#this is how I’ve been picturing her since orbital came out

[guccigarantine]

Mustard Red is here to help! Don’t worry about what’s in that contract you just signed it’s not a big deal :)

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[spacewizardtrek]

WARNING: This post will ruin you. Like Medusa; look at your peril.

But here is is. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for.

Kirk bod appreciation #7: The RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL FACE. A highly technical and academic review.

This is a rather nebulous one. And not, on the face of it (pardon the pun) very philosophical, as it’s essentially about Kirk being stupidly pretty. This post probably will (it will) descend into just screaming and sobbing, but there will be, I promise, *some* meaningful insight into the meaning of ‘beauty’ and textual analysis of its role herein.

Beauty is subjective. But look at him. It’s not just being aesthetic, but it’s the *way* he’s aesthetic. Here I might repeat myself a bit, but stay with me. I may have mentioned before once hearing him described as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is PRETTY. He is indeed often conveyed in the way the women stereotypically (not necessarily rightly) are on screen: perfect, smooth skin; soft, big eyes; luscious lips (his body is sensually curvaceous and furthermore it’s emphasised). He’s not androgynous though. He’s masculine. And yet I still sense what was meant in describing him as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is a rather uncommon form of gender fuckery. He is a form of stereotype-subversion not commonly acknowledged. He seems to be everything at once, ALL THE GENDER; combines whichever traits he desires from those categories, and yet is undeniably a man and masculine whatever the ingredients. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, one might wonder. The fact of the matter is, that it IS. And it teaches us something.

The FUCK. nO. You are not allowed to be that pretty, and you are NOT allowed to look at her like that. We’re trying to have a SENSIBLE DISCUSSION here.

Sorry, that was a non-sequitur / nothing to do with what we learn by Kirk’s embodiment; I was just ambushed by my own gif. Only the control of a Vulcan. ONLY that could possibly withstand this onslaught. And even that won’t hold up forever AS WE WELL KNOW

God.

This is going well, as you can tell.

OK. So, it’s claimed he has Eyes and Stupidly Long Weakness-Inducing Eyelashes. You know, from all that fanfic that goes on about ‘big, sparkling eyes’ and him fanning his ‘long, copper eyelashes’. I mean, yeah right, tropey mc tropeface -

IT’S TRUE. HE IS LITERALLY AN ANIME PRINCESS.

There are some moments where he just BLINKS and, how to describe it...how does a BLINK have that effect. It’s NOT ALLOWED.

...I’m sorry. It IS allowed. All of it. I am not shaming you your beauty. Never change, Jim. Never.

OK. I’m ok. 3 pics down, we can get through this -

Oh you are joking. Stop.

I don’t understand how anyone can be so beautiful. Life is a lie. Reality is fake -

- you did NOT just turn your big anime eyes on Spock. You do know this is why he ran away to PURGE ALL HIS EMOTIONS?

And for that matter, you know when Kirk looks his most beautiful? Literally WHEN HE’S LOOKING AT SPOCK. Spock talks some bollocks and Kirk just sparkles like a fucking angel:

Unbelievable. But utterly undeniable.

Sigh. Moving on.

Oh - someone once suggested I talk about The Lips. Lips are so wonderful aren’t they. So many wonderful things they can do.

And Kirk’s. They’re there in every picture: perfect, rosy, soft and madness-inducing. My advice is just...don’t think about them. But since I’ve been asked to draw attention to them, well, you’ve just sealed your fate. Scroll down at your peril.

I WARNED YOU.

I am pulling NO punches.

I’ve seen this great meme going around:

Excuse me though....CUTE?

That’s the understatement of the 23rd century.

Try impossibly beautiful, mind and body: heart of solid gold, soul deep in love with you. Those eyes and all their passion burned into your memories a thousand times over, along with - maybe, suggestibly, idk I’m extrapolating from all the goddamn tension - even the one unforgettable time he laid between lily-white sheets and gave himself to you; every gift of the mind, body and soul - and your ostensibly-forced Vulcan conditioning, that completely ignored how incompatible one part of you was with it, caused so much dissonance that you thought the only possible course of action for you both to survive was to BREAK UP, tear yourself from this beauty and love and sweetness to PURGE ALL EMOTIONS because nothing, nothing equipped you for this; you were set up specifically to fail, and fail hard in the face of transcendental love and beauty by those who rejected such things and didn’t understand you and could never imagine this for you and who instead of helping your beautiful neurodivergent brain flourish taught you to repress and caused you pain and shame and Gol was so hard and Kirk was so sad, so very sad and depressed and hurt and yet he couldn’t stop loving you with a bond so strong he called to you across the stars and Gol was all for naught yet you still didn’t know how to live like this, it was torture, torture until the mind meld with the living machine flashed your BIOS and you knew, love.exe was suddenly running with no errors and he came after you and held you and you held hands and, and -

.

*sobbing*

.

just...give me a moment

.

YOU WONDER WHAT THE SUBTEXT (FRIKKIN’ MAIN TEXT) OF STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE WAS ALL ABOUT???

The pain?? The angst?? The two logical entities seeking contact, love, THIS SIMPLE FEELING? That fucking moment when spock walks on the bridge and the only way he can control himself is to be SUPER Vulcan, while his love gazes at him with those EYES, fucking huge and glittering and hurt and loving?? Is it so much a mystery what memories these two are carrying, what’s behind the searing tension???????

Love him. Love him Spock. Take him in your arms and love him. He’s for you. All for you. Fucking hell guys. The fuck. This movie.

.

ok.

ok I can do this

CAN U NOT

those damn eyes I swear

It’s obviously not all just superficial physical beauty. What IS beauty? Narratively we do sometimes find this ‘prettiness’ enhanced and emphasized like the old vaseline lens to set the tone of a scene (he’s vulnerable and delicate, or someone’s indeed in love with him so we see their ‘lens’ on him); but it is somewhat intangible and nebulous and changeable. I don’t think aesthetic beauty, if one deems it so, on its own, would be enough for the likes of Spock (indeed, no woman could charm him thusly); it's about something deeper. It’s about who he is. Who he is inside: the beautiful AND the imperfect. How his good and bad - how his ‘all’ -  chimes with Spock’s 'all’. The Enemy Within deals with this, and shows how Spock loves all of Kirk, wants him complete, with both his light and shadow. The beauty of all of us is this totality and variance, not one intangible quality.

I’ll bet Spock’s parents knew immediately. Can you imagine Sarek trying to be a total bitch over Kirk, having heard the rumours and just wanting to have one more thing to reject Spock over, immediately projecting onto Kirk as some blow-up pretty-boy and how Incredibly More Disappointing My Son Is for being Obviously In Love With Stupid Illogical Human Doll Face Bubble Butt Bimbo Captain, and Amanda’s like, stfu, let me remind you Kirk is actually a Fucking Amazing Highly Decorated Starship Captain who Saves Your Life and don’t you DARE resent him just because he’s got tits/ass/tum/lips that won’t quit and is obviously the freakin’ sun Spock orbits. Mr ‘I married a human but that was special because it was logical’ or some bullshit. How is Kirk an illogical choice? I mean literally, Spock is a Science Genius™ on the federation’s FLAGSHIP whose well-matched Genius Captain™ understands him, accepts him, brings the best out of him, helps him fulfil his whole potential and is in love with him in the deepest and purest way and will be his bonded soulmate for ALL OF TIME and that fucking sour-faced bih at the start of that ep, ffs.

Of course Amanda stays in touch with Kirk, adores the fuck out of him, sends him old Vulcan lit on t’hy’la bonds (yes sarek, a T’HY’LA bond, so revered freakin’ poets write about it) etc because frankly her son could do FAR FUCKING WORSE.

FAR. FUCKING. WORSE.

Don’t...just don’t slip the bod into the equation, the face is enough for one post. We’re all in therapy for this already, let’s not relapse.

Oh, what’s the use. I’m gonna die. This is it. This is like the Monty Python joke that is so funny it kills you. This man is lethal. I need to stop this thread and purge all my emotions

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That’s it. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.

I hope, however, seeing this post was worth it. See you at Gol everyone.

.

.

The Forbidden Texts, DO NOT READ:

Kirk bod appreciation #6: The Curves. The Front. The...chest. AND THE AMAZING GREEN WRAP

Kirk bod appreciation #5: The Paws

Kirk bod appreciation #4: The Curves. The Back. Poetry in motion.  

Kirk bod appreciation #3: Season 3 (Part 1)

Kirk bod appreciation #2b: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #2a: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #1: The Tum

[axwalker]

CREEP: I’m a creep

HIGH SCHOOL AU 

Pairing: Drake Walker and Lexie O’Brien -- Book TRR 

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone

I was listening to my iPod on my way home from work yesterday & Radiohead's Creep came on. One of my favorite songs, and I think the lyrics are great for an angsty Drake fic. It reminds me of him. Could you please write an angsty fic inspired by the song? I love how you write angst!!

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

This is part one of two. 

I hope you enjoy it @nestledonthaveone 💕

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC --just for this fic. I’m still picturing Michiel and Valerie when they’ll be older though. 

A/N3: I’m participating in @wackydrabbles Prompt #105   It's definitely ... interesting.”

Thank you ladies! 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse. Eventually some lemons.  ALL MY FICS ARE 18+ 

Tags in the comments. 

LEXIE 

I’ve always loved sunsets. The entire sky is painted orange and pink, streaking with white light and many other colors; I can’t take my eyes away from it. Sunsets remind us that no matter what is happening in our lives, the sun will be out again tomorrow. It’s raw, beautiful, and comforts me—the thought of the sun watching over me. I sit on my porch, my knees against my chest. I’m wearing a white tank top and jean shorts to fight the intense heat that invades Cordonia in early September.  I fix my eyes on the sky, wishing a miracle. Something that takes me away from my father and his new wife. Away from the pain of losing mom.

“What are you doing?” The voice is so resonant, deep, and rasping. Slowly, I sit up and look around, pushing my long, brown hair out of my eyes. I raise my head, and I see him. Drake Walker. 

 My breath catches, and I cross my arms over my breasts, knowing the thin material of my shirt isn’t keeping me remotely modest. What is he doing here? At this time, no less. I go to school with Drake. We’re both sophomores at Valtoria High School. He’s six foot two, with strong shoulders, and has a knowledge of life in his eyes that boys our age simply don’t possess. We have five classes together, and he sits through them like a statue, his chocolate eyes unreadable. Tall, dark, and angry. Handsome in a hard way that makes the other girls nervous when he walks down the hallways. Not me, though. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stared at him from behind my locker door, breath trapped in my lungs, wondering what he’s thinking of behind his brooding eyes. 

“I asked, what are you doing? This isn’t a safe place to be alone at night. You should get inside.” 

“Inside is no safer.” Why would I say that? My first time talking with this boy, and I tell him my deepest secret? His eyes narrow at me.“I mean, there’s not a lot of crime in this part of Portavira.” That loosens the tension in his broad shoulders. “I’m looking at the sunset. I love it. It’s so beautiful and wild.” I bit my bottom lip noticing his eyes dip to catch the action. 

“It’s definitely ... interesting,” he says, noncommittally. “There are things I like more.” 

“Like what?” I ask. 

He shrugs but looks back down at me, wrestling with something. He lifts a hand, brushing the very tip of his fingers down my cheekbone. “You,” he rasps.

Drake’s deep brown eyes look at me with something I’m only on the cusp of understanding. Is it…lust? His fingers move down my jaw, traveling slowly over the hollow of my throat to tease one of my tank top’s straps. “I like you. I can’t seem to stop…wanting. Wanting you to look at me. Wanting you…period. It’s why I sit behind you in all your classes, O’Brien. You don’t know that?” My knees start to tremble. I’ve always wondered how we end up in the same classes every single semester. He’s arranged for it to happen? He…likes me? That much? Say something, dork. Don’t act like it’s not mutual. 

 As if I haven’t lain my bed after school, when no one is at home and touched myself while thinking of Drake Walker. I must be doing a terrible job of keeping that secret to myself because Drake’s breath begins to grow shallow. “O’Brien.” He drops his forehead to mine, the pads of his thumb rubbing the soft skin of my neck. “Have you ever been kissed?”

I can’t talk, so I shake my head. 

“Please,” he groans. “Let me.” 

My head is spinning. “Let you what?” 

“Kiss you. Finally.” His hands move to cradle my head, making me feel delicate, like something special. His minty breath is close to my ear, setting off an ache low in my belly. “I need to kiss you, O’Brien. I need it.” He leans down and kisses the corner of my lips in the most torturous, exquisite way. My heart is beating wildly in my chest when he puts his soft lips on mine for the first time. My first kiss is an amazing one. He bends his head, and his mouth finds mine with soft pressure. I thought he would be rough or impatient may be clumsy, but I didn’t expect the gentle way his lips caress mine. The way he coaxes my own lips apart before I’m even aware of it. My knees buckle, but he holds me firmly against him. He kisses me as if this wasn’t our first time but our last. It’s the most erotic moment of my life, but all too son Drake leaves my lips. I only feel urgency. Want so deep that it burns inside of me.  It has existed between us all along, hasn’t it? Not one-sided. A yearning pull between two people, orbiting each other in the earthly, incongruous setting of school. 

Drake opens his mouth to say something, but my name is shouted in the distance. From inside the house. With glittering eyes, Drake drops his hands to his side, though it obviously pains him to do so. He gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek. One second later, the back door of my house opens, revealing my father, his imposing frame backlit by the interior. 

“Alexis!” I start to tremble; I try to speak, but I can’t. ““What are you doing out here this late?” There’s a tight smile in his voice. “Did you come out here to retrieve the handyman?” I do a double-take, noticing the strain forming around the corners of Drake’s mouth. 

“Handyman?” 

“Yes.” My father chuckles, coming forward to clap a hand down on Drake’s tense shoulder. “He’s here to repair a leak in the attic. Liam called you by the way.” Drake can’t look at me now, his gaze cast over my shoulder. Empty. A minute ago, we were equals. But my father’s words have called into focus one very important thing. I’m rich, and he’s very poor. It just didn’t matter. To me, it still doesn’t. But the economic divide between us is deepening by the second. 

“Why don’t you get to it?” My father suggests to Drake, his tone hard. “Alexis has to study. She is going places.”

 I down my gaze to the ground, humiliation burning up my throat. My father is an expert at belittling people, and he’s just done it to Drake. I want to say something to make it better, to defend Drake, but I know I’ll only be making it worse. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to offer Drake an apology. At school. I’ll talk to him then. 

“Yes, sir,” Drake responds stiffly, turning on his boots and stalking toward the house. Behind his back, my father reaches over and digs his thumb into my bicep until I double over, releasing a silent scream. He lets go a moment before Drake glances back over his shoulder, eyes hooded, and my expression is serene. Because I know better than to let anyone see the pain. My father has never been physically abusive, but his temper is getting worse. He hated mom and he’s taking it out on me. As soon as we’re in the house, I run up the stairs to my room and lock the door, leaning back against it. Listening to Drake’s boots walk back and forth in the attic. More than anything, I want to go up there. Feel his hands on me again. Cherishing hands, instead of hateful ones. I ache for that. For him. But an hour later, Drake leaves, and that’s when I face the consequences. My father knocks on my door. When I open it, the look on his eyes let me know it’s going to be worse than usual. 

“If I ever see you talking to that boy again, so help me God, I’ll kick you out of this house.” His face is contorted with rage. “Then, I’ll ruin him, too. I’ll make his life even harder in this town. You know I can do it. I can have him cast off that filthy land and no one will ever hire him again. Is that what you want?” 

“No,” I whisper. 

“No,” he sneers, mocking me. “Never look at him again. Do you hear me? My daughter does not associate with penniless dirt. The only boy you’re allow to date is Liam Rys. No one else.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” 

“See that you keep that promise. Or you’ll both pay the price.” And I pay a good deal of it that night when dad slaps me for the first time. The next day at school, I don’t look at Drake in the hallway. I don’t pause in the doorway of our classes, absorbing the sight of him waiting at the desk behind me. I simply keep my head down and try not to show the bruise on my cheek. On my body and my heart. I could never have predicted he would hate me for it.

 Drake

 Two years later 

I walk past O’Brien in the hallway and slam my fist against the locker to her left, making her jump. Shame, frustration, and resentment have been like a poison inside me, rotting my bones every second of the last two years, ever since that night in her garden when she tricked me into thinking she felt the same. Maybe she did. Until her father reminded her that I’m nothing but a poor handyman. Yeah, she remembered pretty quickly that she’s better than me. Good enough to date a rich quarterback like Rys but definitely not a low life like me. Rich, stuck-up brat. What’s worse is that she fucking ruined me with those lips. She brought me to my knees. Made me reveal myself in ways I’ve never done with anyone. And now? Now she’s left me lonely and fuck-starved for two years. Obsessed with her, unable to let her go and hating her guts for it. Because she won’t even look at me anymore. I’m nothing but the dirt beneath her spotless sneakers. Two years ago, I decided that if she was going to make my life hell by ignoring me after what we shared, then I could return the favor. So I do. By tormenting her. That’s the only term for it. I torture her, and I hate that—I fucking hate it—but so be it. My jaw is close to shattering as I watch O’Brien calmly collect the books from her locker and hurry toward our next class. On top of being a bully, I’m also a masochist because I still trick the school into having the same five classes every year. My aunt Leona works in the front office, and she feels bad for me because of my dad dying and my mom abandoning me when I was still in middle school, leaving me in the trailer alone. Not bad enough to invite me to live with her family, but bad enough that she slips me O’Brien’s schedule every semester so I can match it to mine. Before I follow her, I stop at her locker, sliding something in it, and continue on my way. When I walk into class behind her a moment later, I slow to a stop in the doorway at the sight of Rys kneeling to speak with O’Brien where she sits at her desk—cajoling a smile out of her. She refused to date him two years ago, but fucking Liam didn’t get the memo. No one has as much money as his father in this town. If  Rys is asking her out again, she’d probably say yes. If I let it get that far, which I won’t. I never do. She’s mine. Only mine. 

[gureishi]

okay so~ this HC request is for both saeyoung and GE saeran (vee relationship deal)

so i have this huge white bunny plushie (i'll probably send you a picture of it in DMs). i've had it for a very long time, probably since i was a very little kid. i don't think i'll ever give it away lolol. i go back and forth between just letting it sit around and actually using it, and by "using it" i mean:

i tend to sleep on my side, and i'll wrap my arms (and sometimes my legs) around that thing and hold it securely when i go to sleep. a lot of times, i sorta need to hold onto something when i sleep? or like, have my hand under the pillow (which is still kinda holding it, if you think about it). and so the bunny is great for that. and... i may or may not've put saeyoung's jacket on it a couple of times hehe 👉🏻👈🏻 cos that way i get to hold both! (though i definitely have held just his jacket at least once)

i'll most likely give you a few more details in DMs, but the gist is... what would be their reactions to seeing this? im not exactly ashamed of it but i probably wouldnt do it until i was more comfortable, you know? cos its still kinda... "embarrassing" but on a smaller scale.

[417]

YESSSS I WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ONE.

As I think I’ve told you, I sleep with a very large stuffed leopard named Liliana. So for anyone who’s wondering: yes, it’s me, my partner, Liliana, and our 50 lb pitbull in the bed every night. It’s...something.

So this is just an excellent scenario and everything about it is good.

Also! I dunno if this is relevant, but I figure that in the world of my fic, the boys each have their own bedrooms. Our MC is sleeping in one room or the other, depending on the night—in my story specifically, she’s still sleeping in Saeran’s room like 75% of the time. But over time, it becomes more even. Anyway.

Ahem as always when I write reader X both twins, they are both dating you but not each other. <3

Saeyoung and Saeran with an MC who sleeps with a huge bunny plushie

If you’re a little bit embarrassed about the bunny, maybe you don’t bring her around at first. Maybe you feel a little guilty leaving her at home (or maybe that’s just me), but you don’t want to start off, from the very beginning, bringing a very large stuffed animal into the picture.

But you are so much more comfortable when you sleep with her in your arms! And somehow she makes her way to the bunker—somehow, you have sat her down in a corner (of Saeran’s room, probably) and left her there.

One night you fall into bed early, because you are absolutely exhausted—and this is rare for you, but your head hurts and you need to close your eyes. And they are still up, both of them (of course they are), and it’s so much better to fall asleep hugging something soft.

So without even really thinking about it, you pull the bunny into bed with you. You are in Saeran’s bed, I think—and your head feels so heavy, and the bunny is nice and warm and squishy in your arms. And sometimes it is hard to fall asleep, but tonight, you drift off quickly.

You wake up to the feeling of eyes on your face—because when he looks at you, you are bathed in such vibrant warmth that it’s enough to rouse you even from a very deep sleep.

“Oh,” you mutter, trying to focus on Saeran’s face through the darkness. “Hi.”

His light eyes trail from your face, to your arms, to what is in your arms. You see him look. You blush.

“Who’s this?” he asks—and his voice is so gentle, so sweet, so full of delighted laughter. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

You mumble something, burying your face in the bunny’s soft fur. Saeran sits on the bed beside you and cups your cheek with one cool hand.

You tell him her name—because what else is there to say?—and he gently pats her head.

“She looks soft,” he says. “Can I hold her?”

He is speaking as if she is a live animal, and his eyes are sparkling as if he feels that she is something very precious. Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you hand Saeran the bunny.

“Ohhh,” he says, as he wraps his arms around her. He lets his face fall into her shoulder, and he squeezes her so gently. It’s really something: his hair is lit up by the moonlight, and he’s got the sweetest smile on his face. The bunny almost completely covers his body—he is not a large human being, after all.

It’s so cute you could cry.

“Would you be upset,” you ask him slowly, “if I took a picture of you right now? I want to try and draw this later.”

He looks up at you; he seems somehow childlike all of a sudden: eyes wide and glittering.

“You want to draw us?” he asks. You nod.

“How could I not?”

He’s thrilled. He’s honored.

He is maybe sleeping with the bunny in his arms that night, if you’ll let him.

So for some time, she lives in Saeran’s room.

But one afternoon, you’re hit with a wave of tiredness. You didn’t sleep well the last couple of nights, and your vision is starting to get hazy. You just need to close your eyes, you think—just for a moment.

Saeran is in the kitchen; Saeyoung is in the garage. And it is so cold in this stupid house, and Saeyoung’s room is always warm. Almost unthinkingly, you wander into Saeran’s room and scoop up the bunny. She’s so soft in your arms that you almost fall asleep on your feet.

You meander into Saeyoung’s room and fall face-first onto the bed, arms and legs wrapped all the way around the bunny. And she is comfy, and the bed is soft, and there are so many pillows...

This time, you wake to the feeling of strong, warm arms weaving around your waist.

Automatically, you squeeze your bunny tighter—in turn, the arms hold you tighter, too. You open your eyes.

It’s still light out—you can’t have been asleep for long. Saeyoung has found you here (drawn to you, as he always seems to be), and has wrapped himself around you. You turn your head to kiss his cheek.

“I wanted cuddles,” he murmurs sleepily into your hair. “But it looks like you already found somebody to cuddle with.”

Ah: caught in the act again.

You laugh, feeling your face growing hot. Saeran loves the bunny, but Saeran loves everything, and—and—

“She’s cute,” Saeyoung whispers into your ear. “Just like you.”

“I’ve had her for ages,” you tell him, wiggling her ears in his face. “I didn’t really mean to bring her in here, but...”

Saeyoung shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. He’s taken his glasses off, and he looks particularly sweet and sleepy.

“Listen,” he mutters. Ah—now he is blushing, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “When I came in here and found you and this huge bunny asleep in my bed, I...” He trails off, at a loss for words. “It’s just—you’re—”

Ah, and you love him like this, stammering and enraptured. You roll onto your back and smile into his flushed face.

“Oh, are we taking a nap?”

You turn. Saeran has found you, too—they can’t seem to help always drifting into your orbit, the two of them. He’s in the doorway with an amused expression on his face.

“Yeah!” Saeyoung says, wiggling around beside you. “And did you know we have a fourth member of our family?” He cackles, giving the bunny’s head a little pat. Saeran cocks an eyebrow at him.

“I did,” he says proudly. “You didn’t?”

You sigh, turning to hold out your arms to Saeran. He comes to you—of course he does—and folds himself contentedly into your arms.

And there you are, all four of you: you, your two beloved boys, and a very large bunny. 

On one side, Saeyoung is warm and solid. On the other, Saeran is cooler, softer. You’ve got a head on each shoulder, and a comfy bunny in your arms. 

You smell soft, well-loved fur and spring rain and smokey honey. You’re enveloped on all sides: safe and soft and warm.

You close your eyes. Just for a minute, you think—or an hour, or maybe two. 

You could stay right here, wrapped up in their tender adoration, forever.

[magicmanias]

The Wanderer

Episode 2 of Polaris

[per - uh - jee] (n). Astronomy. the point in the orbit of a heavenly body at which it is nearest to the earth

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: A fugitive out of time + interdimensional space travel + a love story. Always on the run, and while Loki might be able to escape the TVA, he always gravitates towards you. Not even bending the fabric of space and time itself can cut his heartstrings.

Occurs after the events of Endgame. Replaces Loki mini-series timeline.

Warnings: You know it’s gonna be angst. You just know. Come on now.

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I have exams coming up, so I’ve been having to study for those a lot. Once exams are over at the end of May, you know I’ll be writing like a maniac. Also, the word count will definitely increase as the chapters go along. It's been a bit short, but right now, we're just building traction! And yes… You will come across a part that is vague and opens up more questions about the reader who I have named Goddess Divine.

<- Previous | Next -> (Coming soon)

“Thank you.” Loki rubs his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“You—My husband taught me,” you said. Loki nodded but offered nothing in response. “We need to leave here. I know a way.”

“Hey, hold on.” Loki reached out to grab her wrist, but lowered his hand once he got her attention instead. “We don’t have the Tesseract.”

“There are other ways to leave this planet.”

Loki scoffed. “I don’t think you understand how powerful that thing is.”

You turned fully to face him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know more than you. Trust me. It’s better if you forget about it.”

The children are constantly at the forefront of your thoughts even as you searched for an escape in the caverns under Asgard. Memories of posies in hand and your old, favorite pink dress drew all your attention from the damp halls illuminated by enchanted flame. This place… this time that you’re in was all-too-well ingrained in the core of everything you remembered of your home.

Your calves started to strain and it took you some time until you realized that you’ve been trying to sync your steps with Loki’s, an unconscious effort you would always put in walking alongside your husband. The difference was that his doppleganger didn’t take care to shorten his strides to allow for you to keep up.

“We’ve fallen into a past timeline of yours.” Loki glanced at you over his shoulder. “Those children were you and… your husband.”

“Yes.” You give up on trying to keep up and let him take the lead. “I remember why we were up there. Today was the Perigee.”

Loki was curious. He’d never heard of such a thing. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

You made a confused look on your face, but then immediately understood. “I suppose you don’t observe that in your world.”

“No, I can’t say that we do. Is it a celestial celebration? We only commemorate the coming of the seasons.”

At the end of the hall, you finally arrived at the center of the caverns, a chamber of nine interconnected murals telling the story of creation. You and Loki used to play under these paintings, waiting until Thor would find you at last.

“The Perigee is not of Asgard. It exists on Midgard, the mortal planet, when the moon is at its closest point in orbit to the earth. It happens so often there, but we hold the festival when Asgard, too, is at its closest point with Midgard.”

“That seems a bit arbitrary,” he commented, now gazing at the murals of his father above him. Odin was painted in a beautiful light as he constructed the world. Ymir simply seemed to disappear from the artwork, but the muralist failed to convey that Odin slew the giant and used his body to form the cosmos.

“There is a story behind it, like all great Norse holidays have. It tells the story of Gaea and Máni. A tale of forbidden love. Lofn loves to tell the story for all the children at each festival. She claims that without her, they would never have ended up together,” you laughed, “I remember pulling Loki from his books so we could make it on time.” You giggled at the memory.

“Máni? I haven’t ever heard of him retiring from pulling the moon. And Gaea has been sleeping for eons.”

“Our history is different, perhaps. I do not exist in your Asgard, yes?” You continued to walk, choosing the fourth passage from the left that led to the waterfall beneath the palace.

“No. No, I’m afraid not.” Loki paused in thought as he contemplated your assumption. Surely you must have existed somewhere in his world. “So what was so forbidden of their love?”

“Where I come from, Gaea was truly the first realm to exist, made of the blood and dust from a time even beyond her. In an empty universe, she was lonely, though she was a goddess of life itself. So she collected more dust in the reaches of space and breathed life into Máni. He was born, bright like the stars and light in his heart. He was grateful for life, and in return, he gave her his love… and her children. The mortals. But when they came close to embrace one another, he came too close and scorched the earth, burning her children. Gaea mourned, crying until Midgard flooded with her tears. From the water, the plants regrew and the animals emerged, but still, she missed her children. Máni couldn’t bear to see his love so saddened, so he sacrificed almost all of his power to breathe new life in the mortals. He grew dim and small, no longer so mighty without Gaea’s magic. Now in a realm of eternal darkness, Sol had finally caught up to Máni. She was born with the duty to bring light to the mortals, but Odin also tasked her with the job to separate Gaea and Máni when they became too close. Every day, she shines her light on the earth, but when she goes to rest, Máni returns to see Gaea before Sol wakes up once again to warn Máni. Yet sometimes, Máni can’t help but to come a little bit closer to Gaea—the rising tides his only warning. We call it the Perigee.”

“And what of Lofn? How did she contribute her skills in this forbidden love?”

“Oh yes. Lofn told us that she was the only being to give her consent to their love. The rest of Aesir vehemently rejected the bond. She used to try and match all the children up in the village and she would host all the play weddings. We must have been married by her hundreds of times. She could never resist the idea of the God of Mischief with a maiden Vanir.”

The sound of water crashing down into the abyss grew louder and louder as natural light started to creep into the passage.

“What is your role?”

“My role?”

“Yes, what do you do? What do you reign over?”

“Oh, I’m really no one. I don’t even think the Midgardians are aware of me. My role is quite insignificant compared to the likes of your brother or even the infamous trickster.”

“What is your role, Goddess?” he pushed once more.

“Seidr,” you shrugged, racing your finger along the stone wall.

“I would hardly call that insignificant. The power of prophecy is a force to be reckoned with.”

“I was born with a divine title, but I can’t even perform a healing spell,” you admitted.

“Your husband never taught you?” Loki smirked, the tease hanging loose from his lips.

You frowned. “No, he couldn’t.”

A rumble of footsteps approached and neither you nor Loki hesitated to make a final run towards the end of the tunnel. As you started to gain some speed, you suddenly froze, completely still as a hazy orange light encased you. Loki’s hand glowed green, battling against the force that trapped you, but just as quickly as he tried to free you, he was captured.

The TVA launched you through the exact same process as the first time. Long lines, an infinite number of signatures on documents you didn’t understand, and a maze of doorways. You didn’t see Loki again for a long time. It felt like days, but in a place as distorted as this, you couldn’t keep track of the hours.

Another agent guided you into a holding cell. It looked strange—more like an inn room more than a jail. There was a bed, a tiny washroom, and a square box that showed what looked like a play for children. The characters chattered silently while their simple dialogue was scrawled in the glass. The door opened.

“It appears we’re roommates this time.” Loki strolled into the room and the agent closed the door behind him, the lock clicking in place.

The box flashed and the program changed to the man you had just become acquainted with before your escape. “Well that was fun, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, we will have to keep you here since you didn’t seem to enjoy the more open kind of hospitality we offered you last time. Just until everything is processed. You know how bureaucracy is. I’ll see you in a few.” Mobius winks and the moving picture contraption clicks off with a warm hum.

“Tell me about myself.” You looked up from the book provided by your captors. Loki leaned back in the desk chair with his legs on the table. He fiddled with a glass cup, tossing it in the air and catching it.

You dropped the book in your lap, still open. “I’m sorry?”

“Well you were married to an alternate version of me. He’s lived more life than me. Surely you must have something to tell me that would be of use.” He shrugged, not bothering to drag any more of his attention away from the glass.

You were sure you looked surprised as he followed his answer with, “Am I so different from him? Come on now, he must have been at least half as charming.”

“Oh… He was charming.” You closed the book and placed it on the table next to the bed. The edge of the sheet rubbed between your fingers while you considered what to tell him. “He was my best friend in childhood.”

“Tell me about the children. The younger versions of yourselves on that day. What were you doing?” Loki placed the cup on the desk and crossed one leg over the other.

It was so easy to answer. In all the years, you never forgot that particular celebration. “It was my idea to climb the hill. To pick flowers before we watched the Perigee. Lofn had paired us up for her little wedding ceremony to host in front of the children and I wanted a bouquet… for the morning gift. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but I figured it could be anything.”

“Aren’t morning gifts usually given to the bride? And… in the morning?”

You tossed your head back in calm, tired laughter. “Yes, but that wouldn’t have stopped me anyway. I think I gave them to you after we said ‘I do.’ We were… eight at the time.”

“Goddess Divine…” He kissed her hands. The red skyline fades into purple as the water at the dock darkens below. “Never doubt my love for you. Will you miss me?” said he.

“As much as there are stars in the sky.”

“Always the poet’s tongue,” said he.

“Well, I had some inspiration,” said she.

He looks wearily past the Goddess, but smiles warmly once more. “I’m afraid our time has come to an end, Goddess. I love you.”

“No resurrections this time...” No. It was supposed to happen like this. Thanos. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s happening all over again.

“LOKI—”

Warm water tickled your cheeks and then you were enveloped in a pool of water. Your husband’s arms wrapped around your waist as the water climbed the walls of the tub. No, this wasn’t him… It wasn’t him. It wouldn’t ever be him. “Goddess…”

“Let me go! Let me go… I want to go.” You grasp desperately at the edge of the tub, wringing yourself from Loki’s grasp. You fell onto the tile floor of the washroom, your wet clothes heavy on your back.

“Wait, just—” Loki cuts himself short when you stumble into the bathroom doorway and pull the knob to the bedroom.

“Shit—Loki…”

“You need—”

“Don’t tell me what I need! You don’t kn—know.” Your body felt weak. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. No matter how hard you tried, it seemed like you could never get enough air.

“I know being alive is certainly better than suffocating in space.”

“Is it!? I can’t even grieve for him! Be-Be… Be—cause I… Becau—se I ke-keep…” You choked, breaking out into a violent sob. Your legs buckle underneath you, but you managed to catch the ground under your hand. Tears stained the fabric covering your lap as you struggled to breathe in between your bawling, forcing you to hiccup only further fueling your frustration. “Why am I here?”

Loki knelt down and watched as you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your head in the space between. “Heartbreak is… a sorrow that I am all too familiar with. The feeling of your chest burning and freezing and being crushed all at once. But I didn’t give you a moment to simply… catch your breath after I, admittedly, forced you to escape with me. And I will never understand what it’s like to have to look at the face of your husband every minute of every day, but I do know this…” Loki let out a steady breath. “I will never leave you behind. Ever. Until I am able to fix this mess that I have brought upon you.” Loki lowered himself onto his knees. “That is my vow to you, goddess.”

He placed a hand over yours. It was a small gesture, leaving you wanting more. You tugged on his hand, manually tucking his arm underneath yours. He leaned into your motion, sitting on the floor behind you and pulling you close between his legs. Your eyes pierced him like venom, toxic but more addictive than the sweetest wine. A Goddess Divine.

Loki grew older in recent years, but his eyes had never changed. A sea of chaos and calm. He was there, your husband. Right in front of you, holding you.

“I always liked your eyes,” you murmured. You dragged your finger across the top of his cheek, tracing a line under his eye.

And I, yours.

You slid your finger up and cupped his face in your palm. Your husband. “I love you.”

Your lips swept gently along his; hesitant, yet your hand dragged through his hair, pulling him closer. Loki held still, but made no move to stop you. Your breaths grew harder as you grew more persistent. Even though you knew you would never be able to utter a word about this after, the need for him overcame you. In the sickest of ways, he was your only chance at truly saying goodbye to your husband.

Never doubt my love for you.

Your lips were soft. As irrational as the better part of him knew it was, he couldn’t help but think this felt almost habitual. He knew he should have pushed you away or reminded you of who he was. But when your fingers glided through his hair, Loki lost all sense of what was proper. He leaned into your touch, letting you relax in his lap as you continued to kiss him… eyes clenched shut. Loki wished he could look at your eyes and pretend he was the man you were pretending he was.

“Thank you.”

The agents dragged Loki to a door labeled “INTERROGATION ROOM #603521.”

An agent walked into the room, reviewing several documents attached to a clipboard.. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Laufeyson?” She didn’t bother to look up from the papers as she sat down in the seat on the other side of the table.

“Where is she?”

“I’m afraid your questions will have to be saved for the end of this, Mr. Laufeyson. Please comply.”

Loki lifted his head lazily, shifting his legs wide in the metal chair. A grin curled at his lips. He didn’t know how they were going to escape this hell. Running from an infinitely powerful force existing beyond time. It would never end… Was he ready to drag you through eternal hell with him?

Yes.

He would rot in hell for all he cared, but the TVA was no more than a joke—a circus of clowns playing their parts… and he would find you.

“I’m going to burn this place to the ground.”

“Never teleport me again. This is worse than the Bifrost.” You placed a clenched hand to your forehead and winced. The pounding in your head was ceaseless, though you were too cold to be completely tortured by it. The TVA was left in shambles, subjected to Loki’s wrath after he found you freezing in the depths of space. He hadn’t said a word to you since he discovered you, nearly lifeless. The ice burned your skin and your vision was useless for the time being. You could hear the crackles of flame and stone beneath your feet. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, but we need to heal these burns before they scar.” Loki carefully lifted your hand, examining your wounds. “Are you in pain?”

“I can’t feel anything. Just cold.” You inched your feet closer to the heat of the fire. It wasn’t as painful as you had expected it to be. Dying in space wasn’t such a bad way to go… You only wished Loki had anything else less painful.

He hummed in response. The burns begin to warm. A peculiar feeling tickles your skin and makes its way down your torso.

“Seidr?”

“My mother taught me. I can teach you.”

“What?” Loki placed more wood on the fire. Perhaps Thor’s boyish interests were good for something…

“You need to learn how to use your powers. A seidr goddess is no goddess without seidr.”

“I told you. I don’t have it. I’ve tried. You’ve tried.” Loki didn’t answer, but footsteps fell away from you.

Loki watched the asteroids floating in the foggy atmosphere. Odin once told him stories of how he acquired all his wisdom. Life itself is knowledge, he would say. War, politics, distant planets. They all have something to offer, but there is a place where wisdom flows like water in the roots of the Tree of Life. “The Allfather once traveled to the roots of Yggdrasil to attain knowledge and guide his reign. Perhaps we can go there.”

[jinxfirebolt18902]

What are we, then? - JJ Imagine

A/N: I fell hard into a new obsession: JJ Maybanks yes it is. So, I badly wanted to write something but had literally no ideas so I took this prompt list and made a friend choose 2 random numbers. They picked: 9. “we’re not just friends and you know it”

27. “what do you mean maybe? that was a yes or no question”

So yeah. Enjoy some angst.

Words: 2.249

Pairing: JJ x female!reader

—Don’t you fucking dare walk away from me! —JJ shouted after her.

—Watch me, asshole. —she stopped her steps and half turned her body just to give him the middle finger. Her facial expression showed the rage she felt.

Angry outbursts were pretty common between them. They’d known each other since kindergarten, a couple of years before John B came to the picture. So, their relationship was stronger, deeper. They knew each other to the bones. The gang was used to their loud yet harmless fights. JJ was short-tempered, and so was she. At the end, the fact that they shouted their opinions at each other at the moment they felt it was healthier considering they always reconciled half an hour later. 

But this time something was different. An event that had happened between them a few days earlier had changed it everything, and nothing would ever be the same. Such event was unknown by the others, and maybe that’s why they were all so confused.

The thing is, for the first time, neither of them were spitting their feelings out. And oh boy it did cause a lot of misunderstandings.

She and JJ decided to shelter from Agatha at John B’s place. It was no news JJ tried to avoid his house as much as possible. She always convinced her parents of letting her go with them as JJ was considered another son and spent a lot of time at hers, and they also wanted their daughter to be a good friend to John B after his dad went missing. Once her throat burned due to her shouting at John B to get his ass out of the ocean in the middle of a hurricane she gave up and waited for them to come back. Luckily JJ found a little sense within his logic and convinced John B of getting out of the water as the storm was way too heavy.

At the Chateau, they cooked some noodles and ate between anecdotes and candles due to the lack of power. Around 3 in the morning Agatha was still blowing, a few cans of beer empty were around the coffee table, she and JJ were sprawled on the sofa bed and John B asleep in his bedroom. The pair was listening to I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing from her phone as they heard the wind and thunder outside. They’d smoked a blunt and were then absorbed in the flame of the candle in front of them.

Her pupils were dilated and she couldn’t feel his eyes on her. Or at least that’s what he thought.

—Staring is rude dude… —She voiced out loud, but softly, in a sleepy state.

He let out a short laugh and then directed his sight to the candle. —You’re so mean to me.

Now it was her turn to laugh. —Yeah, so?

He gently pushed her arm and then let his head fall on her shoulder, his blonde locks tickling her skin. She rested her head on his and closed her eyes but a moment later he looked up and set his eyes on her face, more serious this time. Her eyes locked with his.

—What? —she said in a whisper.

But he was at a loss of words, which didn’t happen often. They just got in a trance where a lot of emotions were in each pair of eyes with a classic love song in the back. At a certain moment his gaze moved down to her lips and his breath stuck in his throat. JJ was never a shy one when it came to girls. His ego, not confidence, always led situations smoothly. But for the first time in his life, he had no clue what he was doing. It’s not like they hadn’t shared alone moments like this before, they always had. The amount of trust between them had no comparison. They were totally sincere with each other, since they’d met there was not a thing they didn’t know about each other. 

JJ leaned in and stopped closing the distance just when there were 2 millimeters left to create contact. His blue orbits checked for permission with hers first. She didn’t move at all. He took that as a green light and collided his mouth with hers.

The kiss was soft, and meaningful. Yes, they had a couple of beers running through their veins, and yes also a little of weed into their systems yet they felt like time stopped. It was like the Universe was created for this and only this moment. They felt everything around them vanished. It felt right, just like when you fit the last piece of the puzzle.

The sound of a lightning striking near their location pulled them apart. They shared one more look though this one was loaded with a bit of embarrassment. The moment got kinda awkward and they dealt with it by pretending what happened did not actually happen. She turned around and he cuddled her like they always did.

The next morning John B woke up first, walking from his bedroom to the porch, catching the pair of friends peacefully sleeping in each other’s arms. He ruffled JJ’s hair asking him if he’d been outside yet only earning a groan as a response. Hours later she woke up and went home without talking to her best friend about the intimate moment they’d shared. 

A few days later they threw the kegger, there happened strike one. JJ eventually disappeared with a smokin’ hot tourist, which did not go unnoticed by her. She’d seen JJ go from a clumsy kiddo to the sex symbol boy, she’d been there through the beginning to the end of his puberty, she knew better than even bother by his multiple random hookups. Still, after the intense look he had given her before kissing her had left her somewhat overwhelmed. And the fact that they had shared such a passionate moment together days ago made her actually uncomfortable at witnessing JJ get it with some other girl. This was brand new for her, literally she had never been jealous of the blonde. Oh and, one more time, feelings were bottled up.

Strike two took place at The Wreck when the group was in for a fast food meal. They’d gone inside towards their usual table while Kie went to the kitchen. The boys were just sitting when she was approached by Tom, a pogue, with a “Hey, how have you been?” to which she replied with a genuine smile. The boy had had a crush on her since middle school. He was kinda cute, light brown hair, green eyes, a couple of freckles under his eyes and on his nose. And he was nice, a good guy really. Her mom always wanted them to date but she didn’t find the chemistry reciprocated. And JJ had secretly been relieved by that. Not because he wanted her romantically or anything like that but because he dreaded the time she’d got a boyfriend and stopped hanging out with him. Tom asked her to go surfing with him the next day and she agreed, partly because she hadn’t surfed in weeks, and partly because she had bottled her jealousy at the kegger and kind of wanted to hit it back to JJ, as she was completely aware of how JJ felt towards Tom. Through the corner of her eye she caught JJ’s irritable gesture when she accepted the invitation.

A week after the secret kiss, the gang was at John B’s hanging out. By now, the tension between the two was clear to everyone, and their friends knew an explosion was coming soon. They weren’t teasing the hell out of each other as they usually did. They weren’t sitting next to each other in the boat as they usually did. And they also were hitting each other every chance they got, like when she had smacked his head from behind in the afternoon that same day when they were at the beach and the blonde was flirting with a girl, ruining their moment. Or when she was going to the fridge to seek for a beer can and he was coming out of it and shove his elbow into her arm, earning a gasp and a scowl.

—Yo! What is your problem dude? —her voice denoted she was at the edge which only pleased the blonde even more making him smile.

Kie and John B shared a look as Pope sighed resignedly foreseeing what was coming.

—Maybe the fact that you ruined my moment today.

She scoffed and walked past him rolling her eyes. —Yeah, sure. Cause you have so much trouble slutting around with everything that walks.

—Uhhh, excuse me. Do you have a problem with it? 

Their friends sighed and walked out to the porch in order to give them space and to be honest, they were not in the mood to witness another of their fights so they rather stargaze outside while the two sorted it out.

—Oh no, be my guest bro. I’m just sayin’ why do you call me out on “ruining your moment” when you can have “your moments” whenever you want.

He smiled sarcastically and looked down at the floor before lifting up his gaze to her. —You’ve been a pain in the ass the whole week, you are the one with a problem obviously.

—I am not. I’ve been the pain in the ass? Are you sure? Cause someone else comes to my mind. —she rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly as she let herself fall on the couch and took a sip of her drink.

—You’re unbelievable.—Did you mean it?

He looked at her in confusion. —What?

—You know what. Did you mean it?

He shrugged his shoulders and looked down to hide the light blush of his cheeks. —Maybe.

Strike three, you’re out.

—Maybe? What do you mean maybe? That was a yes or no question.

—I-I don’t know —his hand went to grab his hair. —Maybe.

—Forget it. —she stood up and he freaked out.

—What? Are you in your period or something?

That’s when she stormed off the Chateau fuming.

The sound of the slammed door got the other three’s attention, turning their heads to look at the person walking away.

—Don’t you fucking dare walk away from me! —JJ shouted after her.

—Watch me, asshole. —she stopped her steps and half turned her body just to give him the middle finger. Her facial expression showed the rage she felt.

After a few minutes John B, Pope and Kiara all got up and went inside to find JJ standing in the middle of the room with a hand grabbing his hair and with the other holding a beer, looking down at an invisible point on the floor.

—What did you do? —Kie asked him with furrowed eyebrows.

JJ grimaced and sighed. —I might have said the period line… —Kie let her head fall backwards and took a deep breath. —Of course you did…

—That’s just a dick move. Anyway, what is going on between you two? You’ve been annoying all week. —John B voiced.

But he only closed his eyes and breathed out heavily.

Hours later the surfer skated all the way to her house. He threw some rocks at her window to wake her but after a few minutes nothing happened, then he noticed a shadow on the roof, next to one of the windows of the big house. He climbed up and jumped from the tree to the roof, a few feet away from her. She was hugging her knees and staring right ahead with her chin resting on her arms. There were no signs of remaining anger, just plain tiredness, and a touch of sadness. He caught that in her eyes, he knew her so well, and it made his heart sunk to know he had caused it. He cleared his throat and dried his palms on his shorts. He felt nervous and it caused his hands to sweat.

—I’m sorry.

She blinked slowly but kept her gaze set ahead. He felt ashamed by his behaviour.

—We’re not just friends and you know it. —now he did get her attention.

She just smiled and rolled her eyes changing her pose, resting her palms on the roof and leaning her core weight on them.

—What are we exactly, then..? —she was teasing him and he smiled sweetly. He nudged her and they both laughed. A second later he looked down and bit his lip deep in thought. She turned her head to look at him.

—You’re everything to me. —he said quietly, still not daring to lift his sight. —I never want to lose you. —he said with an expression of pain on his beautiful face. She furrowed her brows and hugged him. —You never will, idiot. Have I ever given up on you? —she whispered near his cheek due to the hug. His eyes filled with forbidden tears. He nodded no with his head as he didn't trust his voice. Her smile grew wider and she kissed his cheek softly. —See? I’m always there with you. Every day, every week, every year. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. —he half laughed half sobbed and immediately cleaned the tears forcefully with the back of his hand. She held him tighter and he put his head on her.

—So, I guess the answer is yes, I meant it. 

[jeongyunhoed]

Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia

Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.

Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy

Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons

Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.

Author’s Note: So, here is the end of the series! Sorry if the ending was a little blah -- I really couldn’t wait to finish this whole story already. Thank you for reading it if you have. 

Listen to: All About You - ATEEZ, Halcyon + On and On - Orbital

Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Where did he go?” San looked around. The being transformed back into Mirae, whose hair, except for the streak, had also turned partially white at the ends. 

“Not to be that kind of person, but as long as he’s away from here, I don’t care where else he goes,” Jongho said. 

“What now?” Hongjoong turned to her, noticing the change in her appearance and the vacant expression on her face. “...Mirae, are you okay?” 

She glanced at them, all of whom were looking at her with hopeful eyes. Mirae was trying to process everything that just happened. Did she really just do what she did? From the looks on Junhong and San’s faces it seemed to be the case. She didn’t feel any better, but she realized that she had come a long way from where she was. If Hyuk and Chanyeol and even Jihoon could see her now. 

“I’m fine,” Mirae said. “I-I never thought I’d get to what you told me before,” She glanced at Junhong. 

“Grief tends to do that to people,” Junhong replied, a small assuring smile on his face. “On the bright side, everything is fixed, save for this window,” He looked at the broken glass behind her. “And the fact that we’re in someone else’s building.” 

“By now, people know who we are too,” Seonghwa spoke. “Our pictures, videos of what we did, would be going viral by now.” 

“I don’t think there’s a way to stop it either,” Yunho shook his head. He held out the gem in his hand. “But we need to do something about this.” 

“There’s no doubt they’ll come for that when they get around to showing themselves again,” Wooyoung said, looking at all of them and then at the gem in Yunho’s hand. “We need to put that away, that’s too powerful for any one of us to handle.” 

“Where do you suggest we put this away?” Yeosang questioned. “It’s too much of a risk to keep it around here.” 

Just then, the jewel glowed and after a moment, it disappeared. They stared at Yunho’s empty hand, amazed. “Well that answers your question,” Mirae pointed out. “The jewel is sentient. It knew that we didn’t want it, so it disappeared.” 

“If there was a way to understand how that diamond moves, I would’ve found a way,” Junhong said quietly. “If it left us, let’s hope that it doesn’t come back, or at least is in the right hands.” 

“That’s all we can do?” San spoke, a slight frown on his face. 

“That’s all we can do, Sannie,” Mirae replied. “Those people outside that we tried to protect will be coming back in here now that it’s over. I hate to imagine what they’d say when they see us going home.” 

“Me too. If it was anything like what happened to me in Morocco,” Yunho shook his head upon remembering. “It wouldn’t be pretty.” 

Mirae sighed and looked back out the window. “It’s getting dark, there’s nowhere else to go but home, now that it’s all over, and we all need to shower.” 

The rest of them laughed. “Can we get something to eat first? I know a good barbecue place,” Wooyoung suggested. 

“By all means,” Yeosang waved his hand at the broken window, the shards of glass putting itself back together. “No doubt people will recognize me now, I might as well do what I want. I will need to keep myself from doing any more magic if I don’t want to feed on people as constantly as I might do so now.” 

“Where do you think those guys went?” Hongjoong mused as they walked out of the office, seeing the shocked expressions of the employees who seemed to be aware of the ruckus that occurred moments ago. “Do you think they tried to make their own little world again?” 

“It is possible,” Yeosang replied. “However, I must reveal that I can’t guarantee Mark won’t come back if I’ve killed him not too long ago.” 

The mention of the immortal made Yunho glance at him. “We can’t really kill him for good?” 

“We are immortals, Yunho. If we kill each other, we get reincarnated. It’s something I forgot to tell you,” He said. “You will never really be away from Mirae if Mark tries to go after you, same as me.” 

“You mean we can’t get rid of you at all even if we tried?” San chimed in. 

“I’m afraid not, I’ll always be here to torment you and ruin your day,” Yeosang replied with a sly smile on his face. “Admit it, I must have proved myself to be a valuable member of… this cabal of people.” 

“And I never thought we’d have executive Kang on our side,” Hongjoong said. 

Yeosang glanced at Mirae then cleared his throat when he noticed Yunho caught him. “Well, since I helped my dear Mirae the first two times, three times the charm, isn’t it?” 

Mirae sighed. “Service elevator might be good for all of us to go down at the same time. We just have to figure out where it is.” 

“We don’t need to,” Yunho shook his head, gesturing to a dimly-lit hallway that likely led to the store rooms and the janitor’s closet. “I don’t know where we’ll be, but at least we’re out of here,” He said, as the rest of them grabbed onto him and they vanished. 

~ 

It was the ten of them in the almost empty barbecue restaurant Wooyoung suggested, with Yeosang paying the owners to allow them to stay late while they ate. The owners turned on the television, paying attention to the news that was on. 

“In what was one of the most disastrous attacks since the goblin invasion five years ago, robotic machines caused chaos. While there were no casualties, there was some property damage. However, shortly after the attacks, the damages caused from the chaos were easily repaired, all thanks to ten unidentified people who risked their lives to protect the citizens that were caught in the crossfire,” the news anchor said, and photos and video footage of the attacks. The restaurant owners gaped upon seeing their faces on the television. It then switched to the news correspondent, who was talking with some of the people who witnessed the incident.

“On behalf of the citizens, we would like to thank them for keeping us safe,” One person said to the camera. “They just left like that without telling us, and they repaired everything too.” 

“Superheroes! Those were superheroes!” One kid said, almost excitedly. “They saved us!” 

“Just another day,” San muttered in between bites of rice. He could sense that the restaurant owners were staring at them after realizing who they were. 

Yunho glanced at Mirae, hearing what she was thinking while they ate. “Do you really want to leave this place?” He asked quietly, making the rest of them look. 

“I’m thinking about it,” Mirae said. “We’ve been exposed somehow, and even with those people saying thank you, I feel like I’m too dangerous to be around here.” 

“They could say that about each and every one of us, even Junhong hyung,” Hongjoong said. “Was this what it was like from the train station incident? I remember Chanyeol hyung talking about it.” 

“Yeah. People didn’t take too kindly to what happened even after the whole thing,” Mirae nodded. “We’ve had coffee thrown at us. They don’t like this kind of thing, that’s why I live quietly. That’s why we’ve been living quietly.” 

Junhong put his chopsticks down. “You know, maybe times have changed. Maybe people who didn’t like things back then would’ve changed their minds now.” 

Yeosang sighed. “I believe he is right. Times have certainly changed, there is a chance that people of our kind would be received well, but that doesn’t mean we should go around showing off.” 

“Then they’ll really hate us,” Wooyoung ate a big piece of meat. “So, after this, what’s next? We go back to our homes and move on, isn’t it?” 

“That is the plan, there’s nothing much else we can do, is there?” Mirae replied. 

Seonghwa waved his hand and the bottles of water and soju poured themselves into their respective glasses. He raised his own glass, making them do the same. “Can I say something?” He asked, the rest of them nodding. “I haven’t been a mutant for very long. Actually, I haven’t been the type to do what we just did for good for very long, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I do want to say that we did well out there.” 

They clinked their glasses and took sips. They suddenly heard the sounds of something cooking from the back and after a moment, the restaurant owner came back out, bringing over a large pot of ramen to their table. “This is to thank you, for keeping everyone safe out there,” They said.

They stared at the pot, then glanced at her. “You really didn’t have to-” Mirae said. 

“But it is the least that could be done. All of you are owed a great debt that seems impossible to pay off by the rest of us. Please, have some of the noodles, it’ll go well with the meat you’re eating too,” They said. 

“We will eat this well. But for the record, we didn’t do what we did to get something in return,” Mirae said quietly. 

“That’s even more noble,” The restaurant owner said. “All of you are heroes in a world of flying men and monsters. The goblin invasion seemed to reveal to everyone that humans and animals aren’t the only living things walking the planet, this one seemed to be another reminder that we’re not alone. Please eat and enjoy. You are all welcome to return here as much as you want,” They bowed before walking back into the kitchens. 

Mirae turned back to her food, as did the rest of them. Yunho kept glancing at her and he put his spoon down to hold her hand. “We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” He whispered. 

She laced their fingers together. “I know I will be, as long as you’re around, as long as San is around. I took you and San for granted all this time.” 

Yunho shook his head. “You’ve been learning, and I won’t stop reminding you that you aren’t alone. You don’t have to bear the weight by yourself.” 

“Jihoon, Hyuk, and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, Mirae,” Junhong said. “I know they would be. Just like how the rest of us are proud of you.” 

“And you even got a dye job from your powers too, with your hair now being the way it is,” Mingi pointed out, making them laugh. 

“It’s the mark your powers are leaving on you, through your hair,” Junhong explained to her, seeing her confused expression. “When you tapped into your ability to trap souls, that white streak on your hair appeared. When you turned into an energy spirit, even more white appeared. Who knows what else you can do.” 

“Hang on, does that mean my hair’s going to do the same?” San stared at the elder. 

“Well, you are Mirae’s brother, it’s likely you will go through the same changes in your appearance, mainly your hair, if you push your abilities to the fullest extent,” Junhong shrugged. 

“Then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Hongjoong grinned. “We’d look cool with those kinds of changes.” 

~ 

The rest of them, including Yeosang, stayed inside the apartment bases later that night. “Now that everything’s done and over with, I guess it’s back to training for the rest of you, isn’t it?” Junhong said to them. 

“This place is quite plain,” Yeosang seemed to examine the interiors. “I know someone who can do wonders with redecorating.” 

“Speaking of redecorating,” Jongho poured himself a cup of coffee from the kitchen. “Are we still considering the old base that we went to with those goblin corpses?” 

They all looked at each other. “If I may be permitted, we can develop the place, make it nicer, I can have a clean up crew get rid of the blood and corpses but I am afraid I’m not sure where we can dispose of those goblin bodies,” Yeosang suggested. 

“That place does seem like a good choice,” Junhong shrugged. “There’s room in that tunnel for some of you to train using your powers, but no more simulations, just practical training courses.” 

“Good, I think we’ve learned from what happened that set everything off in the first place,” San nodded, glancing at his sister, who raised a brow at him. 

“What do you think, Mirae?” Hongjoong turned to her. 

Mirae looked back at all of them. They still had the same hopeful expressions. “...Me? I mean, there are all these passageways in there that are waiting to be used over and over, and since we took care of the goblins years ago, it would make sense that we’d have that place as a kind of headquarters.” 

“Can we get rid of the rats too? I don’t want to have to run away in the middle of a training session because Remy and his clan are busy going back and forth,” Wooyoung spoke. “Then again, he might be on his way to some kitchen, cooking soup…” 

“Someone’s watched Ratatouille for the recipe of that soup,” Jongho teased. 

“So then it’s settled, we can use that place, we’ll just get rid of the bodies and the blood,” Mirae nodded. 

“Now that I’ve eaten my fill and we’ve come to an agreement, my dear Mirae, it has been a pleasure working with you,” Yeosang turned to her, then paused to see the rest of them watching him. “And...I must admit, even the rest of you. With Ino gone, this whole… operation of ours will need funds, and I am happy to back this up, within reason. As always, my dear Mirae, if there is anything you need, if another investigation comes up again, don’t hesitate to come to Kang Tower. Gentlemen, it’s been nice, but not too nice,” Yeosang gave the rest of them a nod before seeing himself out. 

“Well, I think it’s time for me to shower and turn in, I’m starting to feel the exhaustion sink in,” Mingi got up from the chair, making Hongjoong and Jongho do the same. 

“We better get some rest now too, and I also need a shower. I’ve been in these clothes for a while, I didn’t realize how fast the days came,” Mirae looked down at her now dust and soot-covered clothes. “These also happen to be very expensive.” 

“Looks like it too. Yeosang got you that?” San noticed the details on her sleeve. 

“Yeah,” Mirae shrugged. She followed the rest of them to the door, seeing Junhong clear out the cups of coffee and put back the couch cushions in between waving at them. There was something she still wanted to do now that it was all over. She turned to Yunho. “Don’t wait up for me, there’s still something I need to do,” she muttered. 

Yunho got the idea and nodded. “Alright,” He kissed her cheek and watched her go down the stairs. 

~ 

With a small bouquet of flowers in hand, Mirae arrived at the graves of Chanyeol and Hyuk and put half of the bouquet on each of their grave stones. “I miss both of you so much,” She whispered, reading the epitaphs. “We could’ve been on this adventure together, the three of us. Then again, I realize that both of you were with me this whole time.” 

Mirae’s eyes were welling with tears as she looked at the two gravestones. She heard a whoosh from the nearby tree and out stepped Yunho. “Junhong is right, you know. Hyuk and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, even if you destroyed some things along the way,” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

Mirae leaned on him as she looked at the gravestones again, and at the flowers she put down. “I hope they are.” 

Yunho kissed the side of her head. “I love you, you know that, right?” He whispered, and she nodded. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I love you too,” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around him.

Yunho kissed her. “It’s always us,” He murmured. 

“Always.” 

“Come on, let’s go home, hmm? We’ve had a rough few days,” Yunho held her hand, lacing their fingers together as he led her towards the tree. Mirae smiled to herself as she followed him, the two of them disappearing. 

A moment later, a glittering object appeared in the space between Chanyeol and Hyuk’s gravestones.

[nkatr84]

Obi Wan/female reader oneshot Part 2

Waiting

Let’s shift the POV to Obi Wan’s shall we? (P.s. This is like the first fanfic I’ve written in years, first Star Wars one, first time writing Obi Wan, first reader fic and the first fanfic I published on tumblr. Enjoy!)

Obi Wan would never forget the day he met you. One minute he had been ready to take his seat in the booth at the diner of Master Qui Gon’s old friend. The next he was catching you in his arms and the stopping the milkshakes mid air.

Your eyes had caught him off guard. He had never met anyone outside the temple that eyes just glowed with the light side of the Force like yours did. And he certainly had never met a girl outside the temple that made him blush when you looked at him. He had found himself watching you every few minutes.

Master Qui Gon had noticed.

“Pretty isn’t she Padawan?” He had asked Obi Wan as they were leaving the diner.

Obi Wan had blushed again at being caught trying to stare at you until the last possible moment. He had shrugged,

“I suppose she is.”

“Obi Wan I’m not going to send you back to the Agricore for being a teenage boy noticing a pretty girl!” Qui Gon had laughed throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“But such actions lead to attachments don’t they Master?” Obi Wab had asked.

Qui Gon gave him a smirk,

“If you’re lucky my Boy.”

Seeing his confusion, Qui Gon had sighed. Forbidding attachments may work for some Jedi, but Qui Gon believed in the Force. That the Force was about finding balance. To not fear the Dark side nor let it consume you. That trillions of beings loved and had families every day because the Force willed it. It was just Life.

“It’s natural. To desire. To want. To love.” Qui Gon told him.

“But the Jedi are supposed to be above such things.”

“Obi Wan, I know you’re dead set on being the perfect Jedi, but maybe you can pretend I might know what I’m talking about?” Qui Gon quipped.

“Sorry Master.”

Obi Wan began to suspect that Qui Gon kept taking him back to the diner just to force him to gawk at you. Especially when he prompted him to talk to you. But he knew nothing about girls outside of the temple. You didn’t know anything about lightsaber techniques or mediation or the Jedi texts. Your shy smile sure did make his palms sweat though. He kept to small talk less he make a fool of himself.

When Qui Gon started taking him on more missions, he hoped he could focus back on his training rather than the way his heart began to pound when he saw you.

Then he met Satine. She was so different than you. Much more serious . Yet quick to tease him. More vocal. More passionate. She taught him how to flirt. Making him come to the conclusion that you must not be interested in him. That he had imagined your interest.

And after getting separated from Qui Gon and forced out on the run from the various bounty hunters after her, he soon would trust Satine with his life. She started to question if he liked Mandalore, despite its politics. Talk about the future. Their future together. He got used to the idea of sharing his life with someone. It sounded nice.

Yet...it was always Satine’s plans when she spoke of the future. As if she just assumed he would drop everything to be with her. He tried not to let it bother him. But it was a bit frustrating because she didn’t presume he would leave the Order either. She was a bit contrary that way.

And while the rush of adventure and survival fueled their romance, he has a hard time picturing a quiet moment with Satine. To just be Satine and Obi Wan. That’s when he would wonder what you were doing back on Corescant.

So it was inevitable when the running ended and he finally lowered his inhabitions to kiss Satine. Only to sigh your name. Satine had shoved him in a lake.

Also inevitable was going back to the diner as soon as he returned. But he felt too guilty to tell you of his adventures. Guilty because he still liked you. While also having feelings for Satine. A guilt that returned every time he saw Satine again and vice versa.

So he buckled down on his commitment to the Order. To Qui Gon’s chargrin. He soon felt guilty about that after his master’s death. But your faith in him made him feel better. That’s when he allowed himself your friendship.

Over the years he stayed just outside your orbit. Far enough away to not tempt himself. Yet close enough to see that you didn’t have a high opinion of yourself. That you thought yourself plain and dull. You just worked too much that’s all. Which was saying a lot coming from him.

Satine also came back into his life. Multiple times over the years. And his feelings for the Duchess of Mandalore were just as strong as what he felt for you. Even to a point that he confessed he would have left the Order for her, if she had asked. Never letting Satine know he’d do the same for you.

Finding out you had to work extra jobs to survive stirred up his longing to take care of you. The sight of you in that dress stirred up a different kind of longing. A longing that made the damn war more tolerable at any rate.

He was old enough at that point to admit he loved your figure. Somewhere Qui Gon was saying, “I told you so”. Anakin did so in person.

“Nice dress huh Master?” Anakin had asked over the music that night. Infuriating smirk on his mug.

“Shut up Anakin.” He had told him. The clones weren’t much better. Wondering why a cute girl like you was still single. Saying they wouldn’t mind coming home to a girl like you. Sentiments he reluctantly but silently admitted to himself that he shared. Maybe that’s why he had kissed your cheek that night. To test the waters as it were.

Yet when he was tasked to go undercover as Hardeen he took the plunge. For the first time in his life he could pretend to be an ordinary man. Granted Hardeen wasn’t much to look at, but making you blush by openly calling you pretty made all the difference.

When he heard you confess that you returned his feelings, he couldn’t stop himself. He tried to explain. Explain how he was pulled in three different directions. Explain what drew him to you. Yet still kept finding himself back in that diner. Back to you.

Then Anakin and his impeccable timing had all but stopped him from revealing his identity to you. Without a moment to spare Obi Wan took one last risk. He kissed you.

He swore he had become one with the Force that moment. You just felt right. He would hold on to that moment all through his mission. Promising himself to confess everything once he got back. And he did.

He just hadn’t counted on how he had hurt you.

He still had his command and the war to think about. Even indulging in Satine’s company again. But anytime he had leave he would walk in Dex’s, looking for your face. Worried you had quit, Obi Wan asked Dex about you.

“You know Obi Wan. I don’t know much about being a Jedi. But I do know that kid has been waiting for you for twenty years to figure out that’s she’s in love with you. Every since that day you had caught her when she tripped.

But she knows how important the Order is to you. How much good you do. She doesn’t think that she’s important enough to compete with the Force. Let alone a Duchess. Doesn’t even think she’s important enough to live life outside of work. She just survives.

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want respect. And unless you respect that girl for who she is you can forget about me helping you get back in her good graces.” Dex had lectured.

“I understand.” Obi Wan had sighed making to go.

No sooner had he stood, Dex had stopped him, saying while stroking his chin,

“Now if I were to get sick one day, I’d have to call my best waitress in on her day off to close the diner. One day being...Tuesday?”

Obi Wan had smiled conspiredingly,

“Here’s to your health then my friend.”

But he didn’t make it to Tuesday. Satine had called for his help. Darth Maul had returned. Imprisoning her and taking the throne of Mandalore for himself.

He saw Satine’s face everywhere for months after she died. Even in battle he just went through the motions. He avoided the diner altogether. Woke from nightmares of Satine lying in his arms confessing her love with her dying breath.

Until one night, she had chuckled and smiled, telling him,

“Obi Wan. I’m not the only one who loves you. I know now you’ve been torn between us. Don’t make my mistake my Love. Tell her how you feel. No disguises. No half truths. Just you. Believe me. You’re more than enough.”

“I promise.” He swore, kissing her fingers.

“And do hurry my Love. Something is coming that will hurt you far more than losing me. Or her. Something terrible.” She warned.

Which is when he finally woke up. He called Dex to make the arrangements. And that was how he found himself sitting across from you. Telling you his decision. He would complete his duty for the War effort then leave the Order. But you surprised him yet again. By telling him you loved him. All of him. Which included his connection to the Force.

When you reminded him how fear of losing someone lead to the Dark Side, Obi Wan swore he saw Qui Gon out of the corner of his eye, a look of approval on his face. But he wasn’t there.

“Right as always my Darling.” He had conceded. Then kissing your hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make up for over twenty years of making you wait for him. But Obi Wan Kenobi couldn’t wait to try. Despite the nagging feeling from the Force that their love was not done being tested just yet.

(And...there’s probably going to be a part three...fair warning)

[smarchit]

Poetry for an Heiress, Chapter 7

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When a duchess and her children are abandoned far from home, they must rely on the kindness of one stranger to guide them home.

Warnings: None! (for this chapter

HERE YALL GO. I'm sorry this chapter was late getting out. November is Trauma Center(TM) month for me and my brain meats have a hard time keeping up. I love y’all.

"Princess, would you care to accompany me into town?" Ezra asked softly one morning. He set the book he was reading down on the table and looked at you with a fond smile. 

"Of course. We just went the other day, did you forget something?" you asked, setting your tea cup down on the table. A few months ago, you never would have even considered leaving the children here alone. Now, it felt different. You felt more comfortable leaving them alone for a while. "I'm sure the children will be okay for an hour or so, won't they?"

"I guarantee it," he hummed. "I just wanted to get you a few things for... for when you leave."

You couldn't help but notice the hesitation in his voice as he mentioned your imminent departure. He had been toeing around the entire thing for the past few days and quite frankly, you had been grateful. It pained you to think that you might never see him again when you left. 

You felt that by not bringing up the fact that there was a perfectly good vessel he had commissioned for you ready to go, maybe you could stay just a little bit longer. The children certainly wouldn't mind. You had mentioned it off handedly to them one afternoon and it broke your heart when they assumed Ezra would be coming along.

You stood up from the table and dusted off your dress. Your clothes had never seen this much wear and they definitely were showing it since your arrival. They fit the environment now, worn-in, friendly, comfortable. Your skin itched at the mere thought of going back to scratchy gowns and beaded chemises.

As much as you detested the idea of going back, it felt a necessary evil, unfortunately. Your grandmother was likely to step down from the throne soon, and your mother would take her place. You would be next. Then Aiden. It was a never ending cycle and one you grew to loathe with every passing minute here. The thought of you remaining here with Ezra forever with the children felt like a fantasy story.

Soon there would be no long nights where you would make up stories for the children together. No meals cooked together. No walks to the market.

"I would be happy to go with you," you said with a smile. You might as well take advantage of what little time you had left together. 

You looked at the children as they played in the yard. The boys had grown like weeds in the warm days of Muir. Their trousers were too short now, their shirts just a bit too small. Marie, your little bug, her hair had gotten longer and lighter in the sun. 

"We're going into town for a minute," Ezra explained as he eyed the children up and down. "Now, I don't want to come home to find my barn and field razed to the ground. And your mother and I want you all in one piece. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Ezra," the children mumbled as they glanced toward you. You only raised your brow in agreement with Ezra.

"Mama!" Marie called as she bounced excitedly in front of you. "Are you and Mr. Ezra going a-courting?"

You blushed and Ezra chuckled beside you. "Are you watching those old princess pictures again, little bird?" Ezra asked, kneeling down in front of her. He gently ruffled her curls and smiled. "Your mama deserves a prince to court her! Not an old scoundrel like me!"

You tried not to hear the sadness in his voice. It seemed he was just as hesitant about you leaving as you were. "We'll be back soon. No wild horseplay, children!"

You took Ezra's arm and walked with him to the back gate towards town. His arm was warm and reassuring against you, bracing you for what Aiden murmured as you walked away.

"I guess we aren't gonna have a father after all, huh?" he whispered to his brother and sister.

"We were so close this time," Henry mumbled.

You wiped your eyes as Ezra unlatched the gate and helped you out over the little brook. Neither of you looked at one another until you hit the main road entering town.

"Ezra, I'm sorry--" you started as you reached the town limits, wanting to apologize for the children's behavior.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. "It's alright, Princess. I understand the children's disappointment. I hope that when you arrive safely back at your palace, you will find someone who truly deserves you."

You stared at Ezra in silent shock, tears flowing down your cheeks. Did he not know how you felt about him? How much you care for him? "Please, Ezra. Don't say that."

He shook his head. "I only want what is best for you, Princess. And the children."

You started to reply, but were cut off by someone calling for Ezra. The man from a few days ago, Charlie, was jogging towards you both, his hand waving to get your attention. 

"Ez, hey," Charlie panted as he approached. He turned to you and bowed lowly to greet you. "Highness. Ez, I finally got the fuel siphoned over from the Veskar."

You turned your head so neither man would see your tears. It seemed as though your dreams of staying here were just that. Dreams. 

"Well now, that's just fantastic news," Ezra exclaimed, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. "I'll stop over to discuss specifics later, as we're on a supply run at the moment."

Charlie nodded and bowed to you again. "I look forward to seeing you again, Princess," he said with a smile as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

"Alright, thank you," Ezra said firmly as he led you away from Charlie. He glared at the other man as you walked down the street together.

You quickly wiped your tears away and smiled at the small glimpse of jealousy that shone through. Even if you two weren't able to be together, he was still fiercely protective of you. 

"Back to the general store," he said, holding the door open for you. He stepped in behind you and shut the door firmly. 

The store was fairly busy this time of day. By the looks of it, there were a few harvesters and farm hands scouring the shelves for supplies. A rather terrifying looking man was positioned on a stack of crates in the back of the store, keeping an eagle eye out for shoplifters. 

"Morning, Ezra!" Marta called brightly from behind the counter. She finished totalling up a rather grizzled looking mercenary's order and held out her hand as he counted out the credits. 

Ezra nodded in her direction and kept a firm hand on your back as he guided you towards boxes of canned and packaged goods. He picked up a few items and handed them to you to put into the backpack he'd brought. 

After he'd picked a few, he turned and nodded towards the counter, gesturing for you to head to Marta.

She smiled at you as you handed her the backpack fill of goods. She began to count and total the purchases, humming softly as she worked.

Ezra glanced over his shoulder and patted your arm. "I'll bring right back, Princess. Just hang on one second." He disappeared from your side and pushed his way through the other occupants.

"Are you headed back home?" Marta asked as she tallied your order. She frowned when she saw how unhappy you looked in response. "You don't have to go, you know. I've never seen Ezra so damn happy as when he's with you and those kids. If you stayed, he'd would be over the moon. The boy needs a family."

You brushed a tear away and sighed. Every sign was pointing you to stay with him, yet you knew you just couldn't. 

"I--"

"Here we go, Marta, ring that up too, would you kindly?" Ezra asked, plopping down an extra fuel can. He glanced between Marta's frown and your solemn expression and then sighed. "Sorry, Mar. Excuse us for just a minute." He pulled you over to the side and brushed your tears away. "Princess, what's wrong? Did one of those prospectors say something?"

You shook your head and let out a sob. "No, it's not that-- you've just been so kind and helpful and I still haven't found a way to repay you!"

Ezra shook his head and tugged you against his chest. "Princess, no, it's alright. Don't cry. Come on, let me pay and I'll take you home. Why don't you wait outside for me? You can get some air."

You nodded and rushed out, not wanting the mercenaries and prospectors to see you. As you stepped outside, you looked up to the pale sky above. Since your arrival, a large purple planet had entered orbit, rising along the eastern horizon. You remembered the boys asking about it, and the story Ezra had told about how the purple planet, Doranastrus, chased after the morning star. They were constantly just out of one another's gravitational pull. Ezra had watched you the entire time he told the story. That had been a few months ago now, but you hadn't forgotten the story. 

"I'm a fool," you whispered to yourself.

An old woman wandered down the street and stopped in front of you. She regarded you with a nod and looked you up and down. "Is your husband the one with the two goats? He rents them to eat grasses?"

The bell on the shop door tinkled merrily behind you before you could answer and Ezra stepped out. He shut the door behind him and came down the few stairs to stand beside you. "What's this about a husband and goats?"

"Are you this woman's husband?"

"Now, I wouldn't exactly call myself her husband," Ezra chuckled, shouldering his backpack. He cleared his throat and looked at the woman. "What did you need?"

"You're the one with them goats on the edge of town?"

"I am indeed the man with the goats. How can I be of service?"

"Need them for a few days to clear a patch of land," she responded. 

Ezra nodded. "Absolutely. Swing by the farm sometime tomorrow and pick them up. You have Amir's old plot right?"

She nodded. "I do. I'm June, my husband is Rhys. I'll send him over tomorrow after lunch."

"Perfect," he said with a smile. "I look forward to it. I'll let the girls know they'll be shipping off. Thank you, June." 

Ezra placed his hand on your back and led you down the street back the way you'd come earlier. He adjusted the backpack and then offered his arm to you once again. 

"The atmosphere seems like it'll be good for a takeoff in a few days," he said softly. "I've given it much thought, Princess. It has kept me awake at night, long into the dawn's early hours. But I've made my decision."

"And what decision might that be?" you asked, biting back the tears that stung your eyes. 

"I," he said, his voice catching. "I would like to escort you home. Personally. I would feel much better seeing you safe in your fancy garden rather than sending you off into the darkness of space alone."

You looked over, waiting for him to say something else. He wanted to see you home instead of just waving you off from his front door? The thought comforted you. It felt like he truly cared for your emotions, though forcing him to travel back to Muir alone felt wrong.

"It's a long trip, Ezra," you said softly. "I couldn't ask for you to do that for us, not after all you've done already."

He shook his head. "For my own sake and peace of mind, Princess, I insist. Let me do you and your children this one final courtesy. Besides, Central isn't too far off. I could drop in on Cee, keep her company for a few days."

It seemed as though he'd made up his mind. Besides, the children might enjoy the trip home a little more if Ezra came along. 

In the back of your mind, you still heard their remark on how they almost had a father. It broke your heart to be unable to give them what they wanted. They'd never asked for anything before like they had done with this.

"Of course, Ezra," you said softly. "Thank you. Truly. Thank you for everything."

You sat in the garden, watching the children play. And every day that passed, you almost began to dread leaving. Ezra had welcomed you into his home the very first moment he saw the three of you in the cantina. He saved your life and poured his heart out to you. He had begun to feel like home.

You picked a rather vibrant pink day bloom as it bowed under its own weight beside you. It smelled absolutely lovely and you smiled as you ran your fingers over the petals. You opened the poetry book to the one Ezra had recited to you - Sonnet 116, written over seven hundred years ago by a man named Shakespeare. It seemed a fitting home for the flower, tucked safely between its pages.

"Princess," Ezra called as he approached you from behind. There was an urgency in his voice that you only remember hearing when you'd fallen into the river. Something was bothering him. He was covered in dirt and sweat from his morning chores, but you were sure he'd never looked better. "A word, if you would be so kind? I won't take up too much of your time, I know you have to start getting ready to depart soon."

"Is something the matter?" you asked softly. Ever since Ezra had poured his heart out to you, it almost felt like he had pulled away. It made you feel like you'd done some wrong. Maybe you had, by not expressing just how deeply you cared for him. You wanted to tell him at least a dozen times before lunch every day how much you loved him. You always hoped he knew that.

Ezra shook his head and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "No, Princess, everything is just fine. I'm just doing an awful lot of thinking, that's all. It both strains and enriches the mind."

"And what are you thinking so hard about?" you asked, setting the book in your lap. You turned, urging him to continue. 

Ezra took a deep breath and put his hand on his hip. He looked towards the sky as if he were gaining the strength for what he was about to tell you.

"Would you ever consider staying?" he asked, looking down at you. "Here. With me? You and your children?"

When you did not respond, he continued. 

"I must confess to you, Princess, that my intentions are purely selfish and I do not wish to see you go. I have gone against every instinct I have that is telling me to never let you leave. I know this planet is no place for you, but I cannot stand the thought of never seeing you again. I know that you must return home, and I wish to see to it personally that you are safe, even if it means breaking my own heart in the process."

You stared up at him, mouth agape in shock. Ezra had essentially confessed his love for you in the most beautiful way possible. You quickly scrambled to your feet, wanting nothing more than to pull him close and never let go. But you knew that you couldn't. You needed to go home, if for nothing else than to fulfill the duties bestowed upon you before you were even born.

"Oh, Ezra," you whispered, your voice thick with tears. "I want to. It would make me so happy, but I just-- I can't do it. My mother, my grandmother. They would be so upset if I never came home."

He cupped your cheek in his hand and smiled sadly. He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone and pressed his forehead against yours.

"This really is no place for your family anyway," he said softly. "And you deserve better than an old prospector like myself. Someday, I think, somewhere in time, we will meet again. Come on, I'll clean myself up and load your things into the ship. Gather your flock, Princess. One last time."

You started to protest but he shook his head. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and smiled. "It'll be alright. Don't worry. Better to do this now than keep prolonging our goodbyes."

A few hours later, you were strapping the children into flight seats on the modified pod that Charlie had built. It seemed surreal. When you first left home, you were frantically buckling their seat belts, looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to come through the door and kill you. This time though, instead of looking scared, your children looked sad.

You didn't want to show the children you were sad too. It didn't feel right, leaving the farm. But you knew what you had to do. You had to go back to your mother and grandmother. 

"Mama?" Marie mumbled sadly. "Are we going home for real?" She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and held tightly to her seat belt. When you nodded, she began to cry softly. 

"Can we come back someday?" Henry asked. 

"Can we, mama?" Aiden chirped. "Please?"

"I'm sure we will," you soothed, pressing kisses to each of their foreheads.

You made sure everything was secure in the bins overhead and underfoot before you double checked the flight book. Ezra had already assured you many times he'd be there to ensure a safe flight and landing, but you couldn't shake the nervous feeling in your belly that something was going to go wrong.

Ezra climbed aboard just as you were securing the final bin below your seat, calling his greetings to Juanita and Marta. They had promised to watch the animals while Ezra was away and he couldn't pass up the offer. 

"Are you ready?" he asked, holding his hand out to you. He helped you to your seat and smiled sadly. "I'll make sure you are safe, Princess, don't worry."

You nodded and strapped yourself in as Ezra slid into the pilot's chair. He glanced around at the children and then at you before flipping the switches to power the ship on. 

You reached over to hold Marie's hand as the ship rumbled to life. She hugged her stuffed dog to her chest and closed her eyes. A little whine squeaked out when you felt the ship lift off the ground and you squeezed her hand to comfort her.

Aiden and Henry held each other's hands and Aiden reached for your free hand. They all seemed so small strapped into the flight seats. So small, yet they'd grown so much since you had arrived on Muir. You wondered what your grandmother and mother would say about them. And about how you changed as well. 

You certainly had more muscle than when you first showed up, scared and stumbling into the Libertalia. You had helped out on the little farm, lifting and raking where Ezra needed assistance. The weight you still carried from having your children still sat at your hips, though your dresses were now looser and more ill-fitting. Perhaps the most notable change, to yourself anyway, was your smile. You smiled far more often than you used to. It felt good. And it was all thanks to Ezra.

You glanced over at him as he piloted the ship out into the vast emptiness of space. He looked back at you in the little mirror that had been taped to the comm piece and smiled sadly. 

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were apprehensive about going back to the palace. Something didn't feel right about the situation with Edgar and you hoped to talk to your mother immediately to alert her to what had happened. With any luck, you would be able to find a guard to fetch them as soon as you arrived.

Nearly a full cycle later, you woke from a twilight sleep as the ship rumbled and shook violently. The boys were already awake and watching Ezra with rapt attention. Marie was the only one still asleep now, her little head tucked against her chest, stuffed dog held loosely in one hand.

"Hang on, boys," Ezra urged as he flipped a few switches. The shaking stopped, but the rumbling was still enough to cause one of the overhead bins to bang open and send the contents tumbling. 

You let out a cry and braced yourself against the seat beside you as the whole ship lurched forward. Marie woke with a terrified wail, her head whipping around with the movement of the ship. 

"That was the reentry!" Ezra called back over his shoulder. "Just gotta set her down easy. Just a little more."

The entire ship bounced several times as it landed hard. It rolled over twice and finally came to rest with a deafening groan, leaving you all angled uncomfortably in your seats. The floor was slanted just enough that it would make it difficult to get out of your seats. 

Ezra unbuckled himself and slid out of the chair onto the floor. He turned to face you with a small smile. "Home at last."

You looked away, not wanting to look him in the eye. It would be too painful to say goodbye and you just wish he would leave you to find your own way back.

Ezra did his best to corral your children out of the tiny pod before he ducked back in to gather your few belongings. He had made sure you were safely out before he climbed down and jumped to the grass below.

"What do we say, children?" you asked, combing your fingers through Henry's shaggy locks. 

"Thank you, Mr. Ezra," they mumbled sadly, looking down at the ground. Aiden wiped his nose on the back of his hand and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Now cheer up," Ezra hummed as he took out a map. "I'm sure you'll have a big celebration for your return. You'll have the best meal you've had in months."

"Mama, do you think they'll know how to make those yummy soups we made a while ago?" Henry asked you.

"I'm sure they will, my darling," you replied with a smile. "Come along. Take your sister's hand."

Ezra hummed a short tune as he guided you all through the field, leaving the destroyed pod behind. He slung your bag over his shoulder and glanced back down at the map.

"How long do we still have to walk?" Aiden asked as he jogged ahead to keep up with Ezra. 

You sighed softly and looked around as Ezra explained to your son how to read the map. The planet had changed with the seasons since you'd been gone. It was almost springtime now. The last of the snow had finally melted away and new flowers were starting under the brown grasses at your feet. The air was still crisp but growing warmer, and for now, it still nipped at your cheeks and nose as you made your way home.

The walk to town was quiet, save for your children playing and running circles around you and Ezra. The two of you spoke quietly to one another, saying only your thanks and goodbyes. You knew how much he cared for you, and he knew how much you cared for him. You would never forget him, and it saddened you to leave him like this. Perhaps in another life, you could be with him.

It was dark by the time you reached the outskirts of town, and the moon was high in the clear, cloudless sky. The children, you found, were lagging behind and stumbling over their own feet as they grew more and more tired. 

Ezra bent to pick Marie up and she almost immediately fell asleep in his arms. He smiled fondly at her and then looked at you.

"Princess, if I may be so bold, I think it best if we hunker down for the night and continue on our journey tomorrow. It won't be too much further. I think some rest would do us good."

You looked towards the bright lights of the city center and sighed softly. It was indeed late and you supposed one more night couldn't hurt.

"Alright," you said softly. "Children, what do you think?"

The boys nodded and rubbed their eyes sleepily. It seemed as though they were the only thing keeping each other upright. 

"There's a little inn listed here on the map," Ezra said, nodding at a brightly lit two story building a few hundred feet from where you stood. "Seems as good a place to stay than any."

You smiled and nodded. One more night to spend with Ezra. It was as though Kevva was indeed looking out for you and hearing your prayers. "This will be perfect."

Ezra smiled and led the way down the path towards the little inn. He passed over Marie to your arms and set your backpack down. "I'll be right back," he said as he opened the door to the main office of the inn. He returned several minutes later with two sets of room tags and nodded to the top floor.

You set Marie down and picked up the backpack as Ezra herded the children up the stairs. You followed them and wondered how the children would get along after he left you. They would ask for him and cry when he didn't come, this much you knew. Could you disappoint them like that?

"A suite for the little flock," Ezra hummed as he unlocked the door. The children, now slightly more awake, rushed in, pushing and shoving one another to try and be first. There were two single beds and a fold out cot against the wall. Perfect for three adventurous children.

"Oh, Ez," you chuckled as the boys launched themselves onto the beds, whooping and cheering loudly. "Boys, boys! You must be quiet, other people are trying to sleep. Now, Aiden or Henry, one of you needs to let your sister have one of the beds."

"I will, mama," Henry offered quickly. "If I'm gonna be an explorer some day, I'll need to practice sleeping on a bedroll!"

You smiled and nodded. "Very good, my darling. Now say goodnight to Mr. Ezra."

One by one the children said their goodnights to him before they turned towards their beds.

"We're right next door whenever you're finished here, Princess," Ezra murmured. His touch on your back lingered long after he pulled away.

You quickly got the children tucked into their beds, explaining they were to be on their best behavior. They were not to open the door for anyone and that you were next door if they needed you. You pressed kisses to each of their cheeks before you turned the light off. 

Just before you shut the light off, you heard Aiden ask, "Mama, do you think Mr. Ezra will want to stay with us now?"

"I don't know, my love," you replied softly. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Ezra was already on the bed when you entered your room and you were shocked to only find one large bed in your room. You would have thought Ezra would have gotten another room like the one for the children.

"This was all that was left, Princess," he hummed as if he could read your mind. "Figured the children wouldn't mind those little beds as much as we would. Besides, I thought you deserved a nice big bed to sleep in tonight. There's a little cot for me there, don't worry."

You bit your lip and looked at him, spread out and relaxed on the bed. He had kicked his boots off and the deep green of his sweater had ridden up his torso slightly to reveal a strip of tan skin.

"I think I'm going to wash up," you said quickly as you rushed towards the restroom. You kept your eyes down to avoid looking at him. He didn't need to see your blush. Ezra watched you carefully, his dark eyes never leaving you, even when you turned to shut the door.

After you washed up, you realized the backpack was still out by the door in the bedroom. There was no way to get it without Ezra seeing you. One threadbare towel the inn provided was definitely not enough.

"Ez?" you called softly when you cracked open the door. "Can you get my robe? Please?"

You heard the springs creak on the bed and Ezra appeared in front of the washroom door. He had removed his sweater at some point while you washed up and he handed it to you. His eyes never left yours as you gratefully accepted the sweater.

"Thank you," you murmured as you slipped it on over your head. You felt your cheeks heat up when Ezra did not look away.

You opened up the washroom door fully to reveal him standing before you, looking at you with a sort of reverence you had only read about. 

"I have," he said breathlessly. "In my more desperate hours, thought about this very moment. I admit that I have pictured you in a hundred different instances, but none of them compare to how you glow in this light. Like a star. My starshine."

You blushed and turned your head slightly. Your cheeks felt hot and his gaze ignited something within you that you thought had been buried long ago. A fire, burning through the night.

"Will you come to bed?" Ezra whispered as you approached him. He gently placed his hand on your waist and pulled you close.

You brushed your lips against his and nodded as you curled your fingers over his cheeks. "Yes," you breathed.

**************************

TAGLIST:

@the-feckless-wonder @gallowsjoker @phoenixhalliwell  @waatermelon-sugaar @huliabitch @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @auandromedus

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the February 2021 Edition

Most of my last month was spent on deadline and waiting for people to respond to my emails, which meant I did not have the time (or energy) to write much of anything, but had plenty of time to read, quite frankly, an absurd number of books. Some of which were very good, some of which were very cheesy, and some of which I have now told multiple people was quite possibly the worst book I have ever read. As always, though, what are my opinions if I am not sharing them with the internet? Ridiculous headlines, links, and those aforementioned opinions under the cut. As always, part two, feel free to send me any and all recommendations. It cannot possibly be worse than this one book. Seriously, you’ll understand in a second.

———

Quite Possibly the First Book I’ve Gone Out of My Way to Buy On Release Day Since Breaking Dawn, Which Says a lot About Me. As a Person.

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she's struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can't seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it.

The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre's Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta's orbit. But her temper isn't the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other.

Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts.

Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance-and healing-in each other's arms.

I’m not kidding when I tell you that I was counting the days until this came out. I was kind of indifferent to Nesta after the original ACOTAR books, but intrigued enough that I was like, I need to read this, and then I did read this and now I care quite a lot about Nesta. And how in love with Cassian she is. And vice versa. Because, let’s be honest, dude is in l o v e. There were some parts of the story I was not super into — namely, Ferye having to die in childbirth. Like, you’re telling me Cassian could have his guts hanging out at one point and we don’t know how to do a c-section? Nah, that ain’t it. Also, pregnancy as a storyline is not always my favorite thing, but more on that in a second. Also, also, here’s a bunch more words about ACOSF.

A “Huh, So That Happened” Sort of Ending. Which Was Disappointing.

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer

Emberfall is crumbling fast, torn between those who believe Rhen is the rightful prince and those who are eager to begin a new era under Grey, the true heir. Grey has agreed to wait two months before attacking Emberfall, and in that time, Rhen has turned away from everyone--even Harper, as she desperately tries to help him find a path to peace.

Fight the battle, save the kingdom. Meanwhile, Lia Mara struggles to rule Syhl Shallow with a gentler hand than her mother. But after enjoying decades of peace once magic was driven out of their lands, some of her subjects are angry Lia Mara has an enchanted prince and a magical scraver by her side. As Grey's deadline draws nearer, Lia Mara questions if she can be the queen her country needs.

As the two kingdoms come closer to conflict, loyalties are tested, love is threatened, and an old enemy resurfaces who could destroy them all, in this stunning conclusion to bestselling author Brigid Kemmerer's Cursebreaker series.

I loved the first book in this series. Absolutely adored it. So much so that I pretty quickly got the second one and read it. Enjoyed that on its own, but like I said in that one ask, I’m fairly certain A Curse So Dark and Lonely could have very easily been a standalone story. Should have been a standalone story? There was just SO MUCH going on here, and not nearly enough of it was resolved. Plot points just hung by the end of the trilogy, I was not ever entirely convinced Rhen and Harper were actually in love, let alone liked each other, and I thought Rhen got the very short end of an exceptionally cracked stick by the time the whole story wrapped up. Really, I think this  tried to do too much in not enough time and there should probably be another book. Also Lia Mara getting pregnant was dumb. There I said it.

Free Books On Amazon Unlimited That Were Better Than Expected, But Also Read Like Fic

The Bargainer Series by Laura Thalassa

Everyone knows that if you need a favor, you go to the Bargainer to make it happen. He’s a man who can get you anything you want … at a price. And everyone knows that sooner or later he always collects.

Callypso Lillis is a siren with a very big problem, one that stretches up her arm and far into her past. For the last seven years she’s been collecting a bracelet of black beads up her wrist, magical IOUs for favors she’s received. Only death or repayment will fulfill the obligations. Only then will the beads disappear.

But for one of his clients, he’s never asked for repayment. Not until now. When Callie finds the fae king of the night in her room, a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, she knows things are about to change. At first it’s just a chaste kiss—a single bead’s worth—and a promise for more.

For the Bargainer, it’s more than just a matter of rekindling an old romance. Something is happening in the Otherworld. Fae warriors are going missing one by one. Only the women are returned, each in a glass casket, a child clutched to their breast. And then there are the whispers among the slaves, whispers of an evil that’s been awoken.

If the Bargainer has any hope to save his people, he’ll need the help of the siren he spurned long ago. Only, his foe has a taste for exotic creatures, and Callie just happens to be one.

No one is going to be able to convince me this wasn’t ACOTAR fan fic. I don’t care about timing or dates, or whatever. The similarities just...did not stop. In all three books, even. There were three books in this series, by the way. Most of which I really enjoyed. I read them all in like four days of email waiting, so they must have been doing something right. Des was a good love interest and I really liked the flashbacks in the first book. Also Callie didn’t super annoy me. That being said, whoever edited this book. Oof. Some of the prose was so goddamn cringe, I literally lol’ed. Right out loud. Every now and then it was like we had to be reminded that Des was a BAD GUY ™ but it felt very Edward “I’m a killer, Bella” Cullen, and Callie’s internal monologue was occasionally hysterical. Not in a good way. Also Temper was the worst. She was so annoying. Every time she talked, I was like, oh, her again. The first book was the best one.

HITTING ALL MY ROM COM BOXES! BASEBALL! ROMANCE! PINING! ONLY VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN THEY HAD SEX IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT BECAUSE I’VE BEEN IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT.

Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey

Georgette Castle’s family runs the best home renovation business in town, but she picked balloons instead of blueprints and they haven’t taken her seriously since. Frankly, she’s over it. Georgie loves planning children’s birthday parties and making people laugh, just not at her own expense. She’s determined to fix herself up into a Woman of the World... whatever that means.

Phase one: new framework for her business (a website from this decade, perhaps?)

Phase two: a gut-reno on her wardrobe (fyi, leggings are pants.)

Phase three: updates to her exterior (do people still wax?)

Phase four: put herself on the market (and stop crushing on Travis Ford!)

Travis Ford was major league baseball’s hottest rookie when an injury ended his career. Now he’s flipping houses to keep busy and trying to forget his glory days. But he can’t even cross the street without someone recapping his greatest hits. Or making a joke about his… bat. And then there's Georgie, his best friend’s sister, who is not a kid anymore. When she proposes a wild scheme—that they pretend to date, to shock her family and help him land a new job—he agrees. What’s the harm? It’s not like it’s real. But the girl Travis used to tease is now a funny, full-of-life woman and there’s nothing fake about how much he wants her...

Living her best life means facing the truth: Georgie hasn’t been on a date since, well, ever. Nobody’s asking the town clown out for a night of hot sex, that’s for sure. Maybe if people think she’s having a steamy love affair, they’ll acknowledge she’s not just the “little sister” who paints faces for a living. And who better to help demolish that image than the resident sports star and tabloid favorite.

Legit, I saw the description for this and I was like—did I write this? Kind of. (Shameless plug to read my own rom com, it also has baseball and pining) It didn’t matter, I loved it. Seriously, it hit all my rom com boxes: childhood friends, best friend’s sister, coming back home under duress, FAKE DATING and, let’s be honest, I am not immune to the use of “baby girl” as an endearment. Every time Travis called Georgie “baby girl” I was like, oh, ok, this is cool. It was cool! I only have two quips. One, that the fake dating didn’t last a little longer. The pacing of the story felt very quick, but that’s also this genre’s style. So I kind of get it. And two, that it happened in Port Jefferson, which is a town in Suffolk County that I have not only been to, but have spent significant time in. Meaning I could picture every single thing, knew exactly where they were and have used the exit on the Northern State Parkway that the final moments of the book took place at. The Port Jeff girls basketball team won a Long Island championship last weekend. In real life, not the book.

In Which Spinoffs Continue to be my Kryptonite. Especially Well-Written Ones

Mistletoe and Mr. Right by Sarah Morgenthaler

Lana Montgomery is everything the quirky small town of Moose Springs, Alaska can't stand: a rich socialite with dreams of changing things for the better. But Lana's determined to prove that she belongs...even if it means trading her stilettos for snow boots and tracking one of the town's hairiest Christmas mysteries: the Santa Moose, an antlered Grinch hell-bent on destroying every bit of holiday cheer (and tinsel) it can sink its teeth into.

And really...how hard could it be?

The last few years have been tough on Rick Harding, and it's not getting any easier now that his dream girl's back in town. When Lana accidentally tranquilizes him instead of the Santa Moose, it's clear she needs help, fast...and this could be his chance to finally catch her eye. It's an all-out Christmas war, but if they can nab that darn moose before it destroys the town, Rick and Lana might finally find a place where they both belong...together.

I mentioned The Tourist Attraction in my January list, and this is the second in the Moose Springs trio. And it’s so good! I wish people were all as nice to Lana as Rick was. It’s what she deserved! More small-town antics, more kissing, another moose. This one was just as cute as the original book, especially because it brought back original characters and Zoey and Graham were so goddamn adorable as a committed couple I genuinely feared for the state of my teeth.

Enjoy the View by Sarah Morgenthaler

Former Hollywood darling River Lane's acting career is tanking fast. Determined to start fresh behind the camera, she agrees to film a documentary about the picturesque small town of Moose Springs, Alaska. The assignment should have been easy, but the quirky locals want nothing to do with River. Well, too bad: River's going to make this film and prove herself, no matter what it takes.

Or what (literal) mountain she has to climb.

Easton Lockett may be a gentle giant, but he knows a thing or two about survival. If he can keep everyone in line, he should be able to get River and her crew up and down Mount Veil in one piece. Turns out that's a big if. The wildlife's wilder than usual, the camera crew's determined to wander off a cliff, and the gorgeous actress is fearless. Falling for River only makes Easton's job tougher, but there's only so long he can hold out against her brilliant smile. When bad weather strikes, putting everyone at risk, it'll take all of Easton's skill to get them back home safely...and convince River she should stay in his arms for good.

Wrapping up the Moose Springs trio, this one might have been my least favorite, but that’s not really saying much. Since I loved them all pretty equally. River and Easton’s banter was grade-A, top-notch, which is a one-way ticket to my reading-heart. Maybe part of the problem (I say problem like there really was one) was that most of the story took place on a mountain. I kind of wanted more small-town shenanigans, and updates on the condos and the state of the town and Graham being mayor. Still, this was very cute. I swooned multiple times. I’ll probably read anything Sarah Morgenthaler writes from here on out.

Seriously, What Is YA? Does Anyone Know?

The Beautiful by Renee Ahdieh

In 1872, New Orleans is a city ruled by the dead. But to   seventeen-year-old Celine Rousseau, New Orleans is a safe haven after   she's forced to flee her life as a dressmaker in Paris. Taken in by the sisters of the Ursuline convent in the middle of the carnival season,   Celine is quickly enraptured by the vibrant city, from its music to its fancy soirées and even its danger. She becomes embroiled in the city's glitzy underworld, known as La Cour des Lions, after catching the eye of  the group's enigmatic leader, Sébastien Saint Germain.

When the body of one of the girls from the convent is found in Sébastien's own lair--the second dead girl to turn up in recent weeks--Celine battles her attraction to Sébastien and suspicions about his guilt along with the shame of her own horrible secret.

After a third murder, New  Orleans becomes gripped by the terror of a serial killer on the  loose--one who has now set Celine in his sights. As the murderer stalks  her, Celine finally takes matters into her own hands, only to find  herself caught in the midst of an age-old feud between the darkest  creatures of the night, where the price of forbidden love is her life.

Like I said last month, I put a hold on pretty much everything Renee Ahdieh had written in my library. And this was just as good as the last series I read. Her world building is just—chef’s kiss, gorgeous. I dream of writing this airy, magical way, that makes you feel like you’re in New Orleans. That being said, I do not know what kid is reading this because apparently this is YA and I had to read every single word to figure out what was going on. Now, I know there are two more books in the series, but this one felt like a lot of set up and I spent most of it being like...will this make sense eventually? It did, but only during a very rushed climax of final few chapters. The sequel isn’t available on Kindle at the library, and I haven’t bought it yet. So, that’s probably kind of telling.

In Which You Cannot Always Depend On Old Favorites

No Judgments by Meg Cabot

When a massive hurricane severs all power and cell service to Little Bridge Island—as well as its connection to the mainland—twenty-five-year-old Bree Beckham isn’t worried . . . at first. She’s already escaped one storm—her emotionally abusive ex—so a hurricane seems like it will be a piece of cake.

But animal-loving Bree does become alarmed when she realizes how many islanders have been cut off from their beloved pets. Now it’s up to her to save as many of Little Bridge’s cats and dogs as she can . . . but to do so, she’s going to need help—help she has no choice but to accept from her boss’s sexy nephew, Drew Hartwell, the Mermaid Café’s most notorious heartbreaker.

But when Bree starts falling for Drew, just as Little Bridge’s power is restored and her penitent ex shows up, she has to ask herself if her island fling was only a result of the stormy weather, or if it could last during clear skies too.

I love Meg Cabot. That should be stated upfront and at the very beginning because for a very long time I have claimed that being Meg Cabot was my dream job. I’ve read pretty much every book Meg Cabot has ever written and was fairly certain I’d be into these once I did read them. Only I was...not. Not really. Everything in this book happened so quickly, I felt like I was the one in the hurricane. People were kissing and then they were having sex and there was a storm and pets and then—it was over? The pacing was all over the place, I had no idea why Drew and Bree liked each other, some guy kicked a dog at one point?? It was weird. Which leads us to—

No Offense by Meg Cabot

A broken engagement only gave Molly Montgomery additional incentive to follow her dream job from the Colorado Rockies to the Florida Keys. Now, as Little Bridge Island Public Library’s head of children’s services, Molly hopes the messiest thing in her life will be her sticky-note covered desk. But fate—in the form of a newborn left in the restroom—has other ideas. So does the sheriff who comes to investigate the “abandonment”.  When John Hartwell folds all six-feet-three of himself into a tiny chair and insists that whoever left the baby is a criminal, Molly begs to differ and asks what he’s doing about the Island’s real crime wave (if thefts of items from homes that have been left unlocked could be called that). Not the best of starts, but the man’s arrogance is almost as distracting as his blue eyes. Almost…

John would be pretty irritated if one of his deputies had a desk as disorderly as Molly’s. Good thing she doesn’t work for him, considering how attracted he is to her. Molly’s lilting librarian voice makes even the saltiest remarks go down sweeter, which is bad as long as she’s a witness but might be good once the case is solved—provided he hasn’t gotten on her last nerve by then. Recently divorced, John has been having trouble adjusting to single life as well as single parenthood. But something in Molly’s beautiful smile gives John hope that his old life on Little Bridge might suddenly hold new promise—if only they can get over their differences.

This isn’t a sequel SEQUEL, but another one of those “exists in the same universe,” or same town, as it were, and it was better than No Judgments. Molly and John actually had a few legitimate conversations before they started kissing. The conflict was still weird and sort of forced, this was not Meg’s usual banter (I fell like I can call her Meg at this point, y’know?) and, again, the ending just felt like it...happened. I don’t know guys, maybe I should just reread The Boy Is Back. Or that quasi Persephone-Hades series. It’s been awhile. On that one, at least. I read The Boy Is Back like six months ago.

ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING ROM COM THAT I CANNOT BELIEVE I FINISHED, SOMEONE GIVE ME A PRIZE FOR FINISHING THIS

Fight or Flight by Samantha Young

The universe is conspiring against Ava Breevort. As if flying back to   Phoenix to bury a childhood friend wasn't hell enough, a cloud of   volcanic ash traveling from overseas delayed her flight back home to   Boston. Her last ditch attempt to salvage the trip was thwarted by an   arrogant Scotsman, Caleb Scott, who steals a first class seat out from   under her. Then over the course of their journey home, their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for the steamiest layover Ava's ever had. And  that's all it was--until Caleb shows up on her doorstep. 

When pure chance pulls Ava back into Caleb's orbit, he proposes they enjoy their physical connection while he's stranded in Boston. Ava agrees, knowing her heart's in no danger since a) she barely likes Caleb and b) his existence in her life is temporary. Not long thereafter Ava realizes she's made a terrible error because as it turns out Caleb Scott isn't quite so unlikeable after all. When his stay in Boston becomes permanent, Ava must decide whether to fight her feelings for him or give into them. But even if she does decide to risk her heart on Caleb, there is no guarantee her stubborn Scot will want to risk his heart on her...

When I tell you guys that this was the worst book I have read in recent memory, I am not kidding. Might actually be the worst book I have ever read. Bar none. And that’s saying something because one time I had to read Ender’s Game in college and that, like, physically pained me. This was awful. Awful people. Awful plot. Awful resolution. AWFUL. Where to start? Well, I’m not going to apologize for spoilers, because God help us all, do not read this book. Ava has been through so many horrible things in her life it was like someone was trying to set a record. Bad parents, cheating ex-boyfriend, dead former best friend who was former because of the cheating ex-boyfriend. Naturally, this made her a control freak because—of course, or something. And Caleb! Oh my God, fucking Caleb Scott. The dickwad. I’ve never rooted for anyone to not get the girl more. When Ava “broke up” with him (they were never really together) I might have cheered. Shitty things does not give you an excuse to be a dick, and Caleb was a dick. Seriously, he started crying about how his ex-fiance KILLED THEIR BABY and I was like—this cannot possibly be a real book. It was! With lots of abortion opinions out of FUCKING nowhere, and weird possessive behavior from, like, every dude in it. Both Ava AND her best friend (not the dead one, a different one) got assaulted at one point. I kept reading solely because I was desperate to see how they rationalized Ava and Caleb getting back together at the end and they didn’t. He showed up on her flight when her boss came up with a fake work trip so he could sit next to her on the plane. What? WHAT?? It was so dumb. So bad. I can’t believe I read it. 

[emma-what-son]

How Sir Philip's son cast a spell on Emma Watson: The super-woke Harry Potter star and the playboy son of the disgraced Topshop tycoon - it's hard to think of a more unlikely romance, writes ALISON BOSHOFF

One can almost see her eyebrows raised in quizzical disdain. Hermione Granger would surely disapprove.

Pictures emerged this week of Emma Watson, the serious-minded Harry Potter actress and eco-warrior, hopping out of Sir Philip Green’s family helicopter in Battersea, South London. Curious, some would think, given Emma’s long-standing war against fast fashion, that she would accept a lift from the fallen King of the High Street.

More curious still, however, is that Emma, 31, has apparently been enchanted by Brandon Green, Sir Philip’s 28-year-old son, whose longest relationship to date seems to have been with a Belarusian bikini model. Could there be a more unlikely romance?

Aside from both being awash with money —Brandon is an heir to a £2 billion fortune, while Emma is said to be worth about £59 million —they appear to have almost nothing in common. Yet according to a friend, a certain magic is in the air.

‘Brandon has been wooing Emma,’ says one source. Another says: ‘They are an item, although she hasn’t met the family yet.’

Emma, who once mused about being ‘self-partnered’, has certainly had more suitors than her single status would have you believe.

At 17, an early boyfriend was rugby player Tom Ducker, but her most serious romance seems to have been with another rugby player — and fellow Oxford student — Matt Janney, with whom she broke up in 2015.

Then there was another Oxford student, Will Adamowicz. The relationship lasted from 2011 to 2013.

She was then seen out and about with actor/producer Roberto Aguire, whom she first met in 2005 on the set of Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire. She also seems to have a particularly weak spot for young tech millionaires, as she has dated at least three of them, most significantly U.S. entrepreneur William ‘Mack’ Knight, whom she split from in late 2017 following a two-year romance.

Then came a six-month love affair with handsome Glee actor Chord Overstreet. They broke up during the summer of 2018.

She was then spotted sharing cocktails with tech CEO Brendan Wallace, a New Yorker, now 38, who is co-founder of a venture capital fund. By summer 2019 she was rumoured to have moved on to another tech millionaire, Brendan Iribe, CEO of Oculus.

She most recently split from her boyfriend of two years, businessman Leo Robinton.

It’s a longer list of amours than you might expect for someone who claims to be ‘self-partnered’, but then Emma is a woman who solemnly examines her life.

‘The boyfriends or partners I’ve had have generally made me feel really cherished. They have built me up,’ she said.

Quite how Brandon — who featured in Tatler’s ‘most eligible’ list in 2014 and was once caught patting Kate Moss’s bottom — fits into Emma’s orbit of admirers, remains to be seen. Although, like Emma’s other admirers, he does have a job running a tech investments company.

So who is this handsome young man — and what does Emma see in him?

Born in 1992, he was raised in Monte Carlo with big sister Chloe. His mother, Tina, is resident in the tax haven and was the ultimate owner of the Arcadia group, which went into administration last year. He went to the principality of Monaco’s International School.

To say his was a gilded upbringing would be an understatement. A source in Monaco says: ‘All the time he was growing up, the Greens would never fly commercial, always in their private jet.

‘They have a private chauffeur and in the family penthouse at the Roccabella building in Monaco there are uniformed maids standing to attention in every room just in case someone needs something. That’s the lifestyle Brandon was born into and has always thought was completely normal.’

He and Chloe have the use of the 109ft yacht Lionchase — Sir Phil has the 295ft Lionheart —which is moored in Monaco in the winter and cruises around the Med all summer.

I’m informed that his mum will pick up ‘seven-figure’ boat bills for the pair of them at the end of the season without blanching.

Brandon’s 2005 Bar Mitzvah caused a stir. It was held at the Grand-Hotel du Cap-Ferrat, with entertainment provided by Beyonce, Destiny’s Child and Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli. There were 300 guests over three days, all hosted by Sir Phil, who was then the boss of Topshop, BHS and Dorothy Perkins, all part of the Arcadia group.

When he was younger, Brandon seemed to be happy to join Chloe in a celebrity-packed party lifestyle. Locals say he was ‘practically living in Monaco’s Sass Café and partying until dawn every morning with a bevy of models’ in his 20s.

Kate Moss — a friend of his father — spent much of her 2011 honeymoon break with Jamie Hince on board his yacht and they got on famously. In 2013 he was spotted playfully groping Moss’s bikini-clad bottom while on holiday in St Barth’s. At the time he was 21.

When she was 21, Emma Watson had been famous for a decade and had just finished making the Potter films.

While Brandon found life one long, joyful party, she was struggling introspectively with having money and acclaim. As she recently said: ‘I’ve often thought, I’m so wrong for this job because I’m too serious.’

She felt physically sick when she found out how much money she had earned from the Potter films, and considered not renewing her contract to complete them.

Following stellar A-levels, she took an English degree at Brown University in Rhode Island — over five years, due to disruption from filming.

Brandon Green doesn’t have a degree. There was some idea that he might buck the family trend and go to university, but Sir Phil told an interviewer at the time: ‘It’s up for discussion,’ and evidently it was decided that was not the right path.

Instead, he spent years learning the ropes of the fashion business with Sir Philip and working for Arcadia.

As the BHS scandal raged in 2016 — after Sir Philip sold the company to a bankrupt, with a hole in its pensions provisions — and the company went bust, Brandon was sent to host a table at the Met Gala Ball in New York in his father’s place.

For three years, he was also a regular at the Topshop show at London Fashion Week, sitting with model Jourdan Dunn and chatting to Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour.

He began to go to Cannes, again as part of Topshop’s presence at the film festival, and to attend the Amfar charity gala on the arm of girlfriend Maryna Linchuk, a Victoria’s Secret model who towered over him.

But when Chloe became more involved in the family business and started designing shoes, Brandon stepped back from the spotlight.

They are a close family, all the more so since the woes that beset the Arcadia Group and Sir Philip before it collapsed. In fact, this seems to have acted as a wake-up call for Brandon.

A source said: ‘Once Philip fell from grace so badly, all the A-list celebrities and many of the world’s elite dropped the Green family completely. It really shook them up.

‘There was a party in Monaco that a family friend threw for them in the middle of the BHS pensions scandal. Brandon looked around aghast and said to Tina, “We don’t know anyone here!”

‘They felt the world hated them. Philip would fill his days doing laps of Monaco on foot with his bodyguard and personal trainer. Tina would busy herself in her art gallery or with her interior design business. There were a lot of tears; it was an awful atmosphere for the staff and for the family.

‘Brandon could see how transient popularity is and how big A-list stars had been using them for free holidays on their yachts for years. The whole experience sparked a “woke-over” in Brandon.

‘He got very interested in biodiversity and saving the oceans. He does a lot of charity and advocacy work with both Monaco’s Prince Albert’s Foundation and Princess Charlene’s Foundation. He is a trained deep-sea diver, he is very into fitness and gets involved with galas and charities that help the planet. He does frequent beach clean-ups and whatever he can to help.

‘It’s all very low-key, as he doesn’t want to be seen to be doing charity work for PR. But he’s been getting Tina to donate a hefty amount of money to charities that help save the planet too, saying they should do some good with their huge fortune.’

A second source says it is now Brandon, rather than Chloe, who is the apple of Tina’s eye, and he who is seen as the one who will eventually turn the family’s public reputation around.

A friend says: ‘He is very disciplined, intelligent and keen on study. He reads a lot, he travels a lot. He’s polite and well-mannered. Whatever he does, he embraces it fully. His parents are proud of him.’

His hobbies include skiing, at which he excels. He trains almost daily and took part in a gruelling cycling and swimming charity event last year for Princess Charlene of Monaco’s charity, going from Corsica to Monaco.

The friend adds: ‘He eats right and doesn’t drink or party — he is a very nice young man.’

How Brandon came to meet Emma, whose woke credentials may prove challenging for his family, is somewhat unclear, although it is believed his newfound interest in charitable ventures may have steered him her way.

Last year Miss Watson joined the sustainability committee at Kering, the owner of top fashion brands such as Gucci. She was labelled ‘Hollywood’s queen of ethical dressing’ by Vogue.

She has been taking a break from acting after appearing in the 2019 film Little Women but remains an active advocate for ‘race and gender justice’ via various charities. In 2014 she became a UN Women Goodwill ambassador, and she also ran a feminist book club, Our Shared Shelf, on Twitter.

She loves writing poetry, jigsaws, cats and nights in.

Her first purchase with the Potter millions was a ‘brick-like’ Toyota Prius. She said: ‘It’s sensible and boring, like me.’

Not that Emma is as staid as she says. In conversation with Gloria Steinem at an event in London in 2016, she revealed that she subscribes to a sex education website called OMGyes.

It’s a far remove from the days when she was cast in the Harry Potter films at nine years old, having been found via the theatre club she attended. She only completed filming the last Potter when she was 20, in June 2010.

Sources who knew her in the Potter days say her father Chris’s influence was paramount, even though she lived with her mother in Oxford.

The experience of growing up on Potter was so constricting and stressful, when the cast and crew held a ‘wrap party’ at Harry’s Bar after the final set of reshoots in 2010, she didn’t attend.

She said in 2017: ‘It’s something I’ve really wrestled with. I’ve gone back and quizzed my parents. When I was younger, I just did it. I just acted, it was just there.

‘I was finding this fame thing was getting to a point of no return. I sensed that if this was something I was ever going to step away from, it was now or never.’

Post-Potter, her films have been generally low-key. It is said she turned down the La La Land role that brought Emma Stone an Oscar.

Her £3 million London home was selected after she viewed it over Skype, because she can come and go unobserved.

That’s not to say her life is in any way normal: her social circle includes fashion figures such as Antoine Arnault of the LVMH dynasty, she has been the face of Lancome perfume and launched a collection with the ethical fashion label People Tree.

The question now is, will Emma finally find lasting love with a most unlikely Green?

[sisterspooky1013]

Work: The Night We Met

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: teen and up

Words: 1219

Read it on AO3:

Summary:

Each work in this series is inspired by a song. I recommend listening to the song before reading.

Set post IWTB

Work Text:

“The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

*********************************

Virginia, November 2010

She stood in the doorway of his office, leaning against the frame with crossed arms, surveying the scene. The newspaper clippings, the dog-eared magazines, a dozen dirty cups and mugs, a pile of sweatshirts worn briefly then discarded for a fresh one. At the desk sat a shaggy haired man, wire thin and unkempt, hunched over a pile of photographs with a magnifying glass. He hadn’t left the room or acknowledged her since she arrived home from work three hours ago. She’d showered, cooked dinner, ate, cleaned up, and still he remained here at the desk, his back to her both literally and metaphorically. She’d put on a little makeup and slipped into the white cotton shorts he’d always expressed an affinity for, despite the snow on the ground outside. Her breasts were pushed up beneath a V-neck t-shirt, perfume dusted over her chest, her long hair untied and hanging loosely down her back, as he liked it best. She’d felt embarrassed as she gussied herself up like this for a man she’d been with for 10 years, known for 17. She felt invisible in his house with him, or maybe it was him who was invisible. They never seemed to exist in the same plane anymore, and some nights she tried her hand at luring him back into her orbit with her body, her mind, her touch. At first it had worked, and he’d return to her for a few hours to kiss all the places on her neck, belly and thighs that ached for him night after night, only to disappear back into the depths of his mind in the morning. In the early days, as he started to slip away from her, she tried to stifle her cries of mourning, reserving them for the shower or her drive home from work, but at some point she realized that he didn’t hear her, and she didn’t need to try to hide herself; she was already hidden from him by his own demons. She wept openly now, often sobbing in their bed at night, a bed he hadn’t slept in in months. There had been a time when he was so in tune with her needs that she didn’t need to speak them; he could sense her mood from a sigh or a shift in the way she held her body. He would attend to her with words and touch, his eyes saying more than his lips ever could, his devotion to her never under question. She had counted on that devotion lasting the rest of her lifetime, and it was a rude awakening the day she realized that their bond was not, in fact, unbreakable.

Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat, altering him to her presence. Poised with hip popped and chest pushed forward, she hoped to draw him in by way of his carnal needs.

“What’s up, doc?” He asked, not looking away from his photographs.

“Are you coming to bed tonight?” She worked to make her voice sultry, not nagging.

“Uh, yeah, in a bit. I just have some things to finish up here.”

She knew that meant no. There was always something to finish up. Her lip quivered slightly, preparing for the rejection, again.

“Mulder?” Her voice cracked a little despite her best efforts.

“Hm?” His head was still bowed over those stupid pictures. Probably shitty big foot fakes, knowing him.

“Will you please come to bed?” She knew her tone had devolved into begging. She hated herself, hated him for bringing her to this place.

He sat up a bit straighter, perhaps registering her pain. She felt a flicker of hope that the man she once knew would die to be with her was still in there, somewhere. Then with a huff of breath he deflated again.

“I haven’t showered today, Scully.”

“So take a shower.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she blinked them back. Crying was not sexy.

He turned then, his chair swiveling around to present him in his disheveled state. He looked awful, a shadow of the man she fell in love with, but she still loved him. Still wanted him. Wanted them. His eyes flickered over her almost imperceptibly fast. If she had any affect on him, he wasn’t showing it. They came to rest on her face, and the hollowness behind his hazel irises was a punch to the gut. He pursed his lips, searching for words.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m not really up to it, Scully.”

Now the tears did break loose, sliding silently down her cheeks as she contemplated whether she should just sit down right here to have her daily breakdown. Maybe if he had a front row seat he’d understand how much pain he was causing her.

“Up to what, Mulder? Being with me? I’m not asking for sex. I just want….” Her voice caught and she stopped to swallow against the lump in her throat. He stared vacantly at her while she composed herself. When she spoke again, it was a near whisper. “I just want you.”

He closed his eyes against her, choosing not to see her anguish. Shutting her out, as always. She waited and he stayed there, eyes closed, until it was eventually clear that he wasn’t coming back. He’d withdrawn from the conversation. She went to her (their) bedroom, slammed the door, and sobbed uncontrollably while she packed several bags. She held out hope that he’d open the door, come to her, try to make things better, even though the past couple years told her that he wouldn’t. As she walked past his closed office door and loaded her bags into her car, she thought about the first case they’d worked together in Oregon, and how he’d opened up to her, trusting her even though his instincts told him not to. Through all they’d been through together, all the loss and pain and hurt, she’d never once wished she’d made a different choice; it all felt worth it when she was safe in his arms. That night, for the first time in 17 years, she wished that she’d walked away while she still had a chance at a normal life.

[johannstutt413]

(based on this comic by this person)

“Doctor Aki!” Angelina found him in the hallway, an earbud and clearly jamming to a song. “Good evening!”

He took the ‘bud out of his ear - not that there’d been any music in it - and turned to smile at her. “Good evening, Angelina. I was heading up to the balcony to see the sun set; would you care to join me?”

“You want me to watch with you? Sure!” Doki doki doki doki; she could feel her heartbeat rising to a crescendo in her chest.

“Excellent.” Aki put both hands in his jacket pockets, bending his left arm wide. When the Vulpo didn’t catch the hint, he shivered. “I feel cold.”

She blushed before floating to close the distance - she’d gotten rather used to orbiting him from a distance, truth be told - and hugged his arm close to her side. “Is this better, Doctor?”

“Much.” He managed not to reveal his true level of happiness, but some of it slipped through the crack that was his smile - the same smile that melted Angie’s heart like summer sun on chocolate.

They walked up to the balcony in what must have looked like awkward silence, but honestly wasn’t; partially because both were simply enjoying the moment, partially because they didn’t have much to talk about since they each knew the other’s routine very well, and partially because neither wanted to be the first to make a mistake. Angelina, for all her charms, had never had much luck with guys her age, and the Doctor remembered only vaguely attempting to court someone, but who they were and the lessons he learned from them were lost to time. Still, the fact that the other was there, consenting to be near them, was enough for now...More would come once they were watching the sun together.

“And here we are.” They emerged onto the west-facing deck just as the sun was beginning to touch the cloud layer below them. Doctor Aki uncoupled his arm and unpocketed his hands, gesturing to a loveseat facing out. “Shall we?”

“Eh? Um, sure.” She followed him, twiddling her thumbs as she hovered over the back of the sofa.

Before she’d entirely settled onto the cushion, the Doctor took out his MP3 player and offered her an earbud. “Would you like to listen to some music?”

“Yes, please.” Oh thank God, another reason not to say too much. Angie knew she didn’t need to be so scared of talking to him, but one wrong word could destroy everything she’d worked up to so far, and that...that would reeeally suck. “Um, what are we listening to?”

“You tell me.” He handed her the player.

Her eyes widened. “You want me to pick a song?”

“I do.” For a moment, her thoughts were transported to an entirely different context at the sound of those words. Her heartbeat was speeding up again. “Any song you’d like.”

“Okay...” Angelina was sure this was a test, and looking at his collection, she wasn’t sure that- wait. There it was, in plain Siracusan - her favorite song, in his Favorites playlist. Not a second of hesitation as she pressed ‘play,’ and a song like our world’s “Ride on Time” began to play.

From the first note, Doctor Aki knew he’d been right to wait for her like this, as hard as it had sometimes been not to speak up. Waiting for her to make the first move, to show the first sign of interest, to prove with absolute certainty she had more than a basic interest in him…“I love this song.”

“I love you, too. Wait, I- I meant-” But in her eyes, the damage had already been done; she curled up into a ball and floated a few centimeters off the couch. “S-sorry.”

“...You don’t have to apologize for saying those words.” He managed to reach out and gently grasp the fingers of one hand to pull her back down to earth.

She peaked out from her ball for a moment before hiding again. “I meant to say I like the song, too, but it came out wrong.”

“Of course.” The Doctor was smiling at her yet again, but there was something different about the way he was looking at her; his eyes usually danced with light, and while they were still bright as the sun faded before them, they were softer than usual, warmer. Gentle. Patient. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, bu- wait. How did you know?”

His thumb slid over the back of her fingers, back and forth to an unfelt rhythm. “Sometimes, when you look into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. Sorry, that was a bit too ominous; what I meant was that I knew you were watching me for some time now, studying me. I could feel your gaze on me, like a ray of sunlight on my neck to warm me on a cool autumn day.”

“You noticed?” The Vulpo was slowly uncurling, enough to reveal a tomato-red face that had resisted the urge to cry. “And you...you liked it?”

“It makes me feel special knowing I caught your eye to such a degree. Perhaps if I had more time on my hands, I would return the favor, but as it stands, I’ve had to content myself with your mail deliveries and knowing that, when you could be, you were nearby. Now, though...Would you like to go on a date?”

Angelina completely uncurled to better stare at him. “C-can we go on one right now?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He took her hand properly and stood up as the sun fell completely beneath the clouds. “Let’s get dinner. You’re from Siracusa, I know, but how do you feel about the food?”

“It’s good. Honestly I like the diners more than the fancy restaurants - my home town has some amazing burgers...Haha. Hey, before we go, will you take a picture with me?” She pulled out her phone and flipped open the camera app as she floated next to him..

Aki leaned in close, resting his head against hers. “I’d like nothing more.”

“3, 2, 1- Sorridi!” In the moment just after the Vulpo clicked the button and was waiting for the picture to show on her screen, the Doctor kissed her cheek...and turned her into a balloon, ballasted only by his hand holding hers. “Ah! You got me!”

“That I did. Are you going to come down?” The smile on his face was genuine joy at having gotten this reaction from her.

She looked down at him before removing his gravity and bringing him up to her. “Nope~”

[unfortunatelysirius]

Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

         YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY.        You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning.        Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age.        You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own.              “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”        The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator.        “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.”        The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower.        You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?”        The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s.        You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!”        Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply.        “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.”        You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet.        He picked it up. And he stared at it.        What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again.        He really hoped he’d see you again.

       -

       It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

       “Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

       He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

       “Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

       “I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

       “My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

       “I’m busy.”

       Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

       Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

       You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

       He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

       “You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

       “No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

       You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

-

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

-

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand  on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

-

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

-

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

-

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

-

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

-

I love you, Lord Curly.

-

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

-

FIN.

[ardentmuse]

Hey, Lia! Congrats on your 2k! You deserve every bit of happiness! If it's not too much to ask... I'd like number 37 with Robb Stark (or Scott Lang, if it's too complicated with Robb). Thank you so much! Sending all the love!

A Lord Needs A Lady

Game of Thrones - Robb Stark x fem!Reader

37. I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.

Wordcount: 2.1k (remember that time I said these would be less that 1k, lols!)

Warnings: talk of drunkenness, implied sexuality, implied nudity, aged-up Robb

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for requesting this because I love GoT so much I am still in the weeds healing my heart from the finale. This was such fun to write. 

The dew upon the ground turned to frost in just the few hours since sunset, crunching under your feet with each memorized step. Winter had yet to begin properly but the chill of the northern air on nights like this made it hard to tell the difference. 

You could hear the sounds of the feast in the great hall of the castle; jolly songs of wartime victories and beautiful maidens, the clang of mugs upon wooden tables, the rowdy laughter of men speaking words within the walls of such a noble house that should be saved for the brothels, and the groping hands – so many groping hands – were enough to put you off your dinner. Winterfell had been abuzz since the moment King Robert and his cohort had arrived, just a mess of chaos of courtly duties. 

Honestly, you had trained for this sort of thing your whole life as a ward of the Starks and daughter of nobles in your own right, but seeing the ways of the southern houses in earnest made you quite glad for the lands of your birth. Calm, honorable, and hardy were your people, people who understood that the food they ate and the wine they drank and the fire that warmed them took time and effort to come into being, that people had to put work into creating comfort and that work should not go unappreciated or uncompensated. Fortitude and respect were the values you saw befitting of a noble and on display at the high table of the Stark family great hall at the moment was nothing of the sort. When you thought of good leadership, you couldn’t help but picture Lord Stark and the son he had raised to take his place, men truly worthy of your loyalty and, in the latter’s case, worthy of even more. 

The sounds faded in full as you became surrounded by a soft canopy of trees. The crunching of your feet was drowned out by the soft babble of the hot spring before you and the wanderings of your mind were eliminated by the imposing presence of the weirwood tree before you, impossibly beautiful and haunting all at once. No one seemed to enter the godswood nowadays, least of all your southern visitors. There was no better place to be alone.

The chilly wind rushed through your hair as you took in the steam rising off the water. Slowly, you undid the ties of your cloak, a dark grey wool lined with the warmest fur and embellished in white flowers, a gift from Sansa as she practiced her stitches last year. Your dress flowed from your hips in a beautiful cascade of aquamarine, not much different from the waters that tempted you right now. Your hands moved off their own accord as you took in the silence of the night. Each bow and lace fell open with your breathing. Calm and peace was this place. You hated the thoughts that filled your mind of just how that might change forever with your latest arrivals. 

The cloth pooled at your feet and soon you were covered in a chill, goose pimples lining your exposed arms and shins as your shift and smallclothes did little to maintain your body temperature. You tested the waters before you with your toe and were about to step in when you remembered yourself. You reached up and removed that small golden clasp that held the crown of your hair out of the way. Now you were fit for the waters. 

Feeling like Elenei herself, you took graceful steps into the waters, like your body was returning to its home. You felt the warmth immediately as the white cloth of your small clothes stuck to your skin leaving nothing to the imagination. But this was a cleansing ritual, a removal of the grim of the south and a return to the purity of your true form. You were a goddess of winter, one with the weirwoods, and here, away from the wretched queen and her handsy guards, you felt like yourself once again. 

You closed your eyes, letting the minutes pass by, feeling truly at home.

“My lady,” a voice called from the other end of the godswood. 

Immediately, your eyes shot open and you made to protect your modesty, but the night was dark, only the moon shining through the thick layer of trees above. You could hardly make out the form in the trees. 

“I was hoping I might find you here,” said the man who now slowly moved towards you. His voice removed any tension you had felt at being caught in a compromised position. Robb moved with cautious steps, giving you a moment to sink deeper into the water, always a gentleman. 

“My lord,” you stuttered as you moved to grab your clothes, though the rise of his hand stopped you. 

“You know, it’s just Robb, Y/N. I’ve had enough ‘m’ lord’s’ for one day,” Robb said before taking a seat upon the rocks a safe distance from you. He leaned forward with his hands upon his knees and back bent in exhaustion. The moonlight caught the red of his hair, so styled at the moment compared to the loose fall of curls you were so used to seeing. The sharp line of his jaw that had grown so strong since you were small children playing hide and seek in these woods was locked tight in concentration. This was a man sitting before you, with all the seriousness of his father at the moment. 

“Then, Robb, what brings you out here?”

“You,” he said immediately, looking up to meet your gaze. He smiled that half-smile you liked so much and all the Ned of his form somehow washed away, “Knew you’d find a way to sneak away the moment the drink started flowing.” 

You laughed. He did have you pegged. 

“Is there something wrong with wanting a moment of peace and quiet?” 

“Yes,” his voice was stern and serious; “You’re supposed to invite me with you.” 

You both sat in silence for a moment before Robb bust out laughing. 

“Gods, I just waltz over here while you’re bathing, didn’t I?” 

You watched him for a moment, enjoying seeing the boy once again behind the lord he was so quickly becoming.

“Yes, you did,” you said with a smile, “Though having you interrupt me isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a little too high. You thought you saw a bit of pink on his cheeks as the clouds moved through, revealing new light into your clearing. 

You simply nodded before resting once again deep against the stones that lined your pool. Together you enjoyed your silent companionship once more. You mind was clear except for the gentle breathing of the handsome man before you. When had he grown so dashing, it was hard to tell. One day you were tiny things, playing house in these woods, climbing trees and sharing secrets as you each skipped out of your lessons. And now here you were, a man and woman grown, as close as two could be without a cloak upon your shoulder and a vow upon your lips. 

Little did you know, Robb had placed that vow upon his own lips as soon as he understood what love was. The cloak was simply a formality.

Robb shrugged off his cloak. “How is it in there, anyway?” He nodded towards the water, the steak almost obscuring your vision at this point with how the cold had rolled in. 

You sighed in enjoyment of the warmth upon your skin. “I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.” 

Robb chuckled to himself before coughing, “Whoever has been giving you orgasms is clearly failing you.” 

You felt your cheeks grow hot the way only Robb words or touch could ever do to you. But somehow, despite how much you knew such talk was wrong when you heard it in the halls of Winterfell, here with Robb in the eyes of the old gods, it felt completely natural. 

“How dare you insult my hands so. They are lovely hands, I’d have you know!” 

You watched Robb swallow, unable to meet your eyes anymore. 

He hesitated before speaking once again, so quiet you worried what he said wasn’t meant for your ears, “No one has ever helped you in such a way?”

“No, Robb,” you whispered, realizing only now that you wouldn’t mind Robb helping you in such ways, “If you recall, I was raised a lady.” 

“A beautiful lady,” he said into the night, “A remarkably beautiful lady.” 

You felt your breath catch in your chest and only after a moment were you able to look up and meet the pleading blue eyes of the boy you loved so, the lord of your heart as much as of your lands and your home. 

“A lord needs such a lady,” he added as he stood and took hesitant steps towards you. You couldn’t breathe as his form grew closer, like a mountain moving before you, shifting the seas of your heart with each step. Somehow, in all of this chaos, the love of children had grown into something earth-shattering, something worth sacrificing your honor for. 

He reached the edge of the pool, his eyes never leaving yours and never dipping to look below the waters, clear enough to reveal to him the parts of yourself meant to stay hidden. His hands played with the clasps of his doublet.

“May I?” he asked. And no matter what he meant, you knew in that moment the answer was yes.

With you nod, Robb began to disrobe, his clothes slowly forming a pile beside your own, separate but together, just as you two seemed to always be. 

You had seen Robb without his shirt before as you watched the men train in the yard but this was different. This was meant for your eyes, Robb bearing himself for you in earnest, his heart exposed as much as his body. And soon he too was sinking into the warm pools of the gods had left for such unions, the swirling waters pulling you together like stars in orbit.

He sunk down to his shoulders as he bobbed towards you. Your knees touched as he came as close as he dared, his eyes still never leaving yours. Their piercing blue seemed so warm in the glow of the moonlight, a different kind of water you now desired to swim in. 

“Father is leaving before the next moon,” he whispered. Robb’s hand hesitantly came to touch your jaw, your ear, the soft skin of you neck. His touch sent shivers wherever it went but you held still, afraid your movement might scare him away. But Robb was a wolf, and wolves are not so easily deterred from their prey, not that you wouldn’t gladly be eaten if he so desired it.

Robb continued, “I’ll be Lord of Winterfell in truth.” He moved closer, his skin pressing against your wet clothes, against your body that lie just underneath them. The warmth of him was so much more intoxicating that the waters ever could be. “And a lord needs a lady.” 

His hand moved to your chin as he tilted your head up to him look at him again. The softness you saw there, only for you, made it clear that it was a question and not a statement. It only took you a moment to nod, a promise before the old gods that the man before you was yours and you were his. 

With a bright smile, Robb leaned forward and kissed you. His hand found your lower back and pulled you flush to him and your whole body lit on fire. No night had ever been warmer.

And as your hands found firm grip in his long auburn locks, you knew too that the cloak was just a formality.

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