#this was supposed to be a celebration hand now I’ve been crying for three hours

[betterhomesandhozie]

:(

[avintagekiss24]

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume​! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics​; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris. 

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

-

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth.  Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt—  touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

��Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

[itgirlification]

supermodel (2) | jjk

your story with jungkook never seems to end, yet you’re still worried about how it’s gonna end.

pairing: ex-bf!jk x thick!reader

warnings: TOXIC (i cannot stress this enough shit is hella toxic), yn is kinda (very) dumb, jungkook is an actual asshole, borderline mental abuse, infidelity, more insecuritiiiies, mentions/hints of sex, etc.

part one part three

There you were in his arms again, with only your panties and his shirt on.

At this point, you couldn’t even explain yourself. You were guilty, but you know what they say; love hurts.

With his arms wrapped around you and you clinging to him like that, you couldn’t care less about what was gonna happen next. You knew you were probably gonna have a mental breakdown when you go back to the dorms but for now, you were okay.

After he came over that night, he contacted you again. He said he didn’t want this to be serious, he wanted it to be a solely sexual relationship.

“You know, you’re the first girl I’ve been with, who seems to like getting hurt and degraded”, he sighs against your hair. “Sometimes I feel like you can’t get enough of it.”

You stayed silent. What were you supposed to do anyway? Tell him he’s right and stay like this for a while or react defensively and start an endless argument? You chose the first one.

“You’re the only woman that’d let me do all this stuff and still love me. Maybe that’s why I came back to you.”

Holding back the tears, you cling closer to his larger body, as if you were using him as some kind of shield. He thought you were an easy target and forgiving. What else would a man want from a woman he was only interested in fucking, a side piece? Even if she’s in love with him, she was gonna ignore that just to spend as much time with him as possible.

“It’s not like you actually came back.”, you responded, keeping your voice as stable as you could. “We’re just fucking.”

Jungkook sighed deeply, most likely noticing your petty undertone. “Don’t be like that. We aren’t fucking right now.”

You weren’t sure what point exactly he was trying to prove, you agreed to be his side chick. Did he think you didn’t know what a side chick was supposed to do? Because you did know, you just secretly thought you guys were meant to be, you weren’t just some side piece.

Looking around the motel room, your stomach began feeling weird. He wasn’t usually cheap, but you guessed he thought a side chick didn’t deserve a better environment than a cheap motel room rent for a night.

“Because we literally just did.”, you calmly said. You weren’t trying to piss him off.

But Jungkook wasn’t having it. Out of nowhere, he shoved you aside and put his hands over his face, noticeably frustrated.

“What happened?”, you weren't sure if asking that was the best option.

Jungkook turns his body to you. “What happened?? You keep on fucking me up and being a bitch about all this and you ask me what happened?”

He was so furious, his eyes were dark and his face was screwed up. You were now both standing, his tall figure towering over yours.

You saw his hand forming a fist and it would’ve been a lie if you said you weren’t terrified. He hasn’t touched you once throughout your relationship, but you never know.

“I didn’t even say anything. Maybe you’re just a little too sensitive.”, you were pouring salt on a wound at this point, but you didn’t want to be weak and let him talk to you like that.

“Me, sensitive?”, his tone was dangerously serene, as he leaned closer to your face. “If I wasn’t here with you, you'd probably still be crying over me. And you know where I’d be? Laying in bed with the beautiful model I have the privilege to call my girlfriend. Yn, I don’t need you. Don’t get bold with me, ‘cause we both know who’s gonna be heartbroken in the end.”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, what did you get yourself into again? This wasn’t Jungkook’s fault, this wasn’t anybody’s fault but yours. You should’ve never opened up, you should’ve never said yes to being his side piece, you should’ve never been his girlfriend, to begin with. You stayed silent, but your loud sniffs and your uneven breathing said more than you could at the moment.

“I’m leaving.”, he announced coldly before throwing his black leather jacket over his broad shoulders, leaving you half-naked, crying on the poor-quality motel bed you just had sex on. When he got out of the motel room, you looked outside of the small window, watching him leave in the car he drove you here with.

Now, you had no other option than to call Jane to pick you up since your dorm was a half an hour walk away from the motel and you didn’t have the energy to walk for even a minute.

You weren’t sure if you had the energy for all the questions Jane was gonna ask you when she sees your mascara smeared face and your messy hair. Not to mention the motel. You weren’t a motel type of girl and she knew that.

Still, you called her and she answered almost immediately. “Yn? What happened? I thought you were gonna sleepover at your parents’?”

Sleepover at your parents’ house? You had almost forgotten the bad lie you told Jane just to have sex with Jungkook in this cheap-ass motel. And to think you were convinced you two were gonna stay the whole night.

“Uh”, you quickly coughed to cover up the voice cracks you got from crying. “Yeah, it’s a long story, please pick me up. I’ll text you the address.”

About 10 minutes later, Jane arrived and looked at you like you were out of your mind when you got into the car. “Yn, what the fuck? I was so worried about you. And this isn’t your parents’ house, this is a fucking motel. Did you meet a guy? Did he do something to you? Should I call the cops?”

“No, no, no, oh my god, please don’t”, you knew she was gonna ask a lot of questions. “I lied to you. So what actually happened was me and Jungkook reconnected an-“

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it was Jungkook. So I’m guessing he left you here?”

You hesitantly nodded.

“So when were you gonna tell me you ‘reconnected’ with him? When did you even ‘reconnect’ with him?”, she mockingly asked you. You weren’t blaming her for being pissed off, you’d have been too in this situation.

“A month ago? I think..”, you muttered.

“Hm”, Jane nodded, sighing at your naivety. “And when did he even break up with his model chick?”

You awkwardly looked away and Jane was hoping it wasn’t because of what she thought.

“He didn’t break up with her??”, Jane was beyond frustrated. “So.. you’re like his side chick now? Are we gonna stoop that low for men, yn?”

Jane always wanted the best for you and you knew she knew what was the best for you too, you were just too foolish. And too in love with a man you can’t force into loving you again.

“I know but please can we not talk about this right now? I just don’t feel like it.”, you asked, looking down on your fingers, ashamed of yourself.

“Alright, I’m sorry, babe.”, Jane hugged your side quickly, before starting the engine and heading back to the dorm. “You know I just want what’s best for you.”

You nodded, looking out of the window with your head full.

_

“Bella just texted me and said her birthday party will be 90s themed? Can’t she be a little more specific?”, Jane barged into the room, looking down on her phone in disbelief.

Bella was a person you two met at college in one of your shared classes. She was a sweetheart, but she was a little spoiled too. The only reason why she got into the college was that her rich daddy bribed them, but you couldn’t be mad, your parents would’ve done the same if they had the money.

She was extremely extroverted, a people person. She probably never had a boring day in her life with all the parties she threw whenever her dad and his 20 something-year-old girlfriend were on vacation or business trips. She even had some celebrity friends and would just casually post selfies with them on her Instagram story like it was a normal thing to do. She was basically living the dream, clueless about what real life for others really was about.

Jane had a love-hate relationship with Bella ever since they met. She thought Bella was a nice girl, but it was ‘unbearable’ to have a conversation with her because she was too self-centered to talk about anything else than herself.

You shrugged. “Just wear something Aaliyah would’ve worn.”

“Hm. Fair enough. It’s really not all that deep, actually.”, She said. “So what are you gonna wear?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going, Bella’s parties are boring.”, you answered honestly.

You really weren’t sure if you’d go. You did feel like seeing people and having a little fun but it wasn’t like you ever had fun at any of Bella’s parties. One time, a guy puked all over a new dress you bought just for the party, and another time, you were forced to drink 4 beer bottles. You hated beer.

“Why not? It’s gonna be fun and you’re coming.”, she decided for you, making you playfully roll your eyes. “And wear that black latex dress, I haven’t seen it on you in forever.”

To say that Jane was a fashionista would be an understatement. She was too invested in fashion to be bothered with anything else.

“Alright, but only if we don’t stay for long.”, you tried to compromise with her.

She nodded. “We gotta buy her presents though. Is there even anything she doesn’t have?”

You sighed, annoyed. “C’mon, there’s gonna be at least 200 people at that party, it’s not like she’ll notice if we just don’t get her anything. Besides, she’s rich as fuck.”

Jane snickered at your comment. “Girl, you must not know her, she checks every damn person and probably throws them out if they don’t buy her a Chanel bag or something. Bitch is a little crazy.”

It was amusing because you both knew that was exaggerated. Bella wasn't that serious about gifts. But let’s just say, for the money that her dad had, she was a little too greedy.

But you were too bothered with your own life than to worry about other's.

_

As soon as you arrived at Bella’s mansion, two security guards were standing in front of the door. They let you in as you showed them your invitations. It was a little bit extra, but that’s just how Bella was.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the house was the smell of sweat and weed. Already? You weren’t really surprised though.

Bella was standing there, wearing a skintight red dress that, ironically, didn’t really fit her own party’s theme. But she did look absolutely beautiful greeting her guests with the biggest smile on her glowing face. She had her strawberry blonde hair down in elegant beach curls and there were some cute butterfly clips placed in them.

You could recognize that it was her birthday from miles away. She was basically shining.

“Oh my god, Jane, Yn!! I’m so happy to see you guys!”, an overly keen Bella came, hugging you both with strength. “Oh, I see you got me something, girls you know you shouldn’t have!”

She tried hiding her smile at the bags in your hands, freeing the two of you from them immediately.

“It’s your birthday, Bella. We can’t just come here without any gifts, girl.”, Jane smiled. “Happy birthday.”

You looked to your side, admiring Jane’s acting skills. “Happy birthday, Bella! I can’t believe you’re 23 now.”

“I know right, if you were a year younger, you’d be as old as your dad’s girlfriend.”, Jane joked around, making Bella hysterically laugh.

“C’mon, almost everybody’s here already”, Bella excitedly pushed you towards the living room.

The room’s stench was even more unbearable than the one at the entrance, leaving you covering your nose for a second leaving out an ‘oof’.

The 90s trap music was heard extremely loudly through the whole house and there were people dancing and grinding. There were some couples that sat on one of the many couches, acting like they were in their own little world. It wasn’t very pleasant to watch, but you just chose to ignore it. The stench was something you couldn’t ignore though.

You were already bored out of your mind.

A few minutes of pure boredom and dry conversations passed then the music stopped playing and you could hear Bella’s voice calling for everybody’s attention. “I’m gonna open the presents now, so everybody come here and Daphne, please bring the gifts here so I can open them.”

Daphne was Bella’s personal maid. She never really talked, but she did everything she needed to. She brought all the bags to Bella one by one and you could’ve sworn she was trying not to cry out of happiness.

“Oh my god, Jackson”, She cried out as she pulled a pair of Saint Laurent shoes out of a box. “These are so beautiful. You even got the right size. Thank you so mu-“

“Bella, I’m so sorry we’re late, we had to run some errands”, a soft-spoken voice interrupted, making everybody in the room turn her way, just to see the charming model with none other than Jeon Jungkook by her side. Wow.

As soon as you turned your head to see who it was, you turned back around, looking at Jane to make sure she saw what you saw. You sent her a questioning, almost panicking look just for her to shrug.

“Yuki! It’s fine, girl. Come here, I’m opening my presents right now.”, The birthday girl exclaimed, making Yuki immediately hand her her gift.

Jungkook was just walking behind his girlfriend, making no type of noise whatsoever and you prayed he wouldn’t see you.

They sat down at an angle where you couldn’t help but look at them though and you were sure he looked at you for a split second as well. They looked beautiful together.

Bella just continued opening gifts and thanking everybody dearly, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You just zoned out for most of it. Those were a lot of gifts she got.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at your ex-boyfriend and the girl besides him.

She looked even cuter in real life. Her cheeks had a natural blush to them and her hair was long and healthy. She was thin and her skin tone was warm and even.

You’ve always been insecure about your hyperpigmentation, but she didn’t seem to have any problems with how she looked. She was near damn perfect. Perfect wasn’t real, but if it was, it’d be her.

Jungkook probably never had a problem introducing her to his parents or his friends. You always felt like he had difficulties with that while he was dating you. He just wasn’t confrontational enough to tell you he was ashamed to have you as his girlfriend.

You seemed to be stuck in your place while everybody else was either dancing or making conversation.

Jane was sitting next to you, talking to a girl with blond box braids about a new movie that recently came out. You heard what they were saying, but it sounded like a foreign language to you since you weren’t focused.

“Yn? Are you okay?”, Jane whispered in your ear, hugging your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were invited.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jane. It’s not your fault, I just kind of wanna go home.”

She looked at you apologetically. “Can’t we stay for a little while? I promise it won’t take long, I’m just actually having fun here.”

You had to admit you were being selfish, not just in that moment, but whenever it came to Jungkook. You’ve dragged Jane through all of your shit and never really thought about how she must feel like.

Nodding in response to her. “I’m gonna get myself something to drink.”

You finally stood up from your place, looking around unsure, feeling like you’re taking up so much space wherever you go, even when you were doing absolutely nothing.

You wore the latex dress, but only because Jane insisted and made sure you knew you looked good. She convinced you for maybe a second, but all those insecurities were coming back. You tried sucking in your stomach the whole night, but it just wasn’t enough.

You were asking yourself all kinds of questions. If your arms looked too fat and if your cellulite was visible, if your hip-dips were as noticeable to others as they were to you. You felt like everybody was looking and they were judging really hard.

All you wanted was to fade into oblivion.

You were feeling his eyes on your back and god, you wanted to look too but you fought the urge, just continued walking to the bathroom. You weren’t in the mood to drink after all.

Your gut feeling was telling you he was following, but you ignored it.

Until you were about to close the bathroom door and you saw black timberlands stepping between the door and the doorframe to stop you from closing it.

You sighed, opening the door, resulting in him getting in the bathroom with you.

“Why are you avoiding me?”, the handsome man facing you asked, brown eyes looking deep inside of yours.

“How can I avoid you when you didn’t even try talking to me?”, you asked back, looking away immediately.

You hated how your relationship was just a cycle of him hurting you and coming back, acting like he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he was so good at it too.

He chuckled darkly, letting his eyes glide down your body for a second just to look back into your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean, yn. Don’t play dumb.”

You did know what he meant.

“And? It’s not like I have anything to say to you.”

Jungkook came closer to you, softly wrapping one arm around your waist, whispering in your ear. “You don’t?”

You couldn’t believe how shameless he was, being so close to you while his girlfriend was a few meters away, outside of this door, probably thinking he’s getting her a drink or something. You wondered if he did the same thing to you when you were dating.

“Jungkook, stop. Your girlfriend is here.”, you tried to convince yourself you didn’t want it. “How can you even do this?”

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before, princess.”, He kissed your earlobe. “You can’t possibly think it’s okay when she’s not around, but not okay when she is. It’s the same thing.”

You knew he was right, besides, you were just as guilty as he was. You were messing around with a taken guy and the worst part was, you knew he was taken and you still did it.

“I know, but I wanna end whatever this is”, you hesitated to say. “It’s unhealthy and you already have a girlfriend, why don’t you go and kiss her, why me?”

You were avoiding this conversation ever since this started. Sometimes it’s hard talking about things you don’t actually want to hear about.

“What do you mean?”, Jungkook feigned confusion, but you knew better than to believe him. “It’s easier said than done, yn. We have a history together, you know that.”

“I do, but that’s all we are. History. And we should both get over it.”, you responded.

“But what if I don’t want to?”, it was more of a statement than a question, really. “What if I told you, you’re special to me?”

You were gonna have a meltdown if he continued with this. Why was he so fucking complicated? You knew he didn’t love you so what was it?

“But I’m not. The only reason why you come back is because you think I’m easy material. It’s because you were my first everything and it’s because you know exactly how much you mean to me.”, you cry out, tears coming up to ruin your makeup again. You wished you wouldn’t cry as much as you did. “You know I’ll always let you in, no matter what. I know I’m at fault too here and I’m not blaming you, but please for god’s sake, don’t make it worse on me.”

You looked in the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself. You felt detached from reality, but not in a good way at all.

Jungkook scoffed, looking down at you. “I know I shouldn’t have tried talking to you. It’s like you can’t even appreciate anybody showing you affection. I’m trying to prove to you, that you aren’t nothing to me and that’s the response that I get. Not everybody’s against you, yn, you’re just too insecure to notice. That’s why you haven’t ever had anybody showing you interest. It’s because you lack confidence and think the world revolves around you. But I did show you interest. In the past and now. But look at you. You haven’t changed at all, still the little yn who compares herself to other girls and thrives off of male attention, because you can’t believe that somebody could love you just for you when there’s skinnier, prettier girls walking around. So what if there are skinnier, prettier girls around? That’s reality, yn.”

You didn’t know what exactly you expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Looking at him with big, teary eyes, is that really what he thought of you? Of course, it was. Because it was the truth. The cold, hard truth. Not sugarcoated. He knew you better than you wanted him to.

Without a single word leaving your dry lips, you open the door and run out, ignoring him calling your name and the weird stares people were giving you. You needed to find Jane.

Once you found her joking around with a bunch of random people, you go up to her. You most likely looked like you came out of a horror movie.

“Yn? What the fuck happened?”, she lightly took your face in her warm hands and caressed your cheek worriedly.

“Pl- please, can we just go home?”, you whimpered, thankful that everybody was respectful enough to turn around and focus on their stuff instead of ogling at you.

“Sure, sure. Come here”, she took you in her arms and walked you out of the mansion, not caring to say goodbye to anybody.

_

people who wanted to get tagged in pt. 2:

@1-in-abillion @sarcasmflowsinmyveins @chieftoadturkeynickel @madygswich @kb-bangtanenthusiast

thank you for the support love yall!! 💗

a/n: so i know most of yall probably wanted a happy ending but first of all this probably isn’t the ending:) and i wanted to portray it as realistically as possible. It’s really hard to get out of a toxic relationship especially when you’re so in love with them but i’ll see what i can do to make yn happy cuz girly’s going thru it. Btw this wasn’t proofread so there’s probably so many mistakes and i thought this was very underwhelming but i hope you guys like it thank you!

[miss-1ng]

Dimiclaude kiss prompt no. 55?

this turned out... longer than i intended lmao

also hope you're okay with a soulmate au, because this is the only idea i had for this lol! thanks for requesting <3 <3

(also a warning for spoilers about claude's backstory and maybe dimitri's a little bit but otherwise i'm pretty sure everything is spoiler-free!!)

--

His name is Khalid, is what Dimitri’s mind - wide awake from the searing sting of finally gaining his soulmark - says, barely a whisper while when Ingrid got hers, she screamed with joy the moment she found out her soulmate was Glenn.

That was a year ago, on the fourth of the Guardian Moon, precisely the day of her birth, which was celebrated with her family and friends.

It’s legend that you become of age to receive a soulmark from the day you turn twelve to the day you turn sixteen. Sylvain, two years older, had, unsurprisingly received his two years prior to Ingrid and Felix who both received theirs when they officially became of age.

Dimitri however, while not exactly a rare case, though not a complete normality, had received his a year later than which his childhood friends did, at age 13.

Her mark glistens a glittering gold on the inside of her left wrist, corresponding with Glenn’s which is on the inside of his right one. Dimitri remembers her gushing how when the first time they held hands, their marks shone when they touched.

He also remembers Felix gagging and glaring at the two lovebirds for the rest of the day, completely enraptured with one another and nothing else.

As of that day, their betrothal was made official, now that Ingrid had her mark to confirm the one Glenn owned.

That was a while back now, and today, an exact year later, is Dimitri’s birthday. The mark on his arm stings, but as his eyes really take in the word in beautiful script on his wrist, he begins to ignore the pain.

Exactly three hours later, he’s at the Felix and Glenn’s home, sitting outside on the grass with the two of them, having recently abandoned the wooden training swords. Glenn is a full four years older than all of them, except Sylvain, who is only two years older. Yet despite his age Glenn still treats them the same.

When Dimitri finally shows the two his soulmark after lots of nagging, he notices the way Felix bites his lip and averts his gaze.

But before he can question it, Felix teases “You’re going to have a boyfriend!” before bursting out into laughter.

Dimitri hadn’t even thought of that, fully focused on the fact that he has a soulmark and not on the fact that his soulmate has the name of a boy.

He… isn’t too sure what to feel about that.

“And you are too,” Glenn calls in a sing-song voice to his younger brother, only to get fiercely elbowed in the stomach. A scowl has found its way onto the bright-eyed boy’s face.

Dimitri doesn’t say a word. Felix has been oddly secretive about his soulmark ever since he got it a month after Ingrid’s, while she had been flouncing it around whenever she got the chance and wasn’t with Glenn. Though at the same time, even at thirteen, Felix has been secretive, spending more time by himself than with the group unless he was absolutely forced too.

“Shut up!” he snaps, folding his arms and pouting. “I hate you.”

“So kind, Fe,” Glenn teases with a grin, ruffling his younger brother’s hair.

Silently Dimitri wonders what it would be like if he was in Glenn’s shoes, and he had a little brother of his own.

The silence Dimitri’s indulged in gets broken with a familiar call, and Dimitri turns to see Sylvain, even taller than the last time he saw his friend, standing alongside Ingrid who immediately rushes to greet Dimitri with a hug before running over to Glenn.

“Happy birthday, Dimitri!” Sylvain hollers the second he closes the door, separating the kids from the adults indoors. He joins the group. “How does it feel to no longer be the only soulmate-less one?” He adds a wink as if the very phrase itself wasn’t terrible enough.

A collective group of groans reverberate around the circle they’ve formed.

“You’re an idiot,” Felix grumbles to the older teen, averting all eye contact and instead vouching for a heated glare at the grass. Oh, if looks could kill.

“Aww, I love you too, Fe,” Sylvain teases, still grinning merrily as if he nothing is wrong with the world.

Felix’s face flushes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Ingrid laughs. “I can say it too, if you’d like.” She clears her throat, as if beginning some long and important speech. “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

“Now that’s left is Dimitri,” Glenn notes, looking at him.

The younger Fraldarius looks just about ready to bolt as Dimitri says “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

Instead, he just mutters “It’s your birthday so I’ll take it. Just this once though.”

Sylvain leans close to Dimitri and whispers in a not-so-quiet voice “A little birdy told me you received your soulmark!” Bold black cursive writing stares up at him with non-existent eyes and he feels his heart start to thud.

Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

He doesn’t reply, instead peeling his sleeve a little higher above and shows Ingrid and Sylvain his soulmark.

The taller of the two squints at it, as if it’s hard to see. Ingrid’s reaction is more surprised, by the way her eyes widen, and her jaw goes a little slack. She fixes it when she sees his eyes on her with a small smile. “That’s great, Dimitri! It’s so pretty,” she gushes in a very un-Ingrid manner, but the twinkle in her eyes is all the same. “I wonder when you’ll meet your soulmate…”

“Khalid’s not a Fódlan name,” Sylvain offhandedly comments. Dimitri frowns at him, and he hastily continues. “I mean it’s not a Fódlan name I’ve heard. Who knows? You could get some hottie from Duscur or Brigid.”

“Of course, someone from Duscur or Brigid would come all the way over for our Prince,” Glenn drily says, pecking Ingrid on the cheek at her wide-eyed smile. “We’re not getting rid of him that easily.”

--

His soulmark was something Dimitri was very focused on for a while.

Then Duscur happened and everything seemed to fall apart.

His family, his friends… everything changed. The mark on Ingrid’s wrist faded to a black splotch, and the golden writing had completely disappeared.

Felix had shut himself off completely, not leaving his room unless he was training and not talking to anyone unless he was yelling at them.

Sylvain… seemed more closed off – more subdued. Dimitri saw him less and less as the months ebbed on.

And Dimitri… Dimitri couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t even think. His dreams being haunted by the dead, his father begging for revenge, Glenn hissing in his ear, taunting him, his mother, crying at his feet.

“You should’ve saved us,” they hiss. “Kill them for us. Kill them all!”

It’s not the first time he wakes to a cold sweat, a scream hanging on the edge of his lips.

He’s sent to live, along with the Duscur boy he met, Dedue, at Rodrigue’s place, and there Dimitri finds it frequent where he gets the full brunt of Felix’s verbal abuse. He wants to talk back, to say it wasn’t his fault, but he can’t find the words, can’t even find the motivation to speak. Instead, he just nods, silent, and Dedue finds him, concern lingering in his gaze.

It’s like that for a while.

Then the rebellion happens, and Felix seems to hate him even more.

--

It’s almost a relief when he arrives to the Officers Academy.

There he meets Edelgard von Hresvelg (or reunites, perhaps, if his hunch is in fact correct), heir to the Empire, and Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan.

Claude is… well… Claude is a lot of things.

In their audience with Rhea, he is stiff and stoic-faced, though the second they’re released from the chamber, he introduces himself properly to Dimitri. “So, you’re the prince,” he says with a wink. “Nice to meet you.”

“It is good to meet you too,” says Dimitri in return, dipping his head. He offers a small smile.

It’s not the only time they talk. As the year ebbs on, Dimitri gets to know Claude, should it be through sparring together, or even tea times Claude has insisted on. Claude is… well, first of all he’s nice and he’s kind, and he’s also very funny. He seems to bring a smile to Dimitri’s face whenever he’s around, and not only that but he’s…

…he’s beautiful.

Maybe it’s his smile, Dimitri supposes, his genuine one, or maybe those piercing green eyes. He’s also been good looking.

Sometimes when they train, Dimitri catches himself staring, and Claude’s caught him too, offering a wink and a teasing comment without any heat.

Not only that but Dimitri’s heart flutters whenever he’s around Claude, and he has to remind himself constantly that this isn’t okay because Claude is not his soulmate. The mark on his wrist proves just that much.

“You’re staring, your Highness.”

Dimitri flinches, almost forgetting that Sylvain is opposite him, lazily twirling his lance. He smirks at his childhood friend. “Got your eyes on someone?”

It would be great if he was immune to Sylvain’s teasing, but he is only human, and heat rises to his cheeks. “No!” His voice sounds a few pitches higher than it usually is. He clears his throat, averting his gaze from Claude who turns away from Hilda who he’s sparring with (how he got her to do so remains a mystery to the school) to offer a questioning brow. “I mean, uh, no. Of course not.”

“Sure, sure.”

Sylvain doesn’t sound at all convinced. He leans closer, whispering in Dimitri’s ear, “I mean Riegan is pretty hot. I don’t think even your soulmate would blame you for checking him out.”

Dimitri splutters, “W-what?”

“I have to go,” Sylvain says. “Pick up some of the ladies- oh, hey, Fe!” He runs off towards the direction of Felix who enters the training ground, and Dimitri doesn’t stop him, staring into the distance as his cheeks turn redder and redder as the seconds pass.

--

Nevertheless, Dimitri still goes out of his way to spend his time with Claude, pointedly ignoring his soulmark whenever he does.

“Your princliness!” Claude calls, waving in greeting as he runs over to him. Dimitri tries not to blush when he yet again winks.

“Claude!” He tries his hardest not to sound too surprised. “What-what are you doing here?”

He looks amazing. Dressed in a sharp suit he’s seen many of the other students wearing, his hair tousled and falling in front of his eyes. “I think the proper question is what are you doing here? Dedue’s worried about you. Says you haven’t even showed up to the ball and-”

Dimitri’s brain seems to shut off, his mind not listening as he surges forwards, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

It lasts two seconds. Maybe three.

Because immediately after their lips touch Dimitri lets go, eyes wide. “I- that was out of line,” he rushes. “I’m sorry, Claude, I shouldn’t have done that-”

But Claude pulls him back in, and Dimitri feels the mark on his wrist burn and-

He stares down at it, watching the white handwriting shimmer to gold. “What…?”

“I have been waiting so long to do that,” Claude breathes, oblivious to Dimitri’s confusion. He raises an eyebrow, clutching his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong…?”

“Khalid,” Dimitri breathes. Claude’s eyes widen. “That’s your name?”

“I-” Claude pauses, before nodding. “Yes. It is.”

Dimitri pulls him close, arms wrapping around him. He kisses Claude – or is it Khalid? – again, and again, and again. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Mmhm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their night ends not in the ballroom, but outside under the moonlight, the memory of soft kisses and warm embraces never to leave Dimitri’s mind.

[supraveng]

Marvelous Friends part 1

Summary:  You join your best friend at a party, and meet the man of your dreams?

Characters: Reader, Benedict Cumberbatch x Sophie Hunter, RDJ x Susan Downey, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans

Warnings: cursing, reader in over her head, bad writing...

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Aaron, you are supposed to be preventing these things, not causing them“ you scream into your cell phone so agitated by this whole thing that you aren’t even aware that there are people watching you from the window.

You stepped outside trying to not cause a scene or god forbid have Sophie’s kids hear you and repeat anything you might say.  You finally hang up and throw your phone across the lawn as Benedict comes out the door to check on you. 

“Everything ok dear?” he approaches you with a smirk knowing full well that you are irritated beyond rational conversation.  “Can I get you anything?” he asks.  Turning to face him now that you’ve taken a few deep breaths, 

“I think I need a new manager, got any good ones lying around?” you reply.  

“Holy Shit!  That was your manager!  I just thought your husband  was in the doghouse!  Hi, I’m Robert” he sticks out his hand and you shake it, thankfully you are still too riled up to get star struck and make a fool of yourself.  

“Hi, sorry, I didn’t intend to be that loud, but that man is an absolute jackass!  I’m Y/N” you respond as you blow out some air and try to calm down.   

“Y/N darling, you need a drink, let me make you a martini” 

“No, Benny, I’m your babysitter tonight and you know one martini turns into 5” you smirk as you follow  the two of them back into the house.  

Sophie is coming down the stairs and her smile disappears when she sees your red face and Benedict heading toward the kitchen. “Y/N, what happened?  Are you ok?” she asks, her voice thick with worry.  

“Oh Phie, I’m fine, Aaron is just trying my patience and I couldn’t stay quiet” you smile as she wraps you in a hug, then busts out laughing.  

“Well, that’s a long time coming, I’m not sure how you have worked with him this long without bloodshed” she quips as Benedict hands you a cup of tea.  

“I’m not that bad to work with, I just don’t like my personal life to be used without my permission. Ugh, I just don’t have the energy for him today, I wanted to come and have fun with Kit, Hal & Finn” you whine as you sip your tea “but apparently the drama pays off because this is the best cup of tea Benny has ever made for me, thank you” you reach up and peck his cheek “I’m feeling better already.” 

“Good, because the boys have a list of fun for you tonight and they are extremely excited.” Sophie responds “Oh, and this is Susan, Robert’s wife”  

“It’s nice to meet you, now you all go on and have a lovely dinner and don’t worry about us” you smile to the couples as you head upstairs to check on the kids. 

Three hours later the two couples walk back into the house to find you frantically typing on your laptop at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, with a cold cup of tea next to you.  You jump when you hear someone clear their throat, not realizing they had come in and were all staring at you.  

“What? Why are you all staring at me?” you ask.  

Sophie shakes her head and giggles at you “we asked if you wanted to join us for a drink, apparently you are very focused on your work and didn’t even hear us come in.”   

“Sorry, I was planning my wedding” you reply with a smirk “Kit proposed again, actually, I’m not sure this was a proposal, it was more or less a list of reasons why my previous decline is not being accepted.  Apparently, age is just a number and I can move to England right away, so the wedding is next week” you explain as you follow the others over to the bar.   

Benedict turned around with a guilty look on his face, “what did you do?” his wife asks with a pointed glare.   “I was reassuring our son that if he liked someone and made his intentions known then any girl would be lucky to have him, but in my defense, I thought he was talking about that little girl down the street, Madison.   They were playing yesterday and he seemed smitten, so when he mentioned his love living in the US and not in England…..I was trying to help” he huffed out as he started pouring the drinks.   

You all start laughing and realize that since it’s Benedict’s fault, he will have to break it to Kit that you will not be marrying him next week.  “Why do I have to be the bad guy here?  It was an accident!” Ben protests “and why didn’t you just tell him you have a boyfriend already and can’t marry him?”  

“Because I would never lie to Kit” you respond, sipping your martini.   “I haven't really met anyone since I moved back from Vancouver, a few dates here or there but no one to write home about" you say with a shrug  “Well, in that case, can I give you away at the wedding?”  Robert asks and thankfully lightens the mood.  It was another two hours of drinking and laughing with your oldest and newest friends before you all decide to call it a night.   

“Y/N, Robert and I are having friends over to our place on Sunday, we would love for you to be there” Susan states as they are heading toward the door.  “That’s so sweet, thank you, I’ll just tag along as an extra Cumberbatch” you tell her as you hug her goodbye. 

You wake the next morning and know that you have a ton of work to do and 0 motivation.   Deciding to distract yourself as best you can, you text Sophie about the party at Susan & Robert’s.

So what kind of party is this thing tomorrow?

Phie: They usually have 30 or so people, tons of food, drinks, but very laid back.  I think you will like it 

That’s reassuring, the last thing I need is to make a fool out of myself in front of Ben’s celebrity friends

Phie: Oh, there will definitely be celebs there, but honestly I have no idea who, most likely a bunch of the Marvel crew, those who are in town anyway….but don’t stress, they are all  mostly normal people, lol

Well, I’m going to work on some writing and then maybe try to find something nice to wear to the party, I might make a fool of myself, but I need to look like I have my act together

Phie: Send me pics, I’ll help you decide….btw Ben has been questioning me on your dating habits, I have a funny feeling that he might try to set you up...

Well, that sounds dreadful,  I love your husband but what is his track record for match making?

Phie: I don't think he's actually ever tried to set anyone up before

Fantastic, I'm the guinea pig 🙄

 Ok, what do you think of these, I don’t want to be overdressed or look like I’m homeless

Phie: I love them both, but how about you were the short one & I borrow the blue one?  

That is a great idea!  I’ll be there a bit early so we can get ready together.  Who is staying home with the boys?

Phie: Actually, day time parties with the Downey’s usually includes the kids, so they will be joining us

Time for the party came earlier than you had anticipated as you pulled up to Phie’s house, Kit came running out the door with a big smile on his face.  Crouching down you scooped him into a hug and kissed his cheek.  

“Well aren’t you in a good mood today, handsome?” asking as you set him back down.  He grabbed your hand and began dragging you back to the house. 

 “Mum told me we can’t get married next week, but I can still love you for the rest of my life, isn’t that great!” he exclaimed as you walked in the front door.  

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all week!  And I get to love you for the rest of my life too” you reply watching the realization hit him and his smile get even bigger and run off to tell everyone the good news.  Before you could do anything, you went back out to your car and grabbed your bags and then headed up to Phie’s bedroom to get ready.  

“There you are, I was beginning to worry” she said as she pecked your cheek and gave you a hug, then handed you a glass.  

“Did you start day drinking without me?” you inquire as you sip on the merlot with a smile on your face.  

“I just opened the bottle for us to enjoy while we get ready.  I spoke with Kit and the wedding is off but he understands and all is well.  Benedict tried and, just made everything messier” she responded while pulling the blue dress from the garment bag.  

“You did a fantastic job, he gave me the biggest hug and seems very happy that we will not be getting married” you giggle as you move around her room figuring out the best place to put your things.  

“I think he’ll be more upset about you taking off next week than anything, that’s why I’m not planning on telling him until after you’ve gone.  He has grown really attached to you” she smirks as she’s slipping the dress on.  

Before you realize it, the wine bottle is empty and Ben is knocking on the door.

“You two look amazing as always, but the car is here, so we need to head out.  Can you bring Kit down with you while I go down and get Hal & Finn seated in the car?” he asks as Kit comes in and gasps looking up at his mom.   

“Mum, you look like a princess” he hugs her legs and looks up at her lovingly. 

 “Thank you love, you look very handsome.  Are you ready to go? Do you have your bag?” she asks while rubbing his back.  

“Oh, I need to get that, and can I give Y/N her present now?”  You look over a bit confused 

“oh Kit, you didn’t have to get me a gift” you tell him as he gives you a hug.   

“But it’s important to show the people you love how special they are, I’ll be right back” he states as he heads back downstairs.  You look at Sophie confused and she just smirks at you as both follow him down to the kitchen.   He holds up a cupcake with a huge grin on his face.  

“This is for you, because you are as sweet as a cupcake.  And that’s a ring you can wear to remind you that you are wonderful when I’m not here to tell you.” 

 You feel like you are about to cry, it was by far the most sincere and thoughtful thing you have ever heard.  “Thank you!  I love it & I love you!” you told him as you kissed his forehead and put the ring on.  

“Alright, let’s get going Kit, dad and your brothers are in the car waiting for us!” Sophie grabbed his hand and laced your arm with hers as she ushered you all out the door. 

Stepping out of the car at the Downey’s house you started walking towards the door when Kit came up and grabbed your hand.  

“Can I be your date tonight?” he asked with a shy grin.  

“Absolutely!  There’s no one else I would want to accompany me tonight.”  

Ben turns to you, holding Hal & Finn “remember Kit, the kids are going to be playing upstairs, but you can join us when you get hungry, alright?”  

“Yes, dad, but Y/N is still my girl” he stated proudly as you walked through the door.  

“That’s right Ben, I’m Kit’s girl!” you lean down and kiss the top of his head just before he heads up the stairs with his dad.  Sophie grabbed your arm and the two of you headed further into the house.  

Robert spotted you almost immediately and came over hugging you both “where is the fiance? Are all the details in place for the ceremony?  I’m still walking you down the aisle right?”  

“Hi Robert, I’m sorry but the ceremony has been cancelled.   Sophie was able to talk some sense into Kit since Benny was useless” you reply.  

“I heard that!” Ben remarks as he’s coming into the room.   “And in my defense, I’m not useless, just not very good at telling my son no.”  

“It’s alright dahling, you tried your best.” Sophie tried to console Benedict who seemed to take your statement to heart.  

“Well, I’m glad you made it, can I get you a drink?” Susan asked as an attempt to move on to a more neutral conversation.   

“Yes, please” you replied happily as you followed her to the bar.  

“Y/N? Y/N L/N?  Holy Shit!”  You heard from the doorway to the next room, where most of the party goers had already gathered.  You turned and was shocked 

“Seb?  Holy Shit!  How are you?” you asked as you moved over to hug him.  “It’s been so long, I’m surprised you recognized me.”  

“I’m good” he responded “and yea, it’s been like...10 years? And you look great, haven’t aged a bit!”  

You laughed at his response “that is an absolute lie, but I will take the compliment anyway.” you giggle at him.  He was always such a nice guy to work with and genuinely considerate to everyone on set.  His charming personality always made you smile. 

“This is so great running into you, I saw your interview on Good Day LA last week.  You are doing so great!” he said with a huge smile.  

“Oh thanks, but I think that may have been the worst interview in the history of television.   I was honestly hoping no one saw it” you cringed rethinking how quickly the questions had gone off the rails.  You are a writer, becoming more well known over the past decade so interviews were becoming more common for you, but that one felt more like a Twilight Zone episode.  

“Well, it was a bit crazy, but you handled a lot better than most people would.  I was impressed” he grinned as he took a sip of his beer.  

“Thanks, I appreciate that, and my whole deer in headlights reaction.” you commented as you took the drink Susan offered.  

“Hey, I didn’t know you knew each other?” you heard Robert say as he came up from behind you “and what happened in the interview?”  

“Yea, I was writing for Gossip Girl, back when Seb was on and he was constantly teasing me for being cold” you reminded him with a smirk.  

“New York in fall is beautiful, not cold! You are crazy!” he responds as he starts laughing at me.  

“And the interview was a shit show that I barely made it out alive” you state with a roll of your eyes.  

“That’s not true, you put that woman in her place and didn’t seem fazed by her ridiculous questions at all” he told me.  

“What the hell happened?” Robert seemed more interested than I thought he would 

“we were talking about my new book and the book tour coming up, then all of a sudden she’s asking me about my ex” I responded as I shrugged my shoulders.  Sebastian looked at me “then, the woman asks if she’s seeing anyone now, and your response was priceless, I might steal it if you don’t mind”  he states as he’s laughing remembering the interview.  

“Y/N, dear, what did you say?” Robert asks with a smirk.  

“I asked her ‘why? Are you shooting your shot?” as you start laughing too, realizing that you probably couldn’t have planned it if you tried.  At this point you realize there are more of the Marvel friends standing around listening to your conversation and you don’t even care.   

Your first drink is kicking in and it’s not like you are ever going to see these people again. “Honestly, I don’t know why she even mentioned my ex, nobody cares who I’m dating, I’m a writer”  

“Yes, but when us writers date high profile celebrities, people want to know” Sophie reminds you as she puts her arm around you.  

“Oh Phie, high profile is a bit of a stretch doncha think? But you are always my voice of reason, this is why I love you!” you say as you kiss her cheek.  Looking around the room you wonder if there’s anyone else here you know, when you see Chris Evans on the other side of the room.  

Benedict immediately follows your line of sight and smirks before taking your empty glass.  “I think you need a refill, here allow me, why don't you and Sophie go find a place to chat.”  

His wife shakes her head and gives you a small sympathetic smile before sending him back for refills.  Sophie drags you further into the room and finds a spot to sit that gives you a better view of Mr. Evans.  

“I didn’t realize you knew Sebastian” she said as she sat.  

“Yea, we worked together when I was living in NY, that was 10 or 12 years ago.  I didn’t know you knew him” you respond.  She looks at you questioningly, then shakes her head.  

“All the Marvel people know each other, you still haven’t watched the movies, have you?”  

“Um, I haven’t seen all of them, there are a lot, but I did watch Doctor Weirdo, and Benny was very good!” you respond quite proud of yourself.  

“Bloody hell!  It’s Doctor Strange, we’ve had this discussion before” Ben states as he hands you your fresh drink.  

“Ok, I’m sorry.  Doctor Strange, although I don’t think that’s much better than Doctor Weirdo.  And in my defense, your facial hair in the movie gave me nightmares'' you say as you sip on your drink. 

“Anyway, did the ex contact you after the interview?  I’m just curious?” Ben asks, rolling his eyes at you.  

You scrunch up your nose at the question “no, why would he? I haven’t spoken to him in the last four years. And honestly I'm sure he deleted my number.  Can we talk about anyone else?"  

"Yes, what's the schedule on the book tour? How long will you be gone?" Sophie acts trying to defuse the irritation in your voice with the mention of your ex.  

You can tell by the way she's glancing at her husband that she's trying to figure out why he brought up your ex knowing full well that if he had contacted you, she would have been the first one to know about it.. 

"Oh I'm flying out next Sunday, heading for NYC, then I'll be in Boston for 2 days, then a day In Philly, a day in Baltimore and I'm not 100% of the cities after that, other than ending up the following week in Miami so I can be with the family for spring break" you mention to them. 

"Did I hear you say you are only going to Boston for 2 days, that's not nearly long enough" you hear a deep voice state as you look up and see Chris Evan's standing next to Seb and walking closer to you.  

Holding out his hand "I'm Chris, I don't think we've met" he states.  

You plaster the most sincere smile you can on your face in hopes of not drooling at the sight of him, shaking his hand "I'm Y/N, and yes, this tour is only 2 days in Boston, but I lived there for 5 years so I’ve seen quite a bit already” you respond.

“Huh?  For someone who’s cold all the time, you seem to wind up in colder climates” Seb laughs at you.  “Shut up! You are the worst!” you respond with a laugh.  

“It’s true though, darling.  And you always call me to complain about it!” Sophie responds with a smirk.  

“OK, in my defense, Boston was a needed escape from my family, whom I love dearly but can be quite suffocating at times.  Then Chicago was my first real job after graduation and I couldn’t pass that up!  And as my best friend, Phie, you are required to listen to all my complaining, regardless of the topic” you state matter of factly.  

“And last year in Vancouver, that was the worst yet, she would send me photos of eyelashes with ice crystals on them” Sophie laughs remembering your first winter in Canada and how miserable you were.  

“That was awful and you and Benny both ridiculed me, I’m still emotionally scared”  

“So, you don’t like the cold but keep torturing yourself?” Chris asks with a smirk.  

“It appears I do, but it’s always for good reason. Chicago was an opportunity I couldn’t resist, if I had taken that job, I probably wouldn't have published my first novel” you explain with fondness.  

“That’s not true, Y/N.  Your first novel was incredible and it would have been published eventually”  Ben states as he takes your empty glass.  

“Benedict has read my book?” you asked Sophie completely shocked.  

“He has read all of your novels, but I think the first 3 was trying to find juicy gossip on how we met or something to try and blackmail you later, I’m not quite sure” she responds with a shrug.   

“Hold on” Seb interjects “your book, Searching for more, is about Sophie?” 

“Yes, and no” you respond “the adventure that Annabell has is loosely based on my summer after high school before moving to Boston.  And her new found friend, Fiona, is Sophie to a T!  And I’m also shocked that you’ve read it” you eyed him suspiciously.  

“Ok, so you really married a French man when you were 18 and brought him back with you?”  Seb asks, completely disregarding that you questioned him about reading the book.  How did your day turn out like this?  This was the most surreal moment you have had in a long time.  

“No, he wasn’t French, he was Belgian!” Benedict responds as he comes back in with refills.  You start laughing when you see the way Chris and Seb are staring at you wide eyed.   

“Oh my gosh!  No, I didn’t get married when I was 18.  And Benny, you weren't there, you don’t know anything” shaking your head.  “Annabelle’s story is loosely based on events that occurred, we didn’t get married…..and he was Swiss, I think.” you snicker when you look over at Sophie for confirmation, she shrugs and takes a drink.    

The five of you continue to chat for another hour or so when you feel a tap on your shoulder.  You turn to see Kit smiling at you with a cup in his hand “I missed you” he states as he climbs up into your lap and hugs you around your neck.  

“I missed you too little man, do anything fun while you were upstairs?” you asked as he made himself more comfortable.  

“I didn’t know you had a kid” Seb says as you are trying to balance the 5 year old in your lap with your drink in your hand.  

Kit looks up at him “she’s not my mum, she’s my girl!  That’s my mum” he states as he points to Sophie.  

“Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Seb, this is my friend Chris.  What’s your name?”  he asks while Kit plops himself in the middle of the group as though he should have been there all along.  

“I’m Kit” he states as he extends his hand to both Chris and Sebastian.  

“So, she’s your girl, huh?” Chris asks with a smirk “is it serious?”  

“Very!  He gave me a ring today, see.” showing Chris your right hand and the Wonder Woman ring. 

“Wait a minute, the wedding is cancelled, but you still gave her a ring? I’m not sure that’s how it works buddy”  Robert kneels down talking to Kit.  

“it’s ok, I get to love her forever and we can get married when I’m 30!” Kit explains as he rushes off to join the other kids.  

You all turn and look at Sophie “I thought you fixed it Phie!  You’ve just given him a deadline!" you gasp. 

She smiles at you with a guilty look on her face "I think you might need to grab a bite to eat before you have another drink. And honestly, I'm sure he will forget all about this in a few months. Besides, I won't let my 30 year old son marry some 60 something year old hag that's after him for his money!" she states as seriously as possible. 

You deadpan "thanks for that. I need a new best friend" you roll your eyes and head towards the food. 

"Well, I didn't see that coming" Robert chuckles as he watches the two of you walk out of the room. 

"That actually went better than I expected" Ben responds and shakes his head, "those two are worse than siblings." 

A/N: I had an idea of who the ex is, but I may just leave it open for interpretation, he does come into the story later, but can remain faceless

[icequeenbae]

Girl, I’m Your Catnip (m) | BBH

Pairing: wolf!Baekhyun x caracal!Reader

Hybrid AU, slice of life, some fluff, PWP, smut

Warnings: altered mental state (in a way?), Baek snapped, rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, knotting, cross-breeding?

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: You’d been pretty stressed at work lately, so your boyfriend decided to bring something special to help you unwind.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s note: I’m back with... Catnip. Seriously. I’m not even a cat person 😅 This was something quick and out of the blue. But I really enjoy hybrid aus, and this is definitely not the first or the last one I’ve written… It’s quite different from my other stories so far (pls read the warnings). Expect minimal plot (minimal… for me) and lots of feral sex unconventional stress relief lmao P.S. Thanks to @baekshoney​ for being quick at reading through when I come at her with these, even when they’re out of her comfort zone <3

It’d been weeks since you came home early enough to really hang out with Baekhyun. The closing phase of your project lasted longer than anticipated, and it was taking a great toll on you, both physically and mentally. Working long hours was one thing, but the atmosphere was not the greatest either. A couple cutthroat colleagues kept compromising the team’s integrity, creating additional stress for the hardworking and meticulous people like you. There was literally no time to deal with the internal drama while you had a deadline approaching fast.

Luckily enough, your significant other was most understanding during this time. Running you a bubble bath to soak in for twenty minutes after especially tough days, feeding you delicious late-night dinners… Or holding you in a tight lock of his arms when you broke down right at the threshold from exhaustion and nerves. He went as far as doing all the chores and grocery shopping by himself, which left you feeling rather guilty for not being able to reciprocate his care. What kind of shitty girlfriend were you? The constant nagging of the inner voice in the back of your head was making the anxiety grow.

Although Baekhyun assured you time and time again that it was fine, you kept insisting that you were going to make it up to him. Which nearly made you cry on the spot. Your usual way of giving back was making him a nice dinner, organizing a cozy movie night with his favorite snacks, or even bringing your favorite almond oil to give him a relaxing massage. All of those scenarios inevitably ended with the two of you tangled up in bed till indecent hours of the morning, having a whole lot of steamy sex. These days, however, you were unable to recuperate and loosen up enough to do any of it. You’d not been intimate with your partner for at least three weeks, and while he was a complete sweetheart (he usually was) about it, that made you feel even more burdensome to him.

So much so, that you promised your boyfriend to get drunk the first night following submission of the presentation, to take the edge off, and simply allow him to do whatever he wanted with you. Baekhyun insisted that he didn’t have much use of you while shitfaced, and would rather have you well-rested and enjoying the process. Still, you were set on having no more delays, so you informed him that you’d finally be free from the project this Friday, and he should be pouring champagne for you as you walk through the door. Taking his previous comments into consideration, you ruled out the hard liquor and decided to only get heavily tipsy. Being horribly drunk did not seem like an arousing option you should be presenting your overly patient and caring boyfriend with.

Come Friday, as you finally submitted your presentation, you texted Baekhyun at least two hours in advance that you were definitely on track to spend the evening with him. Fortunately for you, he was going to come home a bit late, so you even had a head start to do all of the necessary preparations. That’s to say, you were stuck in the bathroom for over an hour and a half. You were ecstatic to finally have enough time to groom properly – your caracal nature always called for it. Pleased with how smooth and refreshed your skin looked after the long-awaited pampering, you exited the bathroom to go pick your poison for tonight.

You were so ready to get your drinks and relinquish all control to Baekhyun that you got startled when you saw him already heading towards you.

‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in,’ you chirped.

‘Are you already drunk?’ He sniffed the air, shaking his head. ‘I guess not. You smell good,’ he smiled as you reached him and wrapped your arms around his neck with all the feline grace you had in you.

‘I really missed you,’ you purred as his warm hand settled on the small of your back comfortably.

His scent made you want to rub your face on him, to get more of it on you. How terribly you must’ve missed him! In the beginning, it took you a bit to get used to the notorious ‘smell of a dog’ inevitably coming off of him. But you’d strangely grown to like it a lot, despite being the very whimsical wild cat hybrid that you were. Now, however, you’d stayed away for a while, and the scent lingering on his skin seemed so pleasant that you wanted to cover your entire body in it. But then again, it’d been so long that the desire to pounce him mixed with the fear of not being able to do well. What if you took longer to get ready now? Or to come? What if you couldn’t make him come? Surely you needed to take good care of him to repay all the weeks he’d been an angel for your sake.

‘I missed having you all to myself too, honey,’ he smiled crookedly, leaning in to give you a kiss. ‘You seem a bit tense,’ he noted when you swerved your short tail with slight agitation. ‘If it’s about sex, I told you we don’t have t-’

‘I want to!’ You quickly interrupted. ‘I don’t want to wait anymore, Baekhyunie. Just a little help to relax my stressed mind and body is all I need. Then we’ll get to it.’

Baekhyun sighed, shaking his head, allowing you to pull him back into your bedroom.

‘Doesn’t your head always hurt after you drink?’

‘It’s worth it,’ you replied firmly and turned to him. ‘Let’s just treat it as a celebration. I’ll bring the bottle here.’

He grabbed your wrist swiftly, before you took another step towards the door.

‘I-’ he looked away, tail stilling as he was considering something. ‘I have another idea, actually. You trust me, right?’

Giving him a curious look, you nodded. Of course, you trusted him; more than anyone in the world, more than yourself at times. Although he was a ‘big bad wolf’ (still, only bad enough to eat the last slice of his absolute favorite Hawaiian pizza while you weren’t looking), and your relationship wasn’t very ‘likely’… He’d managed to charm you, and you’d been together for a long time since. And your wolf’s embrace made you feel so tiny and secure, that you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else at this point, all initial reservations evaporated.

‘We can try something else. Something that shouldn’t be as toxic as drinking, but also have you release the tension and relax. I got it on my way here,’ he began, making you even more interested in what it was.

Taking notice of your stare, he continued.

‘Um- I just need to be sure that you want this. Your unbiased decision. Like I said, we don’t have to f-’

‘Don’t feel bad about it, making it up to you will make me happy,’ you raised an open palm in front of his chest when he tried to protest. ‘If it can help me make you feel good, whatever it is, I trust you. I missed being… close to you.’

He chewed on his lip, and nodded.

‘Alright. I’ll use the bathroom for a sec, and you can get on the bed, okay?’

Somewhat surprised that he didn’t tell you what exactly he was planning, you complied, lying down on your belly to wait for him. It took him a few unbearably long minutes, during which you stared the door down, tail swinging impatiently. He made minimal sound after the water was turned off, so you had no idea what was happening in there.

‘Babe, need some help in there?’ You offered and sat up just as the door flew open.

He emerged from the bathroom shirtless, sporting nothing but sweatpants. His skin was shimmering slightly, and you licked your lips at the sight of his lean torso. All of the events and worries of the past few weeks were instantly forgotten.

‘Took you long enough,’ you mumbled grumpily. ‘What were you doing in there?’

He tilted his head to the side, a textbook sign of puppy confusion.

‘Do you… notice anything?’

You pouted, unsure as to what you were supposed to notice. He looked the same. A bit freshened up and half-undressed, but still the same.

‘Ah- maybe it doesn’t work on you,’ he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, halting an arm’s length away. ‘My bad.’

‘What doesn’t wo-’ as he turned around to supposedly walk back to the bathroom, it hit you.

Oh, it hit you, indeed.

Before you could think, you gripped his wrist to prevent him from moving away.

‘W-what- is-’ you stuttered, pulse suddenly escalating.

Baekhyun gulped at the sight of your dilated, almost shaking pupils. You tugged him closer after you moved up to the edge of the bed. The scent that penetrated your nostrils almost took you out.

‘What is that?’ You finally managed, swallowing the saliva that was rapidly collecting in your mouth.

Jerking him forward, you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck.

‘Do you like it?’

You didn’t answer, too busy running your tongue over his collarbone with a long groan. Without even noticing the death grip you had on him, you dragged him onto the bed as you swallowed his scent and tasted his delectable skin, going increasingly mad from the sweetness.

‘What is this, Baekhyun,’ you sobbed, covering his chest in frenzied kisses, while the burning arousal made your insides constrict. ‘Oh god- I want all of you. On me. And- in me. Oh fuck,’ you were almost feverish as you pushed him in the chest to get him to lie back, and ripped his sweatpants off without a second thought.

‘Y/N, slow down,’ your boyfriend warned, and you didn’t care.

You wanted that taste in your mouth again, the one that was all Baekhyun, but sweeter, more intense. Nibbling on the gentle skin under his belly button, you quickly found your way down to his balls. Whimpering at the addicting taste, you took one in your mouth, playing with it diligently, sucking and licking, while your boyfriend stirred underneath and reached for your hair to get it out of the way. Your tongue on his most sensitive spots quickly made him harden, and you waited no more than necessary to stuff his entire cock in your mouth.

At that, you both moaned.

Frantically bobbing your head, you sucked harshly on it, making him thicken further. You shoved it in your mouth almost aggressively, choking on him, chasing the feeling that lingered in your throat after your nose met his smooth skin. He prepared too.

Swallowing around him, you groaned as you kept moving your head, spit mixing with precum and collecting at the corners of your mouth.

‘Fuck, kitten- you’d be mute tomorrow if you keep at it,’ Baekhyun gritted, pulling you off of his dick by the hair.

You wailed, like a cat being dragged by its tail, and clawed at his thigh for interrupting. His pained grunt went unnoticed since you immediately moved on to exploring the taut skin of his stomach all the way up to his pecs. Rubbing your face onto it, tonguing his abs and his nipples, you shuddered as the dreamy haze of desire surrounded you like mist.

It would’ve definitely been scary had Baekhyun not prepared in advance. Still, seeing you this out of your mind for him was nothing like he expected.

‘Please fuck me,’ you muttered into his sternum after ripping the last of your clothes off. ‘Scent me, come inside me, knot me. Make me raw. I don’t care. I want you,’ you sobbed, gnawing on his shoulder impatiently as his arms pulled you closer.

‘Don’t fret, you know I’m gonna take good care of you, baby,’ you jolted as his fingers slid between your wet lips to check.

Your arousal was already dripping out, so Baekhyun mercifully spared you any additional foreplay, simply sinking you down on his cock.

‘Agh!’ Your inner walls instantly contracted around him. ‘Yes, yes,’ you mouthed into his neck, licking at it as he bottomed out again and again.

Unable to hold back, you responded to his movement by slamming your pelvis down onto his repeatedly, with enough force to hurt, so he had to brace you by the hips to prevent you from injuring yourself. The smell of your overwhelming arousal made his mind blurry too, so he kept watching you with heavy-lidded eyes while you bounced on him like your life depended on it.

Scratching at his skin, you kept whining for your boyfriend to get closer, to scent you. He finally gave in, biting down on your neck gently to distract you and then flipping you onto your back promptly. Ignoring the feral hiss that escaped your mouth, he leaned forward to grant you full skin to skin contact while his hips continued jerking in and out of you.

Your mind went blank from the building pleasure. It was filling your entire being with desperate anticipation, the taste, the smell, all of the sensory feedback was elevated. Only your vision seemed impaired since you couldn’t blink away the thickening red fog of lust.

The divine smell was all over your skin now, and Baekhyun’s pelvis was almost glued to yours, grazing over your clit with every sway of his hips. He growled at how slick it felt between your bodies, and how deliciously lewd the sounds of him fucking you were. He knew the essential oil he used didn’t have much effect on him, only felines could fall under its spell. But he hadn’t been intimate with you for a long while now, and, frankly, he’d never seen you like this before. You were absolutely wild underneath him, clawing at his back like an angry cat, moaning and whining so loudly, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He’d never heard you sound like this, so irrepressible and untamed, and it was incredibly sexy. In a way, it triggered his more primal side to take control.

Suddenly feeling the power he had over you, he angled his hips and rammed into you, skin slapping your puffy lips repeatedly as you cried out in despair.

‘I’m not gonna stop,’ he leaned in and growled almost animalistically into your ear. ‘Before I ruin your little hole. You’ve been on the edge there for a while, haven’t you, kitten?’

Reveling in the mewl you responded with, he slid two fingers into your mouth and kept talking.

‘All helpless and needy underneath me. Entirely at my mercy,’ he pressed down on your tongue, making your throat relax to accommodate. ‘Do you enjoy being destroyed?’

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your orgasm hit. A muffled scream drowned out by his palm almost made his own release hit him, but Baekhyun had other plans.

Pulling out for a few seconds, he wiped away the sweat that was dripping from his forehead to his eyes, and rolled your limp body over. Allowing you a few seconds to cool down, he gripped his rock-hard flesh at the base and landed a sharp slap onto your supple ass cheek.

‘Baek,’ you squealed, registering the shuffling behind. ‘Wait- no,’ protesting weakly, as he got on top of you again. You took notice of the way his dick was nestled snugly between your bodies and guessed his intention.

‘You didn’t think we were done, did you, baby?’ He gave your ear a long lick, causing you to shiver.

‘B- Baekhyunie,’ you puled pathetically, still too overwhelmed. ‘I can’t-’

The sentence was drowned out by his growl. Your state pushed him too far to just stop now.

‘You’ll comply and come again, all while I load you up, got it?’ He slipped back inside, testing your body’s response.

As expected, you were still soaked from your previous activities, so he ignored the instant jolt of your body. It wasn’t something you did often, overstimulation, but your partner knew he could make you come like this if he hurried up, so that was exactly his plan.

‘No,’ you whined capriciously, your cat instincts making you protest against the intrusion while too sensitive. Your tail patted against Baekhyun’s side relentlessly, although most of it was trapped between you.

‘I can make you,’ he rolled his hips, knowing that in a few minutes you would beg him to make you come again, even though it seemed more like torture now.

‘Ah it hurts!’ You cried out, latching onto his thigh, claws out.

‘Oh, so you’re gonna be like that?’ He growled lower, making you hiss in a natural response and draw blood with your sharp nails.

He licked a sensitive spot between your shoulder blades as a warning.

‘Don’t make me do this,’ he snarled, but you kept trying to shove him off of you. ‘Okay, you fucking got it.’

Baekhyun snapped, locking his sharp teeth on your withers – the magical spot on your spine, just below the neck; your feline heritage. Instantly, your fingers grew weak and you whined feebly as his hips moved again. He picked up his pace gradually, readjusting your thighs to have more of a room to increase amplitude. You trembled helplessly, pinned down his weight and wailing into the pillow as his determined ministrations had the anticipation build once again. With the discomfort you initially had subsiding, you’d given up on the attempts to escape your lover.

Feeling the tight pulsation around his flesh, Baekhyun released your skin and started licking over the teeth marks right away.

‘That’s more like it,’ he hummed in your ear as you whined pathetically, feeling your eyes water from the intensity of the impending release. ‘I’m going to fill you up. Yes- come like this,’ he urged, intertwining his fingers with yours, and you could not disobey.

‘Baek-’ you squealed, your entire body shuddering underneath him as your muscles contracted once again from a mind-blowing wave of pleasure.

He delivered a few more quick, shallow thrusts before his hips stuttered and he moaned lowly as thick warmth flooded your insides.

You felt full and content, the fogginess of your mind clearing up slowly. Belatedly you realized that he actually knotted you – something he didn’t do often since you weren’t the same species (or trying for a baby at this point). But it felt good, and your walls were still pulsating around him, electricity jolting through you with every gentle lick of Baekhyun’s tongue over the spot where his teeth had left a reddish mark.

‘Mhm,’ you hummed, and Baekhyun shifted his weight to his elbows.

‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away,’ he admitted, planting soft kisses along your spine.

‘It was great,’ you yawned, noting casually. ‘You knotted me.’

‘Yeah, it will deflate soon,’ he rubbed his face between your shoulder blades affectionately, and you squirmed. ‘Does anything hurt? How are you feeling?’

‘Um- no, nothing hurts. At least not yet,’ you chucked, assuming that the soreness would come tomorrow. ‘I’m just exhausted. And still a bit… dazed?’

‘Yeah, I think it’s all evaporated from my skin. Or licked off,’ he snickered. ‘Still smell the remnants of it in the air, but to me it’s not as prominent as your arousal.’

‘What was it, actually?’

‘You didn’t get it?’ Baekhyun laughed, finally slipping out and rolling off to the side, allowing you to glance at him. ‘Catnip. I got a little roll-on thingy with the essential oil. Didn’t realize it’s that strong though.’

‘Are you serious?’ You smacked him on the top of the head in a very feline way. ‘That thing is like a drug for cats!’

‘It’s safe. You were under supervision, and it has no lasting effects. And it’s not addictive,’ he clarified. ‘I consulted.’

‘Always prepared, aren’t you?’ Smiling, you shoved him in the chest. ‘I can’t believe you drugged me with catnip to fuck me. Tsk, what a jerk you are,’ you purred, scolding him.

‘Don’t act like we’re not doing this again soon,’ Baekhyun smirked, planting a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

‘I’m so going to get you for this, Baek. I will!’ You threatened, allowing him to sneakily drag his tongue over your lower lip in a playful apology lick before you pushed him away to yawn again.

‘I’ll be waiting,’ he chuckled and moved closer again to stroke your back tenderly. ‘Just have some rest first, kitten.’

A/N: Whew, my first hybrid au posted 🤗 I hope you guys love the multi-faceted wolf!Baekhyunie haha Let me know whether he was different from what you’d expected. And I’m still encouraging you to share your thoughts on what kind of aus / tropes you enjoy 😊 It’s always interesting to find out what my readers like. Thank you for sticking around and welcome to the blog if you’re new!

[hallowxiu]

Leviathan’s Valentine

pairing: leviathan x gn!mc

word count: 1.8k

summary: It's Leviathan's turn for your Valentine Gift, but sudden self-doubt makes things a little complicated for you.

a/n: part two of the valentine’s series

part one

“I heard your gift with Mammon was a hit.” You look up from your desk to see Asmodeus leaning against your doorframe. “He keeps walking around with the plush you made him. He won’t stop bragging about it, either.” There was amusement on his features, though he sounded slightly agitated as well. “It’s kind of fun to watch, although Leviathan almost summoned Lotan he got so jealous. I almost broke out in the process.” 

“What? Really?” You turn yourself around completely so that you’re facing him. 

“Yes, I almost broke out. It is shocking to think about; I understand.” 

“Geez, Lucifer’s going to ban Valentine’s Day gifts at this point.” To think he could ban it so early, and before you even passed out the second gift. “They’re too much sometimes.” You sigh and slouch into your chair. “I told Leviathan I was making him a gift as well, you know.” 

“Did you even hear me?” 

“Yes, Levi almost summoned Lotan. I hope Lucifer wasn’t too mad.”

“My love, you’re missing the important part here.” 

“Well, I should get back to work, Asmo. Levi might become angry again if I waste too much time.” You get back to sewing together the plush for Leviathan, listening as Asmodeus exits your bedroom with a quiet huff. It’s been almost two days since you gave Mammon his stuffed cat. You didn’t mean to take so long with Leviathan’s gift, but you wanted it to be perfect. You knew that Leviathan could be a bit of a critic when it came to plushies, and it didn’t help that you had started over three times in the last thirty-five hours. It felt like you were messing up the little things, and if they kept adding up then his gift would look horrible. 

You run a hand over your face and look back down at the half-made plush. The bright orange fabric was driving you insane. If you had to look at it for much longer, you might end up gauging your eyes out. “Why was Mammon’s so easy to make?” You whine into your hands. “And why is Levi’s so hard?” Besides starting over so many times, you had also changed his gift a few times as well. Originally you wanted to design some sort of Ruri-chan doll for him, but you quickly discovered that was a little too… complicated for you. You also realized that creating a Ruri-chan plush left absolutely no room for error, and you didn’t feel like having Leviathan roast you for the rest of your life. The second idea was to design one of the TSL characters, but for the same reason as Ruri-chan, you quickly ditched that idea. 

You briefly considered ditching the plush idea altogether and getting him something else. However, you didn’t even know where to start looking. Leviathan had almost every Ruri-chan collectible in existence, and if he didn’t, you couldn’t afford it. You thought about picking up some manga series in the human realm for him, but then you considered that might be too predictable for him. After all, you wanted something unique for him. In all honesty, the more you thought about it, the more terrified you were when it came to getting gifts for the brothers. They all had high standards, and you weren’t sure you could reach them. However, now that you already gave Mammon something, word would spread (mostly due to Mammon’s big mouth) and the others would soon expect something as well. You could already imagine all the fights that would break out between them if you started and stopped with him. 

“I should have stuck with cards and candy.” You rub at your temples in frustration. “Now everyone’s going to expect these amazing presents.” 

With an annoyed huff, you back your chair away from your desk. You were unhappy, and most of all embarrassed. Embarrassed for the gift that you haven’t even given to Leviathan yet. That didn’t matter though, because your mind kept replaying images of Leviathan laughing at the plush you made him. It made a lump in your throat form, and your eyes blurred with unshed tears. It was silly, and maybe you were tired from working on this for the last two days straight, but you were upset. You were more than upset; you were disappointed with yourself on how this was coming out. Although you had finished his gift only an hour or two ago, you were still unhappy with it. 

To you, there was nothing cute about it. It was something that laid on your desk, taunting you. You let out an annoyed groan and threw yourself onto your bed. “I should stop putting this off.” You force yourself to sit up, glancing back over at the plush on your desk. “I’ll just apologize to him for how it came out. If he doesn’t like it I can offer to make him another one.” With a final sigh, you push yourself off the bed, grab the plush, and head out the door. 

Unlike with Mammon, you couldn’t have Leviathan open the door fast enough. You’re knocking on the wood as soon as you’re in front of his door, just wanting to get this over with. It would be humiliating, but you could get past this. You could make him another plush if he hated it that much, or you could just buy him something he asks for. Still, wanting at least some element of surprise, you hide the gift behind your back. There’s an anxious smile plastered on your face when the door opens. While normally Leviathan would push you for a password, you figured he was too excited for his gift to press such things today. 

“I was hoping to see you.” He can barely contain his excitement as he addresses you and lets you in. You follow in behind him quietly, rocking on the heels of your feet as he turns to face you once his door is closed. “I’m glad you came. Mammon was starting to drive me a little crazy and you’re always a good distraction.” 

“Haha, yeah… about that.” 

Leviathan looks at you with a confused expression when noting your increasing anxiety. “What’s wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?” He pulls at the sleeves of his jacket, a timid look on his face. “I always thought this day might come, but I didn’t think it’d come so soon.” 

“What? No, no you aren’t making me uncomfortable, Levi.” It seems to barely convince him, though you see some tension leave his body. Now if only you could do the same. “I just,” you inhale sharply, “I brought you your Valentine’s gift.” You see him light up in excitement, his cheeks glowing red as he happily shifts in his spot in front of you. 

“You really got me a gift? I’m not going to lie, I always thought Valentine’s Day was a stupid holiday humans celebrated, but when you told me you wanted to get me something, I thought maybe it wasn’t that bad after all. Usually, no one wants to spend a holiday like that with a stupid otaku like me.” 

“You’re not,” your breath hitches and you can feel your eyes water again, “I don’t think--” Crap. You wanted this to be a good holiday for him, but how could he enjoy it when you couldn’t even make him a proper gift? You shouldn’t have told him in advance that you’d make him something. His hopes were up and you were only going to cut them down. You hear Leviathan call out to you, his voice full of concern. It’s at that moment that you realize warm tears are streaming down your cheeks. 

“Are you crying?” Leviathan’s on you in seconds as he tries to assess the situation. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He’s frantically wiping your tears away with shaking hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. Please don’t be upset with me. I promise I won’t do it again.” You needed to pull yourself together before you caused the demon to have a panic attack. The last thing you wanted was for him to think he did something to you.

“You didn’t do anything.” You let him wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumbs caressing the skin as he gazes down at you. “I just-- I just don’t want to ruin Valentine’s Day for you.” Your lip trembles as you speak and Leviathan’s concerned expression is replaced with one of confusion. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Y-Your gift.” You answer weakly and more tears threaten to spill. 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“I just-- I couldn’t-- here.” You decide it would be better for him to see himself instead of listening to you fumble and trip over your words. You reveal the plush to Leviathan, handing it to the blue-haired demon. He slowly takes it from you, gazing at it curiously and glancing over at you. 

“I don’t understand.” He finally says. You feel your heart sink in your chest.

“It’s supposed to be--”

“No, I know what it is.” There’s a smile on his lips as he brings the plush to his chest, hugging it tightly. “It’s my goldfish, Henry. I think he came out beautifully. Why are you so upset over it? It looks just like him.” There’s a pink tint to his cheeks as he looks at you. “I’ve always wanted a plush of him.” You stare at him in shock, unable to form a sentence. “I love it, and I’m sure Henry will too.” 

“You like it?” You’re staring at him with wide and watery eyes. The possibility of Leviathan liking your gift never even occurred to you. “You don’t think it’s ugly?” 

“Ugly? Why would I think it’s ugly? You made this for me, and you made it after something that I hold close to my heart.” He shyly looks away from you as he grips the plushie tighter. “I would cherish anything you gave me. You spent time on this for me and me alone. That within itself is a precious gift to me.” His face is growing red again as he continues. “No one’s ever spent so much time on someone like me before. It’s hard to wrap my head around sometimes, but it makes me really happy.” He glances over at you once again. “Please don’t cry because of me. Seeing you so upset makes me upset too.” You feel your heart flutter at his words and you shyly glance down at your feet. “Thank you. This is the best Valentine’s Day I could have ever asked for.”

[wakeupflawless]

#7 and #11 please. Bring on the angst.

College Brio!!!!!!!!!!

They go through the same line at security. Rio’s flight isn’t for another four hours, but he came with her anyway.

The day had been a blur of packing, moving and driving, she had so much on her to-do list she was able to force herself to forget that they’d be separating by the end of it all. But now - as she toes off her shoes to step through the x-ray machine, holding her hands up and feeling silly - the reality of the situation crashes down around her. She barely hears the TSA agent saying “please step out for me.”

Beth watches Rio go through next with that casual confidence of his. The TSA lady, who’d grumbled and groaned at every other passenger, actually smiled at him and called him “sugar.”

And she’s not jealous of a middle aged TSA worker. She’s not crazy. But she knows in Los Angeles there will be hundreds, if not thousands, of much younger, much prettier girls calling him pet names. It’s LA. The land of models and celebrities and the rich and famous. Her name would be lost to him, especially once he starts playing for the Dodgers, because every girl wants a hot baseball player, and…

“You good?” Rio asks, eyeing her knowingly as he grabs their carry-ons off the conveyor belt. Beth blushes, she’d let their bags just sit there as she stared off into the distance.

“Yeah,” she chirps, snatching her converse and lacing them up around her feet. “Let’s find my gate?”

Rio rolls their luggage toward Gate A. Her plane hasn’t even arrived yet, that’s how early she is, but better safe than sorry, right?

It seems like just yesterday Rio had plopped his lanky frame down next to her in their English 15 class - the class every freshman has to take - even though there were several empty seats around her.

“This seat taken?” he’d asked with a knowing grin, not even waiting for her to respond, just grabbing his laptop out of his backpack and setting up camp at the small desk.

She bitched and moaned about “that annoying asshole who insists on sitting next to me!” almost every day to her roommate. Until one day, about a month into the semester, Ruby cut her off with a huff. “I swear to God, Beth. If you don’t just fuck this dude out of your system....”

And well, Ruby is a wise woman. That’s all Beth has to say about that. Because a week later Beth and Rio were banging like bunnies on every surface of their respective dorm rooms. And the library. And classrooms. Even in an (empty) 300 person lecture hall. Right in front of the giant projector.

They were inseparable the past four years. English was the last class they’d shared together, because of their wildly different majors (Rio in business and Beth in fashion) And Beth had her fair share of Student Council duties, while Rio was the star center fielder for the school baseball team. But they always made time for each other. Sometimes Beth would sit in the bleachers and watch his practices as she sketched out some designs. Sometimes Rio would attend a “student body” meeting just so he could watch Beth command the stage.

But college ended in the blink of an eye. And Rio had been drafted by the Dodgers (the freakin’ Dodgers) and Beth scored an entry level designer job at Tory Burch in New York. She’d probably spend most of her time getting coffees for higher-ups than actually designing, but it was a start.

So here they are. Sitting at Gate A in the Detroit Airport. The clock ticking on her flight to JFK. After all those years together they’d never been at a loss for words. Always found something to talk, discuss or argue about. But they’re silent now. Sitting in the uncomfortable blue chairs, Rio’s arms slung around her shoulder.

They watched a movie on Rio’s iPad, laughing at the funny moments, frowning at the sad. But neither really paid attention.

At boarding time Beth stands up, rolling her shoulders back, double- checking her ticket for the millionth time. She won’t cry she won’t cry she won’t cry -

“Hey. This isn’t goodbye.” Rio says, the water works begin.

She sobs into his chest all the way til they call Group 9 - her group - and Rio has to usher her to the counter. The American Airlines agent gives them a sympathetic smile, scanning Beth’s ticket.

She’s the last to board the flight, the doors closing right behind her. She presses her face against the small airplane window, tears rolling down her cheeks. She listens to their song over and over on repeat. Tennessee Whiskey. It’s cliche. It’s every couple’s favorite song. But she doesn’t care.

When she touches down in New York the tears have stopped. She texts Rio when she lands, but it doesn’t go through, he’s on his own flight. But he’d sent her a message.

About to take off. Love you always.

---Two Years Later---

There’s a knock at her door. Beth groans. It’s eight in the morning. On a Saturday. She flips over, burying her head in her pillow.

The knocking persists.

She groans. Flinging her covers off and marching the six steps it takes to get from her bed to her front door (studio apartments are just the best) Whoever’s on the other side of the door is about to get an eyeful, because she’s wearing a thin cami and tiny sleep shorts. Her apartment’s AC just keeps dying, and summer in the city is hot.

She doesn’t even check the peephole, just rips the door open with a huff.

It’s Rio.

Her annoyance evaporates and the remnants of sleep clear from her eyes. She squeals, positively flinging herself into his arms. He laughs, catching her easily.

“What are you doing here?!”

“You always answer the door dressed like this?” he asks with a playful raise of an eyebrow, pretending to look all concerned.

She giggles, pressing her lips to his in a flurry of kisses. Their next visit wasn’t supposed to be for another three months.

“I got you a present. Had to deliver it in person.” Rio says, carrying her inside the apartment.

He sets her down, slinging the backpack off his shoulder and grabbing something within. Beth watches him with a stupid grin, still recovering from the shock of seeing him.

He pulls out a baseball hat.

A Yankees cap.

“What- what’s this?” she asks, her mind not catching up.

But then he smiles, slow and big. And Beth realizes.

“No way. No way. The Yankees?”

“I’ve been traded.” he informs her. “It ain’t official yet, but the paperwork is done.”

Beth screams. Neighbors be damned. She tackles him onto the bed, pressing kisses all over his face. Soon tears are leaking down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry.” Rio thumbs away the wetness on her cheeks.

Later, Rio shows her his new contract. Beth stares at his phone, jaw dropped.

“That’s… that’s a lot of zeroes.” she stutters.

Rio grins. “I ran to LAX as soon as the deal went through. Had to tell you in person.” He looks around her tiny apartment. “Start boxin’ up your staff, mami. Time to get a bigger place.”

“Together,” she whispers.

He nods. “Together.”

[uchukiyoo]

This Is Not a Drill | Haechan x Reader (NCT127)

Plot : “This is a code Red. All the students must lock themselves in the nearest room and remain totally silent until further announcements. This is not a drill.” 

You had never thought about hearing this type of announcement one day, and you especially had never imagined living this stressful moment with Lee Haechan. 

Pairing : Haechan x You (reader) 

word count : 960-ish

genre : I honestly don’t know lmao 

⚠ TW ⚠ mention of school shooting / shooter / guns / weapons / death

You were studying in the library when it happened. You were reading a book for your literature class when the alarm rung. Even if you were a senior, it was the first time you heard this kind of alarm, it wasn’t like the usual fire drill, it sounded a lot more serious and scarier.

A few seconds after, the principal’s voice resounded in the school’s speakers.

“This is Principal Choi speaking. This is a code Red. All the students must lock themselves in the nearest room and remain totally silent until further announcements. This is not a drill. Please stay inside the rooms and stay quiet.”

What the actual fuck ??? You thought as you were trying to process what was happening. The principal said it was a code red which meant that an active shooter had entered the school.

“Okay Y/N, stay calm” you whispered to yourself as you put your stuff back to your bag, which you hid under a shelf.

You were about to barricade yourself inside when someone barged into the room, almost throwing you to the ground.

“What the-”

You looked at the boy who had just entered.

“H-haechan?”

He looked at you and immediately stood straight and put his habitual smug smile.

“Oh you…what’s your name again?”

“Y/N.”

“Oh right, what were you doing??”

“hum…didn’t you hear? Were supposed to lock ourselves. This is a Code Red Haechan.”

“How cute…you really think this isn’t a dril-“

A gun shot resounding in the distance interrupted him.

His look changed from mocking to doubtful but then a second one exploded, you could definitely read panic in his eyes.

“What the fuck!” He screamed

“Shut up!” you replied, grabbing him by the arm to drag him under a table. “Haechan. You really need to shut up.”

“What the fuck, this isn’t a drill??? what the hell, does this mean there really is an active shooter??”

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Oh god…oh god…No offense but, I don’t wanna die here and not with you.” He replied, panicked as hell.

You were about to clapback, but you heard footsteps coming closer to the library.

“Do you hear it?” You asked Haechan.

He nodded his head yes, right before the person tried to open the door, banging on it.

Haechan looked truly terrorized. He was shaking and his face was livid. Another gunshot  fired, right next to the library. It sounded so loud and scary, you started to cry. You really thought it was the end. Whoever was behind the door would enter and kill you both. But you had to stay calm. You had to, because panic was never a good thing and Haechan was totally scared and a scared person could be really dangerous in this kind of situation.

“Y/N...” the young boy finally said

“Wh-what?” You replied, wiping your tears

“We’re going to die, aren’t we? It actually is the end.”

“Don’t say that”

“W-were going to be fucking murdered by a psychopath, right here, in our school…I-I can’t die like that. You can’t die like that. None of us should die like that- I-I don’t…”

“Haechan please calm down…please” you whimpered trying your best not to panic

“I…I can’t- I can’t”

His breath was unsteady and shaky

“I can’t…I need to get out of here, I can’t-”

3 gunshots.

He buried his head in his arms, crying.

“Oh god…oh god…oh my fucking god…” He sounded like a broken record.

“Haechan…look at me”

“I- I-can’t breathe…Y/N. I can’t breathe…”

“Haechan, just- I don’t know…please just stay calm”

“How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm ?!”

“just…take my hands…breathe, in and out…slowly…”

He slowly took a deep breath

“We are not gonna die here.”

4 gunshots

“we-we are not…gonna die here” she repeated, holding his hand tight.

“We’re not dying today” he whispered, squeezing your hand.

  Almost 2 hours had passed when about 30 machine-gun shots were heard before shouts and screams echoed in the hallways.

“D-do you think…the shooter…found some people?” Asked Haechan, breaking the silence.

“I-don’t know…I hope not.”

Suddenly, you got a call from one of your friends:

“Sofia? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine I’m with Mark and Johnny…Where are you Y/N?”

“In the library…with Haechan…do you know what just happened?”

“Yeah that’s why I called! Taeyong is in the locker rooms with the team and the coach. Apparently, the cops are here, there wasn’t just one guy, but three. They took the shooters down. They’re clearing the school now, everything will be fine”

You instantly repeated what your friend said to Haechan who let out a big sigh of relief.

“So we’re fine? Like totally fine? It’s over??” He asked

“Yes…I think so…”

“Oh thanks God!” he jumped on his feet and hugged you tight.

“Huh…”

He finally let go, looking embarrassed

“Sorry…I’m just so relieved…I-I really thought I…we would die”

About 20 minutes later, you were allowed to go out and all the students got sent home.

You reunited with your friends and after a few minutes, you all decided to go home.

While getting to the bus stop, you saw Haechan getting to his car. He glanced towards you and walked in your direction.

“Crazy day huh…” He awkwardly said, scratching the back of his head

“Yeah…clearly…do you feel better?”

“Yeah yeah thank you by the way…I guess if you hadn’t been here I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Come on don’t say that…”

“No seriously, thanks. Can I buy you some coffee? To celebrate our survival” He chuckled as his cheeks got visibly redder

“Oh…well…yeah why not” You replied, not really knowing how to react. You had never thought that Haechan… THE Haechan would ask you out. Maybe this day wasn’t entirely awful…

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

I Got You (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is celebrating her two year anniversary with her fiance when her best friend from childhood, Jensen, calls. Something’s wrong with him and he tries to play it off once he remembers what night it is for her but the reader isn’t budging and that may be a good thing for the both of them...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, vomiting, lying, mention of alcoholism, fluff

A/N: This is a little different for me but I’m really please with how it turned out. Enjoy!

_______

“This looks delicious, babe,” said Andrew as he sat down at the table. You hummed, a little annoyed that he hadn’t let you know he’d be home two hours late. On your anniversary. Your two year anniversary. You wouldn’t mind if he ever let you know but he never, never did and always got mad when you brought it up. You poked at the food and he took a bite, making a face. “It’s a little cold.”

“Well that’s what happens when you reheat it in the microwave,” you said. He bit his tongue and continued to eat quietly, a bit of tension still in the air.

“How was your day?” he asked when he was nearly done with his food.

“Fine. Yours?” you asked, picking at your salad and ignoring the chicken.

“Good. I’m sorry I was late, babe. Why don’t we go out to eat?” he asked.

“It’s our anniversary. I wanted to make you dinner,” you said.

“I ate it,” he said. “You seem hungry still.”

“I’m fine. I just want to watch a movie or something,” you said. He didn’t say anything as he ducked into the bedroom and changed out of his suit and into some sweats and a hoodie. You cleaned up the dishes and went to the bedroom. You grabbed leggings and an old big t-shirt of Jensen’s you’d stolen from his place somewhere around season 10 if you had to guess by the number just under the back collar. You padded into the bathroom and changed out of your skinny jeans and crop top. You took off the new black lingerie you had on and put on something more comfortable. Andrew wouldn’t even notice.

You walked out of the bedroom and found him on the couch, watching some action movie. You sat down in his side and saw your phone light up at the end of the couch. A glance showed it was Jensen and that you had four missed calls from him.

“Did you put my phone on silent?” you asked, reaching over for it.

“It is our anniversary,” he said.

“Yeah and I’m also one of Jensen’s emergency contacts,” you said, rolling your eyes and quickly answering. “Jay?”

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. Something was wrong. His voice was off and it took him a minute to talk again. “Can you come over? I just found out something and I could use you right now.”

“I thought you were in Toronto this week to film for The Boys,” you said.

“I was. Flew down to Dallas for my brother’s birthday earlier. More free time and all, trying to see the family more,” he said.

“What’s he want?” sighed Andrew. You ignored him and heard Jensen take a shaky breath.

“Did someone die?” you asked quietly.

“No,” he said. “No. I found out something though and...I just grabbed a rental car and drove home the past few hours. I had to get out of there.”

“Are you alright?” you asked, already hating the pit forming in your stomach. You’d known him most of your life. You didn’t remember life without him to be honest. Sure, he was away a lot when he filmed but he was back more often now that he was doing shorter gigs and you’d always been there for each other, even during the really busy years. “Buddy.”

“No, I don’t think I’m okay,” he said. He was quiet before you heard him suck in a gasp. “Fuck. It’s your anniversary. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N. God, like Andrew doesn’t hate me enough already. I’m so sorry. Please enjoy your night, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re my best friend and you are so not alright,” you said. “I’m gonna come over.”

“It’s our anniversary!” said Andrew as you turned to glare at him.

“Y/N, don’t. I’m-” said Jensen as you got up.

“Where the fuck are you going?” said Andrew.

“Jensen is important to me, Andrew. He’s always gonna be important to me. I know you don’t like him but he needs me right now. You don’t even care. You didn’t care about dinner or the anniversary or putting in a little bit of effort. I used to really like you too, you know. When we got engaged though, I saw what you really wanted. Well guess what. I’m not your mother. I’m not your maid and I faked it every time,” you said.

“You’re mad at me? He’s the one ruining our anniversary!” said Andrew.

“Y/N, I’m gonna go. I’m sorry,” said Jensen before you heard him hang up. You groaned and went over to the front hall to grab your jacket. You shoved your phone in your pocket as Andrew stalked over.

“Gonna go sleep with your other boyfriend, hm?”

“Something bad happened to him and frankly, the day I introduced you to him was the day you started all this. You have hated my relationship with him from the start. He has tried so hard to be your friend and you’re always mean and you leave him out. Even your friends think it’s a dick move.”

“You want your best friend or me? Cause I don’t like him and I’m never going to,” he said. 

“I hope you treat the next girl better,” you said. You took off your ring and slammed it on the front table before grabbing your keys and tugging on your boots.

“Whore,” he mumbled.

“I’d rather be his whore than your wife any day. I’ll move my stuff out tomorrow,” you said. You slammed the door shut after yourself and took a deep breath. You weren’t as upset as you thought you’d be. You’d been considering taking a break with him for the past few months but there was no going back after that. Jensen had never been anything but kind to him and always respectful of your and Andrew’s time together.

You skipped down the stairs of the apartment building and down to the garage, rushing over to your car quickly. Something was still very wrong with Jensen and you needed to get to him asap.

“Jensen,” you said twenty minutes later, finding him outside on the balcony off his bedroom, sitting in a chair with his knees tucked to his chest. There was a half full large bottle of whiskey on the ground and the plastic wrapper from where he’d opened it. His back was to you and he turned his head away as you stepped outside. “Jay, what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. You put a hand on his forehead and forced him to look at you. He was drunk. He didn’t start drinking until he’d hung up with you obviously. He was upset too and it was so rare of you to see him cry. 

“Come on,” you said, grabbing his arm. He let you tug him up and into his bathroom. You flipped on the light in the toilet and sat him down in front of it. “Did you eat dinner? Yes or no?”

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Did you eat on the plane? At the airport?”

He shook his head again and you sighed.

“You just did about, I don’t know, seven, eight shots on an empty stomach. You’re not a kid anymore so if Taylor Gregson’s senior party is anything to go by, I expect you to start puking in the next three minutes.”

“Go away,” he said, wiping off his face.

“Yeah, see no, not happening. I’m also staying here tonight whether you want me to or not. Now sit, throw up in the toilet please, and I will make you something bland to eat and get you some not snot covered clothes, okay?”

“Why are you so nice to me?” he asked. He stared up at you and you instantly knelt down, giving him a hug as he hiccuped. 

“Cause you’re my best friend and I love you,” you said. “Jensen. What happened?”

“Don’t wanna…” he said, shaking his head.

“Did someone die?” you asked.

“No,” he said again. 

“What did you find out? Something with your brother? You said you were at his birthday party.”

“Later please,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you said. You rubbed up and down his back and you felt him lurch a bit before you shut your eyes and felt wetness on your back. “Did you just throw up on me?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said.

“Really is like Taylor Gregson’s party all over again,” you said. “You stay here and I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I got it in your hair I think,” he said. He lurched again but you turned him towards the bowl and he was successful that time. “Ow.”

“Relax,” you said, running a clean hand through his hair for a beat. His body untensed a little but he was still upset and making a mess of himself. “Five minutes and then the shower is yours.”

You took about ten to deal with your hair and you ducked next door to his closet, finding some fresh clothes for the two of you. He managed to not get any sick on himself so after wiping his face off good and getting him to brush his teeth, he looked a little better. You found some pancake mix in the cupboard and started to work on that while he changed. He eventually came out, red eyed and sniffling a bit but he looked sober at least.

“Andrew’s gonna kill me for ruining his night,” he said.

“Andrew and I are over,” you said, waiting for the pan to heat up. Jensen stared as you shook up the jug. “He has always been an ass to you.”

“Y/N. I’m just...he’s your fiance. You’re supposed to prioritize him.”

“He’s supposed to respect people I care about. He is immature and arrogant and mean and he sucks so bad in bed. God, I’ve been dying to tell you how shitty ass of a fuck he is. The most damn selfish little prick I’ve ever met in my life and-”

“Y/N,” said Jensen. You took a deep breath and poured some batter on the pan. “You didn’t breakup cause of me, did you?”

“No. You were just the last straw. You didn’t call cause you wanted a ride or to talk about something that could be done later. You need me. I don’t care if it’s two in the morning, Christmas, my wedding day. You ever call me like that, you ever make me worry like this, I’ll be there in a fucking second,” you said. He lowered his head as you got a plate out for his dinner.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said.

“If you thought I was busy, why didn’t you call Jared? He lives three minutes away. Three,” you said. He shrugged and you sighed. “I never want to see you doing something like that ever again. I never want you to-”

“I’m not a child,” he shot back, suddenly shooting daggers at you, his face hard and green eyes a too dark shade.

“My father is an alcoholic. You want to call him up? We’ll call him up right fucking now and he’ll tell you how it nearly destroyed his life. He is twenty years sober and he can’t have a drink for the rest of his life because he used it when he was in pain. You will never, Ackles, and I mean never, drink to mask pain again in your life,” you said. The pancake was burning and you broke away your glare, dumping the burnt batter into the trash. When you walked back, Jensen was crying at the counter again and you shut your eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I just...you know how my mom used to have me sleepover your house in the middle of a school week cause he was drunk and she didn’t want me to see it. You know how much it used to bother me. Little shrimpy ass Jensen, you would always tell me to sleep in your bed and you took the sleeping bag. I let you take care of me my whole life. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me. You will never worry about money again. You gave me rent money when I got laid off and refused to let me pay it back. You drove me home when I got drunk at a bar after a fight with Andrew. You stood up for me in seventh grade cause I liked science and Harrison Pitt was a dick to me back then. This is not me treating you like a child, Jensen. This is me helping my best friend because he’s in pain and I can’t stop it. All I can do is make him damn pancakes.”

“Can I have maple syrup?” he asked quietly after a few minutes. 

“Of course. I’ll get butter too,” you said. You cut up a few pieces and gave them along with the syrup to him. You made up more pancakes to reheat for breakfast, Jensen sniffling to himself as he ate. “Feel any better?”

“A little,” he said. “You were always too good for Andrew.”

“I always knew you didn’t like him,” you said. “But you tried. That’s what was important and a concept he apparently couldn’t understand. Good riddance. Oh and I kinda need a place to crash for a bit after my epic walkout.”

“I got plenty of room,” he said. He pushed his plate away when he finished and washed it up in the sink, grabbing the pan as you put away the leftovers.

“Even miserable you have far better manners,” you said with a small smile. He left the pan on the counter to dry and you wrapped your hands around his arm, leading him back to his bedroom and sitting him down. “It’s later. What happened?”

“My whole family’s been lying to me my whole life,” he said. He sat against the headboard and wiped off his nose. “My great aunt, like the super old one, she made a comment and then made a little face like I wasn’t supposed to know something. I mentioned it to my brother and he seemed coy but I knew then it was true. So I confronted my parents and...well it turns out that I’m adopted.”

“You’re what?” you said, scrunching up your face.

“Adopted. When I was an infant. They were never going to tell me,” he said.

“I don’t understand. I mean you kinda look like your dad and even your brother a bit and your sister has your nose.”

“Coincidence,” he said. “I’m a reject baby. I was given up because the couple that had me? They didn’t want me. I looked them up when I got home. Two hot shot lawyers at some big firm in New York. Three kids. Didn’t want this fuck up of one though. I was an accident. A mistake.”

“Jensen,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “Jensen, you’re not...so many people get adopted. Your family loves you. You’re so much better off with who you wound up with. They adopted you because they loved you. Jensen they-”

“She used to be my mom’s friend. They adopted me because they felt sorry for me. They didn’t love me. They pitied me. They lied to me my whole life. I heard stories about when she was pregnant and the labor and they were all lies. My brother’s always known. My sister is the only one who didn’t. The whole family knew. They knew about the pathetic little baby that no one wanted the whole time,” he said.

“Hey,” you said, climbing into his lap and grabbing his arms. “You are not pathetic. I have met your parents and your family. Some nights when we were little I wanted them to be my parents. I wanted normal parents. You had the ideal family. You have the ideal family.”

“They admitted they were never going to tell me,” he said. “How fucked up is that?”

“They made a mistake in not telling you. You should have known all along,” you said, fixing the stray hairs falling over his forehead. “If I know anything though it is that they love you unconditionally. You gotta forgive them. They wanted you. You are their son and brother. They adopted you because they loved you. It sounds like your mom stopped being friends with this woman. I wonder why that was,” you said. He shut his eyes and rested his head on your chest. You shushed him as he got upset again, kissing the top of his head.

“You’re not hiding any secrets from me are you?” he asked, arms wrapped tightly around your back.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since I was thirteen years old,” you said. He raised his head up and you smiled. “S’okay. I know I’m not your-”

He kissed you out of nowhere, hand cupping the back of your neck, one long, smooth motion as you felt wetness on your cheeks. He moved back slowly, dropping his hands away, swallowing thickly.

“Sorry,” he said. You smiled and moved closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you said. “Always thought I wasn’t your type.”

“You were. I was too young to understand what it was that I felt. No one’s ever felt like you. And I can’t lose you too so I played it safe. Now...I’d rather get this out of the way so I can feel miserable for the rest of my life.”

“You think our friendship is over?” you asked.

“You were engaged an hour ago and I just kissed you. Of course it’s-”

“You’re ridiculous, Ackles, I swear,” you mumbled against his lips. “Like I said, I will always be there. Now I’d love nothing more than to fulfill every teenage fantasy and adult one if I’m being fair right now. But tonight’s not the night for that. Tonight, let out whatever you’re feeling and tomorrow, we’ll talk to your folks.”

You sat back and smiled, Jensen staring at you with soft wet eyes and you remembered the little boy waiting outside school, trying not to be upset. You lay down next to him and recalled the day you met.

“Hi,” you said, the boy turning away. “Why you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he said.

“You look like you’re crying,” you said, walking around his other side. You heard a car horn honk and looked ahead to see your dad behind the wheel of the car. You looked around and saw no other other cars there, the boy wiping his face off. “Where’s your mom or dad?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They said they’d be right here after school.”

“Y/N!” called your dad.

“We’re waiting!” you said back, the boy looking at you.

“For what?” asked your dad.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Jensen Ackles,” he said quietly.

“Jensen Ackles’ parents!” you said. Your dad sighed but he just sat back in his seat and turned up the radio. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“I know. You got the blue backpack. All the other girls got pink ones,” he said.

“I like blue. I like pink too but I like blue more,” you said. “I like the cars on your backpack.”

“Thanks. Do you like cars?”

“Yeah,” you said. You sat down and took off your bag, pulling out a few hot wheels from the bottom of it. “Mom said I could bring them as long as I didn’t lose ‘em. Wanna play while we wait?”

“Okay,” he said, taking a seat next to you.

By the time you and Dean were being called over, the sky was a little dimmer and you saw your dad talking to a couple outside the car.

“I think I gotta go home now,” you said.

“Me too. I see you tomorrow,” he said, holding out the car he’d been playing with.

“You keep it in case you got to wait again. Then you’re not bored. I’ll wait with you though if dad says it’s okay,” you said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. He gave you a hug and you smiled as you returned it. “Do you want to be best friends?”

“Yeah! That’s so cool!” you said. 

“Awesome!” he said. You both packed up and ran over to your parents, your dad chuckling as you waved bye to Jensen.

“Make a new friend on your first day?” he asked.

“That’s Jensen. He’s my best friend forever now,” you said. “That’s how it works. I know. Jensen’s got an older brother and he told him all about it.”

“I see. Well buckle up. I’m sure mom’s wondering where we are,” he said. You climbed in the back and saw his parents give a wave as they drove past. “That was real nice of you to talk to that boy when he was upset like that.”

“I didn’t like him crying, made me feel funny,” you said. “Like my chest had a tummy ache.”

“Oh, you’re going to prom with that boy aren’t you,” he mumbled.

“What’s prom?”

“A very, very long way away. Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

“I remember our first day too,” said Jensen. “I’m always a blabbering mess around you, aren’t I.”

“I think I understand what that tummy ache in my chest was. It’s that same feeling I got when you called earlier. I think we really were too young to understand back then what it was that we were experiencing.”

“You mean how I’ve been in love with you since I was five years old,” he chuckled. “Y/N. I still feel really, and I mean really, really shitty. But thank you for coming over. I need you, more than even I know I think.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” you said. You kissed him and he smiled, closing his eyes. “You want to sleep? You had a long flight and drive, not to mention day.”

“Yeah, I want to crash. I’m exhausted,” he said. You moved to get up but he sat up with you, watching you carefully. He swallowed again and you threw back the covers, climbing underneath them. 

“Not going anywhere,” you said. He got underneath with you and heard him breathe a deep breath, no sniffles in sight for the first time all night. “Jensen.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“It’ll be okay,” you said. “I promise.”

“I know. Not looking forward to tomorrow is all,” he said.

“Well I’m going with so...can’t be all bad,” you said.

“No. Like you said back then, I stick with you, I’ll be alright,” he said. “Can you get the room light?”

“Sure,” you said. You hopped out of bed and turned off the big light, walking over to his nightstand and finding the switch. You smiled when you saw the hot wheel car on there, Jensen smiling softly as he looked up at you. “Night Jensen.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[sunjaesol]

the smile you gave me (it’s magic)

juke | meet-cute au | tw: alcohol + annoying men in bars | written for @alexjulies as we have the same headcanons about luke

What Julie Molina was about to do was horribly unfeminist and Flynn would hate her forever, but really, it was all the man’s fault - as usual.

She rejected his advances three times now in the last hour. The bartender gave her a drink on the man’s tab and she sent it back, the man brought it himself (introduced himself as Levi) and she politely declined once more. The third time he asked her to dance and then she fled to the bathroom. Julie wasn’t the biggest partygoer, occasionally joining Flynn for happy hour - like today. Her friend was late however, due to an emergency meeting at a magazine she worked at and Julie had to endure the bar alone. Grave mistake. She should’ve just waited at a McDonalds or something; even if she’d look out of place in her cocktail dress.

im there in 15!! hang in there <3 <3

Julie groaned. Great. Fifteen more minutes in a smelly bathroom stall as women outside were drunkenly crying in front of the mirrors and babbled about their own grievances regarding men. For such a universal problem, she had hoped all men would’ve taken the hint by now.

No, she didn’t want to dance. No, she didn’t want a drink. No, she wouldn’t give her number to someone that kept pushing and coming into her personal space. Levi could fuck off. It was bad enough how he had given her a suggestive once-over like he was deciding whether he wanted brunette or blonde tonight.  

The reminder angered her, pushed her out of the stall with a scowl. Was she really going to let a dumb man (nay: boy) ruin her night before it even started? Her songwriting session with Hayley Williams had gone really well and she deserved to celebrate that! She deserved to end her day on a high note! A quick look in the mirror to assure her make-up hadn’t smudged, she marched out the bathroom back into the dimly lit bar.

Her eyes scanned the room, relieved to not catch Levi close-by. Did he give up and leave? Was he cornering another girl? Whatever. As long as he wasn’t bothering her, she’d be able to breathe and maybe forget about the altercation.

If he did bother her again, she’d use her privilege as a girl and yell at the top of her lungs that he was harassing her. Surely then security would kick him out, right?

Over by the bartop was clamour, two men pulling each other into a laughing embrace as one hauled their backpack over their shoulder as the other dropped it. Changing shifts, Julie noted, halting on the man that had arrived. Well then. The theory that bars only hired attractive people seemed to be correct, the guy straight from a CW show. Mussed up brown hair, sharp features, big eyes, cute smile. A ten out of ten.  

He shrugged his red shacket off, fully black outfit beneath and began washing off discarded glasses. His muscular arms made her throat dry up; he wasn’t attractive, he was hot.

(Oh God. Was she just as bad as Levi, gawking over a stranger? But wasn’t part of his job that girls were supposed to gawk over him? More tips and all that? Julie decided she shouldn’t feel too guilty.)

Her feet moved on their own accord towards the bar, sliding into a leather high stool and wondering what she’d order as she waited for any of the bartenders (him?) to approach her.

Luck was on her side, the new bartender pressing his hands into the counter, brows raised expectantly. “What can I get you?”

Her lips tutted, debating between a margarita and a strawberry mojito. Both were appealing and at a marginally low price. “What’s better?”, she asked. “Margarita or mojito? Honestly.”

He grinned. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms atop the counter, a brush away from his hands. “I’ve bartended before. I know you have to lie a little.”

His muscle tee shifted around as he chuckled, slivers of tattoos peeking through on his chest. Her eyes averted, hoping she was a bit more subtle than she felt, and kept them trained on the stacks of whiskey in the glass rack.

His fingers drummed on the wood. “The mojito, then.” Leaning in as if imparting a secret, he added: “We’ve been buying the cheaper tequila. Gotta pay those bills.”

Satisfied at his reply, she gave him a pleased nod. “Okay. A mojito, please.”

He pushed himself off with a click of the tongue, as if he auctioned her something, and turned to grab the ingredients. As he poured the rum into a tall glass, he fell into casual conversation she was all too familiar with.

“You here alone?”

“Waiting on a friend.” Eager to distract herself from the reason why she waiting, and what caused her to wait in a fucking bathroom, she asked: “What’s the tattoo?”

The bartender paused for a beat, as if momentarily forgetting he was inked up, and then tugged his shirt out the way to showcase more skin. Had she not been so curious, she’d focus on the fact that he was defined as hell. The tattoo was a detailed sun with an ocean wave drawn inside. More uncovered: a play and pause button, ‘now or never’, a stick and poke tattoo of a lightning bolt. It was as if she herself doodled onto her skin and then left it there, but it somehow worked. It was personal. Maybe she was also a bit intrigued since he seemed especially interested by music. Granted, it was LA. Everyone was some type of artist with varying degrees of success. Still - she was curious.

“They’re cool,” she complimented, him going back to making her drink with an appreciative grin.

“Thanks.”

“Was the lightning bolt a drunk decision?”, she teased. The only instance someone got a stick and poke tattoo was when they felt chaotic or impulsive.

His grin widened, throwing crushed ice in the glass. “That obvious? Yeah, me and my boys all got one. This whole idea of-” He waved his hands around, trying to find the right words. “-bonding us together for life, I guess.”

Warmth thudded in her chest at his story, endeared by the way his voice became lighter when he talked about his friends. They must be like brothers to him.

As he placed the completed drink in front of her, she contemplated her answer. She’d rather keep talking to him than wait for Flynn in silence. “That’s nice. Having friends like that, it’s special.” Twisting her wrist, she showed her own tattoo. “I got this one when I turned eighteen.”      

They were two, small butterflies dancing on the inside of her forearm. When her mother passed away, she always knew she’d get something to commemorate her. Doodles of butterflies marked her skin in high school, finally becoming permanent when she was allowed to. Knowing everyone inevitably asked about the why, she continued talking.  

“It’s, you know, it’s about metamorphosis and beauty and transcendence and I just-” She caught herself before blabbing her sob story to a stranger. With a chuckle, she muttered: “It’s a reminder that change is good.”

When Julie looked up at him, she was struck by the wonder on his face. He didn’t look as confident as he did before, probably taken aback by her sudden spiritual spiel about butterflies - or by her, in general. The thought let a quiet thrill course through her.  

He snapped out of it, a smirk falling on his lips as his nail chimed against the glass. “It’s on me.”

“Is that a move?” Her head tilted, amused.

“You want me to lie or be honest?” The man leaned across the counter again, much closer this time. “Cool tattoo, by the way.”

She laughed, biting back a silly grin from blooming. This was his job, she reminded herself. Act all cute and get her to buy more drinks so that eventually, her tab would be enormous. It was like winning once at a game of poker and then becoming cocky.

Coy, she ripped her gaze from his and sipped on her drink. She’d let him simmer for a bit.

That was when it happened. Her unfeminist deed that would make Gloria Steinem shudder. Levi, the devil reincarnated, shot her a smug look from the other side of the bar. Swerving past people to the beat of the music, he tried approaching her again.

Julie groaned behind her glass, her good mood instantly shattered once more. Why couldn’t this idiot take a fucking hint?!

“Damn,” bartender mused, “I thought my mojito skills were good.”

The brash words tumbled out at a rapid pace, her need for a solution trumping her pride. “There’s a guy coming onto me right now and you need to help me ward him off. Please.”

He grimaced. “Yeesh. Ex-boyfriend?”

“Worse,” she bit. “A fool.”

A stressed smile pinned itself on her cheeks as Levi sidled beside her, one arm bracketing her left. Her back tensed as she shot a quick, pleading look at the bartender. He zeroed in on Levi, mouth curled downwards.    

“There you are,” Levi grinned. “Thought you left.”

Julie didn’t entertain him anymore. “I’ve told you. I’m not interested.”

He dismissed her. “I see you got yourself a drink? What is it?”

“I’m not interested,” she snapped, eyes flickering once more to the bartender. Was he really not going to help her?

It spurred him into action, his arm reaching over to create a barrier between Levi and her. “Dude, you heard her. Back off.”

Levi snarled. “Can you not? This is between me and her.”

“No, actually,” he exclaimed, blunt. “I’m her boyfriend.”

Her vigilance got her acting swiftly, shifting her expression into a believable nod and placing a hand on his outstretched arm.  

“He is?” Levi was gobsmacked, a hint of anger lacing his voice.

“Yeah,” Julie bit, silently thanking him when he played along and enveloped her hand with his. Her final strike spit his venom right back in his face. “So can you just leave us alone?”

The man rolled his eyes with a scoff, kicking one of the stools and mumbling a string of curses. “Bullshit…”

When he was out of sight again, having stormed off like a petulant child to a shadowy corner, Julie let out breath of relief. “Finally!” Shooting the bartender a bright smile, she kept babbling. “You have no idea how annoying that is. And smart idea - the boyfriend card always works!”

He squeezed her hand, worried. “You sure you’re okay? That was fucked up.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off, the soft touch reminding her of his words from before. Squeezing back, she watched as the pinch between his brows vanished. “I’m okay.”

They kept their stare for a beat, the revolving pop music and excited chatter merely background noise. Neither have let go of their hold on each other. She didn’t want to either; his hand was warm and gentle and a calloused thumb absentmindedly caressed her skin. Levi should learn from this.

Sometimes, a connection just happened.

He let go first, collecting himself into a casual stance that was far more amusing than it should be. Ducking beneath the bar and grabbing a beer, he tapped it against her glass with a cocky nod. “My name’s Luke.”

Julie matched his expression. Luke. Luke, the bartender. It fit him perfectly. “I’m Julie. Are you supposed to be drinking on the clock?”

“I work in a bar,” Luke deadpanned. “It’s expected. And I’m sure Jack can handle it.”

“Why would he have to serve alone?” she inquired teasingly, eyes glimmering with challenge. If there was one thing she loved, it was getting the upper hand in a fun game of flirting.  

He lifted his bottle with a wink. “I’m drinking with you.” A pause, his gaze matching her intensity. Damn. He was a good opponent. “Unless you want me to go?”

She shook her head, took a sip from the mojito and wiggled her brows. “Cheers to warding off annoying men, fake boyfriend.”

“I better get some good karma from this,” he joked. “Cheers!”

(Later that night, she’d realise Flynn never came by. When she asked what happened, Flynn told her she had walked in and saw Julie completely wrapped up in a conversation ‘with that cute bartender’ and left. The joyous announcement that Julie got his number made her friend screech over the phone.

Julie went back to the bar many times. Drinking and talking bled until deep in the night, once till closing time and then he walked her to her apartment. He didn’t resist when she kissed him, his lips kissing back with hunger.

It didn’t take long for the ‘fake’ to be scrapped from that label.)  

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 8

TW: None

Words Count: 1.9k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 9

You’re deeply immersed in your own thought that morning at your desk. There’s a whole two weeks before Jimin’s birthday, but since you currently have no idea at all on what to do, you can’t help feeling restless.

“-and since it’s our seventh year anniversary, I was thinking of doing something special, you know? I even thought of buying a new dress just to celebrate it!” You snap out of your reverie, finally tuning back to Irene who had been telling about her boyfriend who she had been dating since college.

“That’s so cute.” You say sincerely to her, briefly wondering if you can have the same kind of happiness too.

She giggles. “Thank you, Y/N.” She draws her breath. “What about you? You don’t have a boyfriend yet?”

You blink several times hearing her question. “Uh- uhh, yeah no.” You’re probably the worst liar ever. You look back down at the file of Jimin’s schedule that you’ve been studying in order for you to make a summary. Something had been bothering you that you’ve been meaning to ask Irene for a while now.

“Eyy~ I’m pretty sure you have one-“

“Hey, Irene can I ask you something?” You cut her off.

“Yeah?” She looks down at the file you’re looking at, reads it for a few seconds before continuing. “Ah~ You must’ve noticed that.”

Clara Kim. The name that would pop on Jimin’s schedule every week without fail. Yet you’ve no idea who she is, what she does and why does he sees her every week. “Who is she?”

Irene looks around as if there would be anyone in close proximity that can hear you before leaning in and whispers to you. “She’s.. Mr. Park’s girlfriend.”

Girl-what? Your eyes feel like it’s going to bulge out of its socket.

Irene laughs a little seeing your expression. “Don’t look at me like that! What, are you sad now thinking our handsome president’s taken?” She chuckles.

“But-“ you rack your brain. Wasn’t his marriage a public affair? Although his wife isn’t disclosed, his employees should’ve known the boss’s status, shouldn’t they? “Isn’t he married?”

She scoffs. “You think he can’t have both at the same time?” She shrugs. “He’s young, rich and definitely good looking. You think he’s gonna just stick to his wife when so many girls are after his ass?”

You lose words to say. His girlfriend? Why would he marry you then? “You don’t think that’s his wife?” Although she obviously isn’t.

She chuckles. “Girl, would meeting his wife be part of his schedule?” You suddenly feel stupid. “I only see her once or twice so far now although I’ve been working here for a long time, and she really doesn’t look like someone’s wife for the record, and he sees her every week without fail. All tall and skinny like a model, big tits big ass long black hair like a vixen ugh. But,” she shrugs, “I don’t know. Mr. Park never says anything about her so it must be really private. If you see here, she usually comes every Friday at night, after we’ve gone back.”

There’s a twist in your heart that you do not wish to know the reason why. You remain silent after that and Irene leaves you to your own devices as well as your thoughts.

You were just organising your table before you go out to lunch when Minhyuk calls you to his office. You glance at Jimin’s office, he’s still locked up in it and you know he haven’t had his lunch yet so you planned to order take outs for the both of you. You sigh a little as you make your way to Minhyuk’s office.

There’s no one else in the office since everyone has gone out for lunch. A tinge of anxiety runs through your body. You have a bad feeling about this.

“Hey, Y/N. You going out for lunch? Mind if you grab take outs for me too?”

Oh. You smile politely. “Sure. What would you like?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

You nod then quickly heads downstairs and walks about a block away to find Subway. Packing lunch for three, you head straight back to the office. Slightly nervous, you head towards Jimin’s room first and knocks. He doesn’t answer. Perhaps he doesn’t hear you the first time?

So you knock again. Still no. Was he out? You didn’t see him come out though. Perhaps he’s walked out while you’re out ordering take outs. So you slowly let yourself in silently.

A huge mistake.

You stand at the threshold.

There he is, your husband. He’s sitting behind his desk and there’s a woman bent over him in a very seductive stance. She leans close to him, her fingers playing with his tie.

And you know immediately who she is. Fits perfectly by Irene’s descriptions. Clara Kim.

You don’t love him. But why do you feel your heart shattering into pieces?

Turn away, now.

Turn away before he notices you.

Yet you still stand there, frozen and unable to tear your eyes away.

And when his gaze suddenly flickers to you and your eyes widens that you find yourself turning on your heels instantly, food dropping to the floor.

He doesn’t owe you anything. He doesn’t owe you anything. He doesn’t owe you anything.

You chant those in your head as you run out, unsure of your own direction until a firm set of hands catch you.

You look up and gasps. Minhyuk is holding you by the arms. “Hey-hey. What’s wrong? Who dares to make you cry, little princess?”

You cringe at his nickname for you. Your hands quickly come up to wipe the tears you didn’t realise had fallen.

“I’m fine.” You give him a quick smile. “Just a moment, I’ll fetch you your lunch. I only got you Subway though. Are you okay with that?” You ask but you don’t wait for him to answer, quickly returning to your desk and fetching his lunch, unaware of him following you from behind.

When you turn, you find him right in front of you, leaning so close that you have to back away a little, making your behind bumps against the edge of the desk.

He smirks at your reaction and you feel your blood runs cold. He turns suddenly and you see him holding both yours and his lunch.

“You haven’t had your lunch yet right? Let’s eat together.”

And that’s how you find yourself sitting uncomfortably across Minhyuk’s table, your Subway laid cold in front of you.

“So, what’s up, princess? You wanna tell me what happened back there?”

You draw a breath. “Nothing happened.”

He lifts one eyebrow. “Really? Cause I know what I saw.” He says but earning no response from you, he continues, “Oh, come on.. just tell me. Too much workload? Or boyfriend problems..? You have.. a boyfriend, Miss Y/N?”

You hesitate before shaking your head slowly. “No, no I don’t.” But I do have a husband.

“So.. not a boyfriend problem then. You’re really tight lipped, huh?” He chuckles. “I just wanna be a good boss. You know, getting to know his employee, listening to their concerns.. all that. So you can find me. Anytime you want.”

You smile politely at him though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

There’s a knock on the door and you both turn to look at the same time. Your husband stands at the threshold and you immediately stiffen, freezing like a deer caught in headlights although you’ve done nothing wrong.

“Ah, Jimin! Come on in! We’re just having lunch together.” Minhyuk greets him.

Jimin doesn’t look at you when he answers Minhyuk. “I was gonna ask you out to lunch but it seems like you already have a date.” Deep down, you know that’s not true.

You stand almost instantly. “No, not at all Mr. Park. I’m actually done and Mr. Kim is all yours.” You pick up your lunch quickly and exits before Minhyuk could say anything and avoids any sort of eye contact with Jimin.

You don’t realise it was almost five in the evening as you’ve been so caught up in your own thoughts. For the first time in so long, you feel helpless. You sit down on your desk, feeling numb and empty.

Where are you supposed to go now? You sigh. When you reach home almost an hour later, you find yourself standing outside the door, just staring at it.

In the end, you’d still go back to his place.

In the end, he still owns you and you owe him everything.

With a heavy heart, you unlock the door and push it open. You take a long hot shower after that and you almost want to just climb in and curl on the bed once you’re dressed but you know you still have to prepare dinner for your husband so you come down and prepares his meal, trying your best not to break down while doing it.

Your heart thumps when you hear the front door opens. He doesn’t come straight to the kitchen so he must’ve went upstairs to shower. You swallow a huge lump in your throat. How much longer do you have to do this?

You knew you yourself signed up for this. A marriage without love. You dug your own grave out of desperation. So why does it feel so damn hurt seeing him with another woman?

You couldn’t contain the tears anymore and your vision goes blurry at once. For a few minutes, you just let the tears fall silently, without sobbing without weeping. Then you shut your eyes, take a deep breath then wipe the tears dry with the back of your hand.

Your assumption was right when he enters dining area half an hour later while you were setting up the table. You make a mistake of looking up at him because he looks so ridiculously gorgeous, always, even in his casual clothes that you find it so unfair. You look down immediately yet every nerve of yours is aware that Jimin’s staring at your face.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, slight annoyance lacing his tone.

You swallow, not daring to meet his eyes then just shakes your head. “Nothing. I already ate and I’m a bit tired so I’ll head upstairs first. Just leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll wash it in the morning.”

“Are you feeling sick somewhere?” You hate that your heart flutters at the slight concern in his tone.

Not trusting yourself to speak, you shake your head and walks quickly upstairs. Try hard as you may, you ended up crying yourself to sleep. You don’t wish to because you don’t want Jimin catching you like this, but you did.

Jimin comes up about an hour later and crosses the room to stand in front of you where you appear already fast asleep. If he comes up even 5 minutes later, he might not be aware of it. Yet here he is, standing before your sleeping figure, aware that you cried yourself to sleep. What gave it away is your lashes that are still slightly wet and the tears that are almost dried on your cheeks.

Jimin’s a man of secret, private matters and nothing that exposes himself of the sort.

Yet with you, he feels exposed, barren and naked.

He sighs and bend down. “What do I do with you?” He whispers, his face close to yours, watching you for a few moments before he gets up and climbs on the bed next to you.

The next morning, when you wake up and heads down to the kitchen, you see dishes from last night were already washed clean by Jimin.

Link to Chapter 9

Posted on 210414 9:00PM

[asmo-ds]

(1) okay so mc and dia are married, this is their first christmas as a married couple but dia is feeling very overwhelmed and stressed out (they have a pact since they're married and mc can feel to an extent how dia feels bc of it) bc he's basically the king of hell, so they suggest they go and spend christmas in the human realm at mc's house. and since mc is an average person they do normal person things, and they're just very domestic and cute.

Home For The Holidays

Diavolo x MC Fluff

Word Count: 1468

a/n: I really hope you like this I really enjoyed writing it! It was very relaxing and nice to imagine :)

Summary: Though he wants to celebrate the human holiday, Diavolo fears he would be offending his kingdom by celebrating a holy day; so his lovely spouse, MC, suggests they return to their home for the Holidays so he can truly feel the Christmas spirit that humans feel annually

Diavolo stared over his kingdom with sorrow as he drank a cup of hot cocoa. Little did he know his spouse stood in the doorway watching the mopey behavior he’d been showing for days.

MC knew how badly Diavolo had wanted to celebrate Christmas in the Devildom, but they also knew he couldn’t celebrate the birth of a religious figure in Hell. As they made their way towards the large demon he heard their footsteps he shook his head and put on a fake smile.

“Dia, you seem troubled,” MC wraps themselves around him, nuzzling his voluptuous chest with their cheek.

“Do not worry, my love, I was just lost in my thoughts I suppose,” he sighs heavily.

“You know, even demon princes need vacations sometimes, perhaps you could finally see my home in the human world and we could spend Christmas there! What better way to understand the human holiday than witnessing humans celebrating it!” Mc leans back to look at him, keeping their forearms resting on his broad shoulders. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he lifts up his spouse, spinning the, in the air with joy.

“You’re absolutely right! Then it is decided! Tomorrow morning we leave for the human world!” Diavolo loudly proclaims as he leaves kisses all over MC’s face. “BARBATOS,” he calls as he runs off.

“If anything happens to him in the human world,” MC spins on their heel to look at Lucifer who had been standing on the other side of the wall eavesdropping, “the punishment will be severe, MC.”

“... Lucifer I’m married to him you don’t have to threaten me like when we first started dating.” -

The couple emerged from a portal in front of a tiny home that resides in a quiet neighborhood, snow filling their vision which caused MC to groan.

“Shit I can’t even see the driveway - here, Dia, take the bags and this key and head inside I have to shovel before anything else,” Diavolo stares at them, astonished. He nods and opens the front door while MC grabs their shovel and begins to move snow away from their car and their access to the street.

“Demons aren’t built for the cold... so I’ve never thought of coming here during winter,” Diavolo walks back outside murmuring to himself as he watches his lover shovel from afar. He crouches down sticking his hand in the white that coats the doorstep, “Snow...” His eyes glimmer with joy as he brushes the snow around with his bare hand.

“Dia, dear! You’ll catch a cold like that!” MC falls to their knees taking Diavolo’s snowy hand in their own. They lift it up to their face and breathe hot air across the back of his fingers, rubbing the rest with their own cold hands to create heat. Diavolo admires their rosy nose and cheeks as they sniffle occasionally before he looks down at the spot he swept away. ‘Home Sweet Home’ the mat that had been previously hidden read and he smiled as he looked back at his spouse who was now shivering as they attempted to warm them up. He nuzzled his cold nose against their own lovingly before leaving a soft kiss on their lips.

“Come on, let’s head inside!” Dia drags MC to their feet and heads inside, abandoning MC’s mission to shovel their driveway.

When they get inside Diavolo finally takes a look at MC’s small home.

“Wow it’s so...small,” he says, making MC blush and wave their hand in an embarrassed matter.

“Sorry I know it’s not much we can totally head back to the castle if you’d like haha!” MC nervously laughs before Diavolo puts a hand on their cheek, both still cold from the outdoors.

“No no, my love, it is wonderful! It feels so homey and less like a workspace made to hold the responsibility of a whole realm,” he laughs, “I feel more at home here than I do at the castle to be completely honest.” He takes in the scent of MC as it now surrounds him.

“This was my childhood home- my mother and father passed away when I was a teen so I’ve lived on my own until you summoned me for the exchange program,” MC blushes as they look around at the home they’d left behind a few years before. 

“So your entire life was spent in this one home?” Diavolo looks at MC with a small smile. “Well, I’m honored you allowed me into such an important piece of you,” He gives a big goofy grin, and MC giggles.

“We’re married you, dork, of course, I’m going to give you all of me - no matter how small of a piece it may be I will share it with you.” 

After putting their things away MC realizes they have no food that hasn’t expired in the three years they’d been gone. “Oh, do you want to see a human world Grocery store, Dia?” His face brightens up as he nods enthusiastically.

They make their way to the grocery store, Diavolo constantly pointing at random human world winter things and expressing his joy to see them in person.

“Ah, MC, what is this?” He smiles pointing at a candy cane a man in a Santa costume was giving out for donations to some charity.

“A candy cane! Here try it- it’s sweet!” MC exclaims- knowing damn well that it was minty as all hell and their oblivious husband was about to get a very cold mouth instead of the sweetness he was expecting.

Their plan worked as Diavolo immediately spat out the minty treat in surprise, “What is this flavor?! We don’t have things that make our mouths cold where I’m from!” He shouts -  grabbing his water bottle and chugging it and spitting it out as the ice-cold water made contact with his minty mouth.

The whole time Diavolo was flipping out MC was crying with laughter as they watched their husband try and figure out how to get the cold sensation out of his mouth.

After they had finished grocery shopping (which took hours as Diavolo kept asking what every single food was) they headed back to MC’s home and MC offered to cook him a human world dinner that was typically served on Christmas.

Diavolo sat at the dining table as MC placed a plate in front of him with various human world foods he had yet to see.

“MC, what is this?! This mushy buttery stuff?!” He asks through a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE BROWN MISHAPEN EGGS YOU GOT AT THE STORE TURNED INTO THIS?!”

“Yes Dia, they’re not eggs they’re potatoes and don’t talk with your mouth full,” MC giggles reaching over with a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth before placing a soft kiss on the freshly cleaned spot.

As they finished Diavolo offered to start a fire in MC’s fireplace as they set up blankets and pillows in front of the heat with a Christmas movie playing on the tv that hung above the fireplace. 

“Your cooking is very good, MC! Perhaps I should hire you to cook for me instead of Barbatos,” Diavolo pipes up with a hand on his tummy- rubbing the full organ softly.

“If you think my cooking is good wait until tomorrow. Tonight was Christmas eve so we stayed here but tomorrow you’ll get to meet my grandmother- she’s the one who taught me how to cook and I could never prepare.” Suddenly Diavolo sat straight up, staring down at the human.

“You really want me to meet your family?” He softly says looking as if he were about to cry. He was honestly so touched that MC trusted him enough to bring him home to their family.

“Yes of course! You’re my husband and I always talk about you, my grandfather seemed excited to meet you when I called yesterday to tell him I would be home this year-” MC is interrupted by slightly chapped lips on theirs.

They kiss the demon prince back and they lay there for a few minutes making out, relishing in each other’s passionate embrace.

Afterward, Diavolo lays back down, wrapping his arms around his spouse and holding them close. “MC, I am so completely and utterly in love with you, I couldn’t be happier to call you mine. Thank you for allowing me to come here with you. I haven’t felt so relaxed since my father left me as a young boy to carry the responsibility of all evil. I hope you will allow me to join you like this every year.”

“Of course, Diavolo. For the rest of my life and after I swear I will show you what its like to be relaxed and truly loved,” they respond with a big yawn at the end.

After a few moments he looks down to see his lover fast asleep with small snores falling from their slightly parted lips. He chuckles softly and brushes some hair out of their eyes before placing a kiss on their forehead and closing his own eyes, falling asleep to the sound of a dying fire and the credits of a Christmas movie.

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.

Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee

Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;

A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~

(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)

.

You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.

The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.

But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.

Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.

You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.

The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.

You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.

And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.

You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.

The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?

That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.

“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.

You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?

Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.

Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.

No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.

Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.

Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.

And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.

And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...

You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.

So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.

And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.

The realisation haunts you every night.

.

It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.

Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.

It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.

And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.

To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.

Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.

“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.

“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”

“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion

You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”

“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.

“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”

Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.

Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.

You’ll be okay.

You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.

“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”

“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”

“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.

“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.

“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.

Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.

Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.

Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.

Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”

“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.

“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…

“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.

“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.

An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-

“Lotta…”

“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.

“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.

This can’t be happening.

“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...

At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.

“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.

What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.

Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.

The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.

It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.

Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.

Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.

Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.

And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.

You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.

As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.

“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.

Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.

What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?

He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.

You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.

“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.

Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.

Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.

God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.

Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.

But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.

He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.

“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.

A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.

Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...

Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.

Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend

Strawberry… Love…

“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-

The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?

You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.

Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...

But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.

How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.

Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.

“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.

But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.

But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.

“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.

“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.

“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.”  As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”

As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.

“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.

This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.

The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.

“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”

As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.

Reconcile.

Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?

And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.

“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.

“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”

The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.

This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.

Do you want to talk it out?

The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.

The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”

“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.

It’s better this way.

And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.

.

You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.

The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.

“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.

“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.

“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”

“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”

Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.

“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”

Nothing but heavy breathing.

“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.

Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.

“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”

But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.

“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.

The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.

You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.

As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.

“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.

Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.

You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.

But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.

Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.

It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.

Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.

You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.

When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.

You are sharing a…

Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.

When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”

“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”

And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.

“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.

“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”

You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.

Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.

Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.

You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.

You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.

“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”

“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.

This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.

Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.

Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.

You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.

It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.

“What?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.

He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.

“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.

“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.

Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”

You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.

He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.

God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.

Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.

With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?

What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.

So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.

.

Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.

You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.

In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.

Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.

A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.

This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.

You glance up, you can’t help it.

And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.

“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.

Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.

You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.

And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.

It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.

“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.

But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.

When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.

Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.

You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.

It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.

You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.

You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.

But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.

.

You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.

It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.

After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.

It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.

Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.

Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.

The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.

“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.

“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”

“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.

“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.

“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.

The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.

“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.

Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.

Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.

“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.

“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.

‘Things’, meaning you.

When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.

“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.

You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.

“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.

When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.

.

Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.

This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.

To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.

All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.

Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?

The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.

You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.

And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…

Taehyung regrets everything.

How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?

All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?

Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?

It can, and it did.

Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.

The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.

Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.

Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.

Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.

“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”

Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.

The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.

The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”

Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.

No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?

You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.

Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.

As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.

Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.

And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.

You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.

Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.

“Are we just not going to speak?”

His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.

“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.

Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.

“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.

“I mean-”

“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.

He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”

It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”

It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.

“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.

“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?

“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”

You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?

“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.

“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”

Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.

“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.

But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.

“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.

“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”

Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.

“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.

“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.

A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.

“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”

Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.

“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.

“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.

The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he’s okay with that.

He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.

.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.

Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.

Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.

You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.

He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.

And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.

The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”

“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.

“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”

There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.

“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.

Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”

“No! You’ll be cold.”

“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”

You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”

Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.

“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.

It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.

His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.

Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?

Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.

It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.

Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.

Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”

You stop breathing.

Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.

He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.

You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?

Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.

“Yes…?”

“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”

“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.

Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”

You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.

“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.

You could say no, right? Just say no.

But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.

“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.

Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.

When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.

He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.

Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.

Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.

“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.

No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.

Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.

Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.

It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.

What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.

You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?

With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.

But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...

The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.

You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.

You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-

“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.

Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.

Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.

At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.

But God, you fucking miss this.

You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.

But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.

So what now?

“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.

“Hmmmm..?��� He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.

“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.

Fuck.

You can’t.

You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.

“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.

“You’re hard.”

Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.

Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?

Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.

How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…

“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.

“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.

“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.

His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.

Another pulse down there.

You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.

When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.

What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.

Fuck.

You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.

Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.

Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

.

The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.

He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.

You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.

Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-

You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.

You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?

“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?

“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.

“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?

“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.

The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”

“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.

You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?

“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.

Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”

“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.

“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”

It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?

“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.

A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”

From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”

“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.

But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.

Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…

Kiss him.

You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.

“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.

A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.

Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.

It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.

Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.

You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.

.

It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.

You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”

Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.

“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”

The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.

“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”

Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”

Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”

“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”

“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”

Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.

But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.

You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.

If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.

Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.

End this once and for all with a bang.

“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”

When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”

As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”

He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”

Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.

“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.

“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.

Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.

Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.

You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.

Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.

This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.

Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.

Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.

A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”

You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.

You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.

So you just lean down to kiss him.

People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.

And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.

Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.

But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.

So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.

Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”

Baby.

That is your undoing.

His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.

Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.

You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”

The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.

Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.

The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.

Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.

But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.

You stop.

And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.

You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.

It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.

It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”

When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...

“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.

“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out. 

“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.

“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”

“Then don’t.”

Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.

“Then don’t live without me.”

Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.

All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?

“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.

“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”

You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.

“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.

“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.

“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.

Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.

His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.

When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.

“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.

“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.

“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.

“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.

“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.

Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”

“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.

“F-Fine.”

He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.

“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.

You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.

Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.

To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.

You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.

A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.

The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.

When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.

The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.

“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.

“You should be scared.”

Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”

Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.

“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.

You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.

“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.

You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.

“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”

When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.

“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”

“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.

“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.

With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.

“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”

Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.

Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.

An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.

Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”

One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.

His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.

It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.

And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.

“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”

His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.

“No?”

Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.

“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.

“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.

It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.

His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.

His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.

Transcendental.

When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.

“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”

The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.

You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”

Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.

“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.

“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.

“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”

He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.

.

A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.

Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.

Love you!

- Kristy

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27/04/20

© Copyright 2020

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[bqstqnbruin]

I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair

I reached that 500 followers everyone! So in celebration of all the people who I love dearly, this is the first part of my 10 things I hate about you series that I’m doing. 

Heads up that the next part might take a while to post, especially since I’ve been posting the work I get each week, y’all see the amount of stuff I have to do. Part two is already started, but it’s just gonna be a minute before it’s ready.

I hope you guys like it, and thank you again for 500 followers 💛💛💛

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

________________________

“How long are we going to keep dancing around the fact that you and I are meant for each other?” 

“How long is it going to take you to understand that I hate so much about you?”

-------------

“Alright, chica, are we meeting the guys there, or are we stopping by their place? What’s the plan for tonight?” Evelina asks, sitting down on the couch next to you.

“Last I heard, we were meeting them at their place but if you don’t get ready fast enough, we have to meet them there,” you tell her, lifting her off the couch before she can get too comfortable and make you late.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, your other best friend texting you a stupid meme that he found online, followed by a sexual innuendo that was normal for your friendship. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how he talked to you, a stupid smile covering your face as you drag Evelina to her room in the hopes that she’ll get ready in a timely manner.

“Is that your man?” she asks, sitting down in front of her mirror, hopefully, to start her makeup. 

“He’s not my man,” you protest, not tearing your eyes off your phone, responding to him with an equally snarky and somewhat crude response.

“You’re sexting him as we speak. I can tell, you have that stupid grin on your face that you only get when it’s him replying to you,” she fires back, starting on her makeup. God you hoped she wouldn’t put much on tonight; you were supposed to be meeting the guys in half an hour at one of their houses. 

Her comment, however, makes you look up from your phone. “I don’t think you know what sexting is. I am fully clothed. This is not sexting.”

“I will look up the definition of sexting and make us late. But, are you really wearing that tonight?” she asks you, making eye contact with you through her mirror just in time for her to see you roll your eyes. “Take something from my closet; if you’re going to see him tonight then you need to be wearing something better. You get up from her bed in a huff, going to her closet to try to find something there that was remotely your style. Evelina’s clothes were great, they just weren’t things that you would wear. “And you don’t need clothing off just to consider it sexting.”

“He’s literally just my other best friend. Maybe you’re jealous that I’m closer to him than I am to you!” you yell to her from her closet. “And hurry up with the makeup or I’m picking out your outfit.” 

“That’s mean,” she says, a slight dig on your sense of style, or lack thereof. “I just need my eye makeup, calm down.” She leaves you in silence to rummage through her wardrobe. You hope that her non-follow up meant that she had dropped the conversation topic about your admittedly weird relationship with him. 

She eventually meets you in her closet, pulling out the perfect outfit for herself in a matter of seconds while you struggle to find something. There was a reason why you were wearing the jeans and sweater you already had on; you didn’t like anything else at this point. “What about this?” she asks, handing you a crop top and a flannel to go over it. You give her an unsure look, not really wanting to change at it was. “Come on!” she begs, “This is so much sexier than what you have on now.”

“Why do I need to be sexy?” you argue, taking the clothes from her and changing into them anyway. 

She rolls her eyes, knowing that the two of you have the same conversation nearly every week. “You literally sext him constantly,” she repeats in a sing-songy voice. 

“It’s not sexting!” you say at the same time, her mimicking you with a slightly higher pitched voice than the one you already make. “You clearly like him. You never come home with me when we go out with them.”

“Maybe that’s because I go home with someone else.” 

She laughs, calling your bluff, “You go home with the same curly-haired boy every single week. Admit it: you’re in love with Matthew and he’s in love with you.” 

“We’re. Just. Friends,” you argue again, going out to see how the outfit looks on you. “Are you sure this looks alright?” As much as you hated the idea of the crop top, revealing as much skin as you did, she was right that it looked better on you than the sweater.

“Something’s missing,” she says, standing behind you. “And you literally send me a Snapchat from his bed every weekend. He’s never wearing a shirt in those snaps, I might add.”

She leaves you to stare at yourself in the mirror. She could not be more wrong about your feelings for him: he was your best friend, that was it. “He just sleeps without a shirt, the same way you don’t wear pants when you sleep. That’s right, I know you put those shorts on when you wake up.”

“We’re roommates. You know everything about me. That’s not a weird thing to know,” she says. “Why are you so stubborn to admit that you like him?”

“I hate way more about him than I like,” you try to counter. The same argument every week meant that you were running out of original ideas about how to tell her the same thing.

She comes out of her closet, holding a pair of black wedge booties, shoving them in your hands. “Name one thing you hate about him.”

“I hate the way he wears his hair. He’s got amazing curls and yet he lets them hang over that weird side shave of his? Either have it shaved like he did when he was drafted, or go full curls. Pick one.”

She rolls her eyes, getting her own shoes on as your phone buzzes on her bed. “That’s weak. He’s also texted you five times in the last ten minutes.”

“Probably because he’s wondering why we’re running late, even though he knows you’re never on time for anything.” She tosses you your phone. You see the messages asking you where you are, telling you to just meet them there because the guys got too antsy waiting for the two of you to be on time for once. “That’s something I hate about you: you’re always late,” you tell her, hoping that she would drop the subject.

“Join the club. So does my mom.” She gets up, pulling you up with her and admiring the two of you in the mirror before turning to face you. “If you can think of ten things that you hate about Matthew Tkachuk, ten legitimate things that overpower your ability to love him, then I will drop the subject of you and him dating entirely until you bring it up yourself.”

You look at her, trying to figure out if she were serious or not. You loved Evelina more than anyone, definitely more than you loved Matthew, who you didn’t love at all. But her biggest fault was her constant need to gossip. “Does the hair thing count? And how long do I have to come up with the list?”

“Fine. And I’ll give you a month, starting now. In one month, if you don’t have nine more reasons for hating him, then you’re going to hear about how you and him should be together until you get married. If not, then you have to ask him out on a date.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to have to ask him out if you can’t give her the ten satisfactory reasons. But, come on, you could think of so many things you hated about him, just none are coming to mind. “Deal,” you decide, grabbing her hand to lead her out the door.

“You will get married to him, though. I’ll be maid of honor obviously.”

“Keep this up and you won’t even be invited, and neither will Matthew because I won’t be marrying him.”

“We both know that you’re going home with him tonight,” she says, referencing the point she made earlier.

You couldn’t go home with Matthew tonight, and you knew it. If you didn’t have someone else to go home with, then you would have to, though. Or you could just go to your actual home. Pulling up your messages, you type out a message to Matthew: ‘Unless we can both find someone we’re interested in, then we go home with each other alright?’

‘So, both of us go home with someone or we go home with each other?’

‘Yeah, sound good?’ You didn’t care if he wanted that or not. You had to convince Evelina that you weren’t interested in Matthew, first with the list, second with going home with someone else. 

‘Just come home with me, like you always do. We can do something different tonight if you’re interested?’ he replies, earning an eye roll from you. 

‘Like what?’

‘We obviously both know what we want from each other’

‘Haha, no.’

‘Sad but fine :(’ he sends. Staring at his phone, the three dots appearing and disappearing as you try to find the words to say to him, he wanted nothing more than to be the one who took you home tonight. 

You and Evelina get to the bar, not really wanting to see the boys. As soon as Matthew saw you, you knew he would have his hands all over you, but that was it. He would never try to kiss you or anything, even if he wanted to. Even if you were oblivious to the fact that he wanted to.

The entire thing was just confusing. You loved the relationship you had with him, but you knew it was never going to go anywhere. You didn’t want it to. You just had to find someone else to go home with tonight. Ideally, you would fall in love with them and never have to think about Matthew as more than your friend for the rest of your life. 

Scanning the bar, you couldn’t see anyone that remotely interested you, other than the usual suspects. The boys had led you to a bar that you’ve frequented enough times that the bartenders knew your drink order on sight. It also meant that you’ve seen the patrons of the bar enough times to know that unless someone new walked through that entrance door tonight, you were going home with Matthew. Unless you could convince one of his teammates to go home with. Maybe you could go home with Elias? Or Noah, worst case. 

The same group of friends that was there every weekend was sitting in the front corner, a group of college students who were probably underage sitting in the back, some wine moms probably talking about how horrible their husbands are for buying the wrong brand of designer purse for their birthday presents were sitting in the front. The guys and now Evelina for that matter were nowhere to be seen, meaning they were in the back room, probably hoarding the pool table, like they did every time you guys came here. Not seeing the guys also meant not seeing Matthew. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t see you. As soon as Evelina bounced into the room, his mind was occupied with the thought of finding you. Then when she told him that you were dressed in some of her clothing? He could feel himself going crazy trying to picture what you were wearing, knowing some of the outfits he had seen your roommate in. All he had to do was convince you not to go home with another guy. That was going to be easy, right? He stands by the bar, out of your line of site, just to admire how you looked. Evelina knew damn well what she was doing when she picked that outfit for you. She had to know seeing you in that would drive Matthew crazy like it was. 

You nearly forgot about him, thinking only of your options of who you could go home with when you felt him come up behind you, your entire body tensing up as his hands snaked their way around your waist, pulling you close to him. Your breath stopped when his thumb hooked onto the belt loop of your jeans. He leaned in, his hot breath sending a chill down your spine, letting out a whisper, “Just come home with me tonight. I’m gonna make you cum so hard.”

You exhale, rolling your eyes, running your tongue over your teeth. You knew he would say something like that to you; it was the exact type of statement that you would text each other constantly. He couldn’t see the smirk on your face that you know would drive him crazy. “What, to my senses?” you whisper back. His hands drop long enough for you to turn around to face him, draping your arms on his shoulders just for him to pull you back in to him, leaving no space to escape with your back pressed to the bar counter. “Don’t be crude. You know our deal, Matthew. We just made it, you can’t be that forgetful.”

“And who do you see here that you would be remotely interested in besides me?” he teases. “The guy macking on a girl on the other end of the bar, or the college kids who may or may not be legal?”

“The night is young, Rat Man,” you call him the nickname you knew he despised, ruffling your hands in his hair, tangling your fingers in the curls. “Maybe instead of looking at me, try going for those girls that just came in already can’t seem to keep their eyes off you.” You motion to the table of girls sending you daggers just over Matthew’s shoulders. 

“Why would I do that when I have you already right in my arms?”

You lean in, running your hands down his body. You could feel his heart racing at your touch, knowing you were driving him crazy with every word you uttered, “Because we both know that’s not something we do,” you tease him, getting an idea as the guys filter into the main bar area. “Worst-case scenario, I’ll go home with Elias.” 

He pulls away from you, trying to hide the pain he was feeling from coming through on his face. “Why would you do that?” 

“Have you seen Lindy? You know I’ve always had a crush on him, why not act on that?”

“Because I would hate that?” he questions. You had to know he would hate that. There’s no way you could be so oblivious to the fact that his ‘jokingly sexual texts’ weren’t joking for the most part, right? 

“Maybe that’s why I do it,” you tease. Nope, you were oblivious. Even though Evelina had told you earlier, you thought she was lying. “So, where is he?”

Matthew bites his lip, debating on telling you where his teammate was or not. He couldn’t let you go home with Elias, but you know he’s single. He could just tell you that he didn’t come tonight, but then what happens when you spot him. What if he just said Lindy had started seeing someone recently? “I don’t know,” is all he can tell you. He can’t lie to you. Not if this was something that had the potential to make you happy. 

“Then I’m gonna go find him,” you say, kissing him on the cheek and weaseling your way out from his grip. You were determined not to go home with him tonight. Evelina was wrong about the two of you being in love, and this was the first step in proving it. Actually, the second, the list was the first step. You just needed nine more things.

“What the hell was that?” Matthew hears a voice snap him out of the trance you sent him into while he watched you walk away to find his teammate. He looks next to him, Evelina sitting there. He could not read the girl to save his life: was she mad? Was she actually confused? The girl only showed emotion with her voice. Either that or Matthew was just oblivious when it came to reading her.

“What are you talking about?” he pretends not to know, signaling to the bartender to get him another drink. If he had to watch you go home with his friend, he might as well be able to forget about it come morning. 

She rolls her eyes at him. “I just had this conversation with her. How are you both so dumb?” she says off to the side before sighing and looking at Matthew, “You clearly both love each other.” 

Matthew looks at her, the panic written all over his face. “Wh-what?” he stammers out. No one knew he’s liked you for a while now. At least, he hadn’t told anyone. Was he that obvious? Of course he was obvious, he blatantly flirted with you all the time. “We are not in love with each other.”

“Oh, stop lying, everyone but Y/N knows that’s not true. You two will be going out on a date by the end of the month,” she says, staring down at her drink. The confidence in her voice was baffling, considering Matthew didn’t even think he could ever convince you to actually date him. How did Evelina do it? 

“You’re one of the first people to tell me that I’m an idiot so I really need you to give me more explanation. We both know I can never figure out what you’re saying to me.”

She sighs, taking a long sip of her drink. “I made a bet with her: if she can come up with ten things that she hates about you by the end of the month, then I’ll stop talking about you two for the rest of your lives. If not, then y’all are going on a date.”

Matthew could feel himself starting to panic. “Only ten things? Are you joking? There are at least five guys in the NHL who could think of fifty. My own teammates probably have thousands. My dad probably hates more things about me than he likes!” he starts to spit out. This was not going to end well, and he knew it.

“Oh, come on,” she says, rolling her eyes yet again. “If she really didn’t like you, then she would have come up with something better than the way you shave the side of your head like that.” 

He subconsciously lifts his hand to run it along the shaved sides she was talking about. “That’s all she could think of?”

“That’s it. I know Y/N better than anyone: she’s going to try to think of ten things and she’s not going to come up with them and she’s finally going to realize that she loves you.”

“This is either going to be great or awful.”

“Which one do you want it to be?”

“Great, obviously, but how are you sure it’ll end up with the two of us together?”

She looks at him and just smiles. He couldn’t tell if it was because she was trying not to laugh at how dumb he was or because she was genuinely happy or hopeful. “She’s going to figure out that you like because and love despite. It’s a saying for a reason.” 

Before he can say anything, the two of them are interrupted by the sound of you and the rest of the boys roaring with laughter. They both find the group through the crowd to see them all huddled around Elias going on a rant about something. Evelina drags Matthew over, plopping him down next to you, leaving you sandwiched between him and Elias.

“What’s going on?” Evelina asks once he finishes his rant.

“We’re playing ‘don’t get me started,’” you explain, subconsciously settling into Matthew as he drapes his arm behind you. “Elias was just talking about the idea of a ‘puck bunny.’” Evelina raises her eyebrow, egging you on to continue, “He thinks the concept is dumb and that women should be allowed to like the sport without being accused of wanting sex and all that jazz. We love a feminist,” you coo, playfully nudging Elias as he smiles. Matthew could feel himself going crazy at the site of it, putting his arm around you as if to mark you as his. 

Evelina raises her glass, “Thank god, you’re a good man, Lindy,” toasting to him before setting her glass down. “Who’s next?” 

“I guess it’s me?” you say. “Someone give me a topic.”

“Gifted Education Program in US education,” Evelina says, already knowing your feelings about it. The alcohol in your system was only going to make the rant better. 

“Don’t get me started about the Gifted Education Program,” you start, already feeling yourself get heated even though there was a smile on your face, playing perfectly into the game that you and the guys had started to play. “It had to be one of the worst things, if not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And all because of a fucking standardized test that I took when I was seven years old. What the hell kind of school system tells a child they’re ‘gifted’ because of a stupid test that they don’t care about? I mean, if Matthew here went to school with me and took the same test,” you start, looking over at him, feeling the heat rush to your face as you prepared for his reaction to what you were about to say, “He could have guessed on the entire test and been labelled as ‘gifted.’ Does he seem like someone who would be ‘gifted’ academically?”

The guys laughed around you as the two of you just stared at each other. Part of him hated how easily you were able to chirp him, knowing that he could never find it in him to chirp back. 

“I mean, what the hell does the gifted program even do? It pulled me out of class and made me miss instruction time which I then had to teach myself what I missed. And for what? To be a defense lawyer for the Big Bad Wolf from the Three Little Pigs? I didn’t even get to plan what I said by myself: I was given a script and had to memorize it. How is that gifted education? What does that promote? When we read The Indian in the Cupboard? When we did math problems that we were told high schoolers had issues solving? Or, how about the way we wrote a newspaper every single week but since we only worked on it for thirty minutes, we never published a single issue. I don’t even know what my section of the paper was.”

You keep going on about the gifted program, the guys laughing more and more. Matthew couldn’t focus on what you were saying, he was too busy focused on your hand, which you didn’t even realize kept grazing his thigh, driving him crazy, just like everything else you did. He pulls out his phone, searching for Evelina’s contact. 

‘Are you sure this list is going to work in my favor?’

She snaps out of listening to your rant, trying to catch her breath as she looked at her phone. Looking between you and Matthew, she smiles at him, the first look he was able to properly read: it will.