#vibrating my organs about this fic/au

[coreplush]

as you can see i am having the normalest time of it right now (trod owns my entire soul)

[silvergyus]

hii!! hope ur doing great!!

i was going to ask for some fluffy hueningkai smut for the valentines day event :)) i need more fics about him being infatuated w chubby women?

lessons in chemistry

pairing: hueningkai x fem!reader

summary: kai has been harboring a not-so-secret crush on his study buddy all year. what will happen when he gets an unexpected text asking if you can stay the night?

warnings: college au, friends to lovers, only one bed trope, reader is a few years older than kai ("noona" is not used), kai is a lil pervy, chubby!reader, reader's pubes are mentioned exactly once, experienced!reader, a teeeeny bit of dubcon (just over the clothes teasing), fingering (y/n receiving), protected sex

word count: 5,200+

author’s note: requested as part of my valentine's event 🏹💘 tysm for requesting!! I got a lil obsessed with this one and I really hope you like it!

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Kai had been infatuated with you since the start of last semester. The two of you sat near one another for a large science lecture. It was a gen-ed filler class for the both of you that you were just trying to get out of the way. Kai was a first year music major and you had just switched majors from fine arts to liberal arts and suddenly found yourself in need of a few more required science credits.

He fell in love with you the first moment he saw you, sitting down a row ahead of him in the dim lecture hall, the low light illuminating your features. Twice a week for three weeks he admired you fondly from his unofficial assigned seat. His notes were often lacking- sentences missing from the slides that he forgot to copy down while lost in the thought of you instead. You were the highlight of the dull class for him. He’d never forget the way his heart almost leaped out of his chest when you finally turned around to smile at him. Your smile was warm and inviting as you asked him to be your partner for an assignment. He’d never been particularly suave, but the stumbling, stuttered “yes, of course” he replied with was enough to make him want to curl up in a ball. But you just giggled, your laugh like music, accepting it in stride.

From that day on he was your study buddy, never missing a library date. The two of you worked on assignments together, studied for exams and shared snacks late into the night.

You grew close over the course of the semester, inside jokes blossoming between the two of you. You were older, more organized than he was. You knew your way around campus and the city and you were eager to offer your advice. You laughed at his jokes and loved to hear the recordings he made of his guitar and piano playing. As friendship grew between the two of you, so did his feelings for you.

Anxiety swirled in his head as winter finals approached, unsure of whether or not you’d be in the same lab section as him in the spring. He worried that if you weren’t, he’d lose his chance to talk to you. When you told him your schedule- classes aligning perfectly with his- he almost hugged you then. Relief flooded his chest, thankful for the chance to see you twice a week for an additional four months.

His friends had caught on to the fact that he was crushing on someone; they saw the way his eyes lit up when certain notifications flashed on his screen. They had been nudging him to invite you to study at the dorm, even promised to clean it so he wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring you by. But you lived off campus in your own apartment. Why would you ever want to hang out in his shared dormitory? No, he’d just keep doing what he was doing: being your cute and reliable study buddy.

----

You knew Kai had a crush on you.

It was obvious in the way he texted you back immediately, even when you knew he’d swipe away notifications for the rest of his friends. Obvious in the way he shifted in his seat if you leaned over his shoulder to look at his notes. Obvious in the way he practically vibrated out of the chair the first time you decided to sit next to him in the lecture hall instead of a row ahead. He always brought your favorite snacks and packed your favorite drinks when you met up for study sessions. You couldn’t remember telling him what your favorites were either, he just paid attention like that.

You didn’t mind, in fact, you liked having the cute boy’s attention. Kai was tall and broad and dorky and shy, but you had gotten him to open up to you, bloom like a flower into sharing his silly and passionate self. Kai was a good friend and a bit of an ego boost as well. Here was this tall boy with sharp cheekbones who cared about your thoughts and opinions. So, so what if you caught him staring down your shirt when he was supposed to be copying your notes? It's not like you hadn't stared at his ass in his jeans more than a few times.

And truth be told, you really did need him as a study buddy.

----

The cool of winter was slipping away to spring, first flowers peaking their heads out of the damp earth. Kai was losing his mind.

His friends had figured out more about you and the extent of his devastating crush and were making bets on how he would fumble you. Beomgyu had struck a particularly sensitive nerve with the simplicity of his bet: that Kai would just never get the nerve to ask you out for more than a library study session. It was stupid and it wouldn’t normally piss him off, but he was scared that they were right. He didn’t want to miss his chance with you.

You had become really important to him over the course of the school year and he couldn’t stand the thought of you just being a class friend, someone he lost after finals ended. He already experienced that anxiety when he worried about your spring schedule, but had lucked out despite his inaction. He wasn’t sure what he’d do now that the end of the school year was approaching.

----

The soft patter of rain filled the spaces in between notes as Kai worked on his piano final composition. He knew how the piece started, and how it ended, but he struggled to find the perfect rhythm to pull it together. He had been locked in his room for hours, long fingers dancing over the keys again and again, trying out new arrangements and then scrapping them when they weren’t right.

Nothing was right. Dejected, he pushed his chair away from his keyboard, pulling off his headphones and huffing as he reached for his phone, needing a distraction. He frowned when he saw two missed calls from you and a string of worried texts.

Hey soooo….

I left my bag in my ta’s office and I they won’t answer any of my emails and I don’t have their number

and my keys were in my bag….

and now I can’t get in my apartment 😅

and all my other friends are out of town..

can I please stay with you?

Kai called you immediately. You picked up on the second ring.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Kai! Oh my gosh you called me back! Thank you so much, I wasn’t sure-”

“You can stay here.” He said quickly.

“You mean it?”

“Yes.” He was organizing his room as you spoke, throwing dirty clothes in the hamper and wrapping up charging cables. “Do you know which building I’m in?”

“I think so. I’m actually not too far away.”

Kai could hear the rain as you spoke, muffling your voice. “Oh gosh, do you have an umbrella?”

You laughed sarcastically. “Haha, no, but I’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you come down to let me in?”

“Yes, yes I’ll be there. Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“No, uh, it’s actually getting kinda really wet. I’ll just meet you in the lobby.”

“Okay, stay safe. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

You hung up and Kai immediately ran to his roommates to fill them in.

----

You were soaked head to toe when you walked into the small lobby of Kai's dorm building. He was nervously shifting his weight between his feet as he waited for you to arrive. His voice was laced with worry when he ran over to you, asking how you were doing the second you walked through the double doors. His worry was cute. You liked how much he cared.

“I’m okay, just cold.”

The elevator ride up to the dorm Kai shared with Taehyun and Beomgyu was filled with a charged silence, broken only by the patter of droplets falling from your clothes onto the floor. You hadn’t met either of his roommates yet, but you’d heard stories. You weren’t sure if you’d meet either of them tonight either, but all you really wanted to do was change out of your soaked clothes and go to bed.

Kai apologized for things being messy before opening the door, but he had no need. The small shared space was cleaner than expected for three college-aged boys. Each had their own room and then a shared kitchen and bathroom. You followed Kai to his narrow bedroom.

His standard-issue twin xl was filled with plushies, a grey bunny which was clearly the oldest and most well-loved sat in a place of honor in the very front. It made you smile, this display of softness. Beside the bed was his desk and keyboard just beyond that. The space was cozy with the low light of a singular bedside lamp.

You turned around to face the room’s owner where he stood in the doorway, suddenly awkward in his own space. “Cute room. I like your plushies.”

Red blush immediately tinged his ears. His eyes fell to the floor as he awkwardly laughed. “Haha, yeah um, I can move those.”

“You don’t have to.” The silence between you was still charged from the elevator, but you could barely focus on it with the way the cold rain had settled into your bones. “Um, is it okay if I take a shower? I’m freezing.”

“Oh! Uh, yeah- of course! I have an extra towel. Do you need clothes?” He began to rifle through his drawers. “I think mine will fit you. What do you want?” He was cute the way he looked over at you as if picturing each item in the drawers on your body.

----

Kai sat on his bed anxiously bouncing his leg as he waited for you to finish in the bathroom. He was trying his best to suppress the thought of you in the shower, water falling over your curves. He shook his head, trying and failing to shake out the thought of the river of soapy bubbles running between your breasts, trailing down over your plush tummy. But even if he shook that thought, there was still the fact that you would exit the shower and put on his clothes and then get in his bed. His head was spinning with possibilities.

His leg was bouncing fast enough for it to start to cramp by the time you walked into his room. His ears burned as he took you in. His dark pullover clung to your figure, settling at your hips. You smiled at him before turning to hang your towel on the back of his door. Oh no, he thought. He had fished an old pair of basketball shorts out of his drawer for you to sleep in since your clothes were hung precariously in the bathroom in an attempt to dry them. The fabric was stretched tight around your hips and ass, leaving little to his imagination. He stifled a groan at the sight when his hoodie rode up to show the dimples on your back as you reached up to throw the damp towel over the hook.

You looked so good in his clothes it made his head spin. He wanted to see you in his clothes all the time, wanted you to show everyone you were his. Wanted you to be his for real.

He was sure he looked like a wreck when you turned around, cocking your head to ask what he was thinking. “I um, did you- did you eat?”

“Yeah, I ate dinner before I saw my TA.” You sat down beside him on the bed. He could feel the warmth radiating off your skin from your hot shower. “Actually, um, I know it’s kind of early, but this whole thing has been really stressful and I’m just really tired.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. I’m sorry this happened to you.” He practically vibrated when you rested your head against his shoulder, not even caring if his shirt got wet.

“Not your fault.” Your voice was soft. “Thank you for letting me crash. I can’t tell you how much it means.”

“It’s no problem. I’d do anything if you asked.” Kai wasn’t sure how much he wanted you to read into that sentence.

----

The two of you talked for a bit before a big yawn prompted Kai to ask you about sleeping. He insisted that he’d sleep on the floor for you to take his bed. You argued back that you could take the floor since it was his room and just one night wouldn’t hurt you but he wouldn’t budge. You finally conceded and found yourself tucked under his covers next to his army of plushies.

The room was dark except for the dim glow of campus peeking through the blinds and the multicolor lights of his pc that lit the space with a shifting neon hue. You rolled over to peak over the edge. Kai was laying on the floor face up, hands over his chest. He was wide awake and his eyes immediately found yours. “Hey,” he whispered, “you should be sleeping.”

You couldn’t stand the fact that he was sleeping on the hard floor, shitty dorm carpet against his back and a throw blanket the only thing to keep him warm. This was his room after all. And beyond the injustice of kicking him out onto the cool floor, you didn’t want to let the opportunity to be wrapped up in his strong arms pass you by. “Can you please come up here?” You could see his eyes widen and before he had the chance to argue you used the line he couldn’t refuse. “I’m still really cold.”

He sputtered cutely, looking for words. “Are you sure?”

You kept your voice quiet as you pleaded; “Please Kai.”

He didn’t say anything as he stood up and climbed into the small bed. You moved to the far edge of the mattress, positioning yourself against the wall. You wondered how he slept comfortably here each night, his large frame filled up most of the narrow space, and you doubted that his feet weren’t hanging off the edge. With your body taking up space too, there was no way for the two of you to not touch.

Kai was shy with his actions, reverting back to the unsure boy you met at the beginning of the school year. “Um, uh- is this okay?” He asked as he gingerly settled his arm across your waist.

“Yes, perfect.” You backed up to snuggle into his broad chest. Heat radiated off of him, warming you instantly. “Mmmm, you’re so warm.”

----

Your body fit against Kai's like his matching puzzle piece. His arm slotted perfectly in the space between your tummy and chest. He felt like he was made to hold you just like this. This moment was perfect, everything he could've asked for after pining after you for months. He could breathe in the scent of your skin and hair, still slightly damp from the rain and shower. Here you were, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. He was on cloud nine. Everything was perfect.

Except for the fact that you kept wriggling your hips against him.

You had to be doing it on purpose. As far as he could tell you were sleeping, but the subtle movements of your ass against his front were driving him crazy. He had backed his hips up as far as he could given the narrow twin bed, but yours had followed. He prayed that you were asleep and wouldn't notice his half-hard dick pressed up against you.

He thought he was in the clear, your hips had slowed and he thought he'd make it through the night without embarrassing himself. He could do this- sleep with you in his arms then get up and jerk off in the morning before you woke up and it would be like nothing happened, like he wasn't cuddled up next to you thinking about how his hand was so, so close to your chest and your ass was so warm against him. He'd savor this moment for what it was and then make his move later. But then you spoke.

“Kai,” your whisper pierced through his thoughts like a hot knife, “are you hard for me?”

His mind blanked. Fuck, he was really in it now.

“It's okay if you are.” Your hand found his, drawing gentle circles on his palm. You continued playing with his fingers as the silence stretched, charged and electric between you. Kai didn't breathe, hanging on for what would happen next. “You know, I've seen the way you look at me.” You wiggled your hips again, slow and deliberate. “Saw the way you blushed when I came in here with your clothes on.”

It felt like Kai was on fire. His body blushed and he could feel the blood rushing to his cock. He felt guilty, caught in the act. “I know you have a crush on me Kai.”

He wanted to protest, began to speak a strangled “I-” but you cut him off.

“I have a little crush on you too.”

Your words knocked the air out of Kai's lungs. His head spun. You were in his bed, in his clothes, holding his hand, pressing your ass against his dick on purpose and you liked him back. He felt like he was short circuiting.

He could hear the smile in your voice when you whispered again. “You can touch me if you want.”

----

The silence stretched between you longer than you expected. Part of you worried that you had misread everything, that you had crossed a line. But after what felt like eons Kai's hand finally moved.

His fingers twitched in your grasp, fingers splaying out and holding onto your tummy over the sweatshirt. You were silent as he began to slowly move down, curiously slipping under the thick hem. You drew in a breath quickly when his fingers brushed against your skin. His fingers were slightly calloused from playing guitar, the rough pads of his fingers leaving goosebumps where they explored over your tummy.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice was low in your ear as his hand moved closer to your chest.

You stayed quiet; he ran a finger over the underside of your breast. His movements were slow, cautiously exploring your flesh. He finally reached up to cup your breast, his big hand igniting your nerves where he touched. For a moment he just held you like that, as if he was committing the feel to memory. His first squeeze was more for him than for you, but it felt damn good nonetheless. You let out a soft sigh, relishing in the feeling. He squeezed again, spurred on by your encouragement.

“What do you like?” He asked. You whispered back how you liked to be touched and he complied, rubbing and pinching at your nipples while you sighed again. You could feel him fully hard in his sweatpants behind you, the heat of his length and the teasing of your chest making you grow wet in his shorts.

“Kai,” you whined, growing impatient with his touches, wanting more. You ground your hips back against him. You could feel his cock through your shorts and it was making you desperate.

Kai stifled a groan from behind you at your neediness. His hand cautiously moved down from your breasts, pausing to squeeze the plush of your tummy as it ventured down. His fingers paused, dipping just under your waistband to gently stroke your skin there.

----

Kai gasped when he realized you weren't wearing any panties. Of course, he thought. You must've left them to dry with the rest of your clothes. He was hard before, but discovering that you were whiny and needy in his shorts without panties on made him grow impossibly harder.

He reached down, through the soft tuft of hair to find your pussy. You moaned when his fingers finally found your clit. He liked that sound, wanted to hear it again. You spread your legs a little, granting him better access to your body. He dipped his fingers through your soft folds, finding you wet for him. He couldn't help but moan as he explored your heat, coating his fingers in your wetness.

You let out a series of quiet gasps and whines as he teased you, rubbing small circles on your clit and through your folds. He found your entrance after a moment but was nervous to slip his fingers inside. Your impatient hips bucked at his hand and broke his questioning thoughts. He slowly sunk one of his slender fingers into your wet heat. You buried your face in his pillow to stifle your cry when he did. Your noises were like music to his ears and he slowly pumped the finger in and out, relishing the feeling of your walls sucking him in.

“More,” you gasped quietly, “please.”

He obliged, adding a second finger. You were keening now, rocking your hips to meet his hand as it pumped into you. The cheap bedframe squeaked softly with your movements but Kai didn't think it was anything loud enough for his roommates to hear.

You whined when he curled his fingers, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. “Kai, Kai,” you babbled, desperation dripping from your voice. You were so wet beneath his hand. “Wanna kiss you. Need to kiss you before you make me cum.”

He laughed at that. “What do you mean?” He slowed his movements when you gripped his forearm, but kept his fingers buried in your pussy.

“You're gonna make me cum, but,” your voice was shy as you continued, “I really wanna kiss you. I haven't even kissed you yet.”

Kai felt himself blush at your words. Gosh you were sweet. He smiled and kissed your cheek where he could reach from this position before removing his hand from your shorts.

You were quick to shuffle so you straddled his lap. Your clothed heat rested on his erection, which was almost painfully hard. He could just make out your features in the low light. You were so pretty, smiling down at him. He wanted to kiss you so bad. So when you leaned forward he sat up to meet you.

Your lips were soft against his, the first kiss relatively chaste as you pulled away to admire him. He basked in your gaze, loving the way you looked at him with such affection. When you kissed him again it was deeper.

----

Kai had perfect lips for kissing. He opened up to you like a flower on the second kiss. You traced his bottom lip with your tongue before he parted his lips slightly, granting you access to taste him. He moaned quietly into the kiss, hands settling around you. He brought you closer with the hand on the back of your head and gripped tightly at your ass with the hand that had been playing with your pussy just moments ago.

You shifted in his lap as his tongue explored your mouth. The change in pressure caused him to groan loudly into the quiet of his room. He broke the kiss but stayed close, whispering your name against your lips. “Please, I'm so sensitive right now.” His voice was deep and rough, held back from a full plead.

You smiled and kissed him again. “I've been teasing you for a long time haven't I?” You said, half pouting. You placed your lips right against the shell of his ear as you whispered- “you can fuck me if you want.”

His whine was stifled in his throat but you still caught it. You could feel his cock twitch beneath you at your words. Gosh, he was big. You could properly feel him now that you were straddling him. You didn't want to cum without having kissed him, but his teasing had left you needy and aching for him to fill you up again.

“Please,” was all he said before you nodded, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Wanna see you. Can I take this off?” He was happy to oblige, nodding before lifting his arms to let you undress him. You pulled his sweatshirt off you, letting him take in the sight of you in the dim light. The two of you sat like that for a moment, admiring each other. His hand reached out to trace over your skin once again, taking in your form in the low light. You did the same, running your fingers over his broad chest and wide shoulders. His hands continued to love on your tummy, more than anyone had done in the past. You found it cute, like most things about him, and appreciated that he seemed to enjoy a part of you you'd often been told to conceal.

Soon enough his hands found the hem of your- his- shorts again. You had to get off his lap to slide them off of you, your wetness clinging to the material as you did. Kai shucked off his bottoms as you did yours and you settled onto his lap again, the both of you fully naked in one another's embrace.

You could feel Kai's heartbeat racing under the hand you held to his chest. “Are you excited?” You teased.

“Y/n,” he started, “I really like you. I've liked you for a long time now. Since I first met you, I've liked you.”

You squeezed his hand, wanting to reassure him that you felt the same. “I really like you too, Kai. For a while now too.” He kissed you again. The kiss was charged with emotion, he poured his feelings into it and you reciprocated.

When the kiss broke you were both breathing hard. “You have a condom, right?” He nodded quickly, reaching to throw open the top drawer of his bedside table. Inside was a full box of unopened foils.

Sliding the condom onto Kai's length made your pussy clench around nothing. He was so big and heavy in your hand. He gasped like it hurt when you first held his cock, his angry tip a leaking mess of precum. He watched you with huge eyes as you rolled it on.

You spit onto your hand, slicking him up through the thin barrier. He couldn't stop the whine that he emitted as you stroked him.

When you finally hovered over his lap again you felt dizzy with anticipation. Kai's fingers had been long and stuffed you full, but his cock was surely going to fill you to the brim. You lined him up at your entrance and began to sink down.

His mouth fell slack when his fat tip pushed past your tight entrance. You took him inch by inch, fighting the urge to just sit on it, forcing yourself to take it slow and adjust. It felt like he was splitting you open. He was bigger than anyone you'd had before. Long and thick, he hit every spot inside of you as you finally rested on his hips, taking him to the hilt. You had to catch your breath.

----

Kai’s eyes were squeezed tight, his breaths heavy. The feeling of being inside of you better than he had imagined. You were so warm, your wet walls holding him so tight even through the latex barrier.

“Kai,” you whispered, rubbing his arm to bring him back to you. “Is this still okay?”

He opened his eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes. Just need a sec.” He was trying his hardest not to cum right there. But you were so beautiful in the shifting hues coming from his pc, the dim light illuminating your features. The moonlight from the crack in the blinds shone on your lashes as you watched him carefully.

“Okay,” he finally said, feeling like he wasn’t about to immediately cum at the slightest sensation. “I’m ready.”

You hummed and kissed him again before leaning back and slowly rolling your hips. His hands flew to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he tried to keep from moaning loudly and alerting his roommates to what was happening. You smiled down at him, speeding up a bit.

He was mesmerized by the way you looked as you rode him. He must’ve looked like a dumbstruck fool the way you giggled at his expression. “You like what you see?”

“Very much. You’re so beautiful.” Your face split into a huge smile and you kissed him again.

“I think you’re pretty beautiful too.” Kai felt himself blush at your words, not used to praise like this.

He wasn’t going to last very long, not with your sweet words and the slow drag of your walls around his cock. He moved his hands from where they rested, exploring the curves of your body, committing them to memory. He’d always had a thing for soft tummies, but your thick thighs, full breasts and even the soft creases of your back all delighted him. His touches spurred you on, your increased enthusiasm pushing him closer to the edge.

“Gonna cum.” He whined.

“Touch me here,” you guided his hand to your clit. “We’ll cum together.”

He fought through the building pressure, gathering your wetness to coat his thumb. A sigh escaped your lips when he rubbed your clit. He easily matched the pace you set with your hip, musician’s muscle memory kicking in.

“I’m so close,” his voice was strained, “gonna-”

His orgasm hit him hard. His hands squeezed hard at your hips as you rode him through his high, chasing after yours. The sounds you made when you came were music, a falling set of whimpers and stutters that washed over Kai like a wave. You slumped into Kai’s chest, aftershocks still causing your pussy to flutter and clench around him. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you in a sweet embrace as you both came down from your highs.

----

You hummed contentedly into the space between Kai’s shoulder and throat. He was warm and strong and all around you. You felt safe and cozy in his arms and completely blissed out from his cock. You knew you needed to clean up but you wanted to savor this moment for as long as you could.

“Hey, y/n,” Kai’s voice was a soft whisper above you. You hummed again in acknowledgement. “Do you think maybe we could go on a date sometime?”

You laughed, burying your face into his chest. Gosh, this boy. You propped yourself up onto your elbow, taking in the beauty of Kai’s features as he looked at you expectantly. “I would love that.” His smile was immediate. “And by the way, you could have asked me at any point in the year and I would’ve said yes.”

You couldn’t quite make out the blush that spread across his cheeks in the low light, but you kissed him again to let him know you meant it. You settled back onto his chest and he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m kind of glad I left my bag in that office now.”

You could feel Kai’s laugh through his chest. “I am too.”

author’s note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

taglist: @theresawtf

[meluene]

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts,” the voice from the speaker informed, almost giving Dean a heart attack. He hurried back to his seat and started patting it to find the damn seatbelt.

“Here, let me,” Cas suddenly said, batting Dean’s trembling hand away. “Dean, it’s only turbulence. We’re still safe,” he said as the buckle clicked into place.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed out and closed his eyes.

“What do you like about ‘Tombstone’ so much?” Castiel asked, but Dean knew he was just trying to distract him again. It was very thoughtful, however Dean’s brain decided there was no way for him to focus on anything other than the impending plane crash. He was sure that Cas had given up on trying to distract him by now, but he suddenly felt a hand wrapping around his own and pulling him a little closer. When Dean’s head landed on Cas’s shoulder, he heard a quiet, “tell me,” whispered right into his ear.

“Cowboys,” Dean barked out through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on Cas’s palm.

“Cowboys?” Cas repeated, and Dean nodded once. He was probably crushing the guy's hand at this point. “You're an incredibly interesting individual, Dean Winchester,” Cas said, then put his cheek on top of Dean’s head and started humming.

Dean didn’t recognize the song at first since without all the instruments it sounded a little different, but after a few moments he finally realized it was ‘Don’t Cry’ by Guns N’ Roses. Cas’s voice was deep and soothing, and Dean could feel how his body vibrated with the low sound. It was strangely calming and reminded Dean of the times his mother used to hum to him before he went to sleep. 

Soon, his tense muscles started to gradually relax.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Dean knew, the plane was already taxiing and someone was thanking the passengers through the speaker for choosing their airline. Dean blinked, then slowly raised his head from Castiel’s shoulder and looked at the guy, ashamed for using him as a freaking pillow.

He was met with a very soft, blue gaze and a small, almost sweet smile. “Hello, Dean. How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling, really? Certainly not okay, that part was clear. There was no way to feel okay when someone was looking at him like that.

+++

A fragment of my AU Destiel fic - Yellow sticky note Dean is a bodyguard, Cas is a musician, very messy, but fluffy falling in love 22k, finished!

Dean's love life has been rough so far. Don't get him wrong, he's excellent at flirting, but he somehow can't open up enough for something more serious to come out of it. Fortunately, he's not looking for anything serious right now. He's fine, nothing to worry about, right?

Imagine his surprise when a gorgeous, albeit slightly strange guy he just spent the night with, and who left without any explanation, turns out to be a singer from Norway and Dean's new employer. Now Dean has to keep Castiel and his band safe during their tour through the USA. Good thing it will only last a month.

What could possibly go wrong here? You can find more of it on AO3:

[lizadale]

Sorry to bother you but uhhhhhh...... have you by any chance written more of the Dimigi AU lately?? Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen any snippets but I have a bad memory so.

No pressure to write or anything, just curious!

i haven't and honestly i am so mad at myself about it

i've been off work on vacation since previous saturday and i was planning on either 1) finishing the 6th chapter or 2) at LEAST organizing my old notes so that i have an attack plan for the fic. but every time i look at it i'm vibrating too hard and so i've done virtually NOTHING with it BLEARGH

[shirubie]

Thunderbirds are Go: Miraculous AU Master Post

2024-01-02: A little update for the new year! Kayo’s section is now complete, you can find it completely at the bottom. 

I’ve had fun doing research on Alchemy to build up my AU’s lore, since I decided that my Miraculous set would have an origin based on alchemy instead of just using classic elements. I should have a post about my original Bad Guys (a group of Alchemists who want the Miraculous to do the world conquering thing) very soon.

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So, I’ve been working on and off on this AU concept for a while, pushed it aside a few times and almost completely abandonned it, but the concept is just so anchored in my brain that I just keep going back to it and working out more and more details and ideas. No fanfics have been produced yet but I’m hoping a story might happen eventually.

I’ll be using this post to organize my ideas. I want to rework the Miraculous magic system a bit and develop the lore more. My Miraculous items have powers based on concepts like in the show, but I’ve also given each an associated natural element, because I’m lazy to come up with superpowers, and because the elements seemed to fit the Tracy brothers well.

I know that the TAG and Miraculous fandoms don’t overlap much, but I would love to hear your opinions on this.

If my ideas inspire you to write your own fic or do some art, you have my full permission to do so. Just don’t forget to send me a link so I can check them out! ^_^

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AU Related art:

- Kwamis group - Stormhawk and Black Swan (Scayo) - Miraculous logos - Commander Bug (Scott with Ladybug Miraculous) - Sketch: Green Claw (Virgil with Black Cat Miraculous)

AU Related posts:

- Plot bunny about Brains

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Summary:

After the Zero-X tragedy, Colonel Casey has no choice but to shut down International Rescue for good. She simply cannot risk Jeff Tracy's sons suffering a similar fate as their father.

Five years have now passed and the Tracys have all returned to civilian lives and mundane jobs, moving on and slowly drifting away from each other. But helping people has always been the Tracy brothers' true calling. That’s why each are given by a mysterious Guardian a magical artifact called a Miraculous and told to use them for good.

But evil forces want to find the Miraculous and use them to control the world. To prevent this, the Tracys will have to unite and become the heroes they were always meant to be.

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Stormhawk

Civilian name: Scott Tracy Miraculous: Thunderbird Item: necklace Concept: Acceleration Element: Wind Weapon: Grappling Hook Gun

Previous wielders: Windrunner, Captain Thunder Abilities:

- Enhanced physical speed and reflexes - Gliding (wingsuit) - Limited wind manipulation

Attack:

- Tornado: creates a funnel of wind that can blow away objects or slow down someone's fall. This attack will not work under water or in space, as there is no air to manipulate.

Transformation: "Zapp! Updraft!" / "Zapp, Downdraft."

Info:

Stormhawk uses his agility, speed and an occasional boost from his wind control powers to perform incredible acrobatic stunts, swinging or gliding between buildings to reach the danger zone fast and assess the situation.

After a few misunderstandings and frictions with his new teammates, Stormhawk proved himself to be a competent leader, able to strategize and make split second decisions.

Kwami name: Zapp Kwami personality: Zapp is a bossy little drill sergeant who wants to turn Scott into the greatest superhero ever, whether Scott likes it or not. He's impatient and pushy, seemingly more interested in his wielder's superhero exploits than their well-being.

Kwami Favorite Food: Popcorn

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Titan

Civilian name: Virgil Tracy Miraculous: Roc Item: Belt buckle Concept: Demolition Element: Earth Weapon: Shield

Previous wielders: Colossus

Abilities:

- Super strength - Vibration detection - Limited earth manipulation

Attack:

- Tremor: Creates a shockwave that will shatter almost any kind of solid material. Works best against rock like materials like concrete, works the least against wood and other bendable matter. The complete effects of this attack are hard to predict. Transformation: "Bronnz! Move Mountains!"

Info:

The Roc Miraculous grants its wielder incredible physical strength and the power to destroy any obstacle in their way, but the gentle Titan would be the last person who would want to use this power. He is fully aware of the damage his Miraculous could cause and only uses his full power as a last resort.

Titan might seem intimidating at first glance, but he’s a down-to-Earth (hehe) guy with a big heart who just wants to help people.

Kwami name: Bronnz Kwami personality: Bronnz is shy and nerdy and fascinated by modern technology. He likes to take things apart to see how they work but is not very good at putting them back together.

Kwami Favorite Food: Brownies

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Nightwatch

Civilian name: John Tracy Miraculous: Owl Item: Ring Concept: Perception Element: Night/Darkness Weapon: Telescope

Previous wielders: Ghost Owl

Abilities:

- Night vision & enhanced hearing - Camouflage - Limited shadow manipulation

Attack:

-Blackout: creates a sphere of total darkness and silence over a limited area, only the Miraculous user will be able to see and hear inside it.

Transformation: " Nyctti, Nightfall!" / "Nyctti, Daybreak."

Info:

What the owl Miraculous lacks in offensive capabilities, it makes up in stealth. Over the centuries, it was often used by spies but sometimes fell into the hands of criminals.

Nightwatch rarely engages in rescues, gathering information and guiding his teammates from the sidelines, while also trying to unravel the mystery of who chose them to wield the Miraculous and why.  

Kwami name: Nyctti Kwami personality: Nyctti can be an annoying know-it-all who always thinks she’s the smartest person in the room. Fortunately, John is more than smart enough to keep up with her and earn her respect. Nyctti also has a habit of falling asleep randomly during the day, since owls are nocturnal and all.

Kwami Favorite Food: Sesame Bagel

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AntarctiKing

Civilian name: Gordon Tracy Miraculous: Penguin Item: Ankle bracelet Concept: Adaptation Element: water/ice Weapon: Harpoon

Previous wielders: Kororā (maori word for the Little penguin)

Abilities:

- Enhanced swimming ability - Resistance to the cold - Limited water manipulation  

Attack:

- Frostbite: creates ice spikes or similar simple constructs of different sizes according to the user's will.

Transformation: "Tchill, High Tide!" / "Tchill, Low Tide."

Info:

It's hard to take a penguin theme superhero seriously but Antarctiking should not be underestimated. His water and ice powers can be the most versatile of the Miraculous, to be used in many offensive and defensive ways.

Laid back and cheerful, AntarctiKing can give the impression that he doesn't take being a superhero seriously, but nothing could be further from the truth. He will not hesitate to push himself to his limits to help someone in need.

Kwami name: Tchill Kwami personality: Tchill is the go-with-the-flow type who never worries about anything. He also hates heat and likes to sleep in the freezer.

Kwami Favorite Food: Anchovies

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Fireflash

Civilian name: Alan Tracy Miraculous: Phoenix Item: ear cuff Concept: Combustion Element: Fire Weapon: Ax

Previous wielders: Fire Angel

Abilities:

- Fire Immunity - Limited fire Manipulation

Note: Like the Ladybug Miraculous can counteract the Butterfly's powers, it is rumored that the Phoenix has a secret ability that can cancel the Owl's powers (Foreshadowing? Me? Of course not ;).

Attack:

-Blaze: this attack will surround the user's body with fire, turning them into a human torch. The flames can also be manipulated to propel the user in the air and fly for limited distances.

Transformation: "Sparkk! Ignite!" / "Sparkk, Burn Out."

Info:

The Miraculous were never supposed to be used by children, but the guardian took the risk of giving one to the youngest Tracy brother. Had Jeff Tracy been still alive, the Miraculous would have gone to him instead.

Fire is the hardest element to control but Fireflash seems to have natural talent with it and an instinctive understanding of the magic of the Miraculous. He forms a deep bond with his Kwami.

Kwami name: Sparkk Kwami personality: Sparkk is a little cinnamon roll, a real concentrated ray of sunshine who’s always there to cheer Alan up when he feels down. His Miraculous has unfortunately been involved in wars in the past and with each new wielder he is afraid of being used to cause harm.

Kwami Favorite Food: Snickerdoodle cookies

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Black Swan

Civilian name: Tanusha “Kayo” Kyrano Miraculous: Black Swan Item: Brooch Concept: Transmutation Element: Prima Materia Weapon: Whip

Previous wielders: Alchimia

Abilities:

- Boosting other Miraculous powers.

Attack:

-Swan Song: Allows to transmute one element into another.

Transformation: "Oodil, Join the dance!" / “Oodil, Take a bow.”

Info: The Black Swan Miraculous is an anomaly that should not exist. It was the result of an attempt to create the Philosopher’s Stone using the Elemental Miraculous. It has very little power by itself, but combined with the other Miraculous, it can grant almost limitless power to reshape the world.

Kayo was not given the Black Swan by the Guardian (her father Kyrano), but she could not stand by while her brothers were in danger. She took the Miraculous and uses it to help the heroes from the shadows, while trying to find whoever is behind the suspicious events and accidents happening around the city.

Kwami Name: Oodil Kwami personality: Oodil appears to be mute, communicating mostly by body language. She has a calm and childlike personality in general, but will not hesitate to attack if her holder is threatened (careful, she bites). Kayo and her have been friends since Kayo’s childhood, when her father became the Miraculous Guardian.

Kwami Favorite Food: Black Licorice

[leon-swedfinqs]

Harvest Omens -- AKA Mari is going insane

I should be doing my school work right now (disregarding the fact that it is almost 2 in the morning as I start writing this), however I have a lot of thoughts in regards to my partner and I's Good Omens Stardew Valley AU -- while I still love and regard my d&d au with my whole entire soul, this is currently our hyperfixation/idea fixation so a lot of the stuff we are doing/thinking about is in regards to this idea in particular and i am vibrating with so many thoughts and ideas that i cannot necessarily easily translate to the page or to a drawing and its driving me NUTS -- If you want to listen to the mad ramblings of frankly an insane individual /j in regards to their stardew valley x good omens crossover au of madness youre welcome to keep reading

To start, here are some portraits of the two main idiots I made using this portrait maker. It was a ton of fun to translate them into something more tangible to look at -- they do not exactly look like this, however, but this is the closest I could get with the maker so that is what I am working with. The main crux of why this idea came in the first place is because I started playing the stardew valley 1.6 update (which i cant do much of anymore THANKS UNIVERSITY :D) and subsequently playing this new update with the existing Stardew Omens mod, or well, the updated one by @counterklock (hi if you see this sorry for tagging just wanted to credit) which can be found HERE

So what exactly is the deal with these two? What is their place in the overall story???? I will say that there may be some similarities with the existing popular crossover fic "Untitled Stardew Omens Fic", however we generally have been trying to keep things purely original in this instance in order to keep these ideas purely separate. Don't want to step on any toes!!! (both the mod and the other au fic)

Start off with (at least in our writing so far) who I suppose is the main protagonist and who's perspective we get the most of -- Crowley.

Crowley in this story does work for the Joja Corporation, or as it can be interpreted, Hell (not that working for a capitalist organization wasn't already hell to begin with). The corporation wants to expand their business into new untapped markets, one of the most glaring ones being tight-knit rural communities much like Pelican Town. While there is a Joja Mart there, it doesn't earn enough of a profit as they would like. The biggest hurdle in this instance is the loyalty the members of the community have to each other and to their local businesses. This is where Crowley comes in, as he is the key player in their ultimate plan: the Rural Reliance and Trust-Establishment Initiative. What's the main goal? To infiltrate these communities, carefully gain their trust, and slowly dismantle their reliance on more local businesses and encourage them to utilize Joja products instead. In order to fully implement this initiative, they had to do a test run, with Crowley as their guinea pig.

Under the falsely made person as "the grandson of a well-loved community member who has since long past", Crowley is sent to live on a piece of property Joja secretly bought for this project and implement himself as a member of the local community. By acting as a community member and local farmer, he slowly shifts the townsfolks' reliance to be towards Joja products. Crowley, being a city person for practically his entire life, has a lot of reservations about "going up there and making some trouble" in the small rural community -- however, it does not seem that he has much of a choice in the matter.

It's safe to say that Crowley...fumbles his way through this assignment. And as a cherry on top, the assignment so far has been doing the complete opposite of what it was supposed to do. Instead of shifting the townsfolk to start using Joja more often, slowly yet surely this project has been drawing their employee (Crowley) away from them, their products, and their practices, as he gets a taste of life outside of that, and truly sees the extent of their malicious practices outside of a city setting. He struggles to farm at first, making a mess out of his first set of crops and desperately trying to grow at least one batch of flowers (because that is what he really wanted to grow in the first place), and often fails at being a consistent social presence within the community. Overtime, he starts to grow into a farmer that rants and vents to his crops, he develops a mysterious aura as he "becomes linked with the forest" and starts to befriend the local witch, and he finds himself falling head first into a crush on the self-imposed isolated, old-fashioned, overly kind librarian. He's a city kid that finally allows himself to relax, and through this allows himself time for self-reflection and personal growth (you can pry genderfluid!crowley from my cold dead fingers -- you thought this au crowley was cis/ Sike!!! he doesn't know that he is until later so its a surprise for him too)

Meanwhile, Aziraphale has been a member of Pelican Town for as long as anyone could remember. He grew up in this community, this place is truly his home. As a baby/young child, Aziraphale did live with his "mother" (a placement for god essentially), but one day she just...disappeared, and he was considered abandoned/orphaned. The saying "it takes a village" does truly apply to Azi in this case -- he grew up with the members of the community, being parents by nearly all of the adults, and experiencing his childhood with all of the local kids as his family. The community center, library, and local farm were his sanctuary, his true home. As members of the community he grew up in moved away and/or died over time, and the community facilities (such as the CC) slowly became decrepit and broken, Aziraphale started to lose those stable parts of his life. As he lost more and more of his support network, Azi became more isolated, a self-imposed social recluse. He made a home within the library, and isn't seen outside of it for long periods of time since.

He can be found outside every now and then, of course. Twice every season (except for Winter), Azi would go to the bus stop and have a quiet picnic with himself. Grandpa (or "crowley's gramps") was like a father/grandfather-figure to Azi -- he was the one who raised him the most, who taught him and actively took care of him. His death impacted Azi the hardest, as it was his last close personal connection that was finally lost. Having that picnic lets him feel close to the one who truly considered him family. Along with that, once a week in the late evenings (right before the store is to close), Azi can be found in Pierre's buying groceries. More often than not, this trip is on a sunday to allow him to pray to Yoba in the personal chapel. He could also be found, roughly once a month, in Gus's saloon purely because of the fact that the menu has "maki rolls" on the list.

Whether it was truly because he couldn't see that it was half buried in the dark, or the fates decided that these two should properly meet, regardless Crowley ultimately found Aziraphale through a lost book. "Anyone could've returned this book, surely?", "why didn't he even bother to go check to find the book?" -- is what many may be asking. For that, I present the following response: "They're gay and they can do whatever they want"

They're both complete idiots, but they're my idiots. I have thoughts about many of the other characters too and how they fit in this world (anathema -- witch, new -- previous walmart id, works with adventurers guild right now. adam and the Them just casually living in the valley), etc.etc. for other charcters, but I will not get into them now due to time and my own mental sanity. I want to make sure everything fits within the current lore as much as possible, while also not leaving specific people out and making them upset.

I have so much more I could say about this au, but alas I am tired LOL you may either ask or ill expand upon this post later teehee

[trans-top-stede]

Realized I haven't posted any of my new fic in a hot minute, and people seem to be liking this one, so... Have some smut I guess?

Someone on twitter was like "what if trans Stede learning about vibrators for the first time" and I had no choice but to write another fic for my T4T Stede/Ed university au about it

Also, this is the best title I've ever come up with, pretty sure I've peaked

[forsakenmissives]

The football au sounds really cool :3 can't wait to see how dumb everyone is as always

oh yeah there's definitely.. some moments. LOL

gwaine & merlin's relationship in this fic is so important to me and arthur as captain i think im gonna be sick and . oh my god who's going to be captain when he's injured. 🧍‍♀️ also the post-season interview gwaine does ... wow. i love u gwain <3 also i need to rewatch 2x13 cuz balinor and merlin's relationship is super important but idk if i've got it down..... they're my beloveds tho

here's some snippets, most from near the start of the story:

Merlin sits on the bench to grab his boots from the floor. As he does so, the phone next to him vibrates. Arthur’s working on pulling his shirt over his head. Merlin picks up his phone. It’s a text from Uther.

“Got a message,” he tells the striker.

Arthur bangs his head against the edge of his cubby. He finishes tugging his shirt on. “Fucking hell, Merlin!” He snatches the phone from Merlin’s hand. “You can’t just go through a man’s notifications.”

“I didn’t!” Merlin argues. “I didn’t read it or nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m going to fucking worry,” Arthur snaps. “I’m a world famous footballer and you’re a nobody kitman.” “My mum said I’m a brilliant kitman,” Merlin crosses his arms, “so you piss off.”

.

Sometimes Merlin wants to grab the captain by the arms and shake him, shake him so hard his brain liquifies and spills out his ears, because what’s the use of the organ if he doesn’t use it, but he’s just the kitman, and he hates football, and he hates Camelot FC, and the sun is too fucking bright and hot and he just wants to go home. 

Sports mix begins spilling over the lid of the cup and onto Merlin’s hand. Ranulf slips on a slick patch of grass and the angle his ankle turns looks painful. Merlin curses.

.

the tense change is intentional &lt;3

He didn’t think Avalon Park would be so empty just because of the break. Only Lance left, off to play for Argentina, and when his name had been announced with little fanfare from Aredian, Merlin had been surprised to see the rest of the guys cheering, with Arthur leading the midfielder’s chant. He’d been less surprised to see, however, the way Arthur’s expression immediately dropped the second he returned to his locker. 

He moved to hand the striker a towel, only for Arthur to ignore him. He huffed, eyes narrowing. “Tough luck,” he said.

“Piss off, Merlin,” was the response. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah, but I am.” Merlin nudged him again with the towel. “Come on.”

Arthur finally took the towel, but only to stop Merlin from whacking him with it. “Merlin,” the towel drooped pathetically in his hand, and Merlin felt bad for it, “can you please leave me to dress in peace?”

Merlin sighed. “I can, but I’d rather not.” He took a seat on the bench, looking up at Arthur as he changed out of his kit. “You alright, though?”

That gave Arthur pause, as if he didn’t realise Merlin knew how to be a decent person. Fucking ass. “Is this another form of gloating?” he asked.

“I don’t even play. How could I be gloating?”

Arthur hummed, finally pulling his shirt over his head. “Fair point.”

“So?” Merlin kicks his legs out in front of him. “You okay?”

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, then turns to Merlin and does it again. Merlin raises a brow. Arthur sighs. “I’ll see you outside, Merlin.”

.

The ride to Cavernfield is tense, quiet in a way Merlin has never, ever heard the team before. It leaves him unsettled, shifting in his seat, fingers drumming on the armrests, foot tapping against the floor. The movements earn him more than a few stern looks from Balinor, but even his steely-eyed glare isn’t enough to dissuade Merlin from keeping up the actions. It’s abnormal, and it’s all wrong, and Merlin doesn’t even know the guys that well, not yet at least, and not enough to be the one to lift their spirits. Furthermore, he knows this is less of a derby and more of a battle in a long fought war between the two clubs, but still . . . the team seems like they’re going to their graves rather than to victory. 

Only Gwaine seems unbothered, bobbing his head enthusiastically as he listens to something blasting through oversized headphones, the tinny sound leaking out into the bus and only growing louder when he removes them to fix his hair. Merlin wants to make a comment about it — suggest wearing earbuds if he’s so concerned, but it feels wrong to purposely interrupt this silence, and Merlin feels sure that most would only be irritated with him if he chose to break it.

He watches Gwaine pull out his phone and lift it above his head, fingers going into a ‘v’. Oh. Gwaine is still taking selfies when Merlin turns back around, fingers digging into his arm rests.

[under-and-over-the-moon]

Lexicon | Felix

Minors DNI/DNF/Do not read!!

pairing: Felix x Reader

word count: 13.5k

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, gilded age!au, forbidden love, angst, fluff, smut

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f recv), handjob (m recv), riding, dirty talk, implication that the pullout method works (it does not!), hurt/comfort, both are virgins, so sex is a lil clunky, afab reader, mention of periods, historical inaccuracies/general historical bootleggery, i basically watched one ep of ‘the gilded age’ and ran with the vibes, historical misogyny, alcohol mentioned, Felix gets slightly buzzed at one point, cheating (in an arranged marriage scenario), lots of poor choices, lots of angst

A/N: the real title of this is Lixicon but I stopped myself 😅 This is my entry into the global childhood bf2l felix headcanon, and WOOF was this a struggle to write

All characters are adults at all times in this fic.

Feedback is always appreciated!! 😊

~~~

[ I ]

“Tell me a story.”

“Which one?”

“One about you,” you reply.

The phone crackles, sputtering against your ears, brass in your palm. A new toy, for a new age. Of course you had to try it first with Felix, just as you do with everything else.

“You already know all my stories,” he replies.

“Not today’s,” you counter.

He chuckles low, the vibrations mixing with the static.

“No, not today’s,” he admits.

And so he offers you a story that he will forget and would never expect you to remember: He waited in line for cloth for his mother, talked to Mrs. Cho. She mentioned she has a daughter, now twenty. Probably a subtle hint at a marriage prospect. He spoke to the builders about where he could buy new roof tile after a few slipped off in the last storm. It’s a banal tale, by any standard.

But as always, you listen, and then, as always, he asks you to return the favor.

You had spent the morning organizing your father’s library, and so you describe: the leather book covers, tacky from the humidity, their scent somewhere between sickeningly musty and comfortingly familiar. The heavy velvet curtains, always slumping to the side no matter how many times you tried to adjust them. Another issue with your home’s foundation, probably.

How you had spent the morning arranging and rearranging the books, by size, then by color, then by size again. You thought it would look like a rainbow by color, but there were too many browns. It just looked as musty as it smelled.

You then jump to other parts of your home, pointing out what still needs attention. The fireplace covered in soot. The paint, peeling. The steps, crumbling. Did you already mentions the paint? Oh yes, you did.

The words tumble freely from you, unlinked, in sentences that sometimes are clipped, left unfinished as you veer to a different path. You have no goal, no finish line – you simply explore the space in your mind, holding his hand as you wander, down every trail, through the rivers of thought, the ocean of your mind. He lets the current carry him, closing his eyes and sinking into the gentle wash of your voice as you ramble. He feels little again, as young as when you first met, but it doesn’t feel infantilizing – it just feels good, safe, to be swaddled warm in your words.

“Oh, did you hear about that thing?” you ask, startling him from his daze.

“What thing?” he asks. You have already told him about every thing – he needs clarification.

“The industrialists that are arriving tomorrow, to construct the railroad outside town. They’re moving into the estate out the end of the road, the one that overlooks the sea.”

“Oh the ugly one?” Felix asks. “You would think with all that money…”

This time your chuckle is the one that mixes with the static.

“Right?”

And then things devolve – or evolve, he never knows which – and you are talking about the homes in the city, if there is a correlation between construction time and ultimate ugliness, which houses need repairs the most (both of yours, you agree), the new mayor’s plan for road repairs, the mayor’s new mustache, the mayor’s hat, the optimal height for a hat.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I gotta go help with dinner! It’s so late, didn’t realize.”

He didn’t either – the sky is dark, his room now painted in shadows and moonlight and the flickers of a lantern from the hall. He holds his hand out to see its silhouette against the wooden floor.

“Night, Lix,” you say, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, as always.”

And then there’s a click as the connection is cut, and he is cooled by the silence.

~~~

Waiting at the end of the road the next day, you identify Felix by the feeling of a hand, brushing gently from your waist to your hip.

When you were children he used to run up behind you, his chest bouncing against your back, his arms stopping your momentum, holding you to him. He would squeeze you tight, burrow into your shoulder, say your name. Excited. You could see the exclamation point in your head.

But now you were older, and propriety stood between you, pushing his chest back, prying his elbows away. So you settled for this – it still leads to a raised eyebrow here and there, but the movement is so fast that it could just be an accident. And you needed something, or perhaps, it was the you knew that he did. When he was little and had the gift of assumed innocence, he had always wanted to touch, to hold, to nestle into what was comforting and familiar.

“Am I late?” he whispers, dropping his hand to step out from behind you, stopping at your side. He quickly throws glances along the squat gray buildings that line the street before following the trail of the cable car tracks up the hill to the horizon.

“No,” you said, gesturing to the empty road, baked dry by the sun but with the dust still settled, “No sign of anyone yet.”

But eventually it appears – a tiny prick of black that transforms into a carriage as it approaches, the dust a fluttering veil behind it. The horses come to a halt, the doors are pushed open, and four figures exit.

At first all you see are plumed hats, voluminous skirts, glossy fabrics – new fashions peeled straight from freshly-printed magazines, dyed in their still-drying ink. Styles that had never before bothered to make the trip to your sleepy town dusted gray with half-dead history. These people are the future, will be your future.

After a few moment your eyes adjust to the sartorial dazzle, and you begin to inspect: first, the older couple, distinguished, hair streaked gray, each pleat of their clothes perfectly pressed despite the long journey. And then there is a younger man – short, with a playful grin. He’s dapper, his clothes all sharp lines, but you can see the way his biceps strain at the shoulders. Boyish and manly all at once.

And then a woman, beautiful. Her hair is arranged artfully on top of her heard, hands delicately sheathed in white silk. She adjust her skirts and then turns to survey the crowd, her eyes sweeping across the crescent in front of her. And then she stops, a smile pulling at her lips.

You follow her gaze. She is looking at Felix. And he is smiling back.

~~~

The newcomers give hasty greetings before excusing themselves politely, saying they wish they could stay longer, but there is simply too much to unpack. They gesture to the carriages that pile up behind them, laden with trunks and suitcases.

As soon as they leave, riding uphill to their new home, the townspeople quickly descend on Mrs. Cho’s parlor, buzzing like a swarm of bees. The rest of the afternoon passes in a swirl of whispers and gossip that settles on your skin, making it itch, your initial wonder tightening into fact as you listen and try to figure out how these people will fit into your tiny town, your little world.

You come to know that the Parks – Jinyoung and Junghwa, and their children, Changbin and Dahyun – have been looking for the perfect place to expand their rail line and had settled on your town. It is underdeveloped, but well-located between the two major cities. The family will stay here during the construction, which should take a few years, but once the summer concludes Changbin will return to the city to handle business there.

But of course, the technological advancements that will reshape your town are ultimately of little interest when both children, it is whispered, are unmarried. Mothers brush dirt from theirs daughters’ skirts, correct the posture of their sons. You wonder if the newcomers can already smell the scent of plotting — too sweet, cloying, like berries left in the sun, at the edge of rotting.

And below the murmur of information is Felix’s voice, sputtering fast, the low rumble of his tone shaking your core.

“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?”

“She was smiling at me, right?”

“Did I imagine that?”

“Do you think she would marry someone from here?”

“Would she marry someone without money?”

“She must have enough of her own, right?”

His questions make your head pound, but you don’t blame him for asking you so many. These are just thoughts, equal to any of his others. So why wouldn’t he share these too?

“Do you think I would make a good husband for her?”

He looks to you expectantly, but you find yourself with no ready response to give, your mind just filled a nameless fog that pushes at your temples. So you pull the words from conversations you’ve heard, books you’ve read, pasting together a response that isn’t your own. The likeness of an enthusiasm that you can’t quite kindle in your own core.

“Yes, she would be lucky to have you as a husband, Lix.”

But, distracted, he doesn’t notice that anything is off. His head is turned towards the house on the hill, behind which the sun is just beginning to set over the sea.

~~~

Once the sun dips below the horizon, the townspeople begin to take their leave, thanking Mrs. Cho as they down their last cup of teas, adjusting their shawls around their shoulders as they step through the doors.

Felix accompanies you home as usual – he evolved from companion to chaperone naturally when you came of age, the role a change only in name. Your parents had never been concerned that Felix himself is a virile, unmarried man, exactly like those he is to protect you from – they see you still as the children you once were, not the scandal you could be. A temporary exception, a convenient blindness caused by nostalgia and familiarity, to be wiped away as soon as you are given to another man.

But, for now, your mother is glad to hand him this responsibility – without the servants that should inhabit the role, it would fall to her. Felix’s presence allows her to play at inhabiting a glorious past she didn’t quite inherit, lunching with other noble ladies and visiting the shops instead of guarding her daughter.

Felix is still rambling about Dahyun as you walk beneath the newly-installed string of streetlights, a gift from Dahyun’s family, as you had just learned at the parlor. Your eyes hurt under the glare, and you are relieved when you pass the city limits, the twinkly of electricity fading only to moonlight.

The path to both of your estates is unkempt, the dried grasses poking through stones, the whitewashed walls peeling where they aren’t yet crumbling. The tiles that once formed neat fish scales along the path lay on the ground, shattered.

You sigh when you imagine how things would have been if you had been born a century ago, when the gods were of blood, not steel. The palanquins, flocked by servants, that would have carried you down the pristinely manicured streets. The walls, freshly painted. The stones between your feet uncracked, fitting perfectly with one another.

You glance over to Felix, still lost in his own world. He would have been your husband, you know. Noble name for noble name, your fortunes joined under one roof.

But with no fortune left, there is nothing to share but your afternoons, your youthful daydreams, whatever words are fluttering through your minds.

But even these, you know, are finite. Your own body is the hourglass, each moment a grain of sand that had fallen down, filling out your hips, your bust. Now a woman, you are overdue, past time, only a few grains left to fall before everything is set. Before you move on, away, to a new cloistered life, that of course, could never include him – wives don’t speak freely with men who aren’t their husbands.

At first you had resented how your body had rushed you forward, the first sign of red marking the end of your carefree days. How time didn’t seem to claw at Felix in the same way – while you were learning about your wifely duties, the horrors of childbirth, the tight confines of a future where all of your choices are given away, he was still allowed to be young and untethered, not thinking past tomorrow. You resented him but then – he would smile at you in that way he always did, all genuine sunshine, bubbling with whatever his current obsession was, and you couldn’t be angry.

So you had decided these would be the only thoughts you would hold back, the only worries you wouldn’t share. You knew at some level he must know you stood at the edge of change, but you also knew he didn’t feel the full weight of it yet. That he thought, in his foolish youth, that he would be an exception to the inevitability of time. He would come to know the freedom between you was limited, too, at his own pace.

Perhaps your choice would protect him from this ache you now felt – maybe he would be far enough down his own path, immersed in a new life, before he ever thought to look back, before he registered a loss. By then, you hoped and feared, you would be nothing more than a fond memory. Nothing that tugged at his present, at anything still tender.

In this moment, you are simply glad that Felix is wrapped up safe in his dreams of Dahyun. A childish fantasy based on almost nothing and yet – she already is a more likely participant in his future than you would ever be. Maybe a soft place to land, a distraction, during the months that you knew were coming.

Felix then turns to you, his eyes alight as he asks you for your opinion on Dahyun’s parents, and your heart swells to aching. You are grateful in this moment that he is still asking for it, and you are still there to give it. To talk him through his new feelings, walk him through what he is only now discovering, before he disappears from view.

There is still time, you tell yourself. Not much, maybe, but still – you have time.

~~~

The next day you are out in the kitchen when you hear the phone ring.

You rush to the library, holding it to your ear. Felix’s voice.

“Can I come over?” he asks, breathless, “For the garden?”

The two of you had always loved spending time in your family’s garden – it was lush and sprawling with blooms of every color, shaded by willows, a personal fantasy land for your imagination to roam. When you were small, you would spend hours rolling around in the beds and climbing the trees until your mother had yelled at you, gesturing to your sullied clothes. But soon enough you reached the age where you ache for responsibility, still too young to know the terrifying permanency of it once it arrives, its never-ending hunger, and so you had taken it on yourself to weed and plant and water together.

You had quickly found that you loved it. To plant seeds together, nurse them until they were flowers, protect them from harm. You and Felix would look at your garden in pride, a perfect little corner of the earth you had tended together.

Your mother had thought it was cute – until you had become a woman. Then it was unbecoming, shameful. But by that point there were no funds to pay for a gardener, so shame was an inevitability – your mother only got to choose the type.

So the two of you had tacitly come to an agreement – you could continue, but only when she wasn’t there, only when she could pretend she didn’t know, since she hadn’t technically seen.

So you look quickly, left and right, before calling out for your mother. There is only silence.

“Yes, my mother’s out,” you respond.

“Perfect,” he replies, “And I- “

He pauses. It’s unlike him to stop, to leave something unsaid.

“Yes?” you prod.

“I – “ he said, “Nevermind, it can wait.”

You know this isn’t true – he means it has to wait. Whatever it is, it’s weighty enough that he doesn’t think it’s fair to tell you over the phone. He has to tell you in person.

You swallow hard. A panic bubbles up in you, forming around a new emptiness.

“Okay,” you say, “See you soon, Lix.”

There’s a click, and you gather your skirts to head towards the garden, your stomach swirling.

~~~

Felix arrives a few minutes later with hair mussed, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to reveal where his veins pop against his new muscles, freckles lit up by the sun. Your favorite form of him.

He is smiling as always, but there’s a little extra spark of something behind his eyes. He is bursting with it, rushing forward so that you’re close enough to hear, close enough for him to finally release.

And when he does, his words come in a sputter, jumbled and marked with nervous laughter bubbling up from the place between embarrassment and elation.

Dahyun’s father had called, he reveals, to his family estate. She has taken an interest in him, wants to start a courtship. He can’t believe it, that she would want to be with someone like him who had nothing more than history to offer, now more footnote at the bottom of a weathered page than a true legacy.

“Do you think she just wants a noble name?” he asked biting his, lip, brows knit, “That must be it. Her parents probably told her it’s a good idea, to confer legitimacy to the new money. They probably know about our situation, that we need the funds, thought it would be a mutually beneficial exchange kind of thing, like business—”

You hold up a single finger, placing it to his lips. His eyes widen, taken aback for a moment. You don’t usually touch him.

You don’t know Dahyun, but you know that isn’t it. Part of it maybe – no love is ever fully unsullied by the realities of society – but not all of it, not the core of it. Looking at him now, illuminated in the sun – it couldn’t be just that.

“She doesn’t just like you for that,” you insist, letting your finger fall, his eyes following it before he looks back up at your eyes, “I saw the way she looked at you that day. That wasn’t business.”

You turn away for a moment, crouching among the zinnias, pulling at the weeds.

“And so what if it happens to be mutually beneficial?” you continue, “Sounds ideal to me. A perfect match.”

You turn back, pulling your expression into a smile before meeting his eyes. He’s beaming.

“So are you going to help me here?” you tease, yanking out another fistful of crabgrass, “Or just stand there lovestruck?”

“Helping!” he says, rushing to crouch beside you, “How much time do you think we have?”

“I think she went to call on Mrs. Banks,” you say, “So maybe two hours? We can weed this section, at least.”

He bumps his knee against yours, and you get to work.

~~~

You move swiftly for the rest of the afternoon, tossing dandelions and bindweed into the wheelbarrow behind you.

The whole time, Felix talks, and you listen. He walks you through his future as he builds it in his mind, tearing down the scaffolding and rebuilding in real time. He’ll live here, but he would probably visit the city often. Or perhaps they would spend summers here, winters in the city, where the furnaces were no doubt stronger, where there wasn’t a chill from the sea. He wonders how many children she wants, how she would want to raise them.

You give him the space to ramble, as he always has with you. And honestly, you are relieved for it – the pressure in your head has returned. It is easier to just listen.

When the sun begins to set you know it’s time to hide the evidence, if you want to uphold the charade. You know you mother is on her way home.

“I think that’s probably good for today,” you say, “Don’t want to cut it too close.”

He nods, dropping his rake, wiping sweat from his brow. You take a deep breath.

“…So when are you seeing her, then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, “Tea at Mrs. Cho’s, I think. Many eyes, you know, to keep it proper. To make sure I’m not doing anything untoward.”

You nod. You know too well the limits that begin to descend as soon as courting begins.

Felix helps you empty the wheelbarrow over the lowest wall, the one that has crumbled the most, and brushes the dirt from his clothes before moving towards the gate. You follow him, to see him out as you always do.

“I’ll call you after,” he says, “To tell you how it went.”

He pauses for a moment, and then reaches out to place his hand on your waist. The touch is more of a grip than usual, sliding rather than brushing its way to your hip. You place your hand briefly on his, but pull it away before the moment is fully solid, while the touch is more possibility than true contact.

“Good luck,” you breathe, “She’ll love you, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t need the wishes, you know – she will love him.

~~~

Felix doesn’t call you after, but, still, you know you were right.

You see them hand in hand, walking down the street. Sitting on street corners, taking afternoon tea. Always smiling, always laughing. The way her gloved hand inches towards his, and his bare one towards hers. You can see the ache in the space between them.

His parents call on yours early on, and you lurk in the shadows, watching the garish display. They glow with self-satisfaction, seeing now how your families’ futures will now split. They speak in terms of joy for their son, but you know at the core is a boastful, haughty thing. With the dowry, your ancient sprawling estate is the only one that will continue to yield solely leaky funds and sagging roofs. You notice how your parents wince at their happiness.

The next day they ask you – won’t you consider a suitor? It is past time, can’t wait too long, or the best options will be gone.

You make a flimsy excuses before escaping out of the room, down the hall, to your garden. You watch the dandelion seeds float in the wind, snow in summer.

You will wait, a little more. Just a little bit. The rules are different for Felix than they would be for you – he can call on you, visit, without a second thought, if he wants. It’s a choice he fully has, as long as you have no husband to stop him. He’s just busy, wrapped up in his new love right now, you tell yourself, but there will be more time. Because you will make more time.

The days roll into a week, then two. You try not to feel too disappointed, too hurt that he doesn’t feel the need to share his new life with you. You store up all the things you want to tell him, all the questions you have, all the little observations that would immediately have flowed to him before. You carry them carefully as you walk through your life, like a too-full teacup, your hand always positioned to catch a spill. But still, even with your best efforts, you start to overflow, leaving drops on the floor as the days pass. You forgot the little things before they ever can reach his ears, accumulating until they’ve pooled into important things, the kind that’s impossible to recount in their entirety at once. That can only be told honestly in pieces, broken into their smallest components, each easy enough to say to construct the harder whole.

It scares you, to have thoughts lost before he can hold them too. The idea that your life now is only yours, that it doesn’t flow, naturally, to him too.

You keep yourself busy, cleaning up the soot, repainting, trying to keep up with the gardening by yourself. Each day you wake up at dawn with an unearned hope that today he will call, today he will want to talk as much as you do, that he feels this same pressure as you do, the need to pour his thoughts into you, the thirst to receive yours in return. But the hope of your mornings is always extinguished in the silence of afternoon, the emptiness of evening.

This is for the best, you tell yourself. This is what you wanted – to have him move swiftly into the fullness of a new life, one big enough to fill up the emptiness of your separation. But still, in the deepest corner of you, you, again, resent it. That he doesn’t need you, that you are pushing your own future forward to make space for whatever few sentences he still want to give you. It’s embarrassing, pathetic. And you resent yourself for that, and then him, again, for making yourself, the only friend you now have, impossible company.

But above all the bitterness, you just miss him. It is simple and raw, with no harsh edges, even when your mind bites at the memory of him out of spite and hurt. It never bites too hard – what you have left of him is precious.

As the weeks roll into a month, you find your resolve fading, the selfishness taking advantage of your exhaustion. You know you should let him be to move on happily alone, but still – you find your hands hovering over the phone. You take detours to his house, hoping to run into him, or at least hear a snippet of his voice. But you never do.

You call, finally, on the day that the dahlias that you planted together bloom. The had thrived unexpectedly, even squished among the weeds that had grown up their sides. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the garden alone.

“Oh, he’s out with Dahyun and her family,” his mother says, “So smitten, that one. Try calling again later dear?”

So you do. A second time.

Your mother asks you about a boy who lives up the hill, whose family owns a tannery. A good trade, and a kind boy, she hears. You say he isn’t for you.

A third time.

Or perhaps the heir to the local shipping company? Sturdy man, well-built, she says. You’d like that, right? No, you reply.

A fourth time. Felix is always busy.

But still you tell yourself, in an endless loop: there is still time, there is still time, there is still time…

~~~

A letter arrives in the mail, the ink still fresh, the envelope gilded in gold.

“I think you’ll want to see this,” your mother says.

Your heart starts pounding, but you take it from her, rip it open.

Please join us in celebrating the engagement of Felix Lee and Dahyun Park…

You drop it to the floor, retracting your hand fast. You still feel the aftershock of the burn in your hand, throbbing, as you spit out the expected celebratory remarks before retreating to your room, throwing yourself on your bed.

You take a few slow deep breaths. You don’t know how you feel – it’s almost anger but not quite. It’s heavier, with less fire, but still, it sears.

You can’t identify it with any word you know so you decide – it must be joy. Your plan worked, after all – you got what you wanted. Felix is in safe hands, soon to be in the arms of someone he adores, who loves him too. A smooth, painless transition into adulthood. 

Over the next few days, you focus on the practicalities of the preparations, finding comfort in the solidness of the objects. You select pearls and diamonds from your collection, heirlooms from a century ago. You think first that you will wear the yellow dress you bought recently – it’s bright and new and sunny, reminding you of him – but you always go back to the green gown at the back of your closet. It’s of the old style, but it’s pretty, the emerald of the cloth scattering light. It feels right, but you can’t explain why.

The night of the party you sit in front of your mirror, your heart thumping against your chest as you tack the pearls to your ears, hang the diamonds from your neck. You are still jumbled, but you can identify at least one emotion among the mess inside you – excitement.

You are excited that you will see him, celebrate with him, talk to him. It’s appropriate, natural, that you would, to wish your childhood best friend all the best in his next chapter. Even if it’s just a few sentences, it will be enough for you. A final paragraph, at least, a conclusion to mark the end of your youth. Some kind of closure. It still counts as time.

And you still hold out hope, that once Felix settles into his new life, into his new emotions, there might even be more time. A few months, maybe, before you enter your own engagement and are forced to close the book for good, when you could still speak with him somewhat freely. An epilogue, perhaps.

As you adjust your dress, you try to gather the most important drops of memory from the last month from the sea that now swells inside you, waves breaking against the inside of your skin. It seems impossible to select just a few questions, a few moments to scoop up. But you do.

You flatten the green cloth one final time against your lap before taking a deep breath and rising to stand.

~~~

You gasp as soon as you enter the Park Estate.

The plainness of the exterior that Felix had poked fun at weeks ago gives way to a great hall rises in columns of white marble, intricate moldings etched around each support and each window, which reveal a stunning view of the bay at sunset. A crystal chandelier hangs above you, powered, of course, by electricity, scattering light against the brass banisters that rise along the spiral stairs. They sweep up from the floor, to a terrace above where guests mingle. Trees, brought in from the tropics, hang over your head. You wonder how long they will survive in this climate.

It is better than anything you could have hoped for him. Leaps and bounds better than your low, sagging ceilings, his cracked windows.

And then you hear a low voice, as if from a dream, and you turn your head to see Felix. The rest of your breath leaves you in a quick burst, and when you try to draw a new inhale, you find the room suddenly emptied of air.

He still wears the smile you remember, and perhaps a few extra freckles over the bridge of his nose. The mussed hair from the last time you saw him has been slicked back, parted. He is a man now, fully. But still, he is himself.

And then there is Dahyun to his left, dripping a dress of cobalt, the latest fashion from Paris. You see the way his gaze darts to her as she speaks, bouncing between her eyes to her lips. And then you see – his hand in hers, rubbing gently at the cloth at her palm.

You turn away quickly, grabbing a glass of wine.

~~

You are patient the rest of the night, watching from afar as Felix smiles and laughs at the gaggle of well-wishers perpetually swarming him. You watch a surprise serenade by Dahyun’s father, in celebration of the union. You chat with the townspeople, your parents, Dahyun’s parents. And then finally Changbin, who tells you of his life in the city. You only half-listen, but it helps pass the time.

As the light of the moon begins to mix with that of the chandelier, the room begins to clear as the party-goers bid the happy couple good night. Dahyun follows a few guests out – family that had traveled far, you assume.

And then Felix is alone, finally. You step forward, calling his name.

His head snaps to you, and a smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine. You feel like you’ll overflow, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable – it just feels like your past merging finally with your present, your heart stretching to make space for both.

You begin to talk before you can think, the moments and questions pouring out in a jumble despite all your planning, all the preparation for this exchange.

And then you see Felix’s eyes dart behind you, and you stop talking, turning to follow his gaze. Dahyun has re-entered the room. She stands patiently at the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, smiling sweetly at her betrothed.

“Sorry, I have to go but – ” mutters Felix without a glance back towards you, already taking a step forward, “I’ll call you later though, okay? I promise.”

And so he strides past you, and you turn to watch as he reaches out his hand. Dahyun grasps it, beaming.

Something knots itself inside you and you know – no matter hard you pick at it, try to pull, it will never come undone. But, still, it doesn’t fully choke your hope. You go home and wait for his call. You hear its ghost it in the whistling of the kettle, the sizzle of the pan.

But only a different call comes. You finally answer.

~~~

[ II ]

The following day, Dahyun and Felix board a carriage, travel for hours across empty land, before stepping out onto a busy street. It is swarmed with carriages and horses and parasols, the screech of horns and whistles.

They are visiting the city for few weeks so that she can introduce him to the world she comes from, and so, in the following days she grasps his hand and leads him: up the stairs into her massive manor in the heart of the city, to the most expensive box at the opera, through parties of the elite, full of dignitaries and captains of industry, through department stores and art galleries, always flanked by her aunts and cousins and family business partners. She holds his hand the whole time, down all the paths that have suddenly unfurled before him from the place there their bodies join. The world has never seemed so big, so infinitely accessible. An endless array of new places for him to explore.

Tonight, he follows her down the grand staircase in her home, attending a party hosted by her grandparents. It is ostensibly just a mechanical function of this circle’s strict social calendar, a requirement of high society, but when he sees her grandparents beam when they catch Dahyun’s gaze on him, he knows it is more – it’s a welcome, a celebration of them.

As Dahyun reaches the bottom of the flight she looks back to smile at Felix, and his heart tumbles. He can’t believe, still, that Dahyun chose him. She is kind, smart, beautiful, poised – every good adjective, every single thing one would ever hope to find in a wife.

He is so lucky, he knows.

The evening passes in a buzz of conversation and fine spirits, music and city lights dancing on the apartment’s gilded interior. He speaks to various family members, a few local factory owners, but he mostly speaks with Dahyun – of the social events that still remain later in the calendar year, the horse she intends to buy at the next derby, Felix’s hometown, potential places they could visit the days after. They decide to visit the city’s new public park, planned by the city’s greatest landscape architects. Once their conversation concludes, they rejoin a group of aunts chatting near the fireplace. Felix grabs a flute of champagne as they walk over.

By the end of the night he is close to dizzy, his brain just a frizzled cloud, but his limbs feel tight even as hands edge into numbness. He isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol, or the constant stream wealth and glamour that barrages him, exciting even as it frays his nerves. Regardless, he excuses himself politely, smiling to Dahyun before retiring to his chambers.

He lies in bed, the silks cooling against his heated skin. It itches, almost, and he takes a few deep breaths, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the buzz to subside, for his blood to settle in his limbs.

And when it does, he feels –

An ache in his core. Something unsettled in his gut – corners pushing into his tender flesh, a chill where there’s a gap, the wind blowing through.

It’s just adjustment, he thinks. So many changes – Dahyun, the new wealth, new places, new people – a thousand puzzle pieces he has suddenly been given that he must use to construct a new life. He just needs to figure out the pattern, put things together.

He lets out an exhale, pulling the sheets over his head, blocking out the city lights that stream through the window. For a moment, he’s back in his childhood bed. And then, he’s asleep.

~~~

As planned, they head out early the following morning the visit the city’s central park. With initial family visits concluded and the rules relaxed now that the engagement is set, he finally is able spend time alone with Dahyun. As long as they’re in public, they can go without a chaperone looking over his shoulder, or an aunt chattering in his ear about children. He is excited to have the chance to speak freely.

And so they talk of the city’s recent growth, the trends in architecture, a revolt of the fishing union a few weeks back.

The park entrance is flanked by blooming dahlias, in peach and coral and burgundy, and Dahyun exclaims at their beauty. Felix agrees quickly, then looks ahead to the path that splits before them, wondering where it will lead, what swaying willows and magical secluded havens it will lead them through in the city’s greatest, most acclaimed offering of nature.

At the fork, they turn right. They pass meticulously maintained flowerbeds sectioned by color, perfectly round ponds cut from the earth, pristine meadows marked with signs of “No entry! Grass is growing!” They come across another split in the road that leads towards where the trees huddle together, dense and mysterious, and Felix asks if they can change direction. So they veer off the main path, in search of something more wild, but after a few minutes the path ends, and they return to the main road.

They continue walking, past wrought iron benches spaced carefully at half-mile intervals, a pond with imported fish, fountains cast in marble. They spend a few minutes in a boat at the main reservoir, rowing in a lap before bumping against the edge. It is all pretty but – he finds himself always anticipating, waiting to come across something that he can’t quite define – maybe a gnarled tree, or a frog strayed into his path, some wildflowers spread across the meadow. A surprise.

And then they are back at the start. The path, it seems, was a loop.

~~~

After returning home, they sit for lunch.

Servants swarm them, laying down silver platters full of finger sandwiches, roast meats, teapots of fragrant teas. He picks one up, pouring into the fine china in front of him. The stream sputters, tiny flecks of leaves scattering across the surface as the pot empties, leaving his cup only half-full. He reaches for another.

They talk about a fight on the rail station, the news having quickly made its way uptown. He picks up a sandwich, placing it on his plate, and offers his own story of a fight he witnessed when he was young at his own hometown’s docks, a brawl over mackerel. Dahyun giggles at the absurdity of it.

They rest for the remainder of the day in the parlor, tired from their adventure earlier, the sun having left them listless and light-weary.

They speak again about the horse she hopes to buy the following weekend at the derby, a dappled stallion. She considers if she should bring it with her to the countryside when they return. A good idea, Felix agrees, there’s certainly space for it there.

Dinner begins promptly at six in the evening, as normal. Her aunt and uncle, who were to join them, have called to say they can’t make it – her aunt has a cough, probably nothing serious, but it’s best for her to rest. Dahyun’s grandparents are absent as well, attending an evening service.

So Felix and Dahyun dine alone, accompanied only by servants and butlers. She asks him if his hometown has always been as sleepy as it is now, and he says yes, but even more so before. He asks her if this social season is as busy as they always are and she confirms, saying that while there are a few events each week this year, in previous years there are often a dozen.

She goes on to describe the kinds of parties that are thrown, the people to attend. Felix asks questions at appropriate times, reacts at the peak of each of her small stories. But then, after a few minutes, she falters.

Did she already mention the horse she wishes to buy? she asks. Oh yes, she did.

There are a few more silent seconds as she stirs her soup, and Felix jumps in to ask – what shall we do during the rest of these visit?

She exhales quickly, almost inaudibly, before tacking to the list she had begun the night before – they could visit the river walk, see the new bridge that was constructed in the last year connecting the central island to its outer boroughs. Or perhaps the botanical garden.

Felix perks up. The botanical garden sounds nice, he replies.

And then for a moment he loses himself – he tells her about the garden he once helped care for. Of the year beetles invaded, like a biblical plague, eating through all the bulbs in his neighbor’s yard, so the spring rains had only yielded soggy dirt. How there had been an invasion of leaf miners the year following, leaving white trails along the leaves of all their ferns. But they had been young, inexperienced – they didn’t realize what it was, thought they had discovered a new species of plant. Had been so proud of themselves until they had rushed to his neighbor’s mother and she had said – no that was just a pest, a bug, painting on the leaves. Little artists, she had said.

When he finishes, Dahyun is smiling sweetly. “How nice,” she says.

She looks down at her plate again, poking at the sauce, drawing a pattern. When she starts speaking again she mentions how she when she was young, she always played with her horses, participating in dressage competitions. The horse she plans on buying this week is bred for that, she says.

Ah, he thinks, again. The horse.

And then suddenly he realizes – they are on another circle. The whole day she has been getting lost in his words, and him in hers, and they return always to their starting point for safety. Each time the try to stray, the periods in their sentences are trail markers, forcing them back to well-worn topics, back to their loop.

He reminds himself that they have only known each other for a short time, have only just started spending time alone. It takes time to speak freely, to get comfortable. They are just missing the right common ground on which they together can draw new paths to explore.

So for the rest of the dinner, he asks her every question he can think of. He asks her about her favorite things, shares his. Do you like to read? Do you like the city or the countryside? Are you and your brother close? Do you frequent the museums? Do you enjoy sports?

She responds, politely and warmly, but none of her responses lead naturally into one of his own. Placing his dessert fork down he promises himself – it’s okay, no problem, we’ll try again tomorrow.

His sleep is restless, unable to stop his brain from playing out scenarios, conversations, ways to act. He can study for this, prepare for this. Ensure everything goes smoothly.

~~~

The next morning, he starts again with gusto. He is more than ready, his brain now carrying a numbered list, penned in last night’s moonlight, and so he rifles though:

(1) Do you have a favorite artist?

(2) What is your favorite season?

(3) What are your favorite parts of the city?

For the rest of the day, he continues down the list, but with no luck. When he gets in bed that night, he feels that same ache as before, but it feels more solid now – perhaps there was something off with dinner, something his body can’t figure out how to digest. He tosses the whole night, unable to relieve the pressure, but still, he starts again the following day with equal fervor.

And then the day after that. The following weekend. The following week.

When he reaches the end of his first list of questions, he scrapes to find more – tacking them on:

(1023) Oh the weather is nice today, isn’t it?

(1024) That’s a pretty tree, right?

(1025) What a nice show, don’t you think?

He is patient, tries everything, but again and again – he finds no place from which to spring, and he can tell she can’t either. There is way for him to bounce easily off into his own thoughts. He is always having to prepare himself before she finishes her sentences – contracting all his muscles with a ready thought, ready to leap into some response. He must rely on all of his own momentum, none passing between them. At the end of each day, he is exhausted.

And, even then, with all his effort, they find themselves at the same starting point, again and again. He starts to hate that godforsaken horse.

Lying in bed at night, two weeks from their trip to the park, the jumble at his core has grown more painful, like a gallstone, poking at his stomach, making him nauseous. He rolls over, burying his head in the pillow, furious at himself, frustrated. He can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, what he needs to do differently. He’s missing some optimization, some trick, needs to be more interesting, better. He always knew he wasn’t enough for Dahyun. Should he read more, learn more about art, or architecture, or…horses?

He doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. Why it’s this hard to find a rhythm, a flow. How it could require this much work, when it had always been so natural with you, he –

And then, suddenly, it’s clear:

The mess inside him is the accumulation of every word he and Dahyun have exchanged. They are both too much and too little, all at wrong angles. He doesn’t need more time to sort them out, readjust to make them fit together correctly.

They never will, because none of them are yours.

~~~

[ III ]

He breaks the proposal next day.

He sees how Dahyun’s face falls, fighting against tears. He knows she felt something was off too, but still, she doesn’t deserve this. He never did deserve her.

When he goes back to his room to pack, he hurls his clothing in his suitcase with his head cast to the floor, avoiding mirrors. He doesn’t want to look at himself.

He is rushed quickly and unceremoniously into a carriage, spends the whole ride back to his hometown with his head buried in his hands. He knows it would have been crueler for him to stay, but he also knows that him leaving is self-preservation, the desperate need to relief the pressure in the center of his being. He can’t pretend it’s anything noble.

As they move past the city lights, to the untamed countryside, the jumble starts to dissipate. But there is no relief – it is immediately replaced by fear, the panicked sting of uncertainty. He has no plan. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask from his future.

There’s an emptiness too, that opens, particular in its tastes, screaming to be filled. A new pressure emanating from the negative space.

When he arrives home, his parents don’t speak to him for a week. And then, when they do, they just say – What a shame. How could you do this to us?

He can’t explain the truth, so he stumbles over generic excuses – sometimes things just don’t work out, I wasn’t the right one for her, I tried my best to make it work but –

They just shake their heads and turn, walking past the smudged windows, under the decaying eaves, leaving him alone to explain to himself. This, somehow, is even worse.

He hides out in a dark corner of his bedroom, knowing the whole town is abuzz with the news, afraid to run into any member of Dahyun’s family. Of being asked for an explanation that he can’t give, a truth that can’t exist.

Sitting still, the guilt accumulates around him, haunting him. But there’s another ghost, far more terrifying, made of brass, howling his name. In the haze of his future, in the swirl where potential and missed opportunity mix he knows one thing – he aches to hear your voice.

Still, though, he finds himself stalling. Passing by the phone, never touching it. The blur of the last few months has finally slowed, and with all the time alone, his brain is finally able to grasp onto everything that has happened, to inspect it. And he realizes – he told you he’d call you, but never did. Twice. He didn’t mean to break his promise, but he was so stupid and inexperienced and foolish, caught up in a dream he had thought would be his reality that he had gotten lost in time, lost track of you.

But his intentions didn’t matter. He was sure you had felt abandoned. Among all the things he is sorry for – disappointing his parents, hurting Dahyun – he hates himself most for this. He thinks of all the little thoughts and tiny hurts you had to nurse by yourself, while he was blissfully, selfishly unaware.

And so he aches to call you, more than anything, but he is equally terrified. He doesn’t know how you’ve changed over the last few months, if you are angry, if you even want to talk to him.

But after a few more days, he finally finds himself seated next to the phone, his hand on the cold metal. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will call at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then, in a huff and a blaze of courage he picks up the receiver, jamming his finger in the dial, swirling it. And the he waits, terrified, the rings of the phone and the hammering of his heart joining in a percussion of anticipation.

And then he hears a click, your voice.

“Hello?” you ask, “To whom –“

“Hi it’s –”

“Felix,” you finish.

And then there is just the crackle of a briefly severed connection. Silence.

He doesn’t know what to say, knowing that he can’t say the truth – that he returned home because it didn’t feel right, despite all the good in it, because it wasn’t this and he doesn’t know what that means and is too scared to figure it out and he misses you and he’s so sorry and he prays that you’re not mad but understands if you are. He’s not asking for forgiveness, just to hear your voice and your thoughts and any words you’ll give him. He’s empty and desperate for them. Needs them, you.

So he settles for:

“How are you?”

You respond, flatly, simply:

“Well, and you?”

He winces. This isn’t you — it’s a script. Worse than silence, worse than not knowing what you had left to offer him.

And then –

“I was sorry to hear the news about your engagement ending. I hope you are both well.”

Another line pulled from an etiquette book. Panic bubbles, and before he can think he is apologizing profusely, explaining how he just lost track but he really, definitely, still should have called. He is so sorry, so so sorry, he repeats again and again. He hopes it will help mend any hurts, will ease the block between you. But you just brush him off, saying that you were busy too, that you understand. And then nothing more.

So he then tries to lead with the things you like to talk about, to pull more from you. The kind of things that used to have you uncorking yourself, pouring into him, at the whiff of a suggestion that he was listening. But you remain restrained – not rude, just a stranger.

And then there’s a rustle in the background, and Felix hears the quick tumble of your mother’s words. He strains to make out the meaning, and then he hears another voice. A man’s voice.

And then there’s a brief quiet. He knows you’re holding your hand against the receiver, blocking your voice from him as you speak to your mother and your visitor.

“Sorry, I have to go but,” you say when you remove it, “I’ll call you later, Felix, okay?”

And then the phone clicks and he is left holding the phone to his ear like a seashell, straining to hear depths. But there is only the sound of empty space, reverberating.

~~~

Over the next few days, Felix finds himself hovering near the phone, never outside hearing distance. He knows it’s futile, knows nothing will come, but he can’t help but have a little hope. And besides – it’s easier to focus on the possibility of your voice than the probability that your guest represents.

But after a few days Felix’s hope has diminished to just a sliver, and he finally, begrudgingly, starts to force himself into the outside world, back into attempting some semblance of normal life, but he still is always thinking of you. There are side glances and hushed whispers downtown, as expected, but this isn’t the worst of it – he sees now what he was missing, secluded in his home.

You and Changbin, waltzing down the street, accompanied by your mother. In Mrs. Cho’s parlor, eating tarts. Giggling together as you ride the newly refurbished trolley, funded by his family. You have begun a courtship.

When you run into one another you are polite, an appropriate level of lukewarm. Changbin is curt – because of his sister, Felix is sure – but there’s something else there too. The edge of a possessiveness, a warning for Felix to stay back, turn away. Your mother, your new chaperone, seems oblivious to it, so Changbin doesn’t fuss. But Felix can feel its quiet heat.

And he doesn’t know if it’s this new dynamic, or your own anger, or if you simply have no attachment to him anymore, but it’s clear – that afternoon in the garden was the last time you would ever pour yourselves into one another. You have nothing to give him, want nothing from him.

So he doesn’t bother you – he just watches you from afar, sitting alone. He can never hear exactly what you say, but he watches you mouth words quickly to Changbin, laughing, raising your eyebrows in reaction to his jokes. It breaks his heart.

Felix always knew that change would come, had seen the way it did for others, but he hadn’t fully realized its weight or scope until was already upon him, crushing him. He had somehow thought that even with the backdrop of your own separate marriages, you would still be able to maintain some freedom. He had been stupid, thinking he was some exception. He had thought you would always have more time, and so he had spent it all without knowing, fool’s gold. He aches for more, still.

And so he can’t help but to nurse a space inside himself to receive anything you might be willing to give, at any time. He struggles to pad the void with blades of time he still holds from your childhood, trying make himself feel less hollow. But they’re too light, dried out, crumbling. He aches for freshness, something he can tend to.

So he collects whatever clippings he can from a distance – a glance, a faint smile, a few words – gloriously green for a second, and then all too fast brown in his clutched hands.

They are not alive. They cannot give him what he wants.

~~~

And then in Mrs. Cho’s parlor he hears it – gossip, solidifying too quickly into fact, trapping him like a cast. A snippet from a conversation behind him:

“Changbin is finally going to propose tomorrow, I hear. Asked for permission from her parents and everything already. He’s heading to the city so he has to propose, if he wants to bring her with him.”

Felix chokes on his tea. He knew this was coming, but still, he isn’t ready.

“They’re not having an engagement party here?” another voice asks, “Just leaving?”

“No, Changbin has stronger ties to the city – he’ll want to celebrate there, with his friends and business partners. Wants to set up a life there as fast as possible.”

As fast as possible. The sentence jolts through his chest.

“He’s eager to get her accustomed to city life – and he’s smitten by her, besides. Wants to move things along, start a family, establish themselves as a force in the elite circle. I spoke with his parents last week, and they say he came to them, assuring them she was the one. Said to them, ‘…she’s just so eloquent you know? Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything. She’ll fit in well at any party, perfect for me.’”

“Sounds like a perfect match then,” remarks the other woman gleefully.

Felix forces himself out of his chair, unable to hear anymore. The women at the table turn to him as his chair scrapes, and he pays quickly, rushes out the door. Past the crumbling walls, the shattered scales of tile, the unkept grasses to his compound, the whole time his brain replaying their conversation.

And then it gets stuck, like the needle on a phonograph.

Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything.

It makes him boil, limbs on fire, fists clenching. Changbin wants you like the water that runs through his pipes – washing his hands, watering his garden, filling his glass. Controlled, portioned, calibrated to a purpose. Discarding the rest down the drain, without a second thought.

And, now, too, there is the question of what to do. He had expected that you would have some sort of sendoff, a way for him to see you for the last time before you were whisked away to your new life. A few more minutes of time guaranteed before you vanish. But now, suddenly, there is nothing left.

So he makes a decision, as selfish as it is self-sacrificing. He will visit your home one last time, for one final goodbye. To wish you the best, make sure you seem happy, to let you know he’s there if you ever need him. But also, to steal a few extra moments with you, a last chance to pad out the emptiness he has carved involuntarily inside himself.

~~~

That night he stands in front of your door, fist hovering a few inches from the wood. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will knock at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then his fist is against the wood, feeling as if his hand belongs to someone else.

Your mother opens the door, wearing an apron, clearly have just come from the kitchen. She breaks into a familiar smile.

“Oh Felix! It’s been a while, come in.”

And so he does, stepping past the threshold. He hears voices down the hall, laughter.

“What brings you here, dear?” your mother asks, shutting the door behind him.

Felix swallows hard, manages to mumble, “I heard the…happy news, about tomorrow. So just wanted to come by to wish her well in person before she leaves for the city. Uh, say, goodbye to my oldest friend, you know, and – “

“Oh! Yes…that’s sweet of you,” your mother says, “She’s in the library. Changbin and her father are in the parlor actually, and sent her back there to fetch a volume on history. She’s been there a while, you can go meet her there. Ask her to rejoin the parlor when you’re done, okay?”

Felix nods, assuring her that he’ll do just that, and moves quickly down the corridor. He is relieved and deeply grateful that just your mother answered the door, that she still has a blind spot after all of these years, allowed him this one final opportunity. Perhaps a final repayment, a few minutes of turning the other way for all the hours you had given her to focus on what she wanted. He knows that if Changin saw him instead, that he’d stop Felix, politely of course, but still.

So he passes the parlor as quickly as he can, catching only a glimpse of father and soon-to-be-son-in-law sitting with piles of books, Changbin’s hand splayed over one, his index finger pointing to a line. He continues down corridor after corridor until their distant laughter fades to silence.

~~~

The library is at the very end of the hall, facing the family garden.

When he enters, he first sees your family’s phone, deceptive in its inanimate innocence. And then he your silhouette, facing the bookshelf, illuminated by candles and moonlight. You are crouched on the floor, a tumble of books to your left and right, your hand between shelves, adjusting an old leather volume.

The worn floor creaks beneath Felix’s foot, and you turn, eyes wide as you see him.

“Felix…” you breathe.

“Your mother said you were here fetching a book,” he rushes to say, only a partial explanation for his presence. He has been thinking about what to say all day, craved a moment like this for weeks, but he feels awkward, unprepared. He’s not sure exactly what he wants to say, knowing it won’t be everything he wants to say.

So for a few moments he’s just silent, his eyes fixed on the books piled around you, the empty shelves in front of you. He wonders what exactly you’re doing rearranging the library with a guest – your future husband – waiting for you.

You must catch some confusion in his expression, because you explain:

“A while ago, I organized everything by size…”

“I remember,” Felix responds.

“…But it still didn’t seem quite right, so I’m trying it in alphabetical order.”

You don’t say anything else, don’t ask why he’s there, just continue slotting in books. He worries that he want him to leave, are just being polite, but you don’t seem bothered either. You just pick up a book at a time, examining the spine, before placing it next to its new neighbors. Unhurried, in no rush to get back to the parlor.

But he still worries, so he offers, “Don’t want to take up too much of your time, I know you probably want to get back to Changbin – “

“He and my father will be perfectly fine without me for a while,” you interrupt, your back to him as you adjust a dictionary, “He sees so much of my anyway, and he’ll have plenty of time to see more of me.”

Felix swallows down the jealousy, poison rising from his heart. He’ll have plenty of time.

“I just –,” Felix continues, “Wanted to come say goodbye, I guess. I…know about Changbin’s plans for tomorrow. We just spent so much time together, so it just seemed…wanted to wish you the best, before you head to the city. To say congratulations.”

“Thank you. But it’s not like I’m leaving forever, Lix,” you say, “I’ll come back to visit now and then.”

“It won’t be the same, though.”

“No,” you say, “It won’t.”

And then you pause, before confessing, “But it hasn’t been for while, either.” Your tone is just truthful, like you are stating an everyday fact, one that doesn’t require you to form any feeling about it -- the price of milk, the time of the sunset.

Felix drops his eyes to the floor, unable to hold your gaze.

“…I had to make a real future,” you say. Your tone still holds no emotion, but it’s softer, gentler than anything else you’ve said.

When he looks back up he sees: the curtains, slanted. The fireplace, covered in soot. The paint, peeling. All the things that now fell to you to somehow fix.

“I know,” he says, gentle, too.

And then, before he can think it through:

“I miss you.”

A moment passes.

“I miss you, too,” you respond.

It isn’t an opening. It’s just an acknowledgement of the way things are, the way they will continue to be. Closure, but with none of the relief.

And then you turn back to the shelf, slotting a book back in. You are quiet for a few seconds, and he wonders if they’re the start of the eternity he has been dreading.

“Thanks for stopping by, though. Nice of you,” you say.

And then true silence. Now permanent.

He knows this is the end. That, finally, definitively, time is up. He feels like he should say goodbye, farewell, something, but to do so seems too cavalier, almost sacrilegious. There is not a word that Felix knows that can capture the weight of this departure.

So, he steals just a few more seconds, watching you before he turns, and then he hears –

A sob. You are trying to choke it down, but it’s unmistakable.

His next move is all instinct, muscle memory moving him to you, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around you, head on your shoulder. Just as he did when you fell and scraped your knee as a child, or broke your favorite toy. He should have thought before acting, turned around and left, but his head is empty, his body full of a primal need to fix and soothe.

“Hey, hey, ” he coos, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come…so sorry…”

You shake your head, drawing a broken inhale. And then you turn, locking eyes with him, and he recognizes your expression. It is the same one he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

And so his next movement is both a natural progression and a huge leap. His lips, placed gently on your shoulder. Then to your neck, upwards.

He pauses between each kiss to see if it’s too far, if you want to pull away, but you don’t. You just melt back into him, moving your hand back to grip in his hair, letting him explore you. But still - you’ve only ever walked him through your mind, never through your body. He needs to stop, to ask where he’s permitted.

“Is this okay?” he whispers into your neck, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you sigh, “No, please, don’t stop, please.”

He presses his lips again to your neck again, reassuring you that he won’t, before asking, “Okay, let me know if I go too far, though, promise?”

You nod, and so he moves to give you what you want – his lips on yours, down your neck, fingers caressing your curves, pulling at the fabric. There’s a burning fire in his hands that finds relief only in your skin, but this is a secondary need. He doesn’t know what any of this means, what’s going on inside your head, knows it can’t change things, but he now sees a glimpse of you, an opening. He wants to soothe all of you, see all of you, hear all of you, while he still can.

So he is panicked in his questions – he knows his time is short, the door already against his feet. There is therefore no organization, just plea after plea, all that he has been aching to know, all that he is just now learning to ask. Racing to jump first from his tongue.

“Can I touch you here?”

“Have you been okay?”

“Can I take this off?”

“Did you see those weird clouds a few weeks ago?”

“Will you be happy?”

“You’re sensitive there, huh?”

It’s comical, but he doesn’t care, and, apparently, neither do you. You just answer, giving back everything that he pours into you. He hovers over you, clouds to rain, rain to your sea, evaporating back up in his sunshine. Raining down again. The cycle is endless, as natural in you as it is to the earth.

And so, you respond as best you can between gasps, the ache of pleasure in your throat as his lips travel across your jaw, below your ear, his hands gently pulling off your clothing. You don’t respond to his last question, the moan answer enough as his lips suck at your sweet spot.

And then he pauses. There’s a new riddle he has to answer – something else from your throat, requiring just his tongue but no words. His hand slides down your front, between your legs.

“Can I kiss you here?”

You nod, and he drops to his knees, pushing up your skirts. The angle is awkward, but you are both too rushed to figure out a better position, desperate for the new contact. You lean against the table behind you for support.

He’s gentle as he pulls off your undergarments, his gaze always upwards, devoted, watching your reaction carefully as he kisses up your thigh. He just wants to make you feel good, to make up as much as he can in this little additional time he’s been given for all the pain he’s caused. He’s nervous, afraid he won’t be good enough, but you know he’s new to this – he had told you, late one night in a blushing haze, everything he had never tried but desperately wanted to, so you gently guide him as you discover your body together. He listens to every word you say, every direction, until there are no more suggestions, just moans tumbling from your lips.

And then just his name – over and over, laced with pleasure, the prettiest it has ever sounded – until you give one final cry, throwing your head back.

He then sits back in the desk chair, pulling you on top of him, cradling you against his chest as your breathing evens out, as you recover from your high. He gently your hair, kissing your forehead, asking gently, “Feeling okay?”

You nod against his chest, then scoot up, burying your head into his neck. He pulls you closer, fingertips ghosting over your back.

“Lix?” you whisper into his neck.

“Mhm...?” he hums, gazing down at you, wanting to inhabit this moment forever, hold you forever, so grateful for it.

“I want you to take me.”

His heart stops. He pulls you away from him for a moment, so he can look into your eyes. He needs to be sure.

“Do you mean…?”

“Yes.” you say. Your voice is firm, determined.

It’s too much for his brain to process. To have you once and then never again, especially this once – he knows it will haunt him, that he’ll never recover. If he does this, the damage is permanent. And he knows, too, as much as he wants it – he shouldn’t.

“I know we’ve…” he says, gesturing to their position, the obvious sin in it, “But that, that I shouldn’t take. That’s for – “

“Please,” you say, “I just want this. Just this one thing. Please. One choice.”

And then, the most devastating thing you could say:

“I want this to be ours, even if nothing else is after.”

And this time, he’s the one that has to bury his head into you, to steady himself, to comfort himself. Trying to grapple with how full this moment is, and how empty he’ll be after.

Ours. And then, abruptly, just his. But he knows, with certainty, he’ll give you anything you want. Pour his whole future into this moment so that you can carry into your own separate future. A parting gift.

“Okay,” he exhales, “How do you want me?”

You readjust your legs, straddling his lap, then lean in to press your lips to his. You kiss him slowly, tenderly, and he reciprocates, supple in your hands. Letting you take him as you want, anything you want.

“Just like this,” you say. He cups your face, nodding.

And then you reach for his belt, and he watches as you undo the buckle, unbutton his pants. He can’t believe it’s happening, wonders if it’s a hallucination – until you reach inside, gently grabbing his already hard length, tip weeping, and he feels how sensitive he is to your touch. He’s worried about how long he can last, if he’ll do a good enough job, that this will be a lousy gift, a lifelong disappointment to remember him by. This is, after all, his first time too.

You reposition yourself and move down slowly, his tip just brushing against your folds. They’re wet, swollen. He’s already fighting to keep his orgasm down.

And then you begin to sink down on his length, and he sees the way you bite your lip, your eyebrows knit together.

“Hey,” he says, lifting your chin so your eyes meet him, “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts…” you admit. He feels a flutter of panic – the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, rubbing circles into your cheek, “We can stop, whenever, if it’s too much.”

“No, I want this. I’m sure, ” you confirm.

“Okay,” he says, moving his other hand to cup your face, “Take all the time you need then.”

So you do. It’s a slow process, full of fits and starts, as you ease down his length. The whole time he kisses you, can’t step telling you how good you are, how well you’re taking him, how you’re almost there. And then when you finally reach the bottom, he leans in, kissing you hard, his hands gripping your waist, then moving down to your hips.

And then you start to move. It’s sloppy at first, but you find a rhythm quickly. His dick only grows harder inside you as he watches you bounce in his lap, something he never thought he’d see, never even dared to picture in his most secret fantasies. He thinks he could never feel better, and then you start to speak –

“Feel so full, Lix.”

“You fit so perfect inside, me.

“So good, making me feel so good.”

They’re the best words he’s ever heard, and he never wants you to stop, wants to store as many inside him as he can for the long winters ahead, so he begs:

“Please, let me hear you. Want to hear you, please.”

So you let him, brushing his hair from his forehead as you say how pretty he is, how wet he’s making you, how much you love riding him. He’s dizzy and throbbing and oh –

His hands are on your waist, stopping your motion, and you whine in protest.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes glued shut, “I was going to cum. You feel too good, I’m too excited, I’m sorry. And I can’t…not inside, not when – ”

You’re about to be engaged to someone else. Leaving tomorrow. He can give you anything but this.

You wince at the reminder, but then nod slowly. You ease yourself off him, and his cock slaps back against his stomach, red and rigid, wet with his arousal and yours. His eyes are still screwed shut, on the very edge of release. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Can I touch you?” you ask gently. Felix nods. You place both of your hands on his cheeks.

“You still want to cum?” He nods again.

And then he feels one of your hands lace with his, the other wrapped around his cock. One, two pumps is all it takes, and he’s spilling all over himself. He knows he should feel embarrassed, exposed, but it just feels natural to have you be the first to see him come undone. Just another first in the long line of firsts that you’ve shared with him.

When he opens his eyes you are on your knees in front of him, gently wiping his release from his stomach, his softened cock. It feels good to have you tend to him like this – it feels familiar, just like when he was sick, or hurt. This is just a natural evolution, now that you’re grown. When you are done, he holds out his arms, beckoning you back to him.

And so you settle against his chest again, curling up in his arms. He checks on you again, asking if you are okay as he rubs your back.

But this time you pause before shaking your head, drawing one shuttering breath, burying your face in his shirt. He starts to panic – did he do something? Hurt you? Were you regretting this?

“Hey,” he says, “What’s wrong?”

You take another long, broken breath.

“Miss you already,” you say, “Don’t want to go, don’t want you to go, I…”

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I got you, I’m here now. I can stay for a little. We have time.”

He knows this is only partly true – your mother could change her mind at any moment, tell Changbin. But Felix will do anything to soothe you, to help your transition back to reality, even if that requires him to spin you a fantasy for a few minutes.

“I’m not ready,” you say, shaking your head against his shoulder, grasping at his shirt, “Thought I would be ready, been trying to get ready for this for years, for how hard this would be. Tried to stay away when you came back, focus on Changbin, my family, my future. Tried to want him. But I’m not ready to leave you and I don’t know what to do…”

You start to ramble, finally pouring your whole self into him, each of your thoughts immediately becoming his. Exactly what he has desperately wanted, but every one of your words hurts. And one more than all the others.

“Years?” Felix asks.

You nod your head against his chest.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”,he asks, lifting your face to his. It’s not accusatory, just sad, echoing with the hollowness of missed opportunity, of time already passed.

“Didn’t want you to be thinking about it too. Didn’t want you worrying if you didn’t realize the full reality yet. I just wanted you to move on, forget about me, start a new life with Dahyun…”

His heart drops as he realizes – you had been nursing this alone, been scared alone, to protect him. Manufacturing the illusion of time for him to play in, a dark deal to extend his childhood. Paying for his joy with your own loneliness and exhaustion. And he knows, then, that it’s his turn to be honest with you – of all the things he has collected for you only over the last couple of months, there is only one thing, simple, at the core of everything.

“I couldn’t,” he admits, “I wasn’t ready either. I tried, but I couldn’t imagine a life with her. Because she wasn’t you.”

You look up, eyes wide, fixing your gaze to his, as the truth settles on your shoulders – you have always been on the same page.

And then two sentences emerge from where they had always been lurking in the shadows of Felix’s mind, placing themselves precariously on the stack of every other word you have ever exchanged. He chokes on them – he has never tried to say anything this heavy.

Please don’t marry him. Marry me.

Caught, they already sting his throat, his mouth – he knows they will always be branded on his tongue, regardless of your answer. He has to say them before they burn through the muscle, silencing him, leaving those words forever unspoken.

But he hesitates, and in the that wasted moment, your eyes catch behind him. He turns to see what you’re looking at – the garden, overrun with weeds, the flowers dying. A thought forms, and then, as is natural between you, it is tumbling out of your mouth:

“We should water the garden more often, until it recovers.”

When you turn back towards him he is beaming, and you beam back.

You know his question. He knows your answer.

~~~

Photo by Zach Plank on Unsplash

[kingmikoto]

ONLY IN MY DREAMS // MITSUYA TAKASHI

☆ ──── author’s note : just a little mitsuya fic i put together it might be ooc and not aligning with the current universe i haven’t finished the manga yet 

☆ ──── warning(s) :  maybe ooc?, maybe au?  fluff <3

The sound of your alarm vibrating rattled you awake and you almost questioned why the hell you even set it up in the first place. You felt around for your phone and finally found it and the screen lit up to the little reminder you had put on it. 

『 Wake up and watch the sunrise with him 』

Your body suddenly jolted awake as the realization finally hit you. You threw the covers off of you and slipped on your house slippers and opened up your closet to rifle through your clothes but nothing seemed to stand out. A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.

You scoffed to yourself. You really needed to stop this habit of yours. After a moment, you finally settled on your cargo pants, a red cropped henley and your overworn black converse. You tossed them onto your bed as you washed up in the bathroom. Your mind began to wander to thoughts of him as you brushed your teeth. His soft dark hair that he had grown out after he stopped dying it its signature lilac that matched his pretty lilac eyes. 

You shook away the thought and smacked both of your cheeks to get out of your daze. It was embarrassing that you felt like a little school girl who had a crush on the cute delinquent. I mean it wasn’t far off from the truth. You had a crush on Mitsuya ever since you had moved out of your old neighborhood and attended the same middle school. He was always so sweet and kind to you despite being a part of a gang. He would lend you pens and even notes when you were stuck on homework assignments.

You even found yourself joining the sewing club just because he became president of it and that wasn’t an easy feat either. You were always struggling to get his attention amongst all the other girls who were always flocking him. It was irritating as hell, but somehow he always managed to find time for you and that would make every girl rage in envy. 

But that was all years ago. The gang he was a part of was no longer some petty group that was started by six middle school delinquents, it was on the rise of becoming one of the biggest organizations in Tokyo. It was crazy to think that the kid with unnaturally colored hair who you goofed around with since you were kids was a part of something so much bigger than the both of you combined. 

Still, even after all these years you had remained friends. There were a few times where you had thought that he might make a move on you throughout the years and every time it felt like the timing was off. The last time you felt like the spark between the both of you was really about to ignite was at the gathering you had both attended to about two weeks ago. Everything had been going great. Perfect in fact. 

You two were sharing a bag of gummies on the balcony of his house that he had just recently moved into to get away from all the chaos that was ensuing. “Housewarming party” they called it. It “would be small” they said.  

“Yeah fuckin’ right. There’s at least two hundred people in there right now.” You muttered to yourself as you shook your head. 

Mitsuya turned his head to look down at the throngs of people that had been dancing, sharing smokes, drinking and talking the night away as the music boomed throughout the grounds. He laughed as he threw a gummy into the air and you pushed his head out of the way to catch in your mouth. 

“Hey! That was–” 

He began to say, but the closeness of your faces had completely thrown him off. Your heart thumped loudy against your chest as you stared up at him like a deer in headlights. His lilac eyes went from your bashful gaze to your glossed lips and then back your eyes. It made your whole body feel like it had risen up at least thirty degrees higher and your stomach was doing backflips at his sudden change in demeanor. 

His breath was warm against your lips as he leaned forward–

“Mitsuya-kuuuuuun! [name]-kuuuuun!~” The sound of Takemichi’s drunken sing-songy voice pierced right through the tension.

Your teeth grit against one another and you could’ve sworn you heard Mitsuya suck at his teeth.

Takemichi arms were suddenly around the both of you and you found yourself being dragged back to the party against your will.

“You guys are missin’ out on the partayyyy of the yearrrr.” Takemichi slurred as you both were practically latched into a headlock. 

As he led you back to the party that was taking place, the gang seemed to notice both of your disgruntled looks and Mikey couldn’t help but let out a boisterous childish laugh. 

“Nice going, Bakamichi.” Chifuyu scoffed as he analyzed the both of you.

“Bakamichi?!” Takemichi blurted out as he let go of the both of you to start scolding Chifuyu.

Of course, he had only made himself into even more of a fool than he already looked. You let out an exasperated sigh before glancing to your right expecting Mitsuya to be next to you, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“He’ll come around.” Draken’s hand found your shoulder and you gazed up at him with a disappointed look.

“Maybe.”

You spit into the sink and turned the knob and watched as the water washed away the minty foam. That had felt like ages ago and yet it had replayed in your mind over and over again. What could you have done to change the trajectory of the situation? Should you have just leaned in and let all hell break loose when Takemichi caught the both of you kissing? 

“Stupid.” You murmured to yourself as you shook your head.

There was no reason to reflect so deeply on the past, especially if you had already planned on professing your feelings to him today. You had gone over almost every scenario possible and yet, none of them would ever completely emulate how the situation would really go. How almost disassociating it would feel in that very moment as you spill out your feelings. You didn’t want to overdo it, nor did you not want to say too little. It was so easy, yet so difficult. 

You sighed as you checked the time on your watch as you ran a brush through your hair. Sunrise was at 4:47AM.

4:34AM

“Damn, I should leave now, I guess.”

You raked your digits through your hair and took one last look in the mirror as you grabbed your headphones and your skateboard before heading out of your apartment. Usually, you would take your car, but the spot that you were going to was only a few blocks away from where you lived. You kept it local since your job didn’t require you to go out of your way into the deepest parts of downtown, so in turn you were not too far from your old high school.

You and the gang had made a tradition of watching the sunrises and sunsets, but as time went on everyone began to tend to their own business causing the numbers to dwindle until it was only Mitsuya who was able to make it. Obviously, you did not mind. It was a lot easier to tell him that you cared for him, cared for him in more than a friend kind of way.

And more importantly, no Bakamichi interrupting your precious and delicate moment.

You carefully set your skateboard to the ground and then you were off. The sky was still dark, but the summer air was already starting to feel a little warm. You didn’t mind though, the breeze felt cool against your skin as it rippled through your clothes. You turned on your music and let your thoughts wander as you absentmindedly listened to the lyrics playing.

♫ It's only just a dream

Babe I'd rather stay inside your dream

If I could disappear beneath the leaves ♫

You almost felt annoyed at the lyrics that were playing. Would you be able to make your dreams into fruition? Had it been too long to even bring up the last time that you had met up and nearly kissed? His texts and calls never seemed off since the occurrence, though there was the huge elephant in the room that you both failed to address. It was almost unsettling. You had typed out a draft in your notes to send out to him, but it never felt right. Telling him in person seemed like the best thing to do, although it was definitely the hardest. You had told yourself that cutting corners wasn’t always the best choice. Besides, you both were old enough to handle these sorts of things. Right?

As the school finally came into view, you noticed that he wasn’t there. Mitsuya was always so prompt. You felt your heart sink as you plopped onto the grass and peered at the horizon that would start to glow at any moment.

You glanced over at your watch once more as you took off your headphones.

4:41AM

“Where are you…”

“Lookin’ for me?” The sound of velvety voice was suddenly in your ear.

Your bones rattled instantaneously and his melodious laugh filled the air. His smile and crinkled eyes made your insides feel warm and mushy as he took a seat next to you.

“Idiot, I thought you weren’t gonna show up.” You murmured with your cheeks puffed out.

“What would you have done if I didn’t?” 

It was a simple question and yet the amused expression on his face and the slightly flirty tone of his voice made you want to melt into a puddle. 

“I think I would’ve blocked you.”

“Blocked me?!” He exclaimed looking at you incredulously. 

“Yeah, I think that would be an appropriate punishment.” You mused as you leaned on the back of your hands. 

He jutted out his bottom lip for a moment as he rotated his body to grab something that you couldn’t see. 

“I guess you don’t want your favorite coffee done to your exact liking then.” He showcased a cup holder that held two coffees.

“Oh,” He continued on as he pulled out a brown paper bag to reveal your favorite bakery goods that you would go out of your way to grab at unfathomable times of the day. “And I guess you don’t want these either.”

You almost felt like crying right then and there as you gawked at the precious pastries. He had gone out of his way to go to your favorite bakery that was deep in the city that almost always seemed to be sold out by noon. You were at a loss for words, but somehow you managed to scoff at him. 

“Are you trying to bribe your way out of being blocked?”

“What do you mean?! I showed up, didn’t I?”

A smile crept on your face as you reached into the bag and grabbed a pastry along with your iced coffee. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

You nudged him to grasp his attention. “Really.”

He gave you his signature lazy grin as he peered down at you while he sipped at his drink. “I’d do anything to see you smile.”

“Huh?” You felt your cheeks warm at his words. Your eyes quivered up at him as you sat there dumbfounded. The summer breeze undulated past you, picking up hydrangea petals that were planted alongside the walls of your old high school. You felt like you were in a dream. His heavenly gaze casted down upon you and you felt like you were holding your breath at this point as he leaned forward and then stopped.

“Do you need me to say it again?” He brushed the hair away from your face with the pads of his fingers. 

“I–” You began but your mind was coming up blank.

“[name]...” His once dreamy expression suddenly turned bashful and as soon as you knew it he turned away from you. 

You blinked back several times trying to register what had just happened. Mitsuya was covering his face with hands and you struggled to even find any words to say.

“Did you–did you just cockblock yourself?” 

You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but it just had come out that way.

Mitsuya’s body went rigid for a moment and then you did something that he did not expect. You began to laugh. Laughed so hard that your stomach started to hurt. Moments of almost kissing him had completely left your thoughts and you no longer struggled to maintain your composure any longer.

“What–what are you laughin’ for?” He questioned looking both mortified and embarrassed. His face was tinged a deep carmine and his cheeks were puffed out like yours were once before.

“Because you totally just cockblocked yourself. I mean think about it. First it was that time in our last year of middle school because you thought you were going to move away, but Mikey totally interrupted that. Then there was that time where you were saying good night to me, but my brother opened the door at the last minute and the most recent event–Bakamichi totally cockblocking you.” You held out your fingers to signify all the times that he was indeed cockblocked.

Mitsuya rubbed the back of his neck and began to chuckle. “I guess you’re right. I feel like there were so many other times besides those.”

“Oh, there were, but those were the ones that stuck out the most.” You replied, causing you both to laugh.

“Yeah, well. I thought this time would be different since, you know, nobody came this time and we were the only ones who were gonna show up.” He gestured to the both of you with his eyes cast down.

You sighed as you turned to face him and took a quick sip of your coffee before setting it down. “Is it not?”

His gaze shifted to yours and your face was close to his again. You felt your heart start to race again. 

“I like you, Mitsuya. Like as in more than a friend and I’m sure that’s painfully obvious to everyone else, but it feels so good to say that outloud to you.” You whispered.

You leaned your forward against his and a small lopsided grin began to form on his cute face. “Yeah, I was just too much of a coward to tell you how I felt.”

His calloused hand rested on top of yours as he gently squeezed it. “But I really like you too, [name]. In more than a friendly way.”

You softly giggled at him mimicking your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

His other hand cupped your cheek and he brought his lips to seal yours into a long overdue kiss. His lips were even softer than they looked, and even softer than you had imagined they would be. 

The sounds of faint cheering in the background caught your attention, and the both of you turned to see that small gang of people who had claimed they were far too busy to meet up with you all in the distance were jumping and blowing noise makers as they approached you.

“Idiots.” You both muttered to yourselves before glancing at one another and laughing.

“Sorry for cockblockin’ you man.” Takemichi took a seat next to Mitsuya.

“Already forgotten.” Mitsuya fist bumped him.

“You guys owe me fifty bucks.” Yuzuha held out her hand.

Chifuyu, Mikey and Pah begrudgingly fished out their wallets and handed her cash.

“You guys bet on us?!” You felt a little betrayed that they would gamble on you both kissing.

“Yeah, but I had faith in you. Just without the wagering.” Hina smiled softly at you and you felt a little better knowing that she was one of the good ones.

“Here take your money.” Mikey deadpanned as he held out a small wad of cash to her.

You and Mitsuya’s mouths went slack. 

“You’re no better!” You and Mitsuya exclaimed at her.

Hina instantly turned away from the both of you causing the group to laugh.

“But I had real faith in you guys.” Draken said with his hands on Mitsuya's and your shoulders.

“Here’s your wager.” Chifuyu impassively said as he handed Draken the money that he had earned.

“You fraud!” You and Mitsuya blundered out in shock.

Draken looked crestfallen and soon his expression turned into vexation as he snatched the money out of Chifuyu’s hands.

“In any case,” Mitsuya began as he rubbed the back of his neck again in embarrassment. “You guys made it right on time for the sunrise.”

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot that’s what we came for.” You replied as you leaned against his shoulder.

Mitsuya found himself becoming sheepish for a moment until he relaxed and leaned his head on top of yours.

It fell quiet for a moment as you all watched the sun, red and feeble rising over the horizon. Its soft apricot glow covered the view as well as all your forms. The world around you began to wake up and you felt his kiss on the top of your head as he took his hand in yours. You gently squeezed his as you threaded your fingers together.

“Oh, brother. Are you guys always going to be like this?” Hakkai scoffed and rolled his eyes in a joking manner. 

You and Mitsuya quickly felt all eyes on you before the group began to laugh in unison. 

“Yeah, don’t get all soft on us now, Mitsuya.” Draken teased as he ruffled his hair.

“And don’t go MIA on us either, [name].” Yuzuha pulled at your cheek.

You both swatted them away before glancing at one another and a wave of modesty overcame the both of you.

“Well, we’ll leave you guys to it.” Mikey smiled at the both of you as he grabbed a pastry from the bag that was sitting in between the both of you. 

“Hey!” You pouted.

“A small price to pay for love.” Mikey taunted as he took a huge bite out of the croissant that you had been dying to eat.

You felt yourself becoming dejected by the expensive and nearly impossible to attain treat being eaten by someone other than yourself. Mitsuya’s arm was now around your shoulders as he chuckled and you gazed up at him from your melancholic state. His face was kind, divine and handsome as he smiled down at you.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you as many as you like.”

It was in that moment that you had felt chest bloom with an unfamiliar warmth that surged through your body. You could definitely get use to this type of company.

[kittyburger]

I am very belatedly realizing I should share my submas fic on tumblr dot com as well.

Description:

Dreamshare AU. Emmet has shared his dreams with Ingo for as long as he can remember. For years their dreams were always a landscape of their own creation, a place to have fun and be themselves away from the mayhem and responsibilities of their waking lives. It was always there for them to fall back on, just like each other. But when Ingo went missing, their dreams were broken in two and an impassable wall appeared between them, driving Ingo farther away from him than he could ever imagine. ----- Ingo's dream is always the same, night after night, year after year, for as long as he can remember. The same grassy field, the same weather that reflects his mood, and the same looming wall. ...that is, until one day when the wall suddenly changes and a mysterious figure is on the other side, one that he feels inexplicably connected to. (Even continents away and centuries apart, their bond can't stay uncoupled forever.) Please note: Touch will be an important aspect but this is not a ship fic. With that said, here is chapter 1!

Ingo’s alive.

Emmet believes this. He knows this. Yup.

Yet when he gets home from work and begins going through his mail, he finds an advertisement for funeral services directly addressed to him. Staring at the words, his heart feels like it’s being squeezed tight, tight, too tight. His chest feels both hollow and heavy as he reminds himself Ingo’s alive, I know he’s alive. Ingo’s alive, I know he’s alive. Ingo’s alive I kn-

He must have made a noise because the sound of a pokemon leaving its pokeball snaps him out of his stupor. Before he can process what just happened, Eelektross is in front of him, pushing against his chest. He lets his pokemon shepherd him to the couch. This is routine for them, now, despite Emmet trying to get Eelectross to understand that sleep isn’t going to solve anything. It’s not going to cheer him up.

It hasn’t for two years now.

But he still lets Eelectross try.

As he braces himself to experience the same dream he always has nowadays, he eventually falls asleep to the pressure of Eelectross resting on his chest.

His dreamscape is no longer the exciting space that it used to be. It was different from what most other people called dreams, but to him it was just as normal as breathing. For as long as he could remember, whenever he and Ingo dreamed at the same time they would appear in the same place. They learned to take hold of their dreams the same way one would learn to lucid dream, and soon their dreams became a space to defy reality and just be themselves. Ingo could shout as loud as he liked without hurting anyone’s ears, and Emmet didn’t have to worry about communicating and being polite to strangers. They could go on wild train rides that wouldn’t hurt if they crashed, or create a warm sunny day when it was too cold outside.

They were never able to get their pokemon to join them, but that just gave them a great reason to live out their dreams in the waking world, as well.

It used to be a constant, something he could always rely on being there. 

Just like his brother.

From the night Ingo went missing, though, a wall appeared. It was massive, spanning from horizon to horizon, and impenetrable.

Nothing he’s done could break the wall. He tried everything he could think of, from summoning a train to speed to the wall and ram into it to simply willing it away with everything he could muster. Ingo would be proud, he thinks, that he has even tried asking the wall nicely to please go away, I want to see my brother.

But this dreamscape was also how he knew- how he knows, he still knows, that Ingo’s still alive. He has to be. Sometimes the sky would change up next to the wall without him willing it to, or in ways that didn’t reflect his own moods. Sometimes the wall itself would vibrate with the force of his brother’s yell, though the words and meanings were completely indecipherable.

He didn’t want to think about how, in the first few weeks after his brother went missing, a hint of Ingo calling for help could be faintly heard over the wind. He had tried calling back, to tell him I am here, I am Emmet, I am here, tell me where you are! Volume had never been his strong suit, however, and if how faintly Ingo’s call and normally-piercing SOS whistles was anything to go by, he wasn’t sure if his own voice was ever heard on the other end. At the very least, his own calls have never received an answer.

This was not the first time a barrier had appeared in this dream world, though they’d never been so opaque and immovable. Sometimes it was involuntary, like when one of them had a mental breakdown and needed to be alone and somewhere quiet. In those cases, the dream world would reflect their subconscious needs.

Emmet could only remember one time where it was voluntary, when Ingo had been so excited about a surprise present for Emmet that he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself in a dream that reflects their thoughts and emotions. Once Ingo had seen how dismayed Emmet had been at the sudden and deliberate separation, however, he had promised to never do that again, surprises or no. 

So much for that, he thinks and he vacantly stares at the wall for yet another night. The thought is spiteful and bitter and he resents himself for it as soon as it’s gone. He should have more faith in Ingo, right?

…but it’s been a long time since he had last heard the faint echoes of his brother calling for help. He supposes it should be a good thing, that his brother didn’t seem as lost as he was before.

It just also means that there was one less way for his brother’s presence to make itself known.

One less reassurance that his brother isn’t gone for good.

He reflects on a recent conversation he’s had with Chandelure, in which he had asked in a moment of desperation whether she could detect his brother’s soul anywhere. If maybe Ingo had become a ghost, and that was the reason he couldn’t connect. Chandelure had simply lowered her head and shook it softly from side to side with a soft, mournful “’Lure…”

Emmet gets the sense that he should be glad. Another proof that Ingo’s still alive, right? Surely the ghost Pokemon that was so close to his brother would know if Ingo… passed? That he should hold on to his hope that he’ll see his brother again?

The hard emotions are still there, though, and he spends the rest of the night trying to think of anything but his problems, despite the looming barrier in his face, seeming to taunt him in his dreams.

He just wants his brother back. Is that really too much to ask?

╰ᕦ╯( O+|+O )╰ᕤ╯

Ingo lays on the rough bedding in his tent, contemplating the memories that had surfaced earlier that day. He had had the fortune to meet the young Miss Akari earlier that morning, and to escort her through Wayward Cave despite Meili’s meddling. He wasn’t sure how to feel about her after learning that she had fallen from the sky, especially once he found out that the Galaxy team’s “hospitality” seemed to be on the condition that she would be required to face dangers greater than anyone else in the team. He is disgusted at the idea of sending a child to the frenzied Lord Electrode’s seat, especially since the Commander’s plan seems to be to leave her to face and cure Lord Electrode virtually alone.

It is a small comfort that he had been asked to help her arrive at her destination safely, though that was probably more because of Lady Sneasler’s abilities and his connection to the Noble pokemon than any apparent concern for Akari’s safety. He thinks back to their walk through the Wayward Cave, trying to identify what about her had brought forward those wisps of memory. Why now, after over three years of grasping at nothing but clouds? Was it the way she spoke? Her accent had felt both foreign and familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Maybe the memories sparked because of the way she interacted with Meili? Or… maybe it was the familiarity of conducting someone to a safe destination.

Maybe it was because, for a small time, he had dwelt on the guilty, selfish hope that she could solve this, that maybe she knew him before, that maybe, just maybe, she could help him figure out what was missing before his precious memories fall between the cracks of his mind again.

He resolves to test her skills in battle before teaching her Lady Sneasler’s call in the morning. If nothing else, having definite proof that she shares a good bond with a strong team of pokemon will reassure him about her safety. The idea of battling someone who might be just as familiar with pokemon as he is is exciting, too, so he holds onto that thought as sleep slowly comes to him.  

╰ᕦ╯( O+|+O )╰ᕤ╯

When the feeling of impossibly soft grass brushing against his face replaces the rough-but-warm texture of his tent’s bedding, Ingo knows he’s dreaming. He always dreams of the same thing: a vast but empty grassy plain that extends outwards as far as the eye can see, a sky that changes the weather according to his mood, and a towering, impenetrable wall that extends from horizon to horizon.

He keeps his eyes closed as he resolves to continue to work through the scraps of memory from that day, with the added caution of shying away from anything that might upset him. He doesn’t particularly feel like getting soaked from an emotionally-driven rainstorm right now, memories or no.

The thought reminds him of the partner he remembered, who wielded its flames with mastery. Those gentle flames would certainly be a comfort if he were chilly, and in the same thought he worries whether her flames would be– her flames, that’s right!! …whether her flames would be hurt by some rain. He tries to work from there, but his expertise is slow to come to the surface since he hasn’t had much chance to work with fire types since his arrival in Hisui.

His thoughts are interrupted by a muffled thunk, thunk, thunk coming from behind him. The wall! This is new; the wall had never made noise before. He takes a moment to discern whether or not the source of the sound is a threat, but the rhythmic pounding neither falters nor comes any closer.

Cautiously, he opens his eyes and turns his body towards the sound, hoping to not catch the attention of… whatever is making that noise. His attempt turns out to be unsuccessful, however, as the sound nearly doubles in pace. And…

His eyes widen in disbelief as his mind takes a moment to understand what he is seeing. The wall, which has always been dark and immovable for as long as he can remember, is now… translucent, like the sheets of ice that cover the cliff sides in the wintertime. His eyes are drawn to movement, which causes the gears in his brain to temporarily halt as he takes in what is directly in front of him. There’s a shape on the other end of the glass. The figure looks like a man in white, and he pulls back his arm another time before slamming the side of his fist against the wall, resulting in yet another thunk. 

Something feels important about that thought, so he repeats it in his head carefully. A… a man. In white. Who… 

His train of thought derails as the figure pounds against the wall again, inclining his body towards Ingo. The small part of his mind that tells him to be cautious reminds him of pokemon that can cast illusions, but… the pounding doesn’t seem to be aggressive. Just… desperate. Familiar. Frantic.

In opposition to his well-honed sense of caution, his heart makes a decision. He’s drawn to the man, his feet carrying him opposite of the figure, his toes just inches from the wall now. The man stopped hitting the wall but is still leaning forward, facing Ingo with his weight on both forearms and his hands still in fists. Ingo reaches up to match his hand to the man’s across the divide, lining his own forearm to where the other’s is pressing but placing an open palm opposite of the man’s fist. The man immediately opens his hand up to match, then they both bring their arms down to eye level simultaneously.

Now that he is closer, it appears that the man on the other side is saying something, one word, over and over again. It’s hard to tell, though, what with how hazy everything appears through it. He almost thinks he hears his name, but it’s so faint that he dismisses it to the wind and some wishful thinking.

They stand like that, face to face but separated by a metre-deep wall that obscures all edges and defining features, frozen. This obscuring, impassible rift feels just like his memories, the details just as foggy as the destination his thoughts always steer him into. But standing here against what feels like a representation of his experiences with memory, he can’t help but feel like it’s so much more… real, more tangible  than anything else he’s had to work with. The one opposite of him rests his forehead against the wall, shoulders slumping in what looks to be relief. Or maybe defeat?

Tears spring at the corner of his eyes and his own head bows forward as his heart mourns for something he doesn’t even know he misses. Is it the man? His heart is telling him how important this person is to him even while his mind can’t tell him why. The one trying so desperately to get to him must be someone he was close to… before. Maybe this is the man who looks like him, that likes winning more than anything else!

He wants to hope so. He wants that to be true, to be right, so he can hope for the possibility of meeting him again, even if it’s just a dream.

He wants, needs, his heart to be right.

—--

They both wake up crying. They wipe their tears and run opposing hands through their hair, unknowingly still mirroring each other even hundreds of years apart. 

╭╭<^◕°ω°◕^>╮╮

Emmet does not want to be awake.

Awake means not with Ingo, and leaving him behind in the dream was like starting a train with the brakes still on. It was wrong and it hurt.

He replays his dream from the previous night over and over like a broken disk, trying to pull out and inspect every detail he can.

Ingo.

Ingo was there.

He saw Ingo!

For the first time in just over three years, a weight is lifted from his chest. He hadn’t realized how tightly his emotions had been wrapping themselves around his heart until they all loosened at the sight of a dark shape across the rift moving.

Moving!

In their shared dream!

It has to be him. No one else can join their dreams, they've tried.

Ingo’s alive!!

Ingo’s alive.

Ingo’s alive!!

The confirmation of his stubborn belief bursts through him like an electric charge as he lets out a short eeeee! and twiddles his feet in excitement. 

Crustle, ever the overprotective one, bursts out of his pokeball at the sound. Emmet calms a little at the disturbance and sits up to soothe the worried pokemon. He repeats “I am Emmet. I am safe! I am fine. I am verrrrrry fine!” over and over again, like a mantra, until Chandelure floats through the door, looking curious about why Emmet is so excited and chatty so early in the morning. The hope in her eyes prompts Emmet to excitedly break the news.

“Ingo! I saw Ingo! In our dream! Ingo is alive! He was verrrrrrry far away, across the wall, but he was there! Ingo’s alive!”

Chandelure’s eyes widen for a moment before she gives a spin, stops, then comes right up to Emmet’s face, enthusiastically calling out. Her call summons the rest of his and Ingo’s team, and soon the whole room is overcrowded with pokemon leaving their pokeballs to chatter excitedly with each other. They all know about his and Ingo’s mysterious connection, even though they’d never been able to join the brothers in the dreams themselves. 

“The wall was different today! I could only see a little through it, but Ingo was on the other side! I tried verrrrrry hard to get to him. I think he heard me trying, or maybe he saw me. But he came up to me! It was him! He was there! Yup! We saw each other! He is alive!”

He didn’t notice the tears running down his cheeks until a Joltik Nuzzled against his chin, responding to his excitement. He went to put the sweet bug pokemon down somewhere safer, and felt the wetness on the back of his hand from when he grabbed the little bug.

Oh.

He took a moment to ground himself, as his employment-mandated trauma counselor taught him to do, and identify his emotions. It was hard to pick out his emotions from the buzzing Combee-hive of thoughts and feelings, but the first emotion he recognizes is happiness.

Then relief. Yes, he is verrrrrrrry relieved. It is one thing to believe, to know your brother is still alive, and another thing to see him right there in front of you. Moving! Responding to his own movements! Still in sync, after all of these years.

He takes another breath, trying to pull his focus back to the task at hand. Emotions. What else is he feeling? His mind blanks for a moment when he realizes he’s also feeling… betrayed? No. Betrayal has some anger with it. The thought Ingo’s the one who is good with emotions comes up, unsolicited. He’s surprised to see that the thought not only comes with the normal sharp pain of missing Ingo, but now with some frustration and fondness mixed in as well..

Ah.

Hurt. That’s what it is.

It makes him think back on what that counselor taught him about hurt. Your hurt exists because you care. It’s a part of you, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He takes a look around him, watching the pokemon celebrate his declaration in their own little ways. He thinks back to his interaction with Ingo. How… slow, deliberate, and almost hesitant every movement seemed. How he hadn’t seemed to try to break down the wall with him. Didn’t his brother miss him? Didn’t he want to be reunited just as desperately? A spark of jealousy spikes through his heart, tied together with fear and shame, and he hurriedly files those emotions away to never be seen again. Screw the exercise, he saw his brother and he will be happy or so may Haxorus cause mass panic in the subway with Earthquake again.

Speaking of…

“Alright everrrrrrrybody, there’s too many of you in here and it’s getting stuffy. We’re all excited, but can you go be excited in the living room instead? We might even have a celebratory breakfast if I can get ready early!”

The pokemon all file out with various grunts and grumbles, though Eelektross affectionately nudges him on the way out. He takes one breath, then two. A third, and then a fourth to the count of four. Elesa would be glad to see me doing the exercise.

Elesa!

He excitedly grabs his xtransceiver and dials up Elesa’s number, excited to share the news.

It rings once, twice, three times, four–

Her voice comes through, groggily asking, “Emmet. Do you even know what time it is?”

Emmet glances at the time at the top right-hand corner of his screen.

4:12 AM.

Oops. “...ah. I did not look at a clock first. Are you awake?”

“Well I am now , ya dingus. But what are you doing up? Is everything okay?” The concern in her voice assures him that he’s forgiven, so he gratefully moves on with the conversation.

“Yes! I am Emmet. I am fine. I am fine. Yup. I am verrrrrrrry fine. Ingo–” he cuts off, wondering how he’s going to explain the events of tonight with her. The pokemon know about the dream connection, sure, but he and Ingo never told Elesa. They never told anyone, really, out of fear since they were both drilled into secrecy by their parents and because of that One Time when the kids at school who did hear about it called them freaks and bullied them both instead of being impressed. It had been just a quiet, happy secret for the longest time between the two of them, and they never brought it up to anyone else because they never really needed to.

“Emmet?” Elesa’s worry is more palpable now, and it halts his train of thought. Right. He’s in a call. Elesa is waiting for the good news!

“Yes, I am Emmet.” he answers, trying to think of a way to tell her. Nothing comes to mind, so instead, he stalls for time. “Let’s meet up today. You mentioned a coffee place that has electric pokemon-themed drinks? We’ll check it out.” He pauses for a moment, knowing he’s missing something. He set the place, the time… the time was just ‘“today”. Too broad. He amends this by adding a quick, “Are you free after work?”

Elesa hesitates for a moment, then asks, “Are you sure you’ll be okay for that long? I’m awake now, I can chat if you need!”

Emmet still has not figured out how he will tell her. Plus he does feel a little bad for the rude awakening. Sleep is verrrrry important for safety, after all! So he assures her in the most confident tone he can muster, “Yes, I am Emmet! I will be fine. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”

Yeesh, he still needs to work on his inflection. His voice had even cracked like a teenager’s in the middle of his reassurances. It makes him miss Ingo all over again, makes him want for times when he didn’t have to worry so much showing people how he feels and instead he could rely on Ingo to get people to understand what he was saying.

Elesa still sounds doubtful, but she gives in. “Alright, Emmet. Don’t you ever feel bad for calling me, though. I’m–” she cuts herself off with a yawn, betraying her tiredness, “...I’m glad you thought to talk to me. I’m… gonna see you later, right?”

Disaster averted. He now has time to think and she was too tired to hear his confident tone not going according to plan. He hastily replies, “Yup! I will see you later. Remember to send me the address of the café!” before hanging up. An address and a GIF of a man pounding his chest then turning it into a peace sign with the caption “Love you Bro” pop up on his message feed with Elesa, leaving him with a soft smile on his face as he straps the Xtransceiver onto his wrist and gets up to prepare for the day.

[inkedtae]

a lover’s howl ⇾ kth. [M]

⟶ inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle and part of The Ghibli Series

⌁ pairing; howl!taehyung x reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; studio ghibli au, howl’s moving castle au, smut, a dash of fluff, a bit of angst, 18+

⌁ summary; an unforsaken spell blesses you with his presence again

⌁ word count; 4.1k

⌁ warnings; howl!taehyung, blonde!taehyung, bigdicc!taehyung, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, body worshipping, basically a moving amount of filth~ 

⚘ happy birthday juno ♡ (@onherwings​)~ 

⚘ a huge thanks to my beta readers, @kkulmoon​, @nottodayjjk​ and @uhgood-dooghu​, for taking the time to read this over and fix it up for me. it means a lot and i don’t think i will ever be able to thank you enough. also a special thanks @yeoldontknow​ for letting me talk at her, giving me ideas and always supporting me. I owe this fic being finished on time to you. 

The rumble of the train trembles the walls of your workshop. Black fumes cloud the moonlight. Your candles flicker atop your desk, threatening to diminish and leave you sewing in the dark. Weaving feathers in and out of a black hat, you’re too preoccupied with thoughts of him to be fazed by the sound. He writes often, enclosing a black feather with every letter, but doesn’t visit as much. You’re not sure what of this “important business” is so dangerous that you can’t come along as well. You have survived much worse, witnessed his near death and helped him rebuild his castle afterall. And though you told yourself countless times that there’s no good dwelling on the past, you can’t seem to stop wondering what exactly changed his mind. 

A prick of your thumb stings you out of your thoughts. In a jolt, you drop the needle and hat to shoot out of your seat with a hiss. You lick the wound before it bleeds then press your fingertip upon it. You hope the pressure subsides the wound long enough for you to fetch a bandage from the first aid kit. 

Now, where did Taehyung say it was? Something about a library... or was it a living room? You make your way up to the attic, hoping he did in fact mention the library. All you can really remember from that conversation was how handsome he looked in that pink coat you stitched up for him. It just frames his broad shoulder so well only to narrow around his thin waist. And then there was that knowing look in his eyes that told you he knew just how much you weren’t listening at all. 

“Baby,” he had whispered, cupping your chin. “Are you listening?” And once you had found the mental capacity to resist the urge to kiss him and slowly nod, he had smirked and repeated, “The kit is in-”

The library flickers to life when you enter. Dust settles upon every inch and you begin to wonder why he had forbade you from entering before as you scan the shelves for the kit. Leather bound books and tightly rolled scrolls reside on every surface. Trinkets of his journey clutter around as well. You had thought you talked to him about the importance of organization, but it seems that he prefers this mess best. 

Your attention settles on the desk, sitting in front of a large window. Presuming it’s probably in one of the desk drawers, you make your way over with the intention of rifling through them and nothing more. You’ve learned from past experience that it’s best to never tinker with his things. However, once you stand before it, a red, leather bound book catches your eye. The imprinted title is written in an unreadable script and seems to be floating off the cover. How could that dance off the surface like that? Against your better judgement, curiosity hovers your fingers over the font.

Slamming open, the book flips and flicks through various pages only to suddenly stop. Rose coloured font apperates into view in that unreadable script again. You furrow your brows, attempting to read it anyways, until the strokes of ink shift around the pages. They rearrange themselves into a script you can decipher. 

A Lover’s Howl. 

Yearning of heart and 

Tethers of soul.

I wish to end my misery

And the distance apart

Together unruly and-

The tremors of the train erupt every wall of the attic, pulling you out of your thoughts. Startled, you glance out the window to find that it is not the train at all you owe this rukkus to, but the upset clouds. Flashes of lightning burn the sky alight as rain beats down the busy street. 

You turn back to the desk and shut the book. That’s enough snooping for a night. You still have that first aid kit to find. Rummage through the drawers, you finally find a little tin of bandages under a box of rose and emerald ink pots. Teeth between the thin paper, you rip open the little bandage and wrap it around your thumb. However, it seems like once one wound is taken care of, another flames. 

Aching, your heart sits heavy in your chest. You take a deep breath, hands too shaky to return the kit back beneath the ink pots. The action seems to push the numb pain to your gut. A little whimper escapes you. You lean on the edge of the desk, inhaling sharply. You’re still breathing, you try to remind yourself. And that should be a comforting fact if your pussy didn’t begin aching as well. With a shaky gasp, you press your thighs together and wonder why the thought of being bent over this very desk seems to be unfathomably appealing right now. 

Your fingers hover over the pearl buttons of your dress; it suddenly seems awfully tight in this hot room. Wait- when did the room get so ho- “Agh,” you whine as another pang of pain makes you needier. 

The newfound heat suffocates skin, hands moving fast to push that blue dress off your shoulders. It doesn’t hit the ground before you start to discard your bra and panties as well. Still, your body burns with a desire to be overtaken. It’s as if you’ve been edged all day, left half finished and ready to finally unravel. Desperate to feel just that, you slide a hand down to your aching pussy. It clenches emptily, yearning for Taehyung's huge cock. God, it’s been too long since he last stretched you out. Nothing can ever quite compare to his size, your fingers and vibrator a weak excuse for anything besides clitoral pleasure.

Rubbing at your clit, you try to soothe the craving for him now. However, the pain only seems to intensify. It’s as if your body knows it’s not your own hand you crave, but Taehyung’s. And where is he now to graze your folds between his fingers and tease with little praises? You can just see him peeking up from between your legs, tongue poking out of his lips and breath fanning over your heat. And you’d push yourself up into him. So, he’d smirk and chuckle, and tell you to be patient or he won’t do anything at all. You can even hear him now, taunting at your desperate, half-naked state in the very section of the house he told you to never enter. 

“What did I say about looking through my things?” 

Hand cupping your heat, your attention snaps to the door. Taehyung leans against the doorframe, the candlelight sculpting his features sharply. His name leaves you in a whisper as you begin to wonder how desperate you are to have resorted to hallucinations? Maybe you should really call him if your mind’s gone this far. But, as you attempt to move around the desk, another shot of pain holds you back. You gasp a quiet cry and harshly rub circles around your clit. 

Concern colours Taehyung’s features. “Sweetheart,” he calls, rushing over to you. You’re about to pride your mind on such a vivid and accurate imagination when you feel his large hands settle on your arms. Soft and cold, he holds you tight and guides your hunched over frame onto the desk. Shrugging his coat off, he drapes it over your shoulders and asks, “What’ve you done to yourself?” 

“You’re here?” 

“I’m here,” he smiles. 

A breathless chuckle bubbles out of you as your hands wrap around his neck. Your arousal slicked hands stain his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, pulling you into a tighter hug. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he mutters between peppering little kisses in the crook of your neck. 

His vanilla cedar scent coddles your heart and aches your bones. You whimper into his shoulder at how quickly the pain intensifies from a single whiff. Taehyung pulls half an inch away, concerned and confused. With his forehead resting against yours, he licks his lips and you can’t think of a better use for that tongue if not to lick at your pussy. The pain shoots at you again just as your thoughts become interesting. You swallow your whimpers as he brushes your hair out of your face.

His gaze falls to your bare chest before lingering around your pussy. Suddenly aware of your nakedness, you shyly press your thighs together. Every inch of you just wants to beg him for his cock already, no matter if you're bent on his desk or pressed against the window. You just need him on you, in you, touching every part of you. 

The courage to ask for what you want finally presents itself when he shifts his gaze to something behind you. You sneak a glance over your shoulder to find that open book. A little sigh escapes him and he returns his attention to you with a little smirk. “You missed me this much,” he teases, caressing your cheek, “that you just had to cast a mating spell, hmm?” 

Is that what that was? You weren’t even sure you could read it before it rearranged. You’re about to apologize when the pain cinches your words in your throat. Doubling over, you rest your head against his shoulder and whine, “Ah, Tae!” 

He wraps his arms around you, further engulfing you in his scent and you don’t think you can take much more of this. Whatever this mating spell is, you’re sure it’s not supposed to be tearing you apart. Clutching on the collar of his shirt, you mumble, “I need you, Tae. I need your mouth and fingers and- I just need you so bad.” 

You wish you can say you hate the way his eyes glisten with power. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he knew exactly how you were feeling and was just waiting for you to say it. He’s told you before that the sight of you so needy always awakes something dark within him. He loves to watch you whine and quiver. 

His hold on your face tightens as his fingers dig into your skin. You swallow thickly, another whine escaping from the mere thought of those fingers deep in you. He licks his lips before asking, “What do you need me to do so bad, sweetheart?” 

He trails his fingers down your neck, past your collarbone and the valley of your breasts; waiting, watching. When all you can muster is his name in a little mewl, he whispers, peppermint breath fanning over your face, “Do you want to start on your knees?” 

“Anything,” you gasp, tugging on his shirt. You just need him close, need him now. “We can do it anyway you want, just please fuck me already.” 

Surprise alights his eyes for a moment. Never have you spoken this crassly, without his cock already deep in you that is. He chuckles, on the verge of teasing you about it when another pained whimper escapes you. Taehyung settles his large hands on your thighs. Leaning in, he brushes his nose against yours then places a soft kiss upon the corner of your lips. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I can’t do much if you don’t tell me exactly what you want.” 

You pause for a moment, wondering how much clearer you could be. Usually, a declaration to be riled is enough to set him off. You’re never the one guiding him as he always insists on guiding you. He says it's because he loves how obedient you suddenly become when his dick is involved. And though you have tried to fight him on it in the past, there’s not much you can deny now. So, you bite back a whine until you have enough strength to order just above a whisper, “I need your mouth, Tae. You’re fingers too. Honestly, anything will do just as long as you're tasting me.” 

He bites back a chuckle as he lowers himself to his knees. Spreading your legs, he urges you to lean back a bit. The gesture pushes a variety of books and pens to the floor. Neither of you can be too bothered, however, with his face inches away from your pussy. 

Holding your gaze, Taehyung dives in. You expect him to lick a long strip up your pussy to start, as he always does, only to have him suction his lips around your clit. Either way, you’re sure the pain withers away. A relieved gasp echoes in the small room as you throw your head back. You can barely even feel the previous ache when he releases your clit to lap up your wetness. All you can focus on is how you missed his warm tongue. 

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. Your hips roll up to meet his tongue, body craving more of him. 

“Keep talking to me, baby,” he mutters around a mouthful of pussy. “How fast do you want it?”

You run a hand through his hair and hold on tight. “Fast!” Taehyung groans against you, making your heart flutter enough for you to forget what more you wanted to say. Until a small ache pokes at your gut again. With a whine, you reply, “I need your fingers. I need you to shove them in me and lick me and make me cum. Fuck, Tae, just please make me cum.” 

Taehyung circles two fingers around your tight, little hole, muttering, “About time you remembered your manners.” 

Not much strength lives in you to tell him that you’ll remember your manners when he finally lets you come along with him to whatever “important business” that’s taken him this long. And even if you could speak, all you can really think about is how you missed his fucking fingers. So long and slender, they slide into you so far and curl just right.The pain dissipates and you throw your head back with a loud moan. You’re not sure what this spell was, but you’re thankful for it if it means bringing Taehyung back home. 

You attempt to ride his face again only to have him remove his lips. He smirks up at you, amused gaze peeking through his blonde bangs. His fingers quicken and bash just where you need them.

“Taehyung,” you sigh. Voice breathless, strained with the return of that painful, greedy desire to unravel, you whine, “I need your mouth.” 

He chuckles. You shudder. Has he been gone so long that you’ve genuinely forgotten just how much you adored that laugh? You’ve never been able to process the duality of it, the cheerful tone sounding so deep and dark.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” 

Oh, right. The spell. It only seems to let him follow your orders. You make a mental note to tease him about it later, the gnawing ache of your gut begging to be eased. Still, under your breath, you mumble, “Must I hold your hand through this?”

Taehyung clenches his jaw. His eyes blink cold, hard and darken into vexation. If he could, he’d smack your pussy, bend you over for a spanking only to edge you thrice before finally letting you cum. At least, that’s what he did the last time you talked back. Instead, he resorts to glares and little reminders to “behave” since “the spell will break before the night is over.” 

You shiver with every moan as you sit up. A few more scrolls roll to the ground from the shift of your position, but you pay them no mind. As the thunder roars beyond the little library, you cup Taehyung’s wet smeared chin and guide him back onto his feet. 

“All I can ever think about,” you start, attempting to speak through your moans, “is all the time lost not getting fucked in that moving castle.” 

“It’s d-”

“Dangerous,” you finish. “More dangerous than a mating spell? Than this stupid libr- fuck, I think I’m close.” You fall forward to rest your head against his shoulders. Taehyung scoffs and you don’t need to glance at his handsome face to know he’s smirking. You can hear it. 

Hand shooting to his wrist, you stop his fingers mid-thrust. The spell’s pain lingers around your pussy, tightening your walls around him. It threatens its return as your orgasm slowly disappears. He whispers your name, but you only meet his gaze when you’ve bitten every needy whine back long enough to say, “I just want you to fuck me like you want me.” 

“What makes you think I don’t want you?”

A little whine slips past your lips. Taehyung’s expression softens and he shifts in place, likely feeling helpless when you don’t allow him to ease the ache. “You left, Tae,” you sigh. “You left me here. I want you to fuck me like you never did. I want you to replace your fingers with your cock and touch me like you love me.”

Taehyung pauses. “You think I don’t love you?” 

Though the answer is on the tip of your tongue, you know better than to tell him it now. Taehyung is no fun to fuck when he’s genuinealy upset. And if you are going to be rid of this unforsaken curse, you know that you’ll need to keep the rest of your thoughts to yourself. So you let go of his wrist and the spell compels his actions once more. 

Taehyung removes his fingers then rids himself of his clothes. You can’t seem to keep your hands from wandering over his chest and clutching onto his shoulders. He smiles at you and, though it’s small, that smile of his makes you wonder if perhaps you’ve ruined the entire mood and now he’ll only fuck you because he wants simply to help. 

Then he seizes your hips. You’re pulled forward until the length of his cock presses between your folds. He strokes his nose along your cheek, wet lips whispering, “I think the real issue is how you have trouble following orders.” Rolling his hips against yours, Taehyung groans into the crook of your neck. “It looks like I have to show you how it’s done.” 

You lose your fingers in his hair, clutching onto his bicep with your other hand. You missed how much he loved to tease. Lips biting into your collarbone, Taehyung reaches a hand between your bodies to align himself. A gentle push in and you’re exchanging praises. He’s definitely been gone too long if you’ve forgotten just how big he is. His mere tip stretches you enough to lose all words, incoherent affirmations taking their place instead. Eyes rolling back, you thrust up to try meeting his hips halfway, but Taehyung grounds you in place. 

A specific speed never left your lips and you just now realized that fast is in fact Taehyung’s default setting when it comes to fucking you into submission. All the pain you thought was returning feels as though it never arrived at all. You’re about to tell him to thrust harder when he clutches onto your neck. 

He stares into your desperate eyes, his own looking needier than usual - a fact he has never enjoyed admitting. “Do you know how many times I almost used this fucking spell?” he hisses as his thrusts become harsher. “Every night, I stare at that fucking page and think about how pretty you’d look when you’re full of my cock.” He growls a curse under his breath. The hand around your neck tightens just to let go. As it trails down your body to cup one of your bouncing breasts, he groans, “You look even more beautiful when you’re desperate for it. Did you know that?”

You let out a shaky moan. Hands sweaty, you try to maintain your grip on his shoulders as he plays with your body like a passtime. He thumbs your nipple, gazing down at how you arch your back and push yourself further against him. Breathless from the sheer sight, he picks up his pace. The desk scratches at the floor with every thrust. Your moans drown its sharp creaks as Taehyung buries his face between your breasts. Licking and biting, he feasts on you like he never left, like he does this every night and still can’t believe he has you. 

Cradling his head closer, you feel that once painful ache in your gut tighten, twist and slowly begin to beg for a chance to release. And you know he can feel you inching closer as well, little praises pouring out of him between his appreciation of your chest. 

“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “Taking my cock so well.” 

True, you’re annoyed it took a fucking spell to bring him back, but you’d be lying if his insistence of you being such a good girl didn’t just replace all your anger with affection. “Taehyung!” you cry. 

You’re about to ask for permission when you recall the fickle detail that you are the one calling the shots this time. Even still, you try to subside your urge to cum long enough to ask, “I-it’s okay to cum, right?” 

Taehyung laughs against your skin. He trails quick kisses back up to your lips, only to mutter moments later, much to your constant whining, “You don’t need to ask this time, sweetheart.” 

Like being doused with cold water, you allow yourself to come undone. Fingers digging into his skin, eyes rolling back, you scream out his name over and over again with the rhythm of his hips. Every new thrust adds to the quaking of your body. It breaks in your voice as you cry out for him. 

“Does that feel better?” he teases, voice husky and strained. If that isn’t enough indication that he’s close, the little twitch of his cock gives it away. “Is my dick enough or do you want me to cum too?” 

Nails imprinting into his skin, you try to meet his gaze. “If you don’t cum in me right now,” you start, breathless and desperate, “I swear I’ll cry.” 

Taehyung nudges his nose against yours before pressing his lips to yours. He lets you swallow all his moans as he pulls you close by your ass and holds you tight. Then, he bites your lip and fills you until you’re stuffed with more than just his giant cock.

A few more rushed kisses and sloppy thrusts are offered before Taehyung ceases all movement. He rests his head on your shoulder, fingers still sunk into the curves of your ass. Sweaty, heaving exhaustion overwhelms your senses. Pussy pulsing, you find that the longer Taehyung remains in you, the more twinges of that pain return. You know you should tell him that, only you’re worried that he’d go the moment he pulls out. He has served the purpose of the spell after all. 

Taehyung stands straighter now that his breath has returned to him. He shifts his hands from your ass to your hips and gently pulls out. A hiss escapes him. You feel empty all over again. 

Crossing your legs, you softly push his hands off your hips. It might just be best to make this easier on both of you, you wonder, and give him a chance to go. Maybe that way it won’t feel as though he’s abandoning you. 

“I guess you have to get back then,” you say as you hop off the desk. 

You both know he can sense your discomfort. “I can stay for a little while.”

Grabbing your dress off the ground, you ignore the emotion in his words. “Lucky me,” you mutter, turning back to find him inches away. 

Eyes locked, Taehyung maintains his sincerity. He tentatively wraps his arms around your waist and, when you don’t interject, presses you against his chest. “I’m- I-” he stutters for a moment before the words come together once more. “I thought leaving alone would be the safest. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

You shake your head. He’s missing the point. It shouldn’t take a spell to compel him to return. He shouldn’t have left you alone. “It shouldn’t matter how long it takes. I should always be there.” 

Taehyung falls silent. Guilt flashes in his eyes as he reverts them to the floor. Swallowing thickly, he meets your gaze again to mutter, “I just can’t risk losing you again.” 

“Then don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. 

Taehyung pulls you into a warm hug. A tearful apology is mumbled into your shoulder. You’re not very interested in it though. All you want is him; with or without a lover’s howl. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[strawberrylucv]

Hi! Can i request a modern-au albedo fluff where reader falls asleep while doing college work? You dont have to do this if you arent comfortable <33

hello!! hehe!! this albedo fluff was really fun to write~ not gonna lie i still dont know what course albedo would take in college so i just made it open. i hope you like it^^

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Together in the library.

✦warnings: fluff fic, modern au albedo, college work, reader is gn!!

✦words: 910

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The hardest part about being in college is the workload given to the students. And sadly, you are the said student.

With coffee running in your veins, you make an attempt to finish the piled up work your professors gave you for this week. You find a seat at the school library and arrange your workplace. As you work your brain to just answer a simple equation, you felt the table vibrate. You rummage your books to find where the vibration is coming from only to find it under all the papers and folders you placed on the table earlier. You look to your phone and give a warm smile as you answer the call. The voice that felt from your ear said-

"Y/N, Where are you?"

It was from none other than the well-known, well-versed, and very popular, Albedo from the other department. He's also your colleague, your friend...though a part of you wished for something greater.

Albedo was quite popular ever since he gained favor from the professors, he had art skills nobody in his department possessed. And to top it all of, his knowledge in researching was amazing. Albedo knew you because you shared a class, but that wasn't the cause of your friendship together to grow. Your friendship started because he saw you once in the library around 6 am. You were sleep-deprived, tiredly staring at your books, since you were still studying for a test on that day. He walked over to your table and slid a small chocolate bar beside your workplace and whispered to you to "Don't overwork yourself."

From then on, you bumped into each other a lot of times, giving opportunities for deepen your friendship, to form a bond. Now you both study together too. With time, as much as your knowledge in your subjects grew because of Albedo's help, your feelings towards him grew greater everyday. But you were already trying to seal those away. Hoping he would never find out. Because he might think that you were using him, like you were only there because he is the famous Albedo. Yet you've never seen him as this prodigy, you only saw him as Albedo himself.

"Why do you want to know, Mr. Albedo?" you tease him making you hover the phone, trying to suppress your laughter. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Because I want to." he replies,

You glance up from your seat to see his face looking down directly at your face. It's a good thing that the chair you're sitting on was low, if not then the proximity between your faces would've been too close. You could feel the warmth of your cheeks when he gave you a small smile.

"What are you cramming this time, Y/N?" he says as he pulls the chair beside you and places his folder of documents on to the table, stretching his arms when he glances back to you.

You give him a smile and tell him "I'm not cramming, this time. I just want my workload to finish so that we can go to that place you were talking about!"

"I'll help you then."

"Yes!" you exclaimed with your fist in the air, "I knew you would." Albedo just gave you a sigh but he was actually hiding a small smile.

After a couple of hours you pass out from the work you've been finishing non-stop. You were sleeping on the desk while Albedo was finishing up your last paper, he also fixed the mess you made on the desk earlier. He sees you tremble a bit so he places his jacket on you and smile at how you looked so peacefully after working so hard.

After he was done, he organized the papers through separate folders. You were still sleeping, probably enjoying your dream since you were all smiles. He felt an ache around his heart when he started thinking about if you were smiling because of a guy, and it wasn't him. But he can't tell you that since he thought that you only see him as a friend, a colleague, nothing else and nothing more.

He gently caresses the hair that was covering your face. Albedo stares at your features and now he's the one smiling dumb. He covers his mouth with the his hand but it was pretty obvious that he was still smiling. He stops playing with your hair and places the underside of his palm on his chin. Maybe if he says what he always wanted to say very quietly, you wouldn't hear him and there wouldn't be any difference to your relationship, that you wouldn't have to deal with him being awkward in confessing since you would be the first person he had feelings for.

"I like you, Y/N. I really really like you. I wish you would like me too." he whispers. His heart was beating so loud that maybe you didn't hear his confession but his thumping heart instead. He faces the other direction to calm himself down.

When he finally calmed down, he glanced to his phone and book tickets to the place you were talking about earlier ago. "Let's wake them up after 15 minutes." he tells himself.

If only he knew that you were actually awake when he started playing with your hair, that you heard his confession even if he tried his hardest being low, that you were scared since your heartbeat was coming out of your chest, that your cheeks were flooded with red. If only he knew.

Maybe he should know.

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

[pikapeppa]

Solavellan smut: Distractions

Solas and @elbenherzart​‘s Nare Lavellan are back with another sexy romp! 😂 This time in the modern-day university AU of Inadvisable. 

Context for those who haven’t read Inadvisable: Solas and Nare were having an affair while he was her thesis supervisor, but at the time of this fic, he’s not her supervisor anymore and their relationship is no longer a secret. However, the professor kink remains... 😉

Almost 10k words -- read here on AO3 instead.

************************

Solas couldn’t find the stylus for his digital tablet.

He shifted a pile of papers on his desk, then replaced the pile and peered behind his laptop. He shuffled aimlessly through the other items on his desk — books and open journals and even a paint-smudged rag that either he or Nare had left there at some point — all to no avail: the stylus appeared to be lost.

‘Appeared’ being the operative term, he thought ruefully. Just because he couldn’t see the stylus amidst the habitual disorder of his desk did not mean the stylus wasn’t somewhere here. 

An obvious solution would be to actually tidy his desk so he could know for sure whether the stylus was truly missing. He was considering this drastic course of action when his phone vibrated in the pocket of his slacks.

He took out his phone and accepted the call. “Hello.”

“On dhea,” Abelas said. “I hope this is an appropriate time?”

“Of course,” Solas said. “I’m glad you don’t mind that I decided to work from home today.” He tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear and began half-heartedly organizing the papers on his desk into a tidier pile.

“We had no meetings scheduled for today, so it is not a problem,” Abelas said. “The main topic I had hoped to discuss was Merrill’s thesis format.”

“All right,” Solas said. “What is the issue?”

“As you know, she now has the option of submitting either a traditional thesis, or submitting three or more original research articles, published in peer-reviewed journals, where she is the first author,” Abelas said. “Until recently, she was undecided about which option to take.”

“I thought she had decided to submit a traditional thesis after speaking to you,” Solas said.

“She had,” Abelas said. “But I worry now that my advice has been a disservice to her.”

Solas paused in his paper-shuffling. “You are worried about that?”

“Yes,” Abelas said. “I am admittedly fond of the traditional thesis format, as I feel that it pulls together one’s body of work in a cohesive manner. Furthermore, she can use the chapter she has written for our textbook as a backbone for the thesis, so part of her work will be done.”

“Those are sound reasons for the traditional thesis format,” Solas said. 

“Yes, they are,” Abelas said. “But is this thinking too old-fashioned?”

Solas smiled and continued organizing his desk. “Have you been speaking to Athera about this?”

“Perhaps,” Abelas said suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

Solas was amused, but he kept this to himself. “Simple curiosity,” he said. “In any case, I’d like to know why you’re concerned about the format being old-fashioned.” He gazed balefully at the myriad open journals on his desk, then began marking his place in each journal with sticky notes so he could close and file them away for later. 

Then he realized that he hadn’t even looked in the drawers of his desk for the stylus. 

Of course, he thought in exasperation, and he began searching through the drawers. 

Over the phone, Abelas sighed. “Despite the utility of a traditional thesis for summarizing one’s body of work, the publication method of thesis submission is admittedly more practical. It encourages the student to format and structure their work for publication and to get accustomed to the publication process. The submission of a traditional thesis has less of a practical application in this way.”

“Mm, yes,” Solas said as he rifled through the top drawer. “That’s true. It sounds as though you have talked yourself through the dilemma, then.” He pursed his lips in annoyance, then closed the top drawer and opened the second one.

“It seems so,” Abelas said. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Pardon?” Solas said distractedly. “I — yes, of course I’m listening.”

Abelas tsked, and Solas sighed and sat in his desk chair. “I apologize, Abelas. I don’t mean to be distracted. I think I’ve mislaid my stylus.”

“Your stylus?” Abelas said. “Why do you have a stylus?”

Solas smiled. He knew what Abelas was imagining: the type of stylus that was used in ancient times for etching on wet clay. “It’s a stylus for my digital tablet. I told you that Nare convinced me to try digital forms of sketching and painting?”

“Ah,” Abelas said. “I remember, yes. And Felassan was irritated that you are trying digital art for Nare when he’s been attempting to talk you into it for years.”

Solas chuckled. “Yes, he was irritated, but he quickly forgave me. He’s been sending me brush sets for various art programs since I bought the tablet. Truth be told, I haven’t found the time to try them out, but I don’t have the heart to tell him so.”

“Brush sets?” Abelas said. “What are those?”

“In painting, there are various techniques that you can use to achieve certain effects on your canvas or paper, or whatever medium you happen to be painting upon,” Solas explained. “The brush sets in these digital art programs allow you to replicate those various effects.” He paused with his hand in the drawer, then frowned and rubbed his chin. “I wonder if Fenor stole it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Abelas said.

Solas huffed. “I apologize. I’m thinking about my stylus still. I believe Fenor may have taken it as a toy.”

“An unanticipated burden of owning a cat, I suppose?” Abelas drawled.

“So it seems,” Solas said drolly.

Abelas grunted, and Solas chuckled. “Let’s return to the topic at hand. The reasoning for Merrill’s thesis, then: what side of the argument do you fall on now?”

“It is as you said,” Abelas said. “I believe I just talked myself around with my own reasoning. I will speak with Merrill about it this afternoon.”

“Excellent,” Solas said. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” He rose from his desk chair and wandered around the living room, vaguely scanning the floor around the coffee table and the couch to see if Fenor had batted the stylus onto the floor. 

“Yes, actually,” Abelas said. “Although… hm. Perhaps it should wait until tomorrow.”

Solas cocked his head curiously. It was unlike Abelas to sound so uncertain. “Is there a problem?” he said. “We can discuss it now.”

Abelas hesitated for a moment before replying. “I have been working on translating one of my short stories into the common tongue, and I am not convinced that the tone of the piece is carrying over. Athera is usually able to provide sound judgment on this, but she does not feel qualified to do so with this piece.”

“She does not feel qualified?” Solas said in surprise. “Why not?”

“This piece is of a more poetic nature, and Elvhen is not her native language,” he said. “She feels that I should get the opinion of another native Arlathani speaker to ensure that the cadence and subtleties of the piece are properly conveyed, since the poetic structures of our languages are vastly different.”

“Ah, I see,” Solas said. “In that case, I would be happy to provide a native ear.” He settled on the couch with a sigh, resigned to the fact that he likely wouldn’t be finding his stylus today. Perhaps Nare would lend him her tablet to practice on, particularly since she was working with her oils today. 

Almost as though she’d heard his thought, Nare emerged from the studio at the other end of the apartment and approached him with a smile. 

He smiled back at her. Through the phone, Abelas subtly cleared his throat. “All right, I will begin,” he said. “‘Night had fallen once more. The Herald’s Rest lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts…’”

Solas wasn’t listening. He was distracted by Nare — or rather, by the coveted item she was holding in her hand: his stylus. Where did you find it? he mouthed. 

“In Fenor’s basket-bed in the studio,” she said quietly.

Solas huffed in amusement, and Abelas’s voice faltered in his ear. “What’s the matter? Is something amiss with the prose?” 

“No,” Solas said with a grimace. “Forgive me, Abelas, but could you start over? I was distracted.” 

“Fenor?” Abelas said flatly.

Solas fondly eyed Nare, who was placing the stylus on his desk. “Not quite.” 

Abelas harrumphed. “Should we do this at another time? It is not urgent.” 

“No,” Solas said, a bit sheepishly. “This is a good time. I’m focused now.”

“All right,” Abelas muttered. He cleared his throat and started again. “‘Night had fallen once more…’”

Solas settled back on the couch to listen. Then Nare came over and sat on the floor between his feet.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically, and she smiled. “Taking a break,” she whispered, and she rested her head against his knee. 

A warm protective feeling bloomed to life in his abdomen. His body was attuned now to seeing Nare in such submissive poses, like a conditioned carnal response to the sight of her sitting so sweetly at his feet, even if her intentions were innocent as they were now.

He tenderly traced his fingers along her hairline, then tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She dreamily closed her eyes, and Solas lightly ran his fingers through her hair as he listened to Abelas’s reading.

“‘Inside the Herald’s Rest, a pair of men huddled together at one corner of the bar,’” Abelas read. “‘They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this, they added a small sullen silence to the larger hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts: a counterpoint.’” 

“I might pause you there,” Solas said. “That last sentence: the phrasing could be adjusted slightly.” 

Abelas hummed an acknowledgement. “What about… perhaps ‘fusion’ instead of ‘alloy’. Would that be more fitting?” 

“Mm…” Solas idly twisted a lock of Nare’s hair around his fingers as he rolled the words through his mind. “Perhaps. But… no, the original phrasing may have been better. Can you read it again?” He combed Nare’s hair back into place, and she opened her eyes briefly to smile at him before closing them again and nestling her cheek against his thigh. 

Abelas obliged Solas’s request. “‘It made an alloy of sorts: a counterpoint.’ And with the new phrasing, it is like this: ‘It made a fusion of sorts: a counterpoint.’ Which is better?”

“Um…” Solas trailed off. Nare was slowly rubbing her cheek against his inner thigh.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and the warm feeling in his abdomen swelled and spread to his groin. Her expression was sweet but coy, and clearly not as innocent as he’d assumed.

Without breaking from his gaze, she shifted her position so she was sitting back on her heels, then nuzzled his inner thigh like a cat, and Solas shifted restlessly on the couch. His cock was growing hard and swelling in his slacks—

“Solas?” Abelas said.

Solas clenched his jaw before replying. “My apologies. It… the, um, the first phrasing.”

“Are you certain?” Abelas said. “I find myself second-guessing the phrasing now, as well.”

“Yes, I’m—” He broke off and cleared his throat. Nare was resting her palm on his thigh now, just casually resting her palm there while she continued to nuzzle his leg, and the stillness of her hand was like an intentional tease. 

“Are you all right?” Abelas said. 

“Yes,” Solas said, as calmly as he could manage. “I… yes, I’m fine. Perhaps you should keep reading and the flow of the entire piece will become clearer.”

“All right,” Abelas said. “‘The third silence was not an easy thing to notice…’”

Solas hit the ‘mute’ function on his phone, then took hold of Nare’s hand, which was slowly travelling up his thigh toward his groin. “What are you doing?” he said.

She lifted her cheek from his thigh. “I’m helping you relax,” she said.

He gave her a censorious look. “You’re distracting me while I’m working.”

Her eyes went wide — innocently wide. “No I’m not! I’m helping you relax so you can focus better.” 

He gazed at her big blue eyes with a combination of amusement and annoyance. She was so obviously trying to provoke him that he would laugh if he weren’t in the middle of a work-related call. “This is your idea of helping me to focus?” he said. “Truly?”

She smiled impishly. Then Abelas’s sharp voice jarred him back to reality. “Solas, are you still there?” 

“Yes, I—” Ah, he was still muted. He released Nare’s hand and quickly tapped the ‘mute’ icon. “Yes, I’m here. I apologize. I accidentally hit the mute button.” 

“If this is a bad time for you, it can wait until tomorrow,” Abelas said stiffly.

Nare swiftly shuffled closer to him and rubbed her cheek against his inner thigh right beside his groin, and his cock jumped at the closeness of her mouth. “N-no,” he blurted. “That is, er… Abelas, I apologize. I — my mind is admittedly scattered. If—”

His phone vibrated: he was getting another call. He exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, there’s another call incoming. If you can hold on for a moment?”

Abelas grunted his assent, and Solas lowered the phone to check his screen. Then Nare nuzzled his cock through his pants. 

A shock of pleasure zipped through his body, and he almost gasped — almost. Instead, entirely by accident, he answered the secondary call on his phone, and realized a split second later that the caller was Felassan. 

“Fenedhis,” he hissed, and he lifted the phone to his ear. “Felassan?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Felassan said cheerfully. “Before you die of shock at the fact that I’m calling you instead of texting you, let me assure you that no one has died.”

Nare pressed her lips to the ridge of his cock, and Solas jerked his hips toward her and managed a stilted laugh. “Ha, yes. Actually, I can’t—”

Felassan interrupted him. “This will be quick, I promise. Are you at the office?” 

Nare reached up and started unbuttoning his slacks, and Solas gave her a reproving look as he replied. “No, I’m not. I am working from home, and Abelas is on the other line.”

“Excellent,” Felassan said. “I meant to ask him something too. I’ll hang up so you can add me in.”

“No—” It was too late: Felassan had hung up. Nare, meanwhile, was unzipping Solas’s fly, and her expression was so eager that it was making his cock pulse with need. 

“Solas, are you there?” Abelas said irritably. 

Nare freed his cock from his pants and stroked him. A hot rush of pleasure rose flooded his body and warmed his cheeks, but he heroically forced himself not to react. “Yes,” he said calmly. “But that was Felassan on the other line. He—”

“He wants to join this call, I know,” Abelas said irritably. “I will add him. Just a moment.”

Nare licked her palm and stroked him again, and he flexed instinctively into her hand. “Abelas, wait,” he said breathlessly. “If I can — truly, this isn’t a good time—” He broke off abruptly. Nare was suckling him, and he was forced to press his lips together to stop himself from moaning with pleasure at the hot slick pressure of her mouth. 

A second later, Felassan’s cheerful voice was in his ear. “On dhea. So only Abelas is in the office at the moment?” 

“Yes, Solas is not here,” Abelas said. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m looking for one of my books,” Felassan said. “I wanted to use one of the images as a reference, but it’s not here. I must have lent it to Solas — I can’t imagine where else it would be. Can you look in his office to see if it’s there?”

Abelas sighed. “Fine. What is the book called?”

“It’s called ‘Tech Noir’,” Felassan said. “It’s an anthology of James Cameron’s work. A big hardcover with a white cover — it should be easy to spot.”

“James Cameron?” Abelas said. “Is he not a film director?”

“Yes, but he’s also an incredible artist,” Felassan said. “Fun fact: before he became famous, he actually used to work as a truck driver…”

Felassan kept talking, but Solas had stopped paying any semblance of attention. He was entirely captivated by Nare, and not just by the torrid pleasure of her lips sliding up and down his cock. She was staring at him as she sucked him, her aquamarine eyes fixed on his face, and the angle of her head and her submissive pose made her look both eager and innocent at the same time. It was like she was waiting for his approval, waiting for him to indicate that she was pleasuring him correctly, and the juxtaposition of her lips on his cock and her big hopeful eyes was making his whole body throb with desire.

His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t tell if it was due to panic at receiving a blowjob at such an untimely moment, or perverse excitement for the very same reason. He reached down and smoothed his palm over her hair, and when she moaned softly around his length, his cock twitched in her throat, like the first quake of a climax beginning to build. 

“Solas, did you hear me?” Felassan said loudly. 

Solas jolted and inhaled sharply through his nose. “What? No,” he said. “I — can you repeat that?”

Abelas grunted. “His attention has been wandering today.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Felassan said. “I can bring you a coffee if you need one.”

“Bring — what?” Solas said in confusion. “Why would you bring—?” He broke off and clenched his jaw: Nare had angled her head to take him deeper, and the pressure of her throat squeezing his cock was almost unbearably good.

He slid his fingers through her hair to cradle her nape and pressed his hips toward her. Felassan, meanwhile, was still speaking. “I was saying that I can come to your place to grab the book if you have it.”

Solas drew a careful silent breath through his lips. “Why would you think I have it here?” he said.

“Because it’s not in your office, as Abelas just said,” Felassan replied. “You really are distracted today, aren’t you?”

Nare lifted her lips from his cock to shoot him a grin — she was obviously hearing the conversation through the phone. Solas shot her a dirty look as he replied. “I am, and I apologize. I’m… not feeling well.”

“Ah,” Abelas said in a softer tone. “You should have said so. You should not be working if you’re unwell.”

“It’s good to hear you saying that,” Felassan remarked. “Athera’s been a good influence on you.”

“I agree, but what makes you say so?” Abelas said. 

“Come on, don’t act like you don’t remember that time you insisted on marking essays when you had the flu,” Felassan said. “Actually, maybe you don’t remember. You were pretty feverish at the time. But I’m sure Solas remembers.”

“Yes,” Solas said, “I, er… I remember that, yes.” He swallowed hard: Nare was swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock. She shot him another coy look before taking his length into her mouth again, and his eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. 

In a clear counterpoint to the dreamlike pleasure of Nare’s mouth on his cock, Abelas and Felassan continued to bicker in his ear. “That was many years ago,” Abelas said defensively.

“Yes, it was,” Felassan said. “And such is my point. You wouldn’t dare do something so stupid now, or Athera would chain you to the bed to stop you from working.”

“There is no need to be crass,” Abelas scolded.

Felassan laughed. “I’m not being crass! But now I want to know why you think I’m being crass. Is there something you want to tell us about chains and beds?”

“Absolutely not,” Abelas snapped. “That is none of your business!”

“So there is something to tell, but it’s just none of our business?” Felassan said slyly. “That’s interesting.”

Abelas clicked his tongue. “Did you want something else, or will you be leaving this phone call now?”

“I’ll leave you in peace as soon as Solas answers my question,” Felassan said. “Solas?”

“Yes?” Solas gritted. 

“Can I come over to get that book or not?”

“Ye— I mean, no,” Solas blurted. “I’m… I told you, I’m unwell.” He squeezed the back of Nare’s neck and pumped his hips toward her, and she began suckling him more quickly — ah, fenedhis, this was perfect, the perfect rhythm and rate of her perfect heated mouth… 

“Can you at least check if the book is at your place?” Felassan said. “You know I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t really need it.” 

“I can’t look right now,” Solas said sharply. “I’m in the middle of… I’m occupied.” He accidentally drew a sharp breath, unable to help himself: his orgasm was rising in time with the rise and fall of Nare’s lips, the tense coil of pleasure rising perversely and with no regard to the inopportune circumstances of its rise, and Solas was utterly torn between how good it felt and how mortifying it was to be feeling the rise of his own rapture at such a terrible time. 

Felassan sighed. “Really? That’s…” He trailed off. A moment later when he spoke again, his voice was curled with humour. “Hang on a second. Is Nare there?”

Nare angled her head to look Solas in the eye. Her expression was blatantly mischievous, and it made something wild and hot burst to life in his chest. He stared intently at her, his eyes boring into hers as she continued to suck his cock, and when her cheeks started turning pink, the hot and feral feeling swelled more strongly in his chest and between his legs.

Felassan started to laugh. “She is there, isn’t she? Tamaris mentioned that she stayed the night at your place.”

Solas couldn’t reply. He couldn’t. His cock was throbbing, the beautiful tension of his climax pushing itself closer to the surface of his skin, and he didn’t dare open his mouth lest the wrong sort of sound emerge. 

Abelas’s reply was annoyed. “Why does that matter? Why is this conversation devolving from work-related matters into gossip?”

“Oh, it’s devolving all right,” Felassan snickered. “I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.” He left the call.

Abelas sighed. “Solas, please call me when you’re feeling better.”

“All right,” Solas managed. “I will.” Fenedhis lasa, he was going to come any second now… 

“There is no need for thanks,” Abelas said. “Get some rest. Farewell for now.” He hung up, and a split second later, Solas came. 

He groaned loudly and dropped the phone on the couch, then fisted his fingers in Nare’s hair and thrust into her mouth. She gripped his thighs and angled her head to take him deep, and Solas fucked her throat with total abandon, gasping and groaning and staring avidly at her rosy lips as his cock slid between them. He fucked her mouth until he was spent, then carefully released her hair and let out a heavy exhale. 

Nare lifted her mouth from his cock and dabbed her lips on the back of her hand, then smiled cheekily. “Did that help—”

He sat forward and gripped her chin. “Don’t speak,” he snarled. “Not a word.” 

Her spine straightened and her eyes became huge, and Solas studied the signs of her excitement with a vindictive sort of satisfaction. Nare might have made him climax — and an excellent climax it was, too — but her intentions had clearly been to distract and embarrass him while he was on the phone, and such intentions required dire punishment. 

He ruthlessly lifted her chin. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you kneeled at my feet just now, didn’t you?”

She swallowed visibly. “I just wanted to help you focus—”

“Do not lie to me, Nare,” he said menacingly. “Were you truly trying to help, or were you hoping to distract me from my work?”

She dragged in a shaky breath, then lowered her eyes. “I was trying to distract you.”

“I know you were,” he said. “Worse yet, you abandoned your own work in the studio to distract me.” He released her chin, then trailed his knuckle along her jawline. “Tell me, does this strike you as the behaviour of a good student?”

She shook her head. “No, professor.”

Professor. As always, just as it had every time she had ever called him by his title, a possessive sort of warmth reared its head in the depths of his gut. He surveyed her in a predatory way, taking in her slightly-parted lips and her big blue eyes and the delicately-pinkened tips of her ears. Then, slowly and carefully, he wrapped his fingers around her throat. 

She swallowed nervously, her throat moving sinuously against his palm, and Solas tilted his head. “This kind of impertinent behaviour speaks of a particular virtue that you seem to be lacking. What virtue am I talking about, Nare?”

“U-um…”

He tightened his fingers around her throat. “Tell me.”

“Discipline!” she blurted. “I’m lacking discipline.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Despite the hours we’ve spent working on your discipline, on teaching you patience and focus, I find you here on your knees, stroking and sucking my cock instead of working on your art as you should be.”

She whimpered and stroked his knee. “Solas—”

“Do not touch me again until I instruct you to do so,” he snapped.

She immediately withdrew her hand, and Solas lifted his chin. “Now, I will admit that I appreciated your focus and determination when you were pleasuring me. But I wonder if you’re capable of a similar focus when it comes to tolerating the punishment you deserve.”

“I can,” she said eagerly. “I can take it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It sounds as though you’re hoping to be punished. Is that the case?”

“No, it’s not that,” she breathed. “It’s — I just want you to teach me how to be a better student with better discipline. If you think I need to be punished, then I’ll — I’ll take the punishment, professor, I promise.” 

Her eyes were demurely lowered, and it was amusing. To see her pretending to be obedient and demure when he knew this was a ploy on her part to get the exact kind of punishment she wanted? She truly was a vixen of the worst kind. 

He released her throat and rested his elbows on his knees as he surveyed her. “And if your punishment involves being sent back to the studio to continue your painting until I say you’re free to leave? Will you accept that punishment without complaint?” 

Her eyes darted up to his face, and he almost smiled at the obvious disappointment in her face. Then she lowered her gaze once more. “Yes, professor. I’ll… I won’t complain.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, then reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “All right. I’ve thought of an appropriate punishment. Move the coffee table out of the way.” 

“The coffee table?” she said.

“We will need the space,” he said, and he dropped his gaze to the carpet-padded floor.

Her face lit up. She quickly rose to her feet and pushed the coffee table aside to make space on the floor in front of the couch, then turned back to face him. “What should I do now?”

“Take off your clothing.”

She beamed at him and began stripping, and he leaned back on the couch to watch her. She pulled off her paint-spattered shirt and pushed back her long red hair, shooting him an excited smile as she did, then swiftly shoved down her leggings and her panties at the same time, and Solas surveyed her with a cool sort of amusement. Her stripping was too eager to be seductive, and as endearing as her eagerness was, it simply highlighted her need to practice her discipline. 

She unhooked her bralette and placed it on the coffee table, then looked at him. “What should I do next?” she said breathlessly. 

For a long moment, he didn’t reply: he simply took the time to admire her nude body. The late morning light slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows was like a spotlight painting her skin with a peachy glow. Her nipples were pearling already even though they hadn’t been touched, and the curving lines of her waist and hips were practically begging to be outlined by the touch of his hands.

He stared at her with a shameless mixture of admiration and masculine pride. Nare was perfect in his eyes, just as perfect as she’d always been since the first time she’d laid herself bare right here in his apartment, and Solas was proud that she’d chosen him to be the man she gave herself to. She’d trusted Solas with her body and her difficult sexual history and her heart, trusting him to handle her carefully and to give her the discipline and the tenderness that they both needed so badly. As he admired Nare’s perfect naked form, a familiar and beloved warmth swelled in his chest: a hot feeling of adoration laced with a smug sort of satisfaction that this perfect woman belonged to him.

She shifted restlessly from foot to foot and gave him a pleading look, and Solas gave her a chiding look. “Your impatience does you a disservice, Nare.”

She lowered her eyes. “I know, I’m sorry…”

“Do not apologize,” he said. “Apologies will serve neither of us. Focus instead on fixing your behaviour.”

She nodded meekly. “How should I do that?”

“Kneel for me.”

She immediately lowered herself to her knees and gazed expectantly at him, and he nodded his approval. “Now tie up your hair.”

She scooped her hair back and began tying it into a loose bun, arching her spine as though to show off her body, and Solas admired her breasts and the subtle planes of her belly as she tied up her hair. When her hair was bound, she gave him another bright-eyed look. “What should I do next?”

“Do not speak, and don’t move,” he said. Then he stood up. 

She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it, and Solas lifted an eyebrow as he tucked his cock back into his pants. “Did you stop yourself from asking where I am going?”

She nodded, and Solas nodded as well. “That is an excellent start to showing me how disciplined you are.” He fastened his slacks, then reached down and gently cradled her chin.

She swallowed hard but didn’t speak or move, and Solas smiled faintly. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then, as a tiny reward for her stillness, he bent down and kissed her.

Her lips parted instantly, and he took advantage to seal his lips over hers. He kissed her firmly, savouring the softness of her lips and the heat of her mouth as he stroked her tongue with his own, and when she whimpered and began melting toward him, he carefully pulled away from her. 

He brushed his thumb over her kiss-plumped lower lip. “I am going to the studio. I will inspect your work thus far,” he told her. “Remember, you are not to move until I return.”

Nare nodded, and Solas released her chin and walked away, marvelling as he did that his cock was growing hard again already despite the delicious-yet-illicit blowjob that Nare had just given him. He was careful not to show his growing eagerness as he walked away, however; he kept his pace casual and relaxed as he made his way to the studio. He had to present himself as a good example of discipline, after all.

He stepped into the studio to inspect her work. She had been working on another hair study to prepare for the portraits of Tamaris she would be painting for her thesis project, and today she was challenging herself to capture the way light interacted with Tamaris’s ebony curls.

Solas was briefly distracted from his desire by his appreciation for how far she’d gotten in a single morning. Considering that she’d only been painting for about two hours, she already had the primary areas of contrast and illumination blocked out, and Solas was quite impressed. 

He purposely spent a few long minutes in the studio, straightening the ever-growing pile of his own sketches on the shelf and tidying some of the painting supplies before leaving the room. When he returned to the living room, he was pleased to find Nare still on her knees on the floor.

Her eyes were closed, and her fists were clenched on her knees. When Solas approached, she opened her eyes and looked at him, and his cock swelled in his slacks. Her ears were flushed and her lips were parted with lust, and her eyes — fenedhis, her eyes: they were bright and blazing with need, an unspoken need that she was so carefully keeping to herself, and Solas was visited by the vertiginous feeling that he could happily drown in her oceanic eyes. 

Not yet, he reminded himself. He couldn’t give in to his own desire yet. Nare had to be properly punished for her atrocious behaviour. The discipline she’d shown in remaining here on her knees was an excellent start, but it was not enough to make up for how provocative she’d been while he was on the phone.

He sat on the couch in front of her and casually draped one arm along the back of the couch. “You made good progress in your study,” he said. “Are you happy with what you did so far?”

She darted him a cautious look, and he smiled faintly. “You may speak, Nare.” 

She smiled and tucked a tendril of hair over her ear. “I’m… well, I know what I’m going to work on next. Now that the main blocks of colour are there, I’ll—” 

Solas interrupted her. “I didn’t ask what your next steps will be. I asked whether you’re pleased with your progress.” 

She hesitated, and Solas admired her naked and kneeling body while she considered her answer. Finally she replied. “I’m happy that I know what to do next. I feel confident about where the study is going and how to get it there. That makes me happy.”

He gazed at her approvingly. “That is excellent. I’m glad to hear that your confidence is growing.”

She made a little face. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my judgment?”

Her eyes went wide. “Wha— no! No, that’s not what I meant.”

He gave her a chiding look, and she shook her head slightly. “I mean — no, professor, I’m not doubting you. I’m just, um… my confidence might be growing, but it’s, um, slow.”

“I would not expect you to outgrow your doubts overnight,” he said gently. “Progress and confidence come one step at a time, and you are advancing well on both fronts.”

She shot him a tiny smile. “Thank you, professor.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome. And now I believe it’s time that you received your punishment for your… impertinence earlier.”

She wilted slightly. “I thought that waiting here for you was the punishment.”

He raised his eyebrows. She was challenging him now? After that sordid carnal display where she’d nearly made him embarrass himself on the phone with Abelas and Felassan, she was daring to challenge him now? 

She could clearly gauge his thoughts from the look on his face: the flush of her cheeks deepened slightly and her spine straightened a little more, and Solas couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or disgruntled by her eagerness. It was a pleasure to see Nare looking so lustful for him, but the forced time-out on her knees clearly hadn’t taught her a lesson, and her punishment was going to have to be strict indeed if he wanted to make her truly obey. 

He sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You thought that waiting silently and showing a little patience was punishment? Is that truly what you thought?”

She nibbled her lower lip but didn’t reply, and Solas tilted his head. “Tell me, Nare. Is that what you thought? During all this time that I’ve been teaching you, all this time that I’ve been training your discipline and control, you thought that merely kneeling for your professor was sufficient punishment for acting in such a disgraceful way?”

She dropped his gaze and pressed her lips together hard, and Solas could tell that she was trying not to laugh. When she looked him in the eye once more, though, her expression was appropriately contrite. “No, professor. I’m sorry, you’re right. It wasn’t enough of a punishment.”

“It really wasn’t,” he confirmed. He sat back once more and began rolling up his sleeves.

Her reaction was instantaneous: she sat up straight like a meerkat, her eyes locking onto his forearms as they were revealed by the rolling-back of his sleeves, and something hot and prideful stirred in his chest in response to her avid gaze. He carefully maintained a smooth and stern expression as he rolled up his sleeves, and by the time his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, she was shifting her hips with eagerness, and her face was alight with anticipation. 

He settled back on the couch, then met her eye once more. “Come, Nare,” he said, and he patted his thigh.

She swiftly stood upright. Solas’s gaze dropped shamelessly to her sex, and a roar of lust unfurled through his veins. She was wet already, so wet that he could already see the glistening shine of desire painting her pussy — that delicious glistening desire that tasted so raw and sweet…

His mouth was suddenly flooded with saliva. Nare took a step toward him, and he stopped her with a hand on her hip. “A moment,” he said, and he slipped one finger between her legs. 

She gasped and grabbed his shoulders, and he breathed slowly to control himself. The feel of her on his fingers, the heat of her, the slickness: he would never get enough of this. Never would there come a time when this would fail to rouse the possessive and protective wildness in his chest — this hot and wild feeling that was compelling him to stroke her folds until she was bucking her hips and mewling his name…

She tightened her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “Solas,” she whimpered. 

He withdrew his fingers from her feminine heat and sat back to look her in the eye. “Come now, Nare,” he said calmly. “You know what you must do.” Without breaking from her gaze, he licked her slickness from his fingers, then patted his thigh again.

Her face went tense with desperation, but she didn’t complain; she kneeled on the couch beside him, then stretched out across his lap, and when she was settled, Solas smoothed his palm along the length of her back. 

With a slow and hedonistic sort of enjoyment, Solas stroked Nare’s smooth-skinned back. He studied the delicate arches of her shoulder blades and the dip of her spine, and he enjoyed the fact that he could admire her so easily when her hair was tied up. He could admire every inch of her naked skin, from her nape down to the valley of her spine and back up over the divine curves of her bottom — ah, fenedhis, her lush and rounded bottom, bare and raised like it was waiting for his hand…

Lovingly, tenderly, he smoothed his palm over her buttock. Then he spanked her. 

She yelped and arched her spine. Solas spanked her again, and she let out another breathless cry. “Please!”

He curled his fingers around her throat. “Do not beg,” he snapped, and he spanked her harder than before.

She let out another mewling cry and dug her fingers into the couch, and the hot and feral feeling in his chest stretched and reared its head. The sharp sound of her cries, these exquisite cries of pleasure and pain: these cries of Nare’s never failed to rile him, to bring the dark and feral side of his desire from dormancy to roaring life, and with every spank he delivered to her bottom, his hungry wolflike side felt like it was pushing its way closer to the surface of his skin. 

He smoothed his palm over her spanked buttock and drew a slow breath to calm himself. “Your behaviour was atrocious, Nare,” he said coolly. “Distracting me purposely while I was on a work-related call? That was quite the cunning move.” He punctuated his words with a spank.

“Yes!” she gasped. “Yes, it was — I was really bad.”

“Yes, you were,” he said. Then he lowered his voice. “You purposely made me hard, then sucked my cock while I was trying to focus.”

She dragged in a shaky breath and arched her spine, pushing her bottom up toward his hand. “Yes, I did,” she whined. “That’s what I did, and it was — I was so bad, professor.”

“You were bad, yes,” he said, and he spanked her hard on her other buttock. 

She yelped again, spurring that feral heat to swell in his chest and limbs, and Solas tightened his grip on her throat as he caressed her butt. “You were an incredibly disobedient student who purposely tried to provoke me,” he said. “For that reason, you do not have the right to beg.” He bent closer to her ear and spoke in a very low and threatening tone. “You do not have the right to say anything except ‘yes, professor’. Is that understood?”

She whimpered and nodded, and Solas narrowed his eyes. “What was that?” he said, and he spanked her again. 

“Yes, professor!” she blurted.

“Excellent,” he said. “Spread your knees.”

She obeyed him and parted her knees on the couch, and Solas spanked her again. He spanked her twice more on each buttock, savouring the jiggle of her bottom beneath his palm and the sharp snap of skin-on-skin. By the time he was smoothing his palm over her buttock once more to soothe her stinging skin, Nare was mewling and gasping and writhing helplessly on his lap, and his whole body was throbbing with a dark and wild lust.

Be patient, he coached himself, and he smoothed his palm over her hair. “Your compliance is truly admirable,” he told her, and he reached between her legs and pressed his fingers to her clit.

She jolted and moaned loudly, but she didn’t beg, and Solas smiled as he caressed the slippery little bud. “Good girl,” he said, and without warning, he slid one finger inside of her. 

She burst out a wild cry, arching her spine and wiggling her hips as though to take his finger deeper, and Solas hissed in a breath through his clenched teeth. He could feel her pussy bearing down around his finger, like her body was trying to take him deep, and it was almost enough to make him abandon his sense of control. His control was tenuous as it was, like trying to keep a leash on a hungry wolf, but Solas forced himself to stay disciplined as he slid his finger smoothly in and out of her tight depths.

She sobbed and bucked back to meet his hand. “Sola— professor, I…” She trailed off and moaned, thrusting back against his hand like a little wanton, and despite his thinly-veiled lust, he smiled. 

“You stopped yourself from begging,” he remarked. “That is very good.”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes, professor, ye— aah!” Her words faded into a loud moan. He was curling his finger inside of her and twisting his wrist in a subtle way that he knew she particularly liked, and for a glorious moment, he just listened to the symphony of her desperate moans.

Then he pulled his finger free and spanked her again. 

“Please!” she gasped. “I — mm, fuck, oh n-no…”

“I told you not to beg,” he said roughly, and he spanked her once more. 

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry, professor, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I — ah!” Another sharp cry exploded from her lips as his palm came down to meet her ass.

“I told you that you could say only two words,” he said in a hard voice. “What words did I permit you to say?” 

“Yes, professor,” she sobbed. 

“That’s correct,” he said. “Will you obey me and speak only those two words?”

“Yes, professor!” she wailed. 

“Good,” he said coolly. “Now lie back on the floor and spread your legs.”

She nodded, then shakily lifted herself off of his lap and crawled onto the floor, and Solas shifted forward on the couch so he could better look at her. She rested back on her elbows, then placed her feet on the floor and opened her knees, and Solas shamelessly eyed her pussy… ah, fenedhis, she was so slick with the juices of her desire that he could practically taste her at the back of his tongue.

His cock throbbed in his slacks. He let out a slow breath and smoothed his palm over the ridge of his cock, and Nare’s eyes dropped to his hand. Her expression was twisting into a picture of desperate desire, but she didn’t beg, and Solas had to admire her restraint in the face of how obviously needy she was. 

He stroked himself slowly through his pants. Nare let out a little sob before clamping her lips together, and Solas smiled faintly. “You’re a very good girl for holding your tongue. Now touch yourself.”

She laid back on the carpet and slid her fingers through her slick folds. She breathed hard as she caressed herself, then began carefully teasing her clit with the tip of her finger, and Solas stared at her in wonder. She was truly like a work of art, and one that tempted his every sense: the aesthetic delicacy of her rounded breasts contrasted with the jutting angle of her hips as she thrust toward her own hand, the melodic huskiness of her mewling cries as she stroked her swollen little clit, the unique and precious taste of her desire that he had yet to savour during this particular tryst. She was a physical manifestation of desire coming to life, a vivid and symphonic representation of everything that the word ‘passion’ encompassed, and as Solas watched her writhing and whimpering in wanton abandon on his living room floor, he felt his own wanton side surging to life as well, surging from the depths of his chest to unfurl hotly through his limbs and to rear its prideful head as he watched Nare’s delicate hand moving with greater desperation between her legs. 

He squeezed the hard shaft of his cock — not yet, not just yet, he reminded himself —  then released his cock and began unbuttoning his shirt, and Nare’s lips fell open in a gasp. “Mm,” she whimpered, her eyes falling to the open collar of his shirt. “Mm, yes professor, y-yes…” 

He smirked as he laid open his shirt, and Nare’s face became even more tense with lust as she stared at his now-bared chest. She stared at him avidly, her eyes darting from his chest to his purposely-neutral face, and Solas watched with an arrogant sort of satisfaction as her breathing became erratic and short. 

Then he lifted his chin. “Beg,” he commanded.

“Please!” she burst out, and she arched her spine viciously and spread her legs. “Please, professor, please lick me! Please, please lick me, I want your mouth on me, I—”

Solas wasted no time. Her voice was tense and her thighs were slick, and her whole body was calling to the hot and feral need that was howling in his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was kneeling between her open legs and pushing her hand aside and slanting his mouth over her sex.

He kissed her pussy before lapping ravenously at her slick and shining folds, and she jolted and pushed her hips toward his face. “Please!” she sobbed, and she stroked his scalp. “Please Solas, you f-feel so—”

He gripped her thighs to hold her wide and lapped delicately at her clit before sealing his lips over her pussy in a hot wet kiss. She let out another breathless sob and arched toward his mouth, and Solas watched her with the hungry instincts of a predator, licking her in just the right way to elicit the most powerful reactions from her beautiful naked body. He trailed his tongue around her clit in a slow circle to make her moan and sob, then lapped lightly at the swollen little bud until she was gasping and pressing her fingers into his scalp, and when her thighs began to tremble with tension beneath his palms, he forced himself not to smile at the obviousness of her impending climax.

He caressed her inner thighs with his thumbs and lapped at her pussy before teasing her clit with the sort of careful little licks and kisses that he knew would drive her climax to its height, and in the space of a few more sharp and shallow breaths, Nare gasped loudly and cried out. She shuddered and arched viciously toward Solas’s lips, but he didn’t break the rhythm of his mouth: he continued to lap at her clit and to kiss her sensitive folds, treating her with the exact teasing pressure that he knew she loved, and with her every whimper and shudder and moan, he felt more and more bolstered, like that starving feral side of him was being fed and fostered by the sounds of her lustful abandon.

She sobbed out a last pleasured breath and settled onto the carpet, then trailed her fingers over his cheekbone. “Please, professor,” she whimpered. “Please fuck me, please? I need you…”

He finally lifted his mouth from her pussy, then settled between her legs and planted his palms on either side of her head. “Kiss me first,” he commanded. 

She curled her fingers around his nape and pulled him closer, and then they were kissing in a hard and hungry tempest of lust. She was licking his musk-scented lips and he was nipping her tongue, and then their mouths were slanting together as she moaned and bucked her hips to rub herself against his still-clothed groin, and the kiss was so ravenous and messy and scented with sex that it finally broke Solas’s control.

He nipped her lower lip, prompting her to let out a breathy gasp of pain, then sat back on his knees and palmed her breast. “Get on your knees,” he snarled, and he rolled her nipple between his fingers. “You will place your cheek on the floor and lift your bottom for my pleasure. Do you understand?”

She whimpered and nodded, then repositioned herself as Solas had asked. When she was properly positioned on her elbows and knees, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Please come inside me, professor,” she begged.

Ah, her words, her base and beautiful words… “You can be certain that I will,” he said harshly, and he began opening his slacks. “But first, you will come with my cock filling you up. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” she blurted. “I mean — yes professor, yes!”

“Good,” he said. He freed his cock from his slacks and slid his rock-hard shaft through her folds. 

She gasped and bucked back, spreading her fragrant slickness along the length of his cock, and a bloom of anticipation rippled through his abdomen. The way she felt, her heat, the velvety smoothness of her pussy against his cock—

“Please!” she wailed. “Please, Solas, please—”

He filled her up with one hard smooth stroke, and the sound she made was… fenedhis, it was so visceral and enraptured that it made his cock thump hotly within her depths. Her face was twisted with pleasure already and she was clenching her fingers on the carpeted floor, and Solas could tell from the tension of her pussy and the tension in her face that she was barely a few thrusts from her climax — a few thrusts, a few careful deep thrusts, and she would be coming around his cock. And if he did one additional thing to help bring her there…

He slowly withdrew from her body until just the tip of his cock was inside of her, and she sobbed and bucked back to try and take him. “Please!” she begged. “Please, Solas, please make me come, please…” 

He stroked her scalp and the nape of her neck, then slid his hand slowly around her neck to grip her throat, and her lips fell open. “Yes!” she mewled. “Oh fuck, yes—”

He squeezed her throat and thrust into her, a firm and relentless thrust, and she cried out. “Yes! Yes please, I need—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish her thought. He kept fucking her with slow but careful thrusts, driving into her thoroughly as though to stroke every inch of her inner heat with his cock. He hungrily watched her face as he fucked her, watching the twisting tension draw her face into an exquisite mask of tension and need—

“Solas, please!” she screamed, and suddenly her pussy was clenching around him. She was shuddering and sobbing and arching her spine, and her pussy was so fucking hot and tight, and Solas finally snapped.

He squeezed her throat and thrust into her hard, and her answering wail of pleasure made him dizzy. And then he was fucking her, fucking her hard and fast with his teeth bared and his fingers gripping her hips, and the growling sound he was making — was that him making that growling sound, it had to be him, his own breath rasping through his clenched teeth as he claimed her. That had to be his own feral snarling sounds as his hips slammed into the softness of her ass, and he was dimly aware of how ravenous and animalistic he sounded, but his pleasure was rising too sharply and deliciously for him to care. 

He released her throat and placed his palm on the nape of her neck instead. “You are mine,” he snarled. “My veraisa, my — my g-good girl, ah...” He shuddered and slammed into her once more, and his climax tore through his abdomen and his thighs in a blinding rush.

He groaned and squeezed her nape, shuddering and pressing his hips firmly against her ass as the rapture rode its way through his body in pulsing waves of pleasure. When his climax finally abated, he slowly and carefully pulled himself free from her depths.

Just as he had hoped, a drop of his creamy seed escaped her to trail down the back of her thigh, and Solas studied the evidence of his pleasure with no small sense of satisfaction. No matter how many times he took possession of Nare, no matter how often he got to enjoy the sight of his semen marking her body, it never failed to bring him a prideful sort of joy to see her painted with his pleasure in this way.

He gently caressed her buttock, then looked up at her face — her serene and broadly-smiling face, he was happy to note. “How do you feel?” he said gently. 

“Amazing,” she said. She carefully shifted onto her back, then stretched out on the carpet like a cat before curling on her side and propping her cheek on her fist. “So, are you going to call Abelas back now?”

He blinked at her. Had she just…? She had not just said something so cheeky. Was she really tempting his ire again?

She grinned mischievously at him. He scoffed a disbelieving laugh and spanked her hip, and Nare burst into laughter. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing — professor, please don’t punish me, eek!” She squealed with laughter as Solas rolled her onto her belly and spanked her bottom.

He straddled her hips to trap her on the floor, then planted his palms on either side of her head and lowered himself over her to speak into her ear. “You haven’t learned your lesson at all, have you?” he growled.

“I did, I did!” she giggled. “I learned, I promise, I’m just—” 

He cut her off with a kiss, delving his tongue into her mouth to stop her cheeky words, and Nare moaned into his mouth and passively accepted his kiss. When he peeled away from her lips, he was vindictively satisfied to find her cheeks and ears once more flushed with desire.

She smiled coyly at him and rested her cheek on the floor. “Am I a very bad student?”

“You’re fairly atrocious, yes,” he confirmed. “Yet somehow I am charmed by you.” He kissed her cheek, then stood up and fastened his pants once more before offering her his hand. 

She took his hand so he could help her to her feet, then brushed back a few stray tendrils of hair. “Well, I should probably—” 

He didn’t give her a chance to finish her sentence. Instead, he swept her into his arms, then began carrying her through the living room.

She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Solas! What are you — where are we going?”

“To take a bath,” he said.

“A bath?” she said. “But I — shouldn’t I work on my painting some more?” 

“Certainly,” he said. “But I’m not convinced you have the discipline for such focused work.”

She grinned at him and draped her arms around his neck. “Are you going to clean me up and then punish me some more?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You shouldn’t be sounding so thrilled about being punished, Nare.”

“But I love when you teach me,” she said. “Even when you have to punish me first.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You really are trying my patience today.”

“I know,” she said. “Will you teach and punish me anyway, professor?”

He eyed her with an affectionate sort of exasperation. He truly hadn’t intended to spend this much time trysting with Nare today; he really did have work that needed doing, and Nare had work of her own to do as well. But her smile was sweet and her ocean-blue eyes were full of hope, and when faced with this hopeful look on Nare’s beloved face, he was powerless to say no. 

As had always been the case from the moment they’d met, when faced with Nare’s beloved and beautiful face, Solas was powerless to say anything but yes.  

He sighed. “Of course I’ll teach you,” he said. “But first, a bath.”

“Yes, professor,” she said sweetly, and she snuggled her head against his neck.

He smiled faintly as he stepped into the master bathroom with Nare in his arms. Perhaps they were being irresponsible by allowing themselves to be distracted by each other when they were meant to be working, but in truth, Solas was too happy to care.

He set her on the bathroom counter and returned her impish smile, then padded over to the door. As far as distractions go, this is an excellent one, he thought wryly, and he closed the bathroom door.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

A Pokemon To Call My Own

For @shinobimagpie who has been listening to me gush about fics for months and deserves all of the best things <3 and @alumort who loves Pokemon au

Words: 1759

Today was the day Aina was going to catch her very own Pokemon. She had been preparing for weeks, waiting impatiently by the window for her Big Brother to come back home so that he could take her out for a bit of adventure. 

It was finally here. She was going to catch her first pokemon and she couldn’t wait. Her entire body was vibrating with excitement as she ran down the hallway to the room her big brother was staying in with his best friend.

Except, when she opened the door what she found was not what she had expected. Instead of strapping his boots on and getting ready to leave, Kakashi sat at the little desk in the room writing letters to the other gym leaders.

She tried to ask why he was doing this now, but he only offered a sad smile and promised to take her out later, when his work was done. 

This was not how her morning was supposed to go. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” Gai smiled down at her, offering a little thumbs up when she huffed. “Your big brother will still be here when we get back, and he might even be done with his work by then.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but she could tell her brother wasn’t going to be moving from his seat any time soon. So, with a heavy heart, she followed Gai out of the bedroom and headed outside for a walk.

They made it three feet outside of the front door before the weight of her disappointment overwhelmed her.

With a dramatic sigh, she looked up at Gai with sad, pathetic eyes. “Why is he busy?” She tried not to pout, but it was hard to keep her disappointment contained. This was the day she had been looking forward to for weeks. Ever since Kakashi had called to tell them he was coming home for a visit and promised to take her out to catch her first pokemon.

She had spent every minute since then preparing for this moment. Practicing her throw, thinking about what Pokemon she wanted to catch.

“He doesn’t mean to be,” Gai assured her, placing a hand in her hair as she continued to pout. “The League just keeps sending him more jobs. If we’re being honest, your big brother is a little too good at his job.”

Too good at his job. It made sense, but it didn’t do anything to ease her disappointment. Kakashi was always doing so much for the League. Whenever he finished one job there always seemed to be another waiting for him.

Her papa had told her that it was because Kakashi was skilled. His ability to organize and lead was something the league needed, and it probably meant he would be getting a promotion soon. Since he had been the League's champion once, she had no reason not to believe him. If anyone knew the inner workings of the Pokemon League, it was her parents. The old Champion and one of the old Elite four members. 

“Still,” crossing her arms over her chest she huffed. “He’s supposed to have today off. He promised!”

Kakashi never went back on his promises. At least, not until today.

“He’ll still take you out,” Gai continued to offer his support even when she glared up at him. “Trust me. My Rival has been looking forward to today for weeks. He can’t wait to see you catch your first pokemon.”

Even with Gai’s reassurances she still feels bitter about the entire situation. Waiting was fine, but there were so many Pokemon that she could be finding right now. Possible new partners, she could be spending her time choosing amongst, instead of just walking around doing nothing.

“Ah, I know what will cheer you up,” stepping in front of her, Gai knelt in front of her and smiled. “I was going to ask you for a very special favor. It’s something that I have been working on for a few months now, and I think you’re helping will be the perfect thing to tie it all together.”

“A favor?” She tilted her head. “What kind?”

If Gai needed her help she would happily do whatever it was he required. He was always there for her when she needed a pickup, or even just someone to hang out with for a bit. If she could return even a fraction of all that kindness he had shown her, she would do it without hesitation.

“Well, I’m thinking about asking your big brother a very important question,” his cheeks turned bright red as he spoke, and his eyes darted all around the area, avoiding her gaze at all costs. “It’s a bit difficult to explain, but I thought the best way to approach it would be with you and all of the dogs.”

Aina listened to his words carefully, her eyes wandering behind him when she saw some bushes rustling. As he began to explain what it was he wanted to do, something came into view. A beautiful blue shell that sparkled perfectly under the sun.

“And then I’m going to have Pakkun… Aina, are you listening?” 

She tried to drag her eyes away from that beautiful shell, but it was impossible. It was too lovely to ignore, so instead, she reached out and grabbed a fist full of Gai’s tracksuit and gave it a tug. “What’s that?” she pointed towards the thing with her free hand, watching as it wiggled a little. After a moment a long yellow noodle-like appendage came into view.

Turning his head, Gai tilted his head. “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted, watching as whatever it was struggled to get out of the bush. “I think it’s a pokemon.”

A pokemon.

The first Pokemon she had seen in the wild that was so beautiful she couldn’t drag her eyes away from it. Small but perfect in every way.

The Pokemon just for her.

“Gai,” she tugged on his jacket again, a little harder this time. “Can I have a Pokeball? Please???”

This was a rare opportunity. A chance for her to catch her first Pokemon and run home to show her big brother.

It was somehow better than going out to catch her first Pokemon with him, because it wasn’t planned.

“A- well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” digging into the pouch he kept on his belt, Gai retrieved a pokeball and held it out towards her, clicking the middle so that it expanded right there in front of her eyes. “Just remember, it might not work the first time. If I have to battle it for you-“

Overflowing with adrenaline, Aina snatched the Pokeball out of Gai’s hand before he could finish and chucked it towards the pokemon. The throw wasn’t graceful like she had practiced, and she hadn’t taken the time to line up the shot at all, but it hit it’s mark.

Striking the pokemon across the back, the ball sprung open and dragged it inside, sealing it away into the safety of the Pokeball.

With the Pokemon captured, the ball fell to the ground. Aina’s muscles reacted before she could think, dragging her forward with excitement.

“Aina, wait!” She stopped just in front of the Pokeball and glanced back at Gai. “It’s not caught yet. The pokemon might still break free.”

She scolded herself for forgetting that. It was one of the first things her mama had taught her when she first started practicing.

Pokemon have a chance to break free.

She had to wait until the Pokeball stopped rocking to know that she had succeed in the catch.

Glancing back down at the ball, she watched it carefully.

One shake, so big that the Pokeball almost flipped over in the process.

The Pokemon stayed inside.

a second shake, this time a little smaller, but still big enough that she could see the Pokeball rock in its spot.

It continued to stay inside.

A third, final shake, small but visible. It barley nudged out of it spot this time, and Before she could stop herself Aina was reaching out for the pokeball.

“Aina!” Just as her fingers wrapped around the ball, it stopped shaking. A tiny clicking sound echoed in the air, confirming the catch.

It was done.

She had caught her first pokemon all by herself. Without her big brother by her side.

Picking the ball up, she spun around in her spot and showed it to Gai triumphantly. “Big brothers going to be so proud of me,” she declared, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “I can’t wait to show him my new…um…”

She cringed. In her excitement she hadn’t even waited for the Pokemon to gain its freedom from the bush so she could get a proper look at it, she had no idea what exactly she had just caught, and it didn’t matter.

Whatever it was, it was perfect.

It was her pokemon.

“How about you let it out?” Gai made his way towards her. “Just chuck the ball into the air and we’ll see what springs out.”

Nodding her head, she did just as Gai told her and tossed the ball up into the air. Just a little higher than her head the Pokeball popped open and her new Pokemon came out into the world, with that bright beautiful blue shell, four long yellow limbs and a cute little face that Aina just wanted to squish between her hands. In front of her stood the most beautiful Pokemon she had ever seen. 

“Oh,” Gai’s eyes widened in surprise. “Shuckle! But, I don't think I’ve ever seen a shuckle with a blue shell…”

“Shuckle,” Aina couldn’t contain her joy anymore. Diving forward she wrapped her arms around Shuckles long neck and hugged it. “Hello, Shuckle. I’m Aina.”

Shuckle didn’t pull away or react in fear at Aina’s excitement . Instead, it laid its head down across her back. Returning her hug in the best way that it could.

“Well, this will be interesting,” pulling away, she looked back at Gai and furrowed her brow when he began to laugh. “Not only did you catch a Pokemon without Kakashi, but it seems you might have caught a shiny Pokemon.”

A shiny pokemon.

That sounded even more wonderful.

“Well,” she turned back towards Shuckle and reached out to pat its head. “It’s perfect.”

Her first pokemon turned out to be a shiny.

She couldn’t wait to see her big brother's face when she showed him her new Pokemon.