- hearts with ‘Denki’ scribbled in them, amongst other little things. And each and every one of them she tore out, balling them up and soon creating a small pile of wadded-up paper on her desk. When she finally got to a blank page she stood up abruptly from her desk, grabbing those balled-up papers in a tight fist and heading to the front of the room to throw them away. Along the way a couple of the flowers adorning her skin fell off, drifting slowly to the floor and waiting to be crushed underfoot.

When that voice that she had once loved called out to her met her ears, she simply ignored it, more flowers blooming from her flesh on her way back to her desk.

Denki’s brows furrowed in confusion, having been quite used to receiving a warm but shy smile from Ayumi instead of the cold shoulder he had received. “What the…..?” He muttered softly under his breath, hand lowering from the small wave that it had been poised to do. Watching as his girlfriend made her way to her seat at the back of the class, his gaze caught the flaming eyes of Goatman (as he had mentally dubbed the Greek exchange student). That burning look spoke volumes about something- and, with one single finger making a slicing gesture across his throat and a gesture to Ayumi with his head- the true meaning of the fire behind the Grecian teen’s eyes and the flowers weaving through his hair and horns was revealed.

Somehow, Kaminari had done something to upset Ayumi. And there would be hell to pay if he didn’t make up for it.

Brows furrowing in thought, the blond didn’t even notice that Aizawa-sensei had come in and was starting to teach that day’s lesson. He was preoccupied with going over just about every single thing that he had done over the past few days, trying to figure out what was wrong. It was only Thursday, so it had to have happened either over the weekend at some point or during the week. 

A buzzing in his pocket snapped him out of his thoughts. And- as discreetly as he could- he slid his phone out of his pocket, looking at the message that had been sent to him.

[Mina 🌺: I think I know why Galil looked like he was about ready to kill you when you looked at Ayumi.]

Expression turning into one of relief for a moment, it quickly morphed into curiosity as Denki typed away at his phone screen.

[Tell me!!!! I don’t want to be ground-pounded by Goatman. And I wanna make my baby feel better.]

The moment that little message was sent off Denki looked up, letting his phone rest on his leg as he pretended to take notes, anxious for his friend’s answer. When that telltale buzz vibrated against his leg his hand immediately flew to the screen once again, topaz gaze scanning the contents of the message.

[Mina 🌺: I think they know about the party from yesterday. And I think someone posted the video of your smooch with that chick from class B.]

Eyes widening, the blond had to keep himself from cursing out loud, taking in a deep breath to help keep the flowers he could feel prickling underneath the surface of his skin from popping out and blooming. Briefly his head turned, looking at his pink-haired classmate with wide eyes and a look of shock on his face. The moment Aizawa called him out on it, though, his gaze snapped to the front of the class, and he paid attention for just a couple of moments before looking down at his desk, holding his head in his hands as the wave of guilt crept into his throat, becoming a lump that made it hard to breath for a couple of moments.

Sure, he and that chick had flirted a bit. And sure, they had kissed. But it was something that was more on the downlow since he had started dating Ayumi- at least on his end. His casual little flirts were meant to be a jesting thing. Quickly reaching down to unlock his phone, he quickly went to swipe through the messages that they sent back and forth, cursing quietly under his breath.

“Shit…..”

That telltale poke of flowers coming through his skin began to itch all over his face and neck, the marigolds almost blocking his vision in his left eye entirely as they bloomed on his skin. The monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to get even louder, the repetitive sound enough to drive someone mad if they focused on it for too long.

God, Denki just wanted class to end.

The moment that the bell rang to signal the starting of their lunch period he was up out of his seat like a rocket, heading to the.back of the class. “Ayumi, I-”

“Don’t fucking talk to her, you fuckin’ cheater.” The venomous tone in Galil’s voice- had it been legit poison- would’ve killed Denki on the spot. Standing up, the satyr-like teen put himself between Ayumi and the blond.

Very briefly looking over at Denki, Ayumi’s eyes widened before she tore her gaze away, even more morning glories popping from her skin. A faint sniffling sound could even be heard from her as she quietly gathered up her things.

This sight made Denki’s heart squeeze tightly in his chest, and a couple more marigolds bloomed, resting in his hair. “I’m sorry, I-”

“If you were sorry, then you wouldn’t have gone behind her back to some party and made out with some random chick! You broke my best friend’s heart!” Galil practically shouted, slamming his hand down on a desk as more larkspur sprouted in his messy curls. Eyes flashing, a low and warning growl filled his voice.

“Get the hell outta my sight, Denki. And don’t ever come near Ayumi again. You don’t fucking deserve her.”

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions Chapter 5: The eyes of the beholder Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Sigma and Harold touch down on Oasis, as new potential recruits into the Ministries. Symmetra is also there. Angst stuff happens. 

Read it below or find it on AO3. For more Sigrold fluff, check out my other fics ‘Under the Milky Way’ and ‘It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment’. Also check out my Sigma series ‘The universe sings’

-

Oasis is beautiful. That’s the first thing that filters into Sigma’s mind when he touches down into the city. It touts itself as a city of science, and it can clearly be seen in the elegance of its architecture and the studious intelligence of its people. The streets are clean and orderly, without a speck of dirt and dust. There’s a healthy mix of urban skyscrapers and charming gardens, highlighted by the crystal clear river that runs through the city’s centre. Skyscrapers shoot for the stars, desperate to be one with the stratosphere. It truly is a beautiful city. It might even beat Den Haag as the most beautiful city he's ever seen.

Sigma is dressed a little bit out of his comfort zone, decked out in the blues and whites and golds that is typical of the Oasis garbs. An intricate white bodysuit surrounds his figure, hugging his body tightly. Lines of soft blue cloth run their course over his body, accentuated by a blue and gold vest. It’s all a bit extravagant in his opinion, but he needs to make a good impression if he wishes to get the Oasis position. Following the city’s dress code is a good start. At least the dress code doesn't require him to wear shoes.

“These clothes really don’t fit me,” Harold mumbles beside Sigma, tugging at his collar.

Like Sigma, Harold had also decided a good first impression was important and reluctantly put on the outfit set out for him. It’s the same colour scheme as Sigma’s own outfit, and just as formfitting. A golden jacket is placed over white leggings, glowing blue lines running downward, highlighting every delicate part of Harold’s physique. Neon blue glasses are placed over his face, making his dark eyes sparkle with electricity. Bangles hover over his wrists and ankles, an exotic touch that makes his hands look stronger and softer somehow, like he could hold the world in his hands and caress it with loving touches and soft whispers.

Harold notices his stares and tilts his head to one side. “Tell me honestly, Siebren, do I look weird?”

He looks gorgeous, Sigma thinks. Perhaps too gorgeous. He clears his throat in a futile effort to hide his blushing cheeks. “Y-you look fine.”

Harold smiles. “Sounds like you think I look better than fine.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve never seen you in clothes that weren’t covered in moth balls,” Sigma pouts.

“This is coming from the man who doesn’t wear shoes.”

Sigma gasps in mock offense. He almost expects Moira to cut in with a cutting remark but instead she’s conversing with Sanjay Korpal, her attention completely unwavering. The subject of their conversation is beyond him, involving numerous names that Sigma’s never heard of before. The name that pops up the most is Vishkar.

The dark whispers rumble disconcertedly in his mind and Sigma suppresses a grimace. Despite the failed mission, his mind had been rather clear for these last couple of weeks and he hoped against all hopes that this was a sign of recovery. But then, only a few hours ago when he boarded the airship, the black hole sang its worrisome melodies. Danger it sings to him, but what kind of danger he does not know. He’s yet to master the universe’s language.

He only wishes that it’s just the result of his overactive imagination, that his mind is playing tricks on his mind, but one glance at Harold’s concerned expression fills him with worry. He’s not the only one who thinks something’s wrong, and that terrifies him.

Danger, release me, danger.

“Hold it together,” he grumbles to himself, too quiet for anyone to hear.

From the landing zone, they take the elevator down to the ground floor and walk outside onto the streets. At this time of day it’s bustling, people of all creeds and cultures going about their day, masks obscuring their eyes. If anyone is disconcerted by Sigma's floating, no one says anything, jostling and bumping into him like he is any other bystander on the street. The three men struggle to keep up with Moira, who parts the crowd with a wave of her hand like she is the second coming of Moses. A few people even bow to her. While Sanjay does his best to keep up, Harold sidles up to Sigma. They maintain a respectful distance away.

“You said she’s the Minister of Genetics?” Harold whispers. “Is that a fancy title here or…?”

“Oh, I forgot. You wouldn’t know about Oasis.” Sigma frowns, calculating the best possible way to explain the concept. “Are you familiar with the Ministries?”

Harold’s eyebrows furrow. “Sounds familiar. It was this collective of scientists, right?”

“Correct. They made this city a long time ago, a short while after your…” Sigma clears his throat loudly. “L-long story short, they are still around today, and govern this city. If I recall, there are 6 ministries, each for a different field of science. To be a minister for any one of them is a great honour—or at least, so they claim.”

“I suppose you’d fit right in, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s a good opportunity, sure, but that is the only reason I am here.” He looks at an advertisement for the Ministries' newest initiative and frowns. "They offered me a position here once before, but I refused. We had different goals. Thus, I remained in Den Haag."

“You’re not a fan of the university?”

“They’re just scientists,” Sigma spits the word ‘scientist’ out like it’s a cyanide pill. “To split up all of science into six crude fields, they must not be able to see the intrinsic interconnectedness between disciplines. I mean, your research into the effects of space colonization on apes embodies many distinct fields. You’re probably qualified for three of the different ministries here. And that’s the problem with a society of scientists, they don’t see beyond their narrow points of views. All they care about is themselves, and their own research.”

Harold’s lips thin. “But we’re scientists, Siebren.”

“But we know our place in this world is to discover the undiscovered. We see the bigger picture, we see the possibilities unexplored. We’re not like them, foolishly thinking that we make a blip of impact in the microcosm that is the universe.”

Harold goes uncomfortably silent. His eyes stare forward, gaze sharp but hollow. Beyond his irises, within his soul, memories of a decade past play in a continuous loop. A younger Harold fawns over the mysteries of the universe, about the impact his research could have on the world. Eager words spill from his lips like the sweetest honey, his heart on his sleeve.

In the real world, Harold sets his jaw tight. “I see,” he replies emotionlessly.

Sigma’s eyes widen. “H-Harold, you’re not like that—”

“No. You’re right. I didn’t see the bigger picture.” Harold scowls. “I know better now.”

Sigma frowns. “This was not a comment on you at all.”

“I know, Siebren, but…” Harold stops to let out a harsh breath. He turns his head forward to the masked crowds. “I know exactly what narrowminded naivety can do. It killed thousands during the Omnic Crisis. It almost killed me too.” There’s a pregnant pause before Harold shakes his head roughly, ridding his mind of sad memories. “But you’re wrong about one thing, Siebren. One person can make a difference. We are living examples of it.”

Sigma stares at Harold’s eyes, tinted by the blue lens of his glasses. In a moment he thinks he sees warm chocolate irises turn golden, sees the broken blood vessels that stain his neck suddenly glow with ethereal power, warm and safe like the light that saved him that day. But Sigma blinks, and the light is gone, and Harold keeps his gaze forward like nothing happened, a mirage in the desert. But Sigma knows he hadn’t imagined it. That was real. He feels the currents shift in the air, pushing and pulling against the strings of gravity he wields, beating together in perfect harmony.

Sigma opens his mouth to ask, but Moira and Sanjay slow to a stop in front of a massive building—the tallest building in the world, in fact. The tall skyscraper is an indulgent monument to human ingenuity, a glistening tower of Babel that pierces the clouds and grins at its own hedonistic brilliance. In front of the construction site is a lithe young woman with dark skin and even darker hair. Her right hand taps rhythmically into her left bicep which, Sigma realizes, is completely prosthetic.

“You’re early,” Sanjay comments.

“Which is to be expected. Punctuality is important.” Her eyes narrow as they shift between Harold and Sigma. Links and connections run through her mind, coming up blank.

“They are guests of this city, Satya. Soon to be prominent scientists within the Ministries, we hope.”

Satya nods curtly. “I understand.”

Moira turns to Sigma and Harold with a terse smile. “Sanjay and I have a lot to discuss. Miss Vaswani here has been instructed to show you around the university in the meantime.”

Satya throws her prosthetic hand in front of her body and a blue hologram appears, lithe fingers making intricate patterns out of strings of light. At her feet, a circular device swirls and blossoms, an oval portal slowly rising from the base. She takes one step towards the portal, stops, then beckons them forward. “Come. Take my teleporter. We move swiftly.”

Satya disappears into the portal, Harold following shortly behind. Sigma takes a few deep breaths, his head turned towards Moira and Sanjay disappearing into the crowd, fake smiles disappearing into harsh frowns before his body is surrounded by cold blue light. He can’t help but think this light felt wrong and icky on his skin. It’s not warm and safe like Harold’s light.

When he steps through, he finds himself in front of a small garden. Pillars of stone rise from the earth, footsteps marking the paths between buildings. Satya does not wait for them to get used to their surroundings, walking forward with purpose. Harold barely scrambles to catch up with her, while Sigma continues floating forward.

She shows them around the campus, giving historical anecdotes about each individual area. She explains the creation of the university, the six different departments within the Ministries, the expectations that comes with being a scientist under such an eminent university. As a tour guide, she is droll but informative, precise with how she wields her words. She does not open up much about herself unless asked, and even then it is bare bones and vague. All she reveals is her name, Satya Vaswani, and her career, an architech of Vishkar.

Sigma doesn’t really pay attention to her words. Instead, he watches Harold’s emotive face, eyes wide in curious fascination, the glimmer of excitement in his smile. There have been days long past where Sigma longed to capture that smile, to let it grow and flourish for all eternity, beyond the bounds of time and space. Now he enjoys it for its brief warmth, because he knows it will soon disappear. He knows what will happen before he’s even aware of it.

“I’m sorry, I never actually introduced myself,” Harold interrupts as they pass by the administrative office for the Ministry of Geology. He sticks his hand out. “Dr. Harold Winston. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Vaswani.”

Satya suddenly stops to stare at Harold’s hand, then at his face. Her expression is quizzical, concerned. Like she’s looking directly at a ghost.

“Harold Winston of…Lucheng Interstellar?”

And just like that Harold’s easygoing expression falls. “You know who I am?”

Her lips dip into a frown. “Please do not jest with me. If this is a coincidence, I find it quite far-fetched.”

“I’m not jesting, I…” Harold’s lips press tight. “Where did you hear my name from?”

“It’s all over the news. Lucheng Interstellar is trying to regain contact with Horizon One lunar base after all these years.” Satya shakes her head. “I think it’s rather unnecessary. The images I’ve seen show such signs of disrepair and chaos. I do not know how they think they can salvage it in its current state.”

“Who’s running this mission?” His tone is frantic, his eyes are wild and crazed. “Who’s running Lucheng?”

“Why are you so insistent on knowing?”

Harold stares at Satya for the longest time. Recognition dawns slowly like the sunrise. She takes a step back, nearly tripping on an uneven brick, but quickly recovers herself.

“I see,” she mumbles, her quiet tone laced with unease. “My earlier accusation was rash.”

Harold frowns. “Is it common knowledge that I…that Dr Harold Winston died on Horizon?”

“You are a dead man walking,” she comments. Her eyes narrow. “What is your purpose here?”

“I’m just a scientist,” Harold utters. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

"Your presence here cannot be a coincidence." Satya crosses her arm protectively over her body. "What is Sanjay planning?"

Though Harold tries to mask it, Sigma see the sadness behind his smile. He approaches Harold silently, resting his hand on Harold’s back. There’s tension on Harold’s shoulders, but there’s also something else, a dormant power waiting to burst, a demon quelled by sheer willpower alone.

Sigma turns to Satya. “I think the two of us are just going to roam around.”

“I have strict instructions to show you to your rooms and—”

“Please,” Harold implores.

Satya stiffens. Her eyes dart between the two men, trying her best to connect the dots. After a few seconds, she hefts a heavy sigh. “So be it. Roam around if you wish, but I must tell you that your presence is expected at dinner in Dynasty Hall at 6pm. I trust you shall not be late.”

“We will not, thank you, Miss Vaswani,” Sigma says, leading Harold away. His hand remains firm on Harold’s back, a small gesture of comfort.

They walk the paths in silence, down the brick roads of territory unknown. Sigma is not sure if it’s the time of day or some other factor he has yet to consider, but without other people roaming the campus, the university feels cold and lifeless, not unlike the ruined Horizon One base. He turns to Harold, expecting a forced joke, a pained admission of his worries, some insight into the swirling expanse that is Harold Winston’s mind, but Harold is unnaturally silent. He knows better than to talk now. Even if it pains him, he must embrace the silence and let Harold come to his own conclusion. They continue forward without a direction in mind.

Minutes later, Harold stops to sit at a lone bench. It sits beneath a large evergreen tree, a small but welcome protection from the harsh middle eastern sun. Sigma sits down next to him, close and far at the same time, his hands clenched at his side. Harold takes off the blue tinted glasses and folds them into his jacket, his gaze low. Sigma holds back the instinct to take Harold’s hand into his own and kiss it. This isn't a fairy tale, he has to remind himself. They are old men.

“You know, I didn’t completely believe you," Harold says quietly. "The first time, I mean, when you told me you thought I was dead. I mean…I think it’s better to say that I didn’t think it was such public knowledge. It’s so weird hearing your own name said like that. Like you don’t exist. Like you're not alive.”

“It’s part of the reason why I don’t go by Siebren anymore,” Sigma admits. “In a way, Dr. Siebren de Kuiper died on that international space station. I’m just Sigma, the stranger with all his memories, living his life in his honour.” The other reasons are too painful to discuss now.

“You never told me about that accident. Was that how you got your powers?”

“I figured out the secret to harnessing a black hole. Or at least I thought I did. But something went wrong, and a miniature black hole was formed and then mass and density and force all collided. I lost my mind.” Sigma stares at his knees. “Everyday I fear losing it again.”

“At least you look like you have some control,” Harold murmurs.

“It took a long time for me to master my abilities. I learned early on that my powers were dictated by my mental stability. Mind over matter, you could say. After the accident, I was sent to a special government facility. They were supposed to look after my condition but they manhandled me and they injected me with so many things and they carved implants into my skin and…” Sigma has to stop and breathe, stop and breathe. The dark whispers sing their horrid song in his ears. His hands shake.

Harold places his hand on his shoulder and squeezed softly, a welcoming distraction. Sigma focuses on the slight pressure of Harold’s fingertips, the faint body heat that emanates, and feels the tension siphon away from his body. The dark whispers are swept away with the breeze, leaving him feeling lightheaded. His body has already succumbed to Harold Winston's touch.

“I was tortured too,” Harold admits quietly, his throat tight with emotion. “I used the genetic therapy meant for Specime—Winston—and it changed my body. On Horizon Two, they healed me up initially, put me through rehabilitation, but I knew their intent. They were the B-team, living off breadcrumbs. If they can steal my research for themselves, they can get more funding and further their existence. And when I refused to divulge my secrets, they were forced to utilize…other means.”

Sigma is not completely surprised to hear this, but it does little to quell the cold dread that sweeps through his veins. He’s had his suspicions. Harold, honest and kind to a fault, hides his pain behind a smile. He doesn’t keep secrets, and the few that he does, it’s usually for good reason.

Harold’s hand trails down from Sigma’s shoulder, past his arm and down to his hand, prone and wanting. Sigma stares at their conjoined hands, feels that familiar push as gravity turns his head for him, casting his gaze onto Harold’s face. And Harold looks up at him as the connection deepens and Sigma knows deep in his bones that Harold feels the same strings of gravity pulling them together. The universe wants them to be together. It yearns for the day the two planets collide into one another with explosive force. Sigma yearns for it too. Perhaps for years. Maybe even decades.

Harold runs his thumb in circles around Sigma’s hand, his touch gentle, affectionate. “We’ve changed so much,” he whispers.

“We have,” Sigma murmurs. “But it doesn’t feel different between us. It still feels the same.”

“We haven’t changed enough, have we?”

“No.” Harold’s thumb slides up to his wrist. The movement is so delicate and fragile. Sigma suppresses a shudder. “Perhaps not enough.”

Memories resurface in that moment of the last time Harold touched him like this. Years ago, back on Horizon One, they shared a tearful goodbye before Siebren must fly back down to Earth. That final night, they traced constellations on hands, and then on faces and arms and chests and hips. Their kisses burned with the light of a dying star. Their breaths condense into stardust before their very eyes. It was the last time they saw each other before the fateful rebellion up on Horizon One lunar base. The last time they'd see each other until many years later, after a decade of thinking the other one dead.

“I-I thought you were gone," Sigma admits.

“And I thought you forgot about me,” Harold smiles weakly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He breathes out the sorrow and pain of years gone by and concentrates on the hand on top of his own. Slowly he shifts, intertwining his fingers with Harold’s. Harold was gone for so many years, but he’s here now. It’s not a dream, not an illusion. He is real. What they have is still real.

“I’ll always be here for you, Harold. Until the end of time itself.”

Harold squeezes his hand. "Until the end of time," he whispers.

They watch as the sunsets over the buildings, nestled beneath the shade of the tree. The rhythm of life throbs in their veins, a small smile spreading across their faces as they lean into each other. As Harold rests his head on Sigma’s shoulder, his head on top of Harold’s, he hears the rise and fall of Harold’s chest, the whip of the wind, the staccato thumps of a human heart. Oasis is beautiful, he thinks, but it’s nowhere near as beautiful as Harold Winston.

Dynasty Hall has a grand buffet and a classical string quartet and is stock full of intelligent, like-minded individuals, but Sigma cannot enjoy it. Above the music, above the chatter, he hears the dark whispers sing to him their fears and worries. They taunt him just as much as they warn him, their voices shrill and high in their menacing serenade.

He does not have anyone to comfort him. Not Moira, not Harold. They are talking to the members of the Ministries of Genetics and Biology respectively, chatting along to the topic of the day, Sigma suspects. Sigma sits at his assigned table, sipping the non-alcoholic champagne, watching the scene unfold before him with veritable unease. Much as he loves food and drink, not even that simple joy can distract him. He sees Harold laugh at something, maybe a terrible pun or a silly joke, and it’s like the black hole is swallowing him from the inside out.

He can’t stay here. He doesn’t belong. Not anymore.

He finds his way to one of the university’s libraries and grabs a computer. It’s relatively empty, save for a few stray staff and students. The library is prestigious enough to offer a pair of headphones for his needs and he puts them on, adjusting them so they fit snugly over his head. He needs a distraction, something to take him away from his thoughts, something to drown out the whispers.

Sigma starts searching for songs that he liked. The genre didn’t matter, as long as it’s not too depressing. But typically,when it came to searching the internet, it doesn’t just end at songs. News articles pop up on current events. A celebrity died. Omnic tensions are on the rise once more. A musician named Lucio released a new album. He scours through them all. He’s searching for something, but he does not know what it is until he finds it.

It’s innocuous enough. Rumours have sprung that Overwatch was possibly reforming in defiance of the Petras act. The news website asks its viewers to vote on their opinions. The majority are uncertain about Overwatch's return.

Didn’t that article say that Winston was part of Overwatch?

Before he can stop and reconsider, his fingers are already flying over the keyboard. Nestled nearly within the internet is the story of Winston's life, his rise to fame, his scientific endeavours, his disappearance after the fall of Overwatch. A myriad of different emotions bubble within Sigma's chest. He remembers when Winston was just a baby, so small he could fit on his arms. And now they live on, continuing Harold’s memory. Sigma wonders how Harold would feel. Proud, he thinks. He always did love the little chimp, even if he never admitted so out loud. Secretly, Sigma did too .

He scrolls through, looking through everything until he come to a single news report that takes his breath away.

Primal Punch! Gorilla from the moon saves the day!

The picture is of Winston fighting a man known as Doomfist the Successor. There’s no mistaking it. It’s an older photo but it is definitely Akande.

"Doomfist?" That couldn't be right. Akande is big and intimidating, but the article called him a terrorist. Sigma reads on.

The incident was over five years ago, when Doomfist starts a fight on the streets of Singapore. Overwatch is called in, but they are no match. They talk of a fist fight, in which Winston won, and Doomfist is incarcerated. In the comment section is a list of all his other crimes. Murder, larceny, destruction of property, among others. At one point, he even had a wanted poster.

“This cannot be.”

Suddenly the computer glitches violently before the screen turns black. From the dim a purple sugar skull symbol glows in the centre. Within a few seconds, light filters in, revealing a private message app that Sigma’s never encountered before.

It’s your very best friend. Took a while to find it, didn’t you, Sigma?

“Sombra?” Sigma tries to type a message in response, but the keyboard doesn’t work. Nothing seems to be working. His head whips around but there’s no one in sight, no staff or students. The timing is too convenient. He stares at the cameras. Is it just him or does it look like the camera is winking?

On screen, a text bubble shows three dots.

You didn’t tell me Dr. Winston was your boyfriend

Should’ve figured though. You make a cute couple. Talk about an old married couple, eh?

“Get to the point,” Sigma mutters under his breath. If Sombra really is watching him from the cameras, he hopes his blush isn’t too obvious.

I happen to know how to get ahold of the gorilla.

He’s doing this recall thing. Trying to reform Overwatch again.

Bit silly in my opinion, but I’m not one to judge

Either way, his communication lines are all yours. Say the word and I’ll let you talk to him.

What do you say?

A small line flickers in and out to a silent rhythm. Sigma notices that he’s finally got control of the mouse and keyboard. His fingers glide over the keys and hesitate. Shouldn’t this be for Harold? They are the ones who share the name, Harold was the one to look after Winston like a father.

Tick tock tick tock Sigma

He was never a fast typer, but he gets his message out quick enough.

You should be asking Harold, not me

You don’t wanna know the truth?

After a few seconds, Sigma decides not to type a reply. He doesn’t have an answer to give Sombra. The whispers seem so much louder all of a sudden, as if threatening to consume his body. They murmur in dissent, dissatisfied with his decision.

Well, if you change your mind, I’ll know.

This is a limited time deal, though. You’ve got a week to talk this over with your boyfriend

I won’t peek on your conversation with the gorilla, I promise ;P

The sugar skull symbol appears flashes before his eyes and suddenly the computer is normal again. The article is in front of him, Winston’s gruff looking portrait peeking out from the corner. He can’t bare to look at it anymore. He closes the article and turns off the library computer and presses his fingers into his scalp. Songs and formulas fly through his head, but they give him no comfort. In his mind’s eyes, all he sees is Harold and Winston’s faces, smiling and laughing. It makes his heart wretch and his head ache and he doesn’t know why.

As Sigma sits alone in the library, his eyes squeezed so tight no tear could ever stain his cheeks, the universe hums him a tune of its own creation. It tells him the story of the future. There will be pain, and sacrifices must be made, but if he makes the correct decision, the rest of his life will be a happy one. But alas, he does not understand the universe’s language. If he did, maybe he wouldn’t be so nervous. Maybe then he could prepare. Until then, he is a puppet, acutely aware of the strings that pull at his limbs.

He doesn’t cry that day, but it’s the closest he’s come since Harold’s death.

[el-borealis]

Full Circle - Chapter 1

Read the full fic on AO3 

(currently 17/20 or 21 chapters up) 

Summary: 

At 16, Mike and El were torn from each other as El went into hiding from a resurgence of Brenner's project. Seven years later, Mike had finally moved on. But a chance occurrence on a New York City train throws them together again at the best and worst possible moment, completely changing their trajectories.

--

Please don't do this, El. Please!

You're not safe as long as I'm here. I'm not safe as long as I'm here.

I know but I lo-… Eleven… Just… FUCK! Just…

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Promise you'll find me when you're safe. Promise me.

I Promise.

Eleven, I -

Mike…

"Mike!"

"Wha?!" Mike shot up in bed, his heart racing.

Marissa sighed and buried her head back in her pillow, "You were having that dream again."

"What?" Mike asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he blindly reached for his glass of water in the dark.

"Eleven. You yelled Eleven. Again. It's like the third time in a row. What the hell does it mean?" she replied sleepily.

Mike laid back against his pillow restlessly, "Yeah, I… I don't know."

"Weird…" Marissa murmured.

Mike laid in silence in a cold sweat and stared at the streetlights painting the ceiling. The cars six stories below drifted up in white noise through his window. He could not catch his breath.

He curled into a ball on his side and pulled away from Marissa. Her breath tickled the bare skin of his back, but it only worked to make him colder. He bundled the blankets beneath his chin and watched the slowly flashing blue light emanating from his computer on the other end of the warehouse loft. It bleached the memory of her face from his mind and lulled him back to sleep.

The morning came quickly and before he knew it he found himself blearly eyed in front of his screen. "Up so early?" Marissa cooed in his ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, an errant strand of brown hair tickling his ear. He fought himself not to be rude and shake her off, but he needed all of the concentration he could muster.

"Yeah, sorry if I woke you. I got paged about an operation and I really need to pay attention," he replied in a distracted monotone.

Marissa sighed and stepped away, "It's like you have a new operation every day," she grumbled as she reached for her skirt.

"…I do have a new operation every day," Mike replied matter of factly.

"I still think what you're doing is… well, not illegal I guess, but legally dubious, yeah?" she replied with annoyance. Mike gritted his teeth but chose not to respond. The topic had only gotten them in more and more awkward fights as she'd learned more about his work. He didn't have the time or energy to have another go around on it this morning.

She rummaged through the pile of haphazardly strewn laundry at the foot of his bed, located her shirt and worked to turn it back from inside out, "Anyway…" she sighed, "I'm going to head out."

"Okay," he said as he quickly looked over his shoulder and threw her an apologetic smile, "Sorry I got caught in this. I know we'd planned on having breakfast but…"

"It's fine," she said, though he could swear he saw her rolling her eyes, "Oh hey, Mike? Did you still… want to come with me this weekend?"

"What's this weekend?" he asked, his eyes back on the code on his screen.

"Um… Christmas? It's Christmas. Meeting my family? Do you remember?" she said quietly.

"Uh… Oh yeah. Um… Yeah, Of course," Mike replied, his eyes back on Marissa. He watched her as she brushed her fingers through her short brown hair and smoothed it to the side with the remnants of yesterday's product. She really was lovely, he thought, and she didn't look like… like her… at all. No matter what Dustin had said when he'd visited a few weeks back.

"Okay, great," she smiled shyly, "I'm supposed to talk to my mom today so I'll page you when I have the information and you can call me?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Mike said, turning once again to his computer screen.

"Okay…" she said tentatively, "Well… Bye."

"You too," he mumbled, fully back in the swing of staring at the code.

The door opened and closed quietly, and his head immediately dropped to his desk. "Shit."

Christmas. Family. What a disaster. What was he doing? Was he leading her on? And what the fuck was with these dreams? It had happened every night for the last, what? Two weeks? It didn't make sense. It had been years since he'd dreamed about her regularly.

She swam through his mind as he stared at the screen, making it impossible for him to focus. Her mop of curls and shy smile puffed up like smoke out of foggy memories and had slowly grown into technicolor, brighter and more vivid with each passing night. After so many nights in a row he felt like he could almost smell her shampoo again. And with it, the callous on his heart from her abrupt departure cracked a bit with small waves of angst and longing. To be honest, it was maddening.

He didn't like to admit it, but it had taken him years to move on and banish everything to the past. Everyone at M.I.T. had thought Mike was gay throughout his entire college career. His seeming lack of interest in girls was legendary, and was greatly confusing to everyone he knew given the fact that he'd matured into a pretty good looking, and really funny, guy. He had cursed himself over and over and tried to push past it, but the truth was that he just… couldn't give up hope that she'd come back for him.

But time and age did have a way of fading past priorities… or rather, accepting the things he could not change. And around Day 2,000 it finally sunk in that she wasn't coming back.

And with that, he opened up to options and along had come Marissa. She was a brain and had a publishing internship at a bookseller in midtown. They'd met through a mutual friend during Mike's first week in New York during the past summer, right after he'd graduated college. It was a fully fresh start. And it had been great. She was witty, intelligent, decently nerdy and very cute. And after about six months together it was all going great… or at least fine?

Then what the fuck were these dreams about?

Mike sighed, stood up and crossed to the oversized and ancient warehouse window. Using both arms, he laboriously cracked one of the huge windows to get a breath of fresh air. Hell's Kitchen was alive below. Traffic backed up on 12th Avenue, boats buzzing in and out of the docks on the Hudson. It was a unique living situation, to say the least, but the appeal of living in a hacker community and operating out of a completely secure building was something he couldn't pass up. The place was Fort Knox as far as the technology protocols. It was safer to do his work here than he could have ever asked for, allowing him full ability to focus on his 'project'. And in return, all they asked of him was a few hours each morning to do the 'legally dubious' hacking they needed from him.

He was so close to completing what he had been working on for so long. If he could only find a way to tell her.

Mike's eyes fell on his old Supercomm propped on an overturned box by his bed.

"Pull it together, Wheeler. She's not going to be listening on that fucking radio. She's not 13. You're not 13."

---

Jane sat in the windowsill of the dilapidated warehouse, overlooking the piers and docks on the river. The city was always busy in the morning, even in the water. Despite the realities surrounding her life, a small smile played upon her lips. New York was a foreign site, like all of the others, but it felt oddly welcoming. After all of the anonymous cities and backwoods cabins and any and every place that had served as a good hiding spot, she had prepared herself for New York to feel hostile, just like all of the rest. Maybe it was the energy. Maybe it was the fact that she was so close to succeeding after all of these years. So close to safe. But New York felt different. She could feel it in her bones. There was something in the air that made her feel hopeful, alive, and a bit more whole.

"Any peep out of the girl?" Kali asked quietly as she moved to join Jane in the window sill.

Jane tore her eyes from the river, turned to Kali and shook her head, "Not yet."

Kali groaned, "You're sure she can be trusted?"

"Yes, I can feel that she's good," Jane insisted, for the 20th time in three days.

"Well, you were good. And I was good. So… it's possible, I guess," Kali said with a placating smile as she looked in the direction of the threadbare mattress and the small sleeping girl, "But she hasn't said a word in five days."

"Did you say a word for five days after you escaped?" Jane replied curtly, throwing Kali a look. "I know I hardly did. And yes she has talked, just not to you. You scare her."

"Yeah..." Kali nodded and ran her fingers through her untamable hair, "I just don't want this to turn out like last time."

A familiar knife twisted in Jane's chest. She swallowed hard, "It won't."

"Mike?" a small voice muttered from the other side of the room.

Jane looked over her shoulder to the small girl stirring and patting her hand around her on the bed, searching. "I see him," Jane called as she jumped up and crossed to the mattress. Jane bent down, grabbed her old teddy bear, and gently handed it to her girl, "Here you go, Sev. He's doing a good job keeping you safe, huh?"

The small girl's eyes opened as she took Jane's bear and she smiled tentatively, "Thank you."

Jane nodded kindly, "Are you hungry? I have Eggos."

"No Eggos," the girl replied, shaking her head into her pillow.

"What's wrong with Eggos?" Jane asked in surprise.

"Too many Eggos," Sev whined quietly.

"Never too many Eggos," Jane said with mock insult, "I'll get you a granola bar." The small girl nodded and closed her eyes again.

Jane bit her lip as she rose and walked to their makeshift kitchen. Kali was right, they needed to start pushing the girl. It had been almost a week since 017 had successfully escaped the New York lab, which she seemed to have done in a shockingly easy manner. The girl was clearly powerful and cunning, or so she had seemed to demonstrate through her escape. However, she hadn't shown anything but fear and exhaustion in the days since she had tracked Jane to their new concealed location.

They needed to get her to talk if they were going to finish this. They were so achingly close. Closer than they had ever been to ending it all. It was clear, however, that they were operating more and more on borrowed time with each day that Sev remained mum about the details they needed. Kali was having to work her powers on overtime to keep their whereabouts untraceable, and Jane could tell it was taking a toll on her. They needed to finish this, fast.

Kali and Jane had been extremely nervous and alert upon Sev's arrival to their new hideout in New York City. They had been fully prepared for a trap. Kali had been less than enthused by the plan that Jane had created on her toes in the fly, but accepted it begrudgingly as they could back out if things didn't go to plan and conceal their escape. It was much less dangerous than their last attempt at anything like this, and the potential gain of having 017 with them was immense.

But when the small girl arrived no one was with her, and no one had seemed to follow. And as such, as the first couple of days progressed a huge bloom of hope prospered in Jane's chest. She saw the familiar trauma in the girl's eyes, a look she had never seen on another face, but knew full well was a shadow of her own first days of freedom. They had gained a new sister. A new sister who could help them as they helped her.

But in the last couple of days, the bloom had started to wilt as the girl refused to talk time and again. More and more Jane couldn't shake off the feeling that they were sitting ducks.

She was so small, so frail. It was jarring to imagine how much she must have resembled Jane when she herself had just escaped. She couldn't have been older than ten years, stark blue eyes and a shaved head with miniscule strands of chestnut hair. So painfully young. But even so, she had shown herself to be the best tracker any of the labs had created since 011 herself.

Jane would know. She'd met every single one of them in the Void.

Most of them hadn't been able to make sense of what they were seeing when Jane made it clear she could see them back, but Sev had understood immediately.

"Help," the small girl whispered as Jane appeared to her for the first time. Her body encased in the same old sensory deprivation suit she herself remembered too well. A deep chill raised up Jane's spine.

Back in the reality dimension, Jane grabbed Kali's hand hard. Kali's understood in an instant, and her eyes dropped shut in order to obscure the conversation from the signal.

"You're safe with me. They can't hear you." Jane replied to the girl, "Who are you?"

The small girl tentatively raised her arm. 017 etched into her skin. Jane raised her own arm and peeled back her sleeve to reveal 011.

"Did they send you to find me?" Jane asked. The girl nodded. "Is this your first try?" The girl nodded again.

Jane sighed as a rush of nervousness laced through her veins. They were getting better. Too good. There wasn't any time left anymore.

"Do you want to get out of there?" Jane asked carefully, "I can help you. Escape?"

The girl nodded adamantly, tears materializing at the edges of her eyes, "Help," she whispered again.

Jane's resolve wavered. Her fear of being tracked was quickly drowned out by the aching she felt for the innocent young girl. Every other tracker she had met in The Void had been older, more sinister and aggressive, and clearly less skilled. She had never before felt as though one of them was a mirror of her own self.

It was dangerous, insanely dangerous, to trust the girl to be real. She knew it all too well. She thought fast.

"017, can I call you Sev? Short for Seventeen? A nickname?" Jane asked tentatively.

The girl stared at her blankly.

"I'm El, short for Eleven, just like you," she said with a smile.

"Oh," Sev said, thinking hard. She ultimately nodded.

"Okay," Jane replied with a warm smile, trying with all of her might to calm the girl. She walked closer to the girl and sat within the water of the Void, "Sev, have you ever tracked someone without the bath?"

"Yes," she replied with a stutter.

"Good, that's really good!" Jane replied in surprise. She scooted herself closer as she made a plan on the fly, "Sev, I need you to do that, okay? I need you to track your captors and learn their routes. Can you do that?"

The girl began to shake, fear rising to her face.

"I know it's hard and scary, but I need you to learn how they get out of the building, and then in…in three days I need you to come back to me and we'll make a plan to get you out of there. Can you do that?"

017 swallowed hard as a terror filled tear spilled from her eyes.

"You can do it," Jane replied encouragingly, "I believe in you. If you do it and you get out I'll let you track me and you can find me. I can kind of tell where you are, but not quite, so I'll be really close. Come back to me in three days?"

The little girl nodded, glancing over her shoulder nervously.

"And Sev," Jane added abruptly, "Do not tell Papa anything. Do not tell him you saw me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered shakily.

"Good. Promise me you won't tell Papa," Jane repeated softly leaning in as closely as she could.

"Promise?"

"It means something that you can't break. Ever."

"P-promise," the girl stammered.

"Find me in three days, Sev. I'll be close. Follow them. Remember. You saw nothing. Don't tell Papa."

The girl swallowed and nodded frantically as she faded from view.

Jane never expected the girl would escape in such a clean manner. No deaths, no instant triggers. A perfectly executed escape. Jane herself had usually made quite the scene with her own interactions with the labs, from the very beginning. Stealth was not her strong suit. Her new small sister was clearly more powerful than she let on as she sat doe eyed on the mattress, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and positively swimming in Jane's ratty hand me down Replacements t-shirt.

Jane grabbed the final granola bar and a Hi-C and returned to the edge of Sev's bed. "Sev, here's breakfast."

Sev arose slowly, Mike the Bear still held tightly in the crook of her arm. She took the granola bar and munched quietly as she looked at Jane.

"Sev, if I let you sleep late will you help me today? Find the bad men? We have to find them soon if we're going to keep you safe." The girl was silent as she chewed her granola bar.

"No," she said quietly.

Jane sighed, "Okay… Sev, we have to talk about this or we're not safe."

"Tomorrow?" the girl asked.

"Do you promise?" Jane asked carefully.

Sev grimaced and paused, fear rolling through her eyes. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at Jane. "I… promise."

"Okay. Tomorrow then. Get some rest," Jane replied, stress rising into her chest.

Sev nodded and laid back down, pulling the bear deeper into her embrace.

Jane rose from the edge of the mattress and crossed to the other side of the room where Kali sat with a sour face.

"Well?" Kali asked.

"Tomorrow…" Jane replied with a sigh, "But she promised."

"What the hell does that matter?" Kali exclaimed, a little too loud.

"Shh, she's sleeping. She'll keep the promise," Jane avoided Kali's eyes, though she could have drawn a picture of the face she was surely receiving.

"We don't have the time, Jane," she barked in a whisper.

"I KNOW," Jane snapped, "It will be tomorrow. Promise."

Kali sighed, "If I'm going to do this another day I need supplies. I'm running low on energy and we hardly have anything left."

"Can you make me a list?" Jane asked. Kali nodded and crossed the room to their messy pile of supplies. She rummaged out a pen and paper and scratched down a few necessities as Jane wrestled on her oversized winter coat.

Kali returned and shoved the list into Jane's hand, "Wear a wig and please don't draw any attention to yourself. Be careful."

"I know," Jane huffed, "I'm always careful."

"You're usually careful," Kali corrected with a smirk, "Be careful today."

Jane nodded and crossed to her set of wigs, "Just keep her safe, will you? I'll be back soon."

---

Mike cursed under his breath as the train trundled through the cold mid-morning tunnel. This was… stupid. But he could find no way out of it. Ted Wheeler's old college buddy Sal was intent on finding Mike a 'suitable job', and that definitely meant exactly what it sounded like. Suit. Tie. The man. 9-5. Two weeks vacation. Pension. Retirement. Early Death. It wasn't happening.

So why was he on this train at ten in the morning dragging his ass to 44th and 8th Ave for a coffee? He honestly couldn't answer it for himself. He had pushed it off four times in the six months that he'd been in the city. But if he pushed it off once more his dad might actually call him and talk to him just to give him shit, and a phone call with Ted Wheeler was literally the last thing he wanted. A 45-minute coffee would have to do. Though he had made sure not to comb his unruly mop of hair, and he was certain the hoodie and jeans he was wearing were going to be seen as scandalous. That was, honestly, the point.

"42nd Street / 8th Avenue" the voice rumbled over the intercom. Mike begrudgingly stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and exited the train car.

----

"50th Street Station - This is a downtown bound A Train"

The choppy train intercom blared as she stepped into the grubby train car. She absolutely loved the train. It was electrifying watching little girls play cat's cradle next to a businessman reading the Times, next to a junkie who was still riding the train after sleeping in it the night before. All of it topped off with erratic graffiti. Everyone was anonymous. Everyone was a stranger. It was so incredibly freeing.

She ran her fingers through her straight blond wig. Of all of her disguises, her first was still her favorite.

"42nd Street / 8th Avenue"

The train began to slow as they reached the station.

"Hey! My purse! Get off!" A small woman shrieked as the junkie who had recently been passed out made a fast and sloppy attempt at a snatch. The train erupted in screams from the small schoolgirls as they tried to back away.

"Shit," Jane grumbled as she scanned the room for a heavy object. A hardcopy of John Grisham's 'The Client' flew from an elderly man's hands through the air at full speed and smacked the perpetrator in the face, rendering him unconscious.

The doors opened.

----

Mike dragged his feet as he slowly made his way down the platform toward the stairs. A rush of wind smashed against his face, making his hair fly as a train careened out of the tunnel on the downtown track to his left. "Good," he thought, "Make me look messier."

The train came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal intense commotion. He watched with surprise as a book flew through half of the train car and hit a man square in the face, clocking him out cold.

"Good aim..." he said to himself with a laugh.

A throng of schoolgirls ran screaming from the train car and almost bowled him over. A small old woman huffed, kicked the man on the ground, and lumbered her way out of the train. A pretty young blonde woman by the door wiped her nose casually as she turned away from the commotion and toward the exit.

Mike's feet froze where he stood as he gazed in shock at the young woman hanging her arm casually from the strap of the train car. He watched, transfixed, as she tucked a blond strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her always delicate profile. She was draped in an oversized and unbuttoned grey peacoat, the same old Clash t-shirt she had worn every day of 10th grade peeking out from underneath. It had been seven years, but it didn't matter her age. He would have recognized the arch of her cupid's bow lips and almond eyes anywhere, at any age. She was just as beautiful as the day she'd left.

He gasped and watched in agony as the doors of the train closed between them.

"El!" he called suddenly, his feet taking him hypnotically after the moving train.

El Hopper looked out the window as the train began to move and locked eyes with him. He could swear he watched her lips mouth his name as the train sped out of the station.

Read more on AO3 or ff.net

[bearsace]

petal snowfall.

Summary: “You know,” she whispers into the moonlight one evening in their shared room, “I bet if you saw all the beauty I bring into the world, you’d quit trying to cover it all in snow.” / The god of winter falls for the goddess of spring.

Author’s Note: An AU with lots of world-building, so not really a skimming read . . . not to be confused with a Hades and Persephone retelling fic, though it may seem like it. Inspired by Mitsuhide’s story in the Late Night Seduction gacha. :) I’ll do my best to get it uploaded to ao3 asap! Special thanks to a special bud, @kujotaiqa, for the awesome insp. for this story. :)

Pairings: Akechi Mitsuhide/MC

Genre: Romance, friendship, AU, slight angst

Rating: K+

Word Count: 4,000+

Read Time: 15+ minutes

Before the spring came, there was a lonely god.

The god lived in a teahouse, twice as wide as he was tall, with a small, marble table in the center that had places set for two. He occupied one, and at the start of each day, would pour two steaming cups of tea and set out two hot plates of food. At the end of each day he washed one set of plates and threw out the cold meal on the other.

The teahouse was built for him to leave. The days passed and with them came the unending cold he was meant to bring. In these days, there was nothing but Winter.

Winter was not his real name. (They say he was born “Mitsuhide,” but there was hardly a soul around to call him any name at all.) One could find him in his teahouse only in the morning and in the evening— and in the day, he disappeared to sprinkle snow onto fields and dust frost onto crops.

There was nothing but him, and people starved for it.

“Mitsuhide,” said his Creator, observing mortals as they died of hunger. “Why must you bring so much famine?”

“I know nothing else, my lord,” replied the god. “And so I do all that I can do. If it is too much, then send me a solution.”

His Creator, if good for anything, is good for keeping his word. He decrees that Mitsuhide is to split his time with a being called Spring.

His Creator, if bad for anything, is bad for being punctual. It is another six months before this “Spring” shows up in Mitsuhide’s life.

She comes with the snowflakes-that-aren’t-really-snowflakes. (She gives them a name later: cherry blossoms.)

He can see her silhouette through the rice paper walls, and his brows lift in a moment of surprise. Unsure for a moment, he sets his sake upon the table, waiting for her to move. He has had his fair share of women, but none in this sacred, secret place. He slides the rice paper door open.

A flying branch nails him in the forehead.

“Dirty creep!”

She was naked, apparently, and that’s one hell of a way to make an entrance. Despite his seething rage at her perfect aim right for his face, he averts his eyes, wordlessly dropping the outermost layer of his clothing onto the ground where a snow-colored hand snatches it up and wraps it around a tiny body.

They’re seated later and she grouchily nibbles on the meal he’s set out for her, grumbling about how he could have had some sense of decency to figure out that she was bound to be naked after blowing into this world on a petal. He doesn’t know what their Creator expects of her.

The way he brings snow, she’s supposed to bring something into this world as well . . . he doesn’t know what it is, but so far, she’s brought a major source of entertainment.

“How do I know what I’m supposed to be here for?”

“Just do what you feel like doing,” he advises honestly, “and you’ll know. I came into this world and as I wandered it, ice followed. As you wander it, something else will.”

“What will?”

“I don’t know. A swarm of wasps, perhaps?”

He dodges the chunk of beef she catapults off her chopstick. Maybe this setup won’t be so bad, after all.

Their Creator insists that now that there are two of them, they take turns.

For six months, the spring reigns, and for another six, Mitsuhide does. She finds her calling in pink-petal rivers and the smell of waking grass and dewdrops. He continues on as usual, killing everything she births once the time comes, and shrouds the world in bony white.

He never gets to see the life she breathes into his wasteland, because their Creator insists that whoever’s turn it is to mould the earth stays outside of their teahouse, and whoever’s it isn’t remains inside their lonely tearoom.

They disguise themselves as beggars and royals and workers and thieves when they drift along— she rewards the kindhearted with flourishing gardens and fertile livestock, and he punishes the cruel with fires extinguished by melting icicles and dirt too cold to plant on.

He makes her tea in the springtime. She presses rice balls into his plate when winter comes. No matter the season, they talk deep into the night when one of them comes home . . . and Mitsuhide no longer washes one set of dishes, but two.

The tearoom has a window through which he experiences her world, because really, isn’t that what it is? His world, and hers?

He experiences his winter through the sound and smell and feeling, but her spring he can only watch in the form of the tree that stands proud outside. For six months each year, she explores the world and comes home in the darkest hours of the evening, and for the other six, he does the same. They are only observers to the other’s season, and Mitsuhide always pushes down the curiosity he feels to experience hers in full.

But for now, his days consist of making tea for her to warm herself with when she comes home, and to wait by the window for her graceful form up the stone path so that he can entertain himself with her again.

No matter the season, when they are finished talking and drinking and he’s had his fill of tormenting her (her reactions are always priceless), he cleans their dishes, and she goes straight to the room they share in the back of the teahouse and falls asleep in her bed. By the time he is finished dusting and polishing every teacup and retreats to his own bed adjacent to hers, she’s always asleep, face soft and illuminated by the moonlight.

And if she wakes up in the morning screaming his name in rage because her sheets are somehow frozen solid to her futon, that’s just as pretty of a picture.

Mitsuhide believes that at this point, she was born to be teased. If she wasn’t, why would she look so lovely fuming at him from across the room, angry blush staining her cheeks and delicate hands curled into fists?

He found out long ago that nothing, nothing works her up more than unexpected spring snow.

Sometimes when it’s the beginning of spring and she spends almost every hour of six months outside making flowers bloom, he summons a stray winter wind to wherever he pleases. Blossoms frost over and babbling creeks freeze in their tracks and she comes home, fuming, as he sips at his tea and watches her world through his window.

“Mitsuhide, you ass!”

“A strong choice of words, don’t you think?”

“Cut that out! I’m serious, I can’t get any work done because you keep bringing winter to the most chance places and by the time I get there, it’s too cold to bring spring.”

“That sounds like a 'you’ problem . . . have you considered arriving at your assigned locations sooner so you have a chance to thaw them?”

And he already knows her answer, because they have this conversation at least once every few weeks.

He knows that when he pours her a cup of tea and pats the spot across from him, she’ll sit down with a glare and a huff, because it’s not like she’ll be able to do much else anyway until the ice melts.

And he certainly knows that, as she takes her anger out on the onigiri she makes for the two of them for dinner, it’ll always turn out all right.

(“You know,” she whispers into the moonlight one evening in their shared room, and he starts when he realizes she’s actually awake for once. “I bet if you saw all the beauty I bring into the world, you’d quit trying to cover it all in snow.”)

“Mitsuhide. Come outside and see what I’ve created.”

One hundred years pass.

“The springtime that I brought this year is warm and bright. Come and see.”

Two hundred more, and despite the loneliness of a winter day, he lives for the winter nights where he can come home and see her radiant face.

“It’s my turn now . . . won’t you come outside at least once, even though it’s not your season?”

Three hundred more, and he’s sure that the world she paints green is as beautiful as herself. (Not that he would ever say that to that ever-persistent face of hers.)

The life of a goddess is one fit for her as humans begin to realize that the reason their soil becomes dark and rich every six months is because of her. She finds herself written in mythology books as the Queen of Mortality, a fearsome yet kind lifebringer who strikes down the God of Winter to bring prosperity into the fields once more.

Yet when she snarks at him every night from across the teatable and greedily stuffs seafood hotpots into that pretty little mouth, he thinks that she might not be quite so poetic as they think.

(He’s more than okay with that.)

But she is beautiful one night— that is, moreso than usual.

He notices it in one of his favorite times of the year: the unearthly, ethereal moment where winter fades into spring. They get to spend more time together on the rare nights that are cool enough for snow to stay on the ground, but warm enough for her to begin melting it.

A six-hundred year friendship (or, as she calls it, a tormenter/sufferer-ship) has led to a five-hundred year long attempt of her trying to get him to come outside during her season.

“I mean it,” she says whenever he refuses her. “Not to blow my own horn or anything, but the world I create in the springtime really is something. You’d probably stop being such a slinky evil jerk if you took just one look at it. Just one.”

There’s something tonight in the lights across her face, the way her cheekbones catch the stars in the small space of the tearoom, that makes his curiosity begin to cave. Their Creator was adamant— is adamant— that he doesn’t leave their teahouse in the spring, and that she doesn’t in the winter. But the night is perfect, and he wants to know what her world feels like, and when she senses his consideration and smiles hopefully at him— well, he never stood a chance in the first place, did he?

He walks out the way she comes in, but for the first time, they walk together outside, arm-in-arm as she leads the way down the stone path. It’s a path he’s walked many times on his way to bring winter to the world, but this is his first time walking it with thin clothes on his back instead of bundled in thousands of layers.

The soft hands of his friend pull at his strong ones and drag him around the world like she is a child and he is her puppy. Her eyes glow with the triumph and excitement and happiness of finally convincing Mitsuhide to experience her spring.

The night is warm. So is she. She shines beneath the starlight, even more beautifully than she shined in the tearoom, her lips smiling and full like the petals that swirl around the warm spring breeze. He wonders if they’re just as soft.

He’s been waiting six, nearly seven-hundred years to experience her world— yet now he’s wondering if that all-encompassing desire was not for her world, but for her and her alone. And despite the beauty of a world in bloom, Mitsuhide can’t take his eyes from her the entire night as he finally begins to see.

With the speed of two gods at their disposal, they are around the world and back again within the hour, and she beams at him.

“I told you that it was beautiful.”

She bids him good night with a peck on the cheek and leaves him in the tearoom while she snuggles into her futon in the bedroom.

Mitsuhide’s face remains stoic as he stares at the curtain she disappears behind. He stares long enough for the candlelight to flicker and burn out, and far after that until he follows her and takes a seat on the edge of his own futon.

Perhaps this was why her Creator didn’t want them outside together in her beautiful spring. Perhaps he knew that Mitsuhide would fall for her this relentlessly. Perhaps Mitsuhide shouldn’t be surprised at all— though the only surprise to him is how long it took to realize it.

This, the God of Winter thinks as he stares calmly at her sleeping form, will be a problem.

He goes outside with her more often then, much to her delight. He uses the winter winds to freeze the stems of the ripest plums so they fall into her waiting hands, and he bastes the fish they have for dinner and sweetens their tea with the juice. And he watches her, steals kisses on her cheek whenever he can catch her off-guard to do it— on his bolder days, he pulls her near and catches the hollow of her throat in his teeth.

She’s always embarrassed and becomes even redder than when he teases her with snow in spring.

“What’s gotten into you recently?” She rasps after he releases her with a smirk that hides a deeper longing. (Although her spoken “recently” is more like a hundred years or so since his revelation. Time moves differently for gods like them.)

Love, the back of his mind whispers, is what’s gotten into me.

He squashes that thought everytime it arrives.

She was born for the light and he for the shadow; he has no business thinking this way. But he aches— aches terribly with the knowledge that no matter how many times he sneaks into the warm night with her to rain those soft, lifebringing hands with kisses, he will never be able to touch that light. Not the way he wants to.

It doesn’t stop him from kneeling by her bedside as she falls asleep, pushing cold winter winds away from the window to warm her in the only way he knows how.

Their Creator calls him one day. Mitsuhide knows by the look in their Creator’s eyes that he knows.

Their Creator is benevolent; not one to punish excessively, but not one to let this go, either. There is a disappointed glaze in his all-knowing eyes that unsettles Mitsuhide, and their Creator simply sighs.

“You fell in love with her, too?”

So Mitsuhide isn’t the first, it seems; other gods have as well, though Mitsuhide’s been the only one fortunate enough to spend this much time with her. Their Creator recounts the many gods she’s encountered in her time in this world— the god of war, apparently, was rather fond of her; the god of romance had been trying to woo her for the past three-hundred years; and the god of reason, who still apparently didn’t even realize it himself. They were only a few who’d fallen for her, and Mitsuhide was sure there were hundreds more under her spell.

Their Creator understands— he’d half been expecting Mitsuhide to disobey him, anyway. That doesn’t mean he goes unpunished.

And Mitsuhide won’t ever tell their Creator that she’s the one who wanted him to go outside in the first place. He couldn’t do that to her.

His punishment, though, becomes her punishment anyway simply by association— their Creator separates their rooms and Mitsuhide can no longer watch her as he lies in a separate bed facing her, pretending their futons were conjoined and he had the right to hold her.

The window in their tearoom is bricked shut one day, much to her chagrin as she doesn’t understand why their Creator cut her off so thoroughly (though Mitsuhide doesn’t have the heart to tell her their Creator is cutting him off, not vice versa).

But last of all, and worst of all, springtime gets more hours.

It is the last punishment that hurts the most. She no longer has time to come sit and have tea with him as she barely even has time to sleep. Without the window, he can no longer see her walking up the path, much less experience her world. And without their shared room, he can’t even listen to her steady breathing.

Mitsuhide is effectively deprived of her.

He misses that snark of hers, that raised brow as she quips at him, that lovely scowl as she lightly hits his arm. He barely catches fleeting glimpses of her when she crosses the floor to her own room, tired and dead off her feet and barely able to mutter a hello before she’s gone again. And in the winter, they swap, and he takes on so much time in the cold that he doesn’t get to see her either, since she’s long gone to bed, not having the stamina to wait hours for his arrival the way he did with hers. Anything just to see her, no matter how fleeting—

He misses her.

He misses her so much that one day, without his realization, it starts snowing.

And the next day, she’s there.

He’s so stunned at seeing her, in the flesh, skin like marble and eyes deep and swirling like the tea she’s drinking. He looks at the space across from her, and finds that there’s another cup set out.

“Isn’t it springtime?” He asks, taking the seat and daring to touch her cheekbone with the same gentleness as the petal she blew in on.

“Yes,” she responds and gestures to where the window used to be. “But it’s snowing.”

“Is it?”

“It is. And both you and I know that I can’t get anything done when it’s snowing. It’s too cold to make anything bloom.”

She offers him an onigiri, the pristine shape of it clearly showing that she wasn’t angry enough to mash it into bits as she made it. In fact, she doesn’t seem angry at all as she sits calmly sipping tea the way they did long, long ago.

She’s rarely angry with him now when it snows in the spring. It gives them only two— if they’re lucky, three— precious hours in the early hours of the morning to stall her departure and sit in each other’s presence and snark and tease the way they did before. Sometimes, she begs for him not to make it snow in a certain region, and if he can help it, he doesn’t; but sometimes, it’s just been too long and he makes it snow there anyway.

It’s tricky and manipulative— just enough snow for them to quench their desire for each other’s companionship, but not so much that their Creator grows suspicious. They don’t dare to sneak out in the middle of the night the same way they used to. But for Mitsuhide, every moment he can spend with her now is enough.

She grows more beautiful by the day, and the longer they spend apart from each other, the more his entire body aches for her.

It is early one morning in their small teahouse. It is spring, and the world smells sweetly of roses and fresh grass.

“The spring misses you,” she says, gazing at the bricks where their window used to be. “I don’t know what happened to us.”

He knows what she means: why they were forced out of each other’s company so harshly, torn from each other so cleanly. She, of course, doesn’t realize that this separation, which at this point has been going on for three-hundred years, is all his fault. And he can’t bear her thinking it’s hers.

“I fell in love,” he murmurs against his better judgment— his eyes, though, recognize this statement as a fact and not a sentiment. Maybe luck will be on his side; maybe she’ll think he fell for a mortal and not for her.

She tilts her head, her eyes perceptive as always.

"I did too.”

Their first kiss is in the garden where she blew into the world on a petal. It’s a cold winter’s night six months after their silent confessions— the sky is dark and starry and almost purple with the clarity, the moonlight reflecting on the small pools of melting snow. Her lips are cold, and he warms them with his own the same way he warms her body with his own. He doesn’t bother stirring the winds away from them, content in feeling the biting chill contrast with the back of her neck where he holds her close.

It lasts barely a few seconds— their Creator could see. But they pull away and he can see her reflection pooling on the tears in her eyes.

“I love you,” he states simply.

And maybe he’s riskier than she is, or maybe she simply has a better sense of self-preservation, because they both understand that those three words alone are enough to call their Creator’s attention like blood in the water. So she simply kisses him again— barely brushing her lips against his— and steps away, biting her lip as if to keep his taste in her mouth.

“I know.”

Unsurprisingly, their routine hardly changes besides the occasional brush of lips. Her wit is still there, though often followed up with her small hand taking his larger one as she presses it to her mouth, closing her eyes tight and longing as much as he seems to. They’d never realized how easy it was to miss someone right beside you.

The years roll on, and they continue as usual— though that’s to be expected, as they have been as constant in each other’s lives as the snow in the springtime.

They barely manage to escape their Creator’s all-seeing eye with hidden trysts and whispered words; it’s many centuries before they find a moment where they are far enough gone on their Creator’s mind that they can sneak back into the room they once shared, falling asleep in each other’s arms and waking before the dawn.

Mitsuhide fears the consequences if they are caught— they can’t afford to lose each other.

And so it goes that their romance moves through the days more slowly than they watch warlords rise and empires crumble. But they watch history together— and as castles turn to skyscrapers and dirt roads turn to paved ones, she always finds time to leave one blooming red rose alive for him in the winter, and he always finds time to freeze the stems of plums for her to pick more easily. 

Their Creator begins to keep less of a watch on them, and they manage to meet discreetly more often, just happening to be at the same restaurant or library at the same time as one another. 

(They find a book one day that tells the tale of the Lifebringer and her lover, the God of Winter. They smirk at each other and their fingers brush, and the bookstore owner blinks at the odd exchange before giving them the book for free— the owner finds later that the boy across the street who tormented her and her family happened to slip on some ice and break his ankle.)

No matter where or when it is, they always make time for each other— and no matter how much time it is, Mitsuhide always finds himself craving more. She does too; he can tell from the way she sweetly kisses his cheek before departing for the springtime.

Perhaps one day their Creator will forgive them for their enchantment, but for now, they accept the consequence and simply take each other’s company however they can get it; they are content with the hope that one day they will be allowed to love each other. They know this is a faraway hope— but sometimes, as Mitsuhide wanders the earth, he finds a cherry blossom petal sitting patiently in the snow— and he dares to dream.

[azaleablueme]

Where the heart lies- A Romione one-shot

Summary: Set during the weeks Ron leaves in Deathly Hallows.

Genre: Romance/Angst Words: 1.7K Rating: General 

FFN Link

This piece is written for my gang of girls @callieskye , @trademarkblue , @theperksofshippingromione, @jenn582 , @wildegreenlight, @idearlylovealaugh. @thefinalhorcruxx , @rupelover (You girls know why we needed some DH Romione).

This piece is also inspired by a Bollywood song that gave me tremendous Romione feels.

He walks out of the tent into the heavy downpour. His clothes are drenched immediately and the tears he had forcefully kept in check spill out to dissolve with the rainwater on his face. His steps slow down, mushy and leaf-scattered soil of the riverbank stick to his boots restricting his movement forward.

But that's not all.

He can still hear her screaming and wants to go back, wants her to come running and drag him into the tent. But minutes pass- many of them, and the tent flap remains fluttering in the wind, but no one comes calling.

His best mate asked him to leave, and she chose to stay back. He waits for a few more minutes hoping she hears his silent plea.

Please, tell me the Horcrux was wrong. Tell me you need me.

But with each passing heartbeat, realisation cuts deep into his skin, just like the chill in the wind. He gives up hope. No one wants him back. She’s not coming.

He convinces himself that the voice he hears is only in his head, and slowly the sound of the downpour bears down over his senses, cutting off all other voices.

He closes his eyes, pushing back his fury and pain, concentrating only on an empty field they had crossed once and Disapparates.

……………….

It takes a million heartbeats for her shield charm to dissolve.

When it finally does, she rushes out frantically calling out for him, fighting the dread at every step, ignoring the freefalling tears.

She pushes the tent flap roughly out of the way and walks into the downpour hoping against hope to find him standing on the other side. But all she finds is the overflowing river and an empty space.

The rain falls heavy and soaks her to the core while she scans for his footsteps in the clumpy waterlogged soil. But any and all traces of him are washed away by the water. She rushes towards the trees screaming his name more frequently than she breathes, but silence is all she finds.

Yes, the rain and the overflowing river is making a ruckus but she hears nothing.

Finally, she stops running. A cold that has nothing to do with the rain and the wind seeps into her heart, promising to stay there- perhaps forever.

He’s gone.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

During the day, he only focuses on finding them.

He camps under trees and inside caves and eats whatever little he can find. But mostly he eats nothing. Nor does he sleep. He can feel the guilt growing every second that he spends without his friends. It never lets him forget that he abandoned them. He doesn’t want to forget anyway. He deserves the pain, he deserves it all.

The only thing he doesn’t remember, rather- the only thing he tries not to think of, is her. Those are for the long sleepless nights when the cold threatens to freeze his body. He curls awkwardly under a tree or on a hard rock to keep the cold away and the pain in.

He can hear her then- loud and clear as she calls for him, over and over again.

…………………….

She tries to keep busy.

Make tea, read, find food, pack, unpack, set up defences, remove their traces… The pattern hardly changes.

She doesn’t talk much. But most of all she tries not to think of him. Not to think that his bunk lies devoid of his presence, still with the covers arranged haphazardly like he has just left it only minutes ago. But it’s been days now, weeks perhaps. She finds it hard to tell one day from the next. Everything is the same- except for his blanket. It now lies hidden in her bunk.

She pauses while pouring hot water in her cup. Her hand shakes so much that she has to grab the counter tightly and keep the tears in check.

She wants to see him once, just once- only to ask him one simple thing- didn’t he have even the faintest clue that her world was wrapped around him?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

He drags his legs to climb uphill, through another forest this time.  It all looks the same now.

His body protests and tired legs threaten to give up. He needs food and sleep, but he urges them on. He needs to check once more. Perhaps they came back here. He searches for her traces, not knowing what exactly he’s looking for- knowing well enough that she had mastered the art of erasing all traces of their presence…

But he must go on. He needs to find them- go back to her.

He stops only when he can’t take it anymore. He digs out one dry piece of bread and he chews on it while sitting on a rock where he had once spent a night guarding them. He finishes the bread feeling only mildly better and digs through his bag again to pull out the extra wand he had nicked from the Snatchers. He holds it firmly in his hand, telling himself that one spare wand could always come in handy for them. He pulls out the Deluminator and clicks before putting it back in his pocket.

The sky begins to darken and he prepares to welcome her voice back, knowing well that it’s all in his head- and heart. As he hears her calling out for him, he wonders if she had the faintest clue that his world was wrapped around hers.

……………………………..

She has forgotten how to smile.

She looks up from her book to watch the open cliffside where they are camping today. A few fragments of memories drift towards her with the wind. She remembers the way he laughs. She hears it in her heart. Two wispy figures take shape in front of her eyes. She sees the way the curly haired girl laughs as the boy cracks a joke. She sees the way they catch each others’ eyes sharing unspoken words and shy smiles. She reaches out to touch him and the figures dissolve.

She wonders if she will ever be able to smile again. Wonders what she is still fighting for, but most of all she questions herself why he never realised that her world was where he was.

……………………………………��………………………………………………………………………..

He knows he can’t go on like this. But more than that, he needs to put his rising fears to rest. He needs to know his friends are still out there somewhere- alive and safe. He needs to know they haven’t been captured. He needs to know she is safe.

He Apparates just outside the cottage near the cliff.

His brother and sister-in-law rush out, wands at the ready. He answers their question to confirm his identity. Do they realise he no longer identifies himself?

They walk in and his sister-in-law fetches him a meal. His stomach roars at the sight and the smell. He picks up a few morsels and leaves the rest. He had fought with them over these once- food. He doesn’t feel very hungry anymore.

His brother asks him about them. He tells him, he abandoned them. Maybe his brother sees the empty man behind those blue eyes but Bill doesn’t question further. Ron sees the shame in his brother’s eyes and lowers his own before picking up his knapsack and trudging up the stairs.

He goes out each day in search of them.  Every day he finds himself in places they had stayed. He’s checked all the locations over and over again, hoping-praying in fact, that the two return to a previous location and he’s able to go back where he belongs. But each time he comes back alone, and he hates himself a little more for it.

He still hears her voice but it’s getting feeble now, and he wonders if she’s erased his memories from her life like she erases their traces from the campsites. It makes him feel strangely empty. He searches harder the next day.

He worries if he’ll ever get back to where he truly belongs- with his friends. With her.

………………………..

She cries for him the night they escape Voldemort. She is still shaking as she wraps a blanket over Harry’s unconscious form, the Locket burning hot in her hand. She throws it away and curls herself in a chair, Ron’s blanket draped over her. It still smells of him but only barely now. She doesn’t know any spell to keep the traces of his presence encased in these lifeless articles she clings on to.

She calls for him over and over again that night, but not a word escapes her lips.

Finally, the tears die down and she falls asleep for some brief hours. She dreams about him. He seems to be roaming about in open moors calling out for her.

When she wakes up, it’s morning but his blanket is still around her, holding her in like she’s in the warmth of his embrace. And that’s when she realises how much she’s still waiting for his return. Once again she wonders if he ever realised, for even a single moment that her life resided in him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..    

He thinks he is dreaming. But it’s morning and the voice sounds loud and clear- and it’s her calling him.

He scrambles up from the chair where he’d fallen asleep and fishes out the Deluminator and clicks it on instinct. A blue light comes out of it. Vibrantly blue and glowing, just like the flames she used to conjure and place in little jars. It floats out of the window and into the garden- waiting.

It takes him just a few heartbeats to pack his knapsack and he keeps checking for it while he does. As he hurries down the stairs he worries that the ball might have left without him. But as he roughly pushes the door, he can see it’s still there. This time it floats towards him, right into his chest, just the place where he keeps her memories.

And now he knows. She has called out for him and he knows he’ll finally find his way to where his heart truly lies. He doesn’t trust himself anymore, but he trusts her. He Disapparates with a burning desire to find his way back.

He also realises that he can’t waste more time. He hopes he’ll be able to tell Hermione that his entire world lies in her.

[stuckinthekookiejar]

Distractions pt 9

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3 || Pt. 4 || Pt. 5 || Pt. 6 || Pt. 7 || Pt. 8 || Pt. 9 || Pt. 10 || Pt. 11 || Pt. 12 || Pt. 13 || Pt. 14

Yoongi x Reader (ft. Jimin)

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word Count: 2465

“Hyung?” Jimin whispered as he peeped his head from behind the bedroom door. It wasn’t surprising to see a blanket burrito stuffed with only the most premium of geniuses: Min Yoongi. All that was needed was a side of guac.

“Hyung, are you awake?” With every step Jimin took, the ground beneath him creaked just slightly. From within the encased ball of cloth annoyed groans could be heard,

“Does it look like I’m awake?” A small tuft of black fluffy hair and the tired, irritated face of its owner could be seen from a teensiest of holes that breached his fortress. 

“Jin-hyung made some food...want some?” 

“No, Jimin. All I want is to sleep.”

“But hyung, you haven’t eaten a proper meal for days. You won’t get better anytime soon at this rate.”

“Jimin, I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can handle yourself, but,” Jimin hushed his voice mindful of anyone in the other room who could possibly hear them, “...but what about 2S and their title song?”

Yoongi had been thinking about that too. It’s been nearly a week and he hasn’t shown up to Music Box at all due to his condition. He felt especially bad for Sol Mi since he had promised to help her with the cover, “I know, I know...trust me, I want to get back to work as soon as I can. I just have to get over...this illness."

“Okay, I’ll let you go back to sleep. But you better go eat something or else Hoseokie-hyung or Jin-hyung’s gonna pull you out of bed and force feed you.”

“Yes, ‘mom’.” Once again Yoongi retreated back into his comfy ball and groaned. He didn’t know that joining Bangtan would mean gaining three more mothers.

The duffle bag slung over Jimin’s shoulder rattled as he planted his feet left and right on his way to Music Box’s dance studio. The glass doors slid open and just as he entered, four girls were coming his way. He used to greet them shyly complete with an obligatory slight bow of the head, but now as he got to know you and them over the past few days he could confidently smile brightly in their direction.

“Hey, guys!”

“Jimin-oppa!” Hwa Joo smiled, skipped over to him and jokingly wrapped herself around one of his arms. She was only stuck to him for a few moments before Joo Yeon came over and pulled her off by the back of her collar,

“Yah, Hwa Joo-ah. You may be the maknae, but you don’t have to act cute all the time. Plus what’s with the whole ‘oppa’ nonsesnse? You two are the same age.” 

Hwa Joo pouted, “Nuh-uuuuuh. Oppa’s a WHOLE month older than me. You’re just jealous that I get to call him oppa.”

“Excuse me? Jealous? Huh, yeah right I’m totally...”

“Are we getting ramyun or not, you guys?” Sol Mi trudged past the maknae and the eldest with a sullen face. They all paused and stared at Sol Mi’s hunched back as she exited the building without even acknowledging Jimin. 

“Is Sol Mi-noona okay?” Jimin asked with concern laced on the expression of his face.

Sun Hee sighed, “She’s just a bit upset. Since you’re helping out Y/N-ah, you probably know that the cover project is due in two days. Yoongi was supposed to help Mimi, but he got sick so...yeah. How is he, by the way? It’s been few days and we’re all pretty worried.” 

“Hyung’s getting better. He just has to ‘get over this illness’ as he likes to put it. But he feels bad not being able to come in and work on the song with you guys.”

Hwa Joo stepped up and waved her hands in front of herself, “Oh no, please tell him to not feel bad. Everyone gets sick, plus we’ve been using the time to work on other stuff so it isn’t like he’s halting the production of the entire mini album.”

“Thanks, Hwa Joo. He’ll feel better knowing that he isn’t causing you guys too much trouble.”

“This is the last dance practice you’re having with unnie, right?”

“Yeah, it is. But I’m thinking about coming in for the filming of the video tomorrow.”

Once again the maknae came to his side and tugged at his sleeve, “So this means we won’t be able to see you anymore...” Her face brightened up as soon as an idea popped into her head, “Wait! I know! We heard from Y/N-unnie that you helped writing the song...why don’t you come with Yoongi-oppa and help us with the recording too?” 

“I don’t know...”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, to be honest,” Jimin looked at Sun Hee a little surprised. As the leader of 2S, he respected her opinions when it came to the group, “You even recorded the vocals for the demo that Yoongi presented us. When he comes back the first thing we’re planning on getting recorded is the bridge with Y/N-ah. There’s a pretty high note during that section, and Y/N can get a little...less confident when it comes to those notes. I’m sure having you there and giving us some tips would help us out a lot.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Plus we should give credit where credit is due. Yoongi’s helping us since he made the song, but you also took part in creating it so it only makes sense for you have the opportunity to help with recording as well. Baek PD shouldn’t have a problem with you coming in. The more the merrier.”

“Alright, I’ll have to talk to Yoongi-hyung about it first. I’d better get going, Y/N-noona’s probably waiting.”

“Nooooo. Don’t leave yet!” Hwa Joo, who had been attached to Jimin’s sleeve for the entire time, snuggled her cheek against his bicep. Jimin just stood there all awkward and red in the face,

“Yah, you’re making him uncomfortable....sorry Jimin. We’ll get going now, see you later.” Joo Yeon dragged Hwa Joo away and Sun Hee let out a heavy sigh before leaving with the other two girls. 

Music was already playing by the time Jimin came in. He dumped his stuff in the usual corner. The song had quickly finished its course and you walked over to him and grabbed your towel from your pile of belongings to wipe away the sweat that was already streaming down your face,

“What took you so long?” 

“Sorry, noona. I ran into the others in the hall.”

“Oh, no need to apologize. I just got worried that you got lost or something.” You lightly punched him on the shoulder as you teased, “Anyway, I think I got the routine down. Let’s just run through it a couple of times.”

Jimin nodded and you went to the music player to start up the song again. Over and over and over, the two of you went across the floor dancing the routine until every little bit was perfected. Three hours into practice, your backup dancers arrived and Jimin sat to the side watching you dance with them. 

He loved watching you dance. Every move, every turn, every expression on your face just screamed determination and perfection. In a way, you two shared that. You both worked hard and trained until you could no longer stand because you both strived for nothing but perfection. That’s what being in this industry does to people: pressure you to produce only the best. 

But when he looked at you, he also saw something else. He saw the practical, humble person that you truly were. Sure, you strived for perfection, but you were also laid back, down to earth, in touch with your own abilities. You knew that there was a limit to what you could do and that was something Jimin believed he lacked. He admired you for embracing the fact that you had flaws and knowing those flaws and not caring about them preventing you from achieving pure perfection. Maybe that’s why he was so attracted to you. 

As the song came to a close he stood up and clapped with a ginormous smile plastered across his face. The other dancers said bye as they each left and eventually it was only the two of you in the room again. 

“Wow, noona. That was incredible! Sometimes I wonder why you even needed my help in the first place. You really got the routine down to perfection.”

“Oh, shut up, Jimin. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Jimin blushed and you pretended not to see as you turned your attention to packing your things. After all, you didn’t want him to notice the strain in your expression. Ever since Jimin told you about Yoongi, you hurled yourself into work to get him out of your mind. Thinking about him and worrying about him pained you so much. You couldn’t help Yoongi like you used to, so you thought that instead of thinking about him, you should put your mind onto something else, like work.  

“Hey, noona. Since it’s the last day of practice, why don’t we go celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” 

“Yeah. Grab some dinner somewhere, maybe get a few drinks....I don’t know...if you don’t wanna then..”

“Why are you always so shy when you ask, Jimin? It’s not like I’m gonna decline. Of course, I’d love to hang out with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The girls are great and all, but they aren’t into the stuff that I’m into like you are. It’s refreshing to spend time with a person who just...gets me.” 

“O-Okay....let’s go then?”

“Yeah, let’s go before the drunkards get too drunk. I don’t want to watch some old farts brawling in the middle of the bar.”

It was too late. The old farts were already having a small fist fight on the pool tables, so you and Jimin opted to buy some convenience store canned beer and snacks to go drink next to the Han River. Luckily for you two, there wasn’t a large crowd out and it seemed like no one recognized you guys. You silently thanked both BigHit and Music Box for deciding not to dye your heads a very noticeable color. 

You opened your beer and clinked cans with Jimin before taking a huge gulp, “Ahhhh. This is so nice.”  

“Yeah, it really is.” 

The cool night air and the bright lights of Seoul shimmering across the reflection of the water was one of your favorite sights to see in all of Korea. 

“You know, Jimin, I’m really gonna miss our dance practices. We’ve known each other for a little less than a week now, but it feels like I’ve known you for years.”

“I could say the same thing about you, noona. You know, we could just hang out like this...we don’t have to have an excuse just to come out and have a drink together all the time.”

“That’s true, but I mean do you really have any time? Because being an internationally known star doesn’t really scream ‘I have a lot of free time’. Don’t you guys work like 14 hours a day or something?”

“Eh, I can get away with a few hours here and there. The company doesn’t breath down our necks like they used to, so we have more liberty. The only problem is getting recognized by people, so that’s why we’re always cooped up in the company or at our dorms.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Everyone wants to get an eyeful of Mr. International Playboy Park Jimin-ssi, right?” 

Jimin laughed, “Actually, Jungkook’s the real international playboy.”

“No way, isn’t he like...kinda shy?”

“Jungkook? Shy? That’s all for show. You should really see what he’s like. One time I happened to stumble across...”

“Shush, I don’t need to hear the rest of that story.” 

“Why?” 

“Because!”

Laughter filled the air as you and Jimin continued to share drinks and bond over personal stories and common interests. You got to know his that he was a cat person over a dog person (although he did say that puppies always stole the competition) as well as his constant battles with insecurity. He learned about your interests in cooking and your past struggles with onstage anxiety. It was like you two opened your books for each other to read. But of course, you would always keep one chapter of your life a secret. That chapter’s name was Yoongi.

By the time your ex’s name popped into your head again, you and Jimin had finished all six cans of beer. You could hold your alcohol well, so three cans wouldn’t have such a drastic effect on you as it did to some other people. However, it would be a lie to say that you weren’t even the slightest bit tipsy. 

“Jimin-ah...” His name rolled so easily off your tongue now, “Jimin-ah...I need some advice...it’s for a friend...”

Jimin was sitting hunched over on the steps his cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink hue, “Sure, advice is nice...hehe...that rhymed...”

“So...I have a friend...and she has another friend and they, uh...they were close. One day something happened and...now they’re not so close. But they met again much, much later...and it’s awkward and they don’t know how to act...but then her friend got hurt and she wants to help him...she doesn’t know what to do.”

“Does this friend of yours care for him?” You wondered when you started to lean your head on Jimin’s shoulder, but you weren’t sober enough to care,

“I mean...I guess...I don’t know...” Jimin tilted his head towards you placing his cheek on the top of your head and closed his eyes basking in the moment,

“If your friend cares then she should help him.”

“Even if they don’t know where they stand in their relationship? Even when it’s all awkward and weird?”

“If you truly care for a person, then the situation shouldn't matter...kinda like now.” 

“Now?” With your head against him and his head on yours, you could feel his breath shaking. 

“I shouldn’t be out here...drinking with you...in public where anyone can see us, especially with the kind of jobs that we have. But here I am with you. I’m here because I want to celebrate your success with you.....and because I...”

Quickly, you shifted in your place next to Jimin and wiggled his head off of yours. Soon you were on your feet rubbing your face with your hands. 

“Um, I’m going to buy us some water. We should sober up a bit before going home, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his eyelids still half closed due to his drunken state.

Gif not mine, creds to the owner

[eirianerisdar]

i'm terrible at titles but for that fic title ask thing: a falcon in the dive, syzygy, and little people

I can finally answer thisask using the actual reply box because I’ve done two of these already:

Little People(Obi-Wan is interviewed by the holonet press during the clone wars. Cueamusement but much more angst)

A Falcon in theDive (Obi-Wan dives. From the Temple gardens, across galactic history,to another Falcon altogether)

Syzygy

Syzygy(noun): An alignment of three celestial objects, be it star, planet, or moon

Characters:Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tahl etc. (many, many Jedi)

Summary: Jedi die younger than most; but they arereunited in different ways. A somewhat AU-ish interpretation of Jedi scatteredacross the multiverse after death. Jumps universes from victorian-era-esqueworlds to futuristic, inexplicable ones. Begins with Qui-Gon. Ends withtwo others.

Note: In this AU Qui-Gon didn’t hang around after his death as a Force-ghost, so he wasn’t there for Anakin killing Tuskens, etc., etc.

Qui-Gon Jinn wakes to thesound of a portal opening.

Even after seven years ofthis being common occurrence, the noise remains utterly distinctive. It is anindescribable rending of the fabric of space-time; something between hissingand tearing, but without any echo whatsoever. It is a gateway of the purestkind.

Qui-Gon watches the portalshimmer in the opposite wall. It has opened into a world of humans - as mostworlds he has visited usually are - and a street made grey by rain. The groundbeyond is not made of duracrete, he can see. Acurious mode of transport trundles by, drawn by two four-legged animals withsleek manes of hair and sleekly curved bodies. The transport itself is composedof four wooden wheels and a painted box-like structure.

The portal shimmers with alayer of carmine energy. People walk past without seeming to notice it.

As always, an outfit hasappeared next to the portal, on the empty coat-stand that Qui-Gon had placedthere simply for that purpose. He eyes the strange, tall black hat on it withwariness.

It is seven years fromNaboo, almost to the day.

Seven years, and every day anew portal, with a new task. Qui-Gon is never aware what task he has tocomplete until he enters this new world. He does not find it. It finds him.

He has thrownhimself into battles with nothing but bronze armour and a blunted sword toprotect himself; he has found himself in worlds of peace, where his only taskfor the day is to help a little girl find the perfect flower, or to carry anold man’s groceries home for him.

Qui-Gon performs hismorning ablutions quickly, and reaches for the outfit provided to him. Itis…strange. The white shirt, boots and trousers are simple enough, but there is ashort, sleeveless silk garment to go over it, and a long, black coat thatswings about his knees. Qui-Gon finds himselfmystified at a length of silk, more ribbon-like than anything.

Men walk past the portalwith similar lengths of silk tied around their necks in elaborate knots, soQui-Gon manages to come up with something that does not seem too much like asquashed ball of yarn. He rams the thin-rimmed, tall black hat on his head andpulls on his gloves.

Qui-Gon cannot stop thesmile from spreading across his face when he snatches up the last item providedto him; he pulls at the head of the long black cane, and finds the glint of asword within.

Sword-cane. Excellent.

With that happy thought,he ducks through the portal.

The smell is what hits himfirst.

Qui-Gon is immediatelysure that this is a city in the middle of an era of increased industrialproduction; only a rapidly-expanding city with a rich history of pre-industrialdevelopment has this particular stink.

But even here, in thissmoke-aired, sewer-filled city, the Force is present.

Qui-Gon closes his eyesonce, opens them again, and begins to walk.

Close to four hours later,he hurls himself back through the portal, bleeding out his momentum in a muddyroll across the pristine floor of his bedchamber.

Across the shimmeringbarrier, five very confused bloodhounds sniff at the lamplit pavement, utterlyconfused at the disappearance of their quarry.

The portal closes with afirm snap, leaving blank wall in its place.

Qui-Gon tugs at thegrime-encrusted, ruined knot at his neck - a cravat, he now knows - anddrops the length of silk to the floor. It disappears, as is usual for allprovided clothes at the end of a daily task. He is happy to see it go.

The sky outside his littleapartment is bright with afternoon sunshine.

Qui-Gon cleans himself up,dresses in a subdued outfit, and checks his kitchen.

He is running out of eggs.Or whatever the equivalent of eggs are in this universe.

He pulls on a jacket andgoes to the market.

This world, the world inwhich he woke up in seven years ago, is not particularly special. It is peacefulin places, at war in others. There is rudimentary space travel, but not beyondthe closest few planets. Qui-Gon had discovered very quickly within the firstfew months of living here that there is absolutely no knowledge whatsoeveramong the general populace of the Force, or the Jedi, or any other speciesbesides humans. It is as if the galaxy and Republic Qui-Gon served and gave hislife to does not exist at all.

He buys eggs, and a few things for the care of his houseplants. The shopkeepers are polite but distant.

Qui-Gon can feel theirwariness flicker in the Force as he turns to go, like searchlights dancingacross the back of his head, whispering:

There isalways something different about him, that Mister Jinn.

Come sunset, Qui-Gon makeshimself a meal. It is delicious and tastes absolutely different from anythinghe is used to in his old world. The salt here has an unfamiliar tang. The meatis different. The vegetables do not sing with the energy of the Living Force.

But the Force is stillhere, at least, steady and pure. Qui-Gon thinks he might have gone mad withoutit.

He runs though a few kataafter evening meal, in the small dojo connected to his study through aside-door. Even without a lightsaber, the forms flow through him as perfectlyand lightly as they did when he first mastered them. It is at times like thesethat he values the youth that he has in this world; his body for allappearances and abilities seems to match his own when he was about thirty-five.

It is better than havingsixty-year-old knees, certainly.

When he has driven himselfthrough enough repetitions of advanced Ataru velocities to blur the white wallsinto resembling a Temple sparring arena, Qui-Gon halts.

He washes up and goes tosleep. The bed seems to swallow him whole.

He does not dream.

The days blur past withoutmemory or time.

Some days, the tasks aresimple, and he speaks snippets of conversation to beings across the multiverse,tossing words into the aether, like a passing gale would scatter leaves intothe river.

Then there are days theculmination of whole wars rest upon his shoulders, and he negotiates and speaksand fights - but hours later he always steps back through the portal again andinto the artificial tidiness of his apartment, no matter whether he is drippingblood onto the carpet, or pristine in honoured robes.

The Force provides noanswer when he inquires why he is here, or why he must complete these tasks. Itsimply surges and recedes when he meditates, and whispers, patience.

And then comes the day hispatience is finally rewarded.

Ten years post-Naboo, Qui-Gon has just begunsupper when there is an unmistakable hiss-snap of a portal opening.

His hand pauses in the actof shaking more salt over the pot of soup.

“No,” he says, to nobodyin particular.

The Force eddies aroundhis ankles, encouragingly.

“No,” Qui-Gon says again,firmly. He places the salt container to the side and reaches for a spice-jar.  “It is time for evening meal. I have to eat so I can throw myself into another battle tomorrow morning.”

He nearly drops the jar as a sudden headache starts up behind his eyes.

After a moment, he shuts off the stove.

“Force-forsaken duty,” Qui-Gon mutters. He turns to face the portal.

Behind the translucent barrier is a snow-swept train station, looking not unlike one from Qui-Gon’s current universe. The portal looks out onto a platform and a set of tracks; the view of the opposite platform is obscured by a train halted there.

Frowning at the portal, Qui-Gon moodily reaches around to undo the ties of his apron.

There is a sharp hiss of hydraulics as the train pulls away from the platform.

Qui-Gon raises his head, and the breath stops in his chest.

There, standing on the opposite platform, is a woman with hair the colour of freshly-watered earth, and skin the shade of bronze-kissed jasper. Her hands are tucked into her coat-pockets for warmth; her scarf billows in the wind as she glances to her right.

Her eyes. Her green-and-gold-striped eyes.

Qui-Gon stares at Tahl Uvain and knows this cannot be a dream, because he is already dead, and he has not dreamed in a decade.

And then he senses her; a bright-flamed star blossoms on the edge of his consciousness where an empty void had been before.

He has stumbled through the portal before he even began to think of stepping forward.

Tahl’s sharp eyes catch the movement in the air, and the next moment, green and gold meet sea-blue.

Her spine straightens. Proud and confident and strong; three of the many, many things that Qui-Gon had loved about her.

And then he realises.

She can see. She can see.

Qui-Gon does not dare move. It would seem neither does she; they stare at each other across a no-man’s-land of two train-tracks, as though neither of them have ever seen anything before; as if this, before them, is beautiful and wondrous enough as to be wholly indescribable.

Tahl’s lips move first, and the words come, muffled by snow but clear as a clarion across the space between them:

“Qui? Is that you?”

Qui-Gon thinks he might have wept, then. It would have been different, perhaps, if she had spoken his name in full; but it has been two lifetimes since he last heard someone say his name with such fondness, and a lifetime since he last heard his name at all.

He tries to say her name in return, but the sounds do not come.

It does not matter. Recognition blooms on Tahl’s features; her eyes are immediately lit with such incandescent joy that Qui-Gon’s wonders if his heart will stop simply by mirroring it.

Joy he has not felt since…

Since he heard the words I pledge myself to you, Qui-Gon.

A deep rumble sounds to Qui-Gon’s right. Both Jedi’s heads snap to the side; the tracks tremble as a train approaches.

Panic flares in Qui-Gon’s chest; he cannot allow this train to slice between the two platforms and separate them, not when they have endured enough years apart for death, twice.

“Qui-Gon!”

He glimpses her sprinting for the platform stairs as the train rushes into the station; he pivots on a heel and lunges at the stairs on his own platform. The short seconds he races up the steps are pounding spaces of disbelieving hope.

At the top of the steps is a corner, and round the corner a bridge, and down that-

They slam into each other at the centre of the bridge, suspended above the tracks like two actors that have missed their cue, and raced out of the wrong entrances, colliding.

Qui-Gon has buried his face in her shoulder and breathed in her Force-signature before he even registers the weight of her in his arms.

Tahl’s arms are so tight around his chest that he thinks he might be sawed in half. Or perhaps that pressure is not her at all, but the pain of a heart remade.

It is strange. They have both died once, separated by a span of ten years, but here, in this moment, Qui-Gon thinks he is happy enough to die.

“Tahl,” he sobs, muffled by the cold and the snow.

“You’re not supposed to be dead, you idiot,” Tahl mumbles somewhere under his chin.

“You weren’t, either,” Qui-Gon whispers.

“Hush.”

They stand, orbiting each other in the Force, a perfect binary star.

The Force glimmers, and laughs.

It is not long after they find each other that more Jedi begin to appear.

Two hundred Jedi flicker into being out of nowhere, scattered across the multiverse. Qui-Gon and Tahl link hands and seek them out. They bring troubling news, of the beginning of war.

More Jedi are found throughout the few years after, increasing in number but often decreasing in age, with the youngest no older than junior padawans.

Qui-Gon spends his nights sipping tea with Tahl, fiddling with his wedding ring distractedly as he thinks about Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, leading campaigns far out on the outer rim of a galaxy he can no longer reach.

Then came the day that the portals opened non-stop for twenty-four hours.

Qui-Gon and Tahl run, and run, and at the end of that one day, they have gathered ten thousand Jedi.

Qui-Gon gazes at the fallen Order, and wonders that the two faces he searches for are not there.

Mace Windu steps out of the crowd, flexes his right hand for a moment as though checking if it is really there, opens his mouth, and speaks.

Qui-Gon crumbles.

Nineteen years pass quickly, here.

The Jedi Order settles in nicely to this new world. The initiates who were cut down in the death throes of the old Order are all now knighted. Qui-Gon is the new Grand Master; he finds the job hopelessly dull, but Mace had insisted.

Then one day, a portal opens, and Qui-Gon drops his cup of tea all over his new robes.

“Master,” Obi-Wan says, blue eyes twinkling above well-cut beard. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Qui-Gon knocks aside his tea-table in his haste to embrace the other man. Obi-Wan’s laugh cascades into the Force, as does Tahl’s shout when she sees him.

Syzygy. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Tahl. Three celestial objects in complete alignment, forever.

END

There you have it. A 2,400 word “snippet”. *falls over* Thanks for reading! Do reblog and leave a comment! I hope this fic made you smile as much as it did for me :) I think this is a pretty good AU to keep adding tidbits into, so send me prompts for that any time. It will be called Syzygy AU, I think.

Find more of my fanfic here:

Fanfic Masterlist

FF profile