#your comments have given me life on this cold-and-v-early morning

[somnambulic-thing]

art student!reader x life drawing model!Eddie Munson

E 18+, so nsfw Words: 7048 read on ao3

find the sequel here

Paint It Black Summery: You’re frustrated with your latest work and look for distraction by attending the open life drawing class on what looks like a very ordinary Thursday. Eddie, the new model, is everything but ordinary but definitely a distraction.

CW/tags: characters somewhere in their twenties, meet-wild, smut, fluff, some sort of voyeurism/public erection, gets a little rough, unprotected sex, piv penetration, oral for everybody, v fingering, biting, love marks, talky sex, aftercare, art school bullshit, messy sex, artsy sex (I guess), love at first sight (I guess)

A/N: @edsforehead made me do it. (thank you so much)

comments and reblogs are so appreciated

The air is cold, stinging your cheeks as you ride your bike through a clear and crisp winter morning. It does wonders for waking you up and clearing your mind; you had spent way too long in your studio last night, hovering over this painting that just wouldn’t go the way you wanted. Inside your mind, you hoisted it off the wall to place it right in the middle of the room, a bucket of thick black paint in one hand, the other one dipping in until the medium reached your wrist. You drop down to your knees and get to work, blacking the wretched thing out one large swoop of your arm after another, sending hours of work into oblivion.

Oh my, it was so tempting. Your fingertips tickle with the urge to turn your frustration into something wild and rough and… simple.

But your Professor had sworn to make your life very hard if he ever got wind of you destroying one of your works again, so you followed the advice he had given you: You had decided to take a break. Do something different, something simple, something rewarding and easy to clear your mind to recharge your drained batteries.

So it is Thursday and you crawled out of bed after four measly hours of sleep to go to the life drawing class. You are early as always to get one of the good spots. The small auditorium is still empty except for your teacher who is busy untangling the cords of the various space heaters that will keep the model warm for the next hours.

“Ah,” he says as he sees you, “haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yeah, been busy wasting paint.” You smile and walk down the steps of the middle aisle and drop your bag on the best chair: first platform, second chair on the right from the aisle. It had the perfect distance and angle and the top of the backrest of first row to put your feet on so you could rest your paper on your thighs and wouldn’t have to struggle through two hours and a half hours of numb feet.

“Good decision to waste some graphite instead today,” your teacher says and grins. “I’m excited to see your progress.”

You hum, unpacking your supplies. “Who’s the model today? Someone familiar?”

“No, actually, I finally could recruit someone new. He should already be here though. Maybe he has difficulties finding us.” The building was old and could be confusing if you never set foot in it before.

“He,” you say, sharpening your pencil. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

Male models were rare - maybe two out of ten sessions - and you start to get excited about coming in today.

Your teacher climbs up the stairs past you, “I’ll go and see if he’s wandering around somewhere.”

 —

The room fills with students; you say your How are you?’s and What are you working on?’s and when the clock shows 9:37, you brace yourself for the session getting cancelled. Just then, the door opens and your teacher hurries down the stairs.

“Good morning everybody. Sorry for the delay, our model got lost in our hallways. Let’s hear: anybody working on something particular and has some requests for poses?”

You crane your neck up to the back of the room towards the overflowing coat rack while your teacher keeps going through the usual procedure.

The model’s back is turned and you see a long black coat being shrugged off of lean shoulders and underneath: more black. Black lines of ink meandering out of the sleeves of a black shirt; a harsh contrast against pale skin. Ringed hands come up to the back of his head to put the long dark wavy hair into a bun.

No! you plead internally, surprised by that strong reaction.

He chooses the far left aisle down, almost disappearing behind the rows of students but your eyes follow him with a burning curiosity as if you wouldn’t get the chance to look at him for hours in a moment. You shake your head and open your sketchbook to do just anything but stare. There was a difference between observing and staring and the latter wasn’t fucking appropriate inside this room.

“Everybody,” your teacher announces, “this is Eddie. Eddie has never done this before so be patient and just let him know if he’s moving too much.”

You look up and grind your teeth. This Eddie is fucking gorgeous.

“Uhm, hi!” he smiles into the room then looks back at your teacher. “So, uh, I just get naked or what?”

Everybody laughs, but you don’t. You’re taking a long slow breath.

“That’s the general idea,” your teacher grins. “You can put your things on that table in the corner and then just come back to this spot.”

But Eddie does not move to the mentioned corner, he simply pulls off his shirt and throws it the distance to the table. More tattoos come to light; all black, no color. He then kicks off his shoes and you watch his fingers as they open his belt and his fly, how they lodge into the hem of his black, frayed jeans and pull them down in one swoop. There are giggles as he throws the bundle, aiming at the table like he’s at the bowling alley, completely naked.

And then you realize, Eddie didn’t wear any underwear.

“The rings too, please.”

“Oh, sure.” He picks them off his fingers; one two three from one hand and one more from the other. Eddie looks at them on his palm for a moment and grins. “Nah, not gonna throw those.”

The class giggles again as Eddie takes two three long strides to the table to put his rings down carefully and prances back, taking his spot in the middle of the small platform surrounded by space heaters.

There is a soft crack coming from your lap and you look down to see that you had pushed your pencil to the paper so hard that you’d broken the tip.

—

It’s as always: a series of short poses to warm up. One minute, then three and up from there.

Except it is not like always. You're flustered, you’re hot and you spend way too long staring, not finishing any of the one-minute poses.

This has never happened to you before and you had been presented with a lot of good-looking people over the years but this guy was something else.

Three-minute poses and Eddie is slouched back in a chair, long legs spread, left arm resting on top of his head, the right one on his thigh. This was sinful. You just corrected the angle of his left thigh for the third time when you look up and find him looking right back at you. No lost glance into the distance over your shoulder, no: your eyes meet. And those eyes are big and dark and curious and he holds the gaze for several seconds before the timer beeps and announces the change of poses.

He’s not only beautiful and scorching hot but also incredibly adorable. He’s giddy between poses, shaking his arms and legs - and with that his cute little ass - bouncing on his toes and you start to think that holding still normally isn’t his forte. When he lies on his belly, soft gaze on the floor, he tries to stifle a yawn once, twice and only lets it out when he’s allowed to move again. You like his dedication.

Five-minute poses and you finally get into the flow; things start to make sense on the paper until you find him looking at you again. And not only that: he mouthes a small 'Hi'. You bite your lip and look down, feeling the looks of some of the students on you.

He’s cross-legged, leaning back, hands braced on the ground behind him. The angle is weird and it doesn’t help that the way his lean, inked chest moves every time he takes a breath makes you want to bite down on those sharp collarbones. You hold your sketchpad in your outstretched arms doing those quick back-and-forth glances to find out where to correct the mess when his eyes move back to you. Every time you meet his gaze makes your spine tingle more and more and you have to bite down on your lip again to not let a fucking noise slip from your mouth.

Ten-minute poses and your teacher has made it to you to give you some feedback. Nothing you hadn’t expected: you go about it too complicated, want to do too much in too little time, too much detail. Eddie is stretched out on his back and smirks towards the ceiling.

On the next round of feedback, he tells you to really look at Eddie’s hips. You get the angle wrong, it throws off the stance, and you know why all your stupid drawings look a little wonky: you try to avoid looking at his cock for too long. You never thought about a penis as a cock before in this class and it drives you up the walls seeing it twitch slightly while your teacher keeps explaining things you already know and you’re forced to stare at Eddie's crotch, knowing he's side-eying you and your flustered expression the whole. Damn. Time.

Eddie gets a brief pause to stretch and have some water and you want revenge. While his back is turned to you - shoulder blades rippling deliciously under his skin - you open the top two buttons of your blouse, sliding the collar off your shoulder.

One final five-minute pose before the session ends with a twenty-fiver and Eddie is crouched down with his knees pulled under his chin. He shuffles a little before he really settles, tilting his head slightly in a way that forces him to look in your direction unless he wants to lower his eyes to the floor for five minutes.

When he finally looks up, you’re waiting for him, head titled yourself exposing the side of your neck down to your shoulder where your bra strap is barely holding onto your skin.

Eddie’s eyes widen and you smile, tongue poking out just a little to lick your bottom lip before you focus on the paper in your lap to roughly map out the pose. You don’t linger on him while you draw, quick glances only, but you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

This sketch is turning out to be the best so far. You lean back a little, biting down on the back of your pencil and start rolling your shoulders. One gets stiff sitting like that for so long, so people stretch all the time and nobody will notice that you’re giving Eddie a little show. You tilt your head to the right and run a hand over the muscles in your neck, massaging the achy spot right beyond your skull for a moment. When you give in to look down at him, you do it from under your lashes, taking the pencil stuck in your mouth between two fingers and let your tongue play with it ever so slightly.

Eddie takes a deep breath; you can see it in the way his shoulders rise and his knees are pressed forward. You grin and he pulls up his brows and you can’t tell if he begs you to stop or go on.

Twenty-five-minute pose and the crowd demands him to stand.

“Twenty-five minutes of standing is ok?” your teacher asks Eddie, who hasn’t jumped up like a spring toy after the timer rang.

“Uhm, yeah,” he says, legs still drawn to his torso. “Sure thing, uh-hn.”

It takes him another beat to push himself up and come to a stand. Your eyes wander from the top of his cheeks, tinted in a pretty pink, down to those hips to find him not exactly half hard, but on a good way to it. You feel your eyes roll up.

Shit.

Your teacher instructs him how to stand, feet wider apart - a little more, perfect - arms crossed over his chest which too is now slightly pink. His biceps’ flex a few times as he waits for more instructions.

“Can you turn a little, to the left?” a guy in the top row asks and Eddie does.

“Like this?”

Like this you get him in a three-quarter-view and your heart is racing; will he look at you again or did you push it too far?

“Anything else?” your teacher asks and you want to bite down on your tongue but instead it’s moving and forming words.

“Can we have the hair down for this last one?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, catching you in the middle of your request. He pinches his eyes shut at the approval of your fellow students. Below the waist, he’s twitching again.

Loosening his hair tie, Eddie musses around in his dark waves with practised fingers until he seems satisfied with what he sees in the mirror across the room. You suppress a moan, breaking the tip of your pencil again. He’s not looking at you, this time choosing to turn down his eyes while his face points in your general direction again. You curse at yourself internally; you should have just gone to him after the session and slipped him your number or asked him if he was busy after this while the both of you were still flooded with whatever this was and—

Shit!

Whatever Eddie is thinking while not looking at you did not help with what was going on in his loins. That pretty cock was getting bigger: half-hard-hello! And judging by his current state, he was big. You involuntarily grind your hips on your chair and drop your pencil in the process. A groan escapes you, sounding much too pleasant for a case of dropped art supplies and you bend down to get it back. When you come up, brown eyes are waiting for you. There is a smile playing around them while his pretty pink lips are slightly pressed together. Thank god he doesn’t look mad or annoyed, only the blush giving away that something was going on.

You can’t help it, you’re biting your lip, eyes wandering between his face and his cock and his brows draw slightly together before he averts his eyes again, breathing a few times: deep and slow.

Deep and slow.

Holy shit you are throbbing and wet and all you can do is fake another stretch and while shuffling around, press your thighs together for a little bit of friction. You tilt your hips down slightly and the sensation is so good and welcome that your eyes pinch close and your back arches. The movement is jerkily and you stretch your arms over your head to conceal it, slowly opening your eyes again.

Eddie is watching. Eddie is hard.

You grab your pencil and start drawing the spectacle in front of you; concentration isn’t the right word for the sharp focus that settles over you. It’s fucking lust.

It’s not the first hard-on you’ve seen in this class, not by any means. It happens now and then and usually a slight blush from the model was the only reaction. But this wasn’t any hard dick: you did this. You did this to this gorgeous man and you wanted to capture this with your own hands. In case he just bolted right after the session, you would have something to remember this.

You’re leaning in, literally, sketch pad balancing on your knees and bent over your thighs you almost forget the additional loosened buttons on your blouse until you catch those eyes directed at your chest. Seems like Eddie figured the damage was done anyway so why hold back now?

And fucking hell was that precum glistening at the tip?

 This is when the timer starts announcing the end of class.

Eddie shoots you one final look, a sharp grin, a slight shake of the head, tips of his hair tickling his shoulders and hops off his little platform to get dressed.

“Holy shit,” says the guy next to you, leaning over. “Have you seen that dick?”

You huff a laugh that throbs in your pussy. “Hard to overlook.”

“Exactly,” he groans and picks up his things.

—

You look at drawings of Eddie of all kinds. They are all beautiful, even the bad ones. You rub your forehead catching that corny thought and look across the room where Eddie is talking to two people, gesturing to the drawings on the floor, laughing. The two of you are slowly moving towards each other. The journey consists of looking, talking: This is a good one! and That one is crap, right? and glancing to your right. You reach the row with your own stuff, groaning internally at how very off everything looks, everything but two.

Suddenly, a chest presses to your back and an arm sneaks past you to point at a drawing.

“That’s amazing.”

The explosion in your insides barely travels to your voice and you’re impressed with yourself. He even smells amazing. “Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s one of yours then?”

You turn to face him. The smile on his face is obscene.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Eddie.”

The smile shrinks a little and his nostrils flare with the air he pulls in. His voice is low and deep when he speaks. “You… uh, made that a very hard job to do.”

“I’m almost sorry,” you croon. His face is way too close; one uptilt of your head and you could bite his plush bottom lip.

“Don’t be,” he licks the spot you just imagined nibbling on. “I didn’t start it for nothing.”

You both jump when someone hijacks your moment. “Those detailed studies are really nice.”

“Yeah, right?” Eddie says with genuine enthusiasm. “Almost the only ones who got some of my tattoos…”

“Uhg, tattoos are hard in that short time, man and you know, not really anatomy.”

The exchange goes back and forth a little longer until Eddie loops his arm under yours and not so causally pulls you in the direction you’d come from under the disguise of looking at sketches.

“So, uh, what are you doing, like, right after this?”

“You, I hope.”

“Shit…” he shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “You’re killing me already… where do you want to go?”

You think about this for a moment, greedy and soaking through your panties you’re in no mood to wait much longer to have him naked again.

“I have a studio two corridors down…”

His brows shoot up. “You ahm…” he blurts out, then lowers his voice, “want to do me here at school?”

“Yes, Eddie… like the pretty little muse you are.”

—

His hand is warm in yours as you pull him along behind you through the hallway past your fellow students who throw curious glances over their shoulders.

Eddie catches up to your side and leans close to your ear, “Are you already wet for me? The way you moved on that chair…”

“Drenched,” you breathe against his neck and almost stumble over your own feet. Eddie sneaks his arm around you, keeping you steady.

“Easy, sweetheart. Let me be the one to bruise you, ok? I’ll do it in aaall the nice places.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“Promise,” he adds, tapping the tip of your nose, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

You drag him on and he laughs behind you until he catches up again. There is a brief moment where you leave him in the middle of the empty foyer to get your key from the doorman, interrupting his lunch break, praying to whoever deity will listen to your horny call that none of your studio mates is in there already. You almost moan when the guy hands the key to you and you bump into Eddie’s chest face first when you turn around in a hurry.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he rasps, takes your face in his large hands and bends down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fists close around the lapel of his coat as he licks along your teeth until your tongue finds him. The world around you feels vague and unimportant until the doorman behind you knocks against the glass of his booth.

“I don’t need to see this, folks.”

This time Eddie takes your hand and walks on. “Show me the way, babe, or I’ll have to hoist you up one of those windowsills… you people are doing performance art here, right?”

Eddie is mumbling filthy things at you the whole way down the empty corridor where your shared studio is the last room on the left. You try to fumble the key into the lock and drop it because Eddie is already busy bruising your neck. Pressed flat to your back he brushed your hair to the side and started sucking at the spot just below your ear, his hands sneaking around you, cupping your tits through your blouse. As you bend down to pick up the key, Eddie grabs your hips and rolls his own against you, almost pushing you into the door. You both laugh and he pulls you up by your waist.

“Sorry,” he chuckles as you finally unlock the door. “I couldn’t help myself.”

You let him inside and lock the door behind you.

“What’s your workspace?” he asks, already poking his nose into things. “No! Don’t tell me… it’s… this one.”

“How did you know?” you ask surprised, taking off your coat and fully unbuttoning your blouse while he looks at your work lined up on the wall, hand on his chin like a proper little art critic.

“Well, I saw your drawings and this stuff here… it has the same… Duktus?”

“Christ,” you moan and he looks at you. “That was so sexy.”

“Hey, you’re starting without me?”

Eddie rushes to you, hands instantly sliding inside your open blouse against your bare skin. His hands are rough, calloused in some places and the slight scratch is making you shiver in his arms. He pulls the fabric off of you and drops it to the ground. His coat falls next, then his shirt. Eddie hisses as you sink your teeth into his collarbone as soon as you have access to them.

“Too much?”

His eyes are lidded and so very dark as he shakes his head. “Just start pulling my hair too and you’ll never get rid of me again…”

“That a threat or another promise?” you purr as you open his belt and fly over the impressive bulge in his pants.

“Which one turns you on more?” You hook your fingers into his waistband and drop to your knees, pulling his pants down with you, making his breath hitch. “Oh, s-shit…”

This is the close-up you've been yearning for all morning. Fully hard and flushed a deep pink already; you wonder if it will feel as heavy on your tongue as it looks. You run a finger along the underside and it twitches again, bobbing up and down in front of your face. You lean in, stick out your tongue and give the swollen tip a lick that makes Eddie whimper above you.

Again you meet his eyes and the expression in them is so unexpectedly soft that you almost whimper too. Your cunt is clenching around horrible nothingness as you lick him again, flat tongue sliding along the underside, feeling a vein, tasting salt, watching those big brown eyes roll up and close as a moan escapes him.

“You’re gorgeous, holy shit.” You firmly grip his cock around the base and stroke him a few times, your mouth watering, before you close your lips around the tip, your tongue swirling in lazy circles around it. Eddie’s breath is uneven and laced with soft moans from his glistening parted lips while you softly play around with his cock. Every twitch of his face is a delight, the way his abdomen tenses when you press small kisses to the length of his shaft makes you swoon with adoration. You reach up one hand to trace up the lines of a tattoo on his ribcage and he catches it, pressing it flat against his chest. Eddie’s heartbeat pounds against your palm and you moan around his cock.

“Holy… fuck… I wanna watch you so bad but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You can take it, big boy,” you say in a low voice. “Look at me.”

It takes him a few more seconds until he opens his eyes and looks down at you; the moment you lock eyes you take him down as far as you can. A string of loud but mostly intangible curses echoes through the large room as you suck him down again and again in long leisurely motions. Your lips stretched around his girth curl up into a smile when his hands look for something to hold onto in your hair and you place your index finger at the corner of your mouth without stopping your onslaught to signal him to keep the volume down.

“Sorry, ah fuck fuck FUCK… I’ll try… shit I’m balls deep in your mouth and still don’t know your name—”

You don’t want to stop, not even for the moment to tell him your name. There’s a big portfolio folder leaning against the wall and you point in the general direction before running your fingers through the dark curls around his base and up the trail to his stomach while he’s trying to figure out what you’re showing him, failing at his attempt to stay quiet.

Then he says it: your name, no, he moans it. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

Suddenly your abdomen is on fire and you have to pull back to catch your breath. But you can’t, not really, because Eddie has kicked off his pants the rest of the way, dropped to the floor and pushed you to your back to peel you out of your clothes.

The floor is cold under your ass and back and you thump your head a little as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to him.

“Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “keep manhandling me.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself and goes to work. He’s everywhere: kissing, lapping biting at your mouth, your jaw your neck your tits, his fingers pushed into your thighs and you know it will bruise. He’s keeping his promise, leaving wet tingling marks all over you, a purple trail of small galaxies. His fingers find your cunt, finally, and Eddie eats the moan out of your mouth.

“Shh,” he says with a cocky laugh, his forehead pressed to yours, two fingers circling your clit in dragging motions. “You’re loud, beautiful. You don’t want us to get caught before I had a chance to fuck you.”

“N-no… ahhh.” Two thick fingers slide into you and your muscles grip down hard at the sudden intrusion.

“Hi,” he grins down at you as if he wasn’t just pounding your g-spot out of nowhere and making you see stars.

You hold on to his face, grappling for purchase and finally wind your fingers into this wild tickling hair and pull.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I— I’m so close.”

“Keep holding on,” he groans and moves down your body, fingers stilling for a moment.

You keep your hands in his hair, pulling in frustration from the ebbing pleasure.

“Of course, you have the prettiest fucking pussy, you—“ he doesn’t finish his thought, diving in with his tongue to lap at your clit like he’d been starving for you his whole life.

You bite the back of your hand to keep from yelling out at the sight alone. His eyes meet yours, of course they do and he sucks one of your lips into his mouth.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie… what’s your last name?”

“Munson,” he mumbles against your core and keeps on feasting.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie Munson… ahhh don’t stop please.”

And he doesn’t. He gives you his fingers and his mouth, his eyes fixed on you— well, most of the time, he keeps looking to a spot behind you but you have no time to inquire as your legs start to tremble and everything inside you starts to tense and pulse and you’re coming apart under his mouth before you’ve really seen it coming.

Yeah, that guy was something else.

When you’ve come down he gently pulls his fingers from you and litters your thighs and belly with kisses. His fingers are sticky against your skin but a slight roughness remains.

Your head lolls against the floor while you’re still blissed out and Eddie still puts those feathery kisses to your skin.

“You… you’re a musician…” you drawl out.

He looks up. “Yeah! How do you know?”

You take his hand from your chest and lick your wetness from his fingers before you turn his palm to him, sliding a fingertip over the calloused skin.

“You like that?” he grins.

You let go of his hand and nod. “Something with strings?”

“Guitar. And vocals.”

“Fuck you, you’re way too hot as it is…” you squeeze him with your thighs and his eyes go to that spot behind you again before he kisses your chest.

“What do you keep looking at?” you wiggle and crane your neck. It’s that painting. The one that has been haunting you for weeks.

“Sorry,” he scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know, draws me in somehow… it’s… weird… sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be…” you say and pull him up to you, kissing him. “You’re right.”

“Yeah?” he glances over again. “Well, fuck… yeah… m’ not gonna lie to you it’s kinda terrifying.” You both laugh. The warmth in your chest only expands more.

“Want to slather me in paint and fuck me against it?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he glances between your face and the canvas. “Yes? Fuck yes!”

He pulls you up and into a hungry kiss, his thick cock hard against your belly.

 “Is that stuff safe to use?” he points his chin to some paint tubes on the trolley in the corner.

“No, oh god, no. But…” you leave him to look for a large bottle of black paint letting out a triumphant ha when you find it. You turn around beaming. “This here is… and will wash out of hair with no problem.”

“Come here…” he curls his finger to beckon you to him. “And hand that over.”

“Is that turning you on?” you ask as you join him.

“You have no idea.” Eddie takes the paint from you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling your back to his chest. “You’re so pretty already with all my marks on you.” He walks you over to the canvas that way, his lips pressed close to your ear.

You turn in his arm and reach for his cock, stroking him softly. “How do you want me?”

“Fuck if I know… gimme a second and don’t stop that.” He looks at the canvas, really thinking about this. You suddenly want to pull his hair again. “Hands above your head, babe,” he says, opening the bottle of paint and squirts a generous amount into his hand. “Keep them clean. You have to put me inside you.”

You lean against the canvas; it’s large, so large that your outstretched arms above your head just graze the wooden frame inside.

Eddie’s hands are dripping black paint as he grabs your hips, bends down and sucks your nipple into his mouth before he kisses up to the crook of your shoulder to suck on you once more. “One last one before I make a mess out of you.” The contrast between the warmth of his lips and the cool paint as he slides his hands up your sides to your ribs makes you squirm and whimper. Eddie steps back to look at his work.

“Fuck, I’m an artist.”

He grabs the bottle from the floor and gets more paint, letting it drip right to your tits before smudging with splayed fingers. You watch him, mesmerized. When he is satisfied, he spins you around and pats your thigh as a sign to widen your stance. You feel him shuffle behind you as he presses himself against you and your chest against the canvas.

“Ready?”

You reach down, fumbling in the air for a moment before you find him. “You ready?”

 “Ye—ahhhh, you little minx,” he groans as you line him up and push back on him half the way. He holds you steady and slides in the rest of the way breathing out a long low fuuuuck. Then he stills. “Are you holding your breath? You ok?”

You are more than ok and you let the air out, your forehead dropping against the canvas. “It was that or letting everybody in the building know I’m getting stretched real fucking good right now…”

He angles your hips back and pushes closer. “Yeah, you are… shit, you’re unreal.”

“And you’re big. Gimme a moment.”

“All the time you want, I’m cosy here.”

While you get used to the stretch, Eddie caresses your back, rubbing small circles up the sides of your spine.

“I have a show next Tuesday,” he says kissing your shoulder. “Would love to see you in the first row.”

“Wouldn’t miss it… I assume it’s something hard?” you wiggle your ass, making you both sigh.

“You like it hard?” he laughs. “Music, I mean.”

“I do.”

“’Course you do. Can I fuck you now? Please?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Before the paint dries.”

He starts slow, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back in till he bottoms out. Your front slides against the canvas blackening out parts of it in big splotches.

“How’s this?” He’s so careful it makes your throat feel tight.

“You feel in-incredible.” You push back, meeting his thrusts as he picks up the pace.

“You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Then you’re just getting lost in each other. His movements get rougher, more confident as he thrusts into you. You feel him deep inside you lighting little fires everywhere. A hand presses to the canvas next to your head, an arm loops around your waist and you yelp as he sharply slams into you. You beg him to do it again but he’s already on it, relentlessly fucking you into the canvas. Most of the paint is dry now, it’s prickling on your skin. Eddie moans your name into your ear, squeezing your tits and you squeeze your muscles around his cock.

“Shhh, babe…” you chuckle after he cries out.

“Fuck you,” he laughs hoarsely into your hair.

You’re so close again and you slip your hand between your legs but Eddie stops and pulls your arm to your back. “No nono, shit, not-not like that…”

“Eddie…”

“Stay like that,” he says and pulls out of you, leaving you empty and confused. There is some shuffling and then he is back behind you. “Going to be cold.”

“What— uhn!”

Paint trickles onto your arched back, sliding down your spine and making you shiver. Eddie gives your ass a little smack and turns you around, crowding you against the canvas, and hoists you up by your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck while he balances you out.

“Can’t do that all day but you’re close ‘n I wanna see that face when you come.” He leans you back to create some space between you. “Help me out, put me back inside you…”

You do as you’re told and you clench your thighs hard around his hips as he starts up almost at the same pace he stopped. He kisses you, so sloppy so wet you feel a string of spit between your mouths when he pulls back again to hook his arms under your knees and spreads you open so wide that you’re crying out his name.

“I got you,” he assures you, pounding into you at a new angle, so deep it makes you dizzy. “I got you, you can juuust fall apart…”

The noises you two are making where you’re joined are obscene.

“Holy shit,” you moan, “li-listen… those sounds.”

Eddie drops his head to your shoulder, sweat dripping from his forehead onto you. “Like fucking music…”

You laugh. “Fucking music indeed.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he presses out through a laugh and really leans into you. You grab a thick strand of hair and pull as your insides begin to tense.

“Oh… oh shit, don’t stop.”

The world tilts as he leans you back again. “Wouldn’t dare… touch yourself for me, I need to feel you come around me.”

“Come inside me, yeah?” you rasp as you circle your swollen throbbing clit.

His eyes bore into yours, the strain and pleasure all over his face. He’s a mess as much as you are. “Come on, darling… come for me… I want you to run through my fingers.”

And you swear you do: your head thumps against the wood frame as your muscles try to create a black hole or whatever happens under so much pressure, but who cares when this stupidly perfect man fucks you through the hardest orgasm anyone ever had while looking at you like he was fulfilling his fucking destiny. You can’t hear him over the blood rushing through your ears, but he looks so pretty with his nose scrunched up, a streak of black paint running over the bridge and his eyes shut tight. A few more thrusts and he collapses against your chest with stuttering hips, pinning you so hard against the wall that it drives the air out of you.

There is only breathing, hot air from his lungs against your tickling skin. You cup the back of his head and stroke his hair; he nuzzles deeper into your skin and makes a noise that sounds like fucking home.

“I need to put you down now… sorry.”

He puts you down but doesn’t let go. Kisses cover your face until you cup his cheeks and claim his mouth while he’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Then you giggle together, Eddie squeezing your ass with both hands, smiling at you so silly and soft. You’re thirsty, you let him have the bottle first and he gulps the water down, spilling down his chest, creating little rivers of paint that let the ink show through. You want to study those lines up close without twenty people around you, without the blinding fire of lust, but calm, taking your time asking questions.

“What’s going on up there?” he asks, tapping a finger against your forehead.

“I wanna study you some more,” you say, taking the bottle and down what’s left.

He doesn’t ask you what you mean, only tilts his head and smiles. Then he sits down in that worn-out armchair your mate had dragged in a few months ago, still naked, it isn’t time to cover up yet and you find a clean enough rag, climb into his lap and clean the paint off his face as gently as you can.

“Stop,” he grabs your hips, “do you have a camera or something?”

You do and the timer takes too long for you two not to start fooling around before the soft click of the shutter sounds. One more and one more and the film has only two more left and he pulls you in to kiss you just before the camera rewinds.

“You want to join me when I make the prints?”

“You, red light and chemicals?” he grins. “It’s a date.”

The painting is dry already; Guache dries rather fast, you explain to him. It’s itchy, he adds and scratches his chest, small flakes of black falling down to the floor. You sit in front of both your work, your head against his shoulder and your fingers fumbling with a strand of his hair that is stiff with paint.

“You know,” he says, “it would have made a damn good record cover before…”

“You can have a picture… I document every night before I go home.”

“Really? I mean, the picture?”

You brush sweaty hair off his forehead, “I’m sure it’s in good hands with you.”

He almost shoves you over when he kisses you, the giddy streak you saw earlier during class showing when he chuckles and licks your cheek like a puppy.

“It looks really good now though, don’t you think?”

“You’re just horny,” you laugh.

“What? You don’t like our work?” he pouts and this shouldn’t pull at your heart that much.

“I do,” you kiss the pout, “I was just teasing.”

“I mean it,” he looks at the canvas, “It’s a bit crooked and dented now, but that just adds to the charm.”

 “It has nothing on you though when it comes to charm.” You lean in with a sultry smile and his palm cups your breast and then—

A knock on the door. “Come on, you still fucking in there? I need to work.”

You look at each other with large eyes and break out laughing, scrambling for your clothes. Eddie hisses sharply when you slap his ass just before he pulls up his jeans and you forgo the bra because one strap did not survive Eddie’s enthusiasm. There is paint sticking out of his collar that you couldn’t clean before your photo shoot and you remember to put the film in your pocket while he kisses your temple because he seems to can’t help himself but stay close to you.

“Ready?” you ask and he grabs your hand and nods, following you out.

“Finally,” your mate says, but smiles when she sees you. “Aren’t you that new model?”

“Muse,” he grins without further explanation.

You hand her the key, mouth a small sorry and admit it when she calls you out on your lie.

His hand is warm in yours, his thumb playing with your knuckles as you walk back through the hallway.

“So,” he says, “we gonna shower at your or my place?”

[justkending]

Moral of the Story. Chapter Four.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all this time to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of old loves and lives all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count:

A/N: 

Chapter Four:

Bucky groaned as the alarm blared throughout the room. Rolling over to his side, he threw his head into the pillow. That didn’t stop the beeping like he had hoped, so with a groan he pushed up, smacking the red numbers that screamed at him. He rolled back onto his back and blinked up at the bare ceiling.

Today was the day…

_________________

Y/N couldn’t seem to sleep at all, so she woke up early at 6:30 jumping into the shower. Having the extra time, she took it to have a nice long soak in the hot water. The schedule of the day running through her mind.

The chance of them running into each other was practically at 100%. They had a time frame of 9-10 to get in and sign what they needed. Mr. Murdock said something along the lines that it would take about 30-45 minutes to get everything finalized and copied. 

So yeah… Within an hour frame of needed 30-45 minutes of signing shit and getting multiple copies made, meant Bucky and her would most likely be sitting next to the other as it was done. 

She let out a tired and irritated moan as she finally decided to turn off the water. She had it running for so long, her hands were prunes and the water was becoming lukewarm. The world was telling her to suck it up and move on with the day. 

____________

The car ride there was dreadful. Every stop light just elongated the inevitable meeting. Every turn brought him closer to the terrifying reunion. 

He was running early to begin with, but after hitting traffic from a wreck, he was now running just a few minutes behind. So weaving through the people who didn’t understand New York traffic was his specialty in showing up in time. 

____________

She stopped at the coffee shop by her house before really heading to the attorneys office. The car ride to the place was easy and smooth on her end. From coming from the outskirts of Brooklyn, the inner city traffic was avoided for the most part. So she was there early. She even had a second to sit in her car and drink the latte she had bought. Something about Brooklyn latte’s was 10x better than anything California had.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact they actually had cold weather to pair the hot drink with, whereas where she now lived, the lowest low in temperatures was 70 degrees. 

________________

Getting there with just 3 minutes to spare, Bucky rushed out of the car and walked with a hint of speed to the door that read Nelson and Murdock Law Firm. 

No sign of Y/N yet, but as he walked in, he heard a shout from the street that caused him to turn as soon as he walked in. He didn’t have a second to register what the shout was about as he took two steps in and ran straight into someone’s back. 

“Whoa!” he said, using his hands to brace himself on the mystery person's shoulders, and the other person making the same exclamation. “Oh God, I’m so sor-”

Before he could finish the apology, the women turned showing the face of his matured high-school-sweetheart. 

“Oh,” he let out in a breathy turn. He could tell just from past experience with her, she had a snarky comment on her tongue at the run in, but upon seeing him, the words died on her lips. “Hey.”

She looked great. Like, really great after all these years. Not that she wasn’t a beautiful gal to begin with, but you never know how someone’s going to age. However, she looked almost the same. 

Sure, she had aged some, but just like a nice bottle of the finest wine in all the vineyards of California. Maybe that was her secret given her new home. 

Her Y/H/C hair was styled in loose curls. It was voluminous with a healthy shine to it. She had on an off white, canvas dress that cinched at the waist with buttons going down it. And she had a layered gold necklace going down her chest where the buttons were undone. She looked both professional yet casual at the same time. 

Bucky realized he had been staring when she awkwardly looked around her trying to not pay attention to his analyzing eyes. 

“Hey,” she said, letting out a deep breath. 

She didn’t miss how good he looked either. Even in those facebook pictures that she had found the night before, the ones she found him just as attractive, they didn’t do the real man justice. His hair was just as long as the most recent picture his mother had posted, and he looked more muscular than she ever remembered. The scrubs didn't do his build justice. 

He was wearing a navy blue v-neck tight fitting t-shirt. A brown leather jacket that looked as though it was tailored specifically for him and him alone. And lastly, he had on a pair of jeans that of course, fit in him all the right places. 

There was a very awkward silence as they stood there not knowing what else to say. Neither now looking at the other, but instead looking at every little inanimate object item in the office. 

After what felt like eons of the most tense silence to exist, Bucky was about to speak up again, but was cut off from another person running in late.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry guys,” the voice sighed, out of breath from what they presumed was running to get there on time. “Foggy was supposed to pick me up and we were going to ride together, but he got food poisoning last night, so I had to take the train last minute.”

The man had dark brown hair, a nice suit, and a pair of sunglasses on even though it was overcast today and the sun was barely peeking through the heavy clouds. 

“Foggy?” Y/N asked with a tilt of her head. 

Bucky turned back looking at her with the same question on his mind, but watching the small action of confusion brought him back 10 years. God, it had been so long he had almost forgotten the little mannerisms she had that he found adorable. And damn her for still having that adorable action. 

“Oh, right. Franklin Nelson. My co-attorney,” he nodded. “We’ve been friends since we were in college. Friends call him Foggy.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded with a kind smile. 

“Anyway, I won’t bore you with my morning chaos. I’m sure you two are ready to get this over with and go on about your day,” he smiled, and pulled a walking stick out from around him as he closed the door. One that neither had realized he had been holding until now. “You two much be James and Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Matthew Murdock.

“It’s nice to meet you Matthew,” Y/N replied sweetly.

“Yes, thank you for helping us out,” Bucky nodded, placing his hands nervously in his pockets. 

“It’s my pleasure. I’m so sorry about everything that you guys are having to fix,” he said apologetically. But I’m sure you guys want to go about your day, so please, right this way,” he motioned to the door that was across from them. 

Bucky and Y/N both shared an impressed look on their faces as they watched him maneuver through the office gracefully. 

They followed close behind him and once they were seated in the chairs in front of the desk, Bucky began to fidget in his spot. Sure the office had been redone and really didn’t look much like it had all those years ago, but the layout was the same. And all it was doing to him was bringing back memories he hated trudging back to the surface. 

He subtly looked over at Y/N and saw her sitting in perfect posture watching Matthew as if if she were to look at him and only him, then she wouldn’t have to face Bucky. 

Why did he expect anything less? Of course she hated him just as much as she had all those years. She was probably dreading this meeting just as much as him. That small speck of hope that maybe they could be somewhat normal and civil upon meeting again after all this time, completely faded at that point. 

“Ok, this really shouldn’t take all that much time since Foggy and I went ahead and wrote up all the things that needed signed and double checked. So we should be able to breeze through all this,” Matthew nodded, bringing up a thick file that looked as though it had tabs on the side organizing them. 

Y/N looked over wondering just how he knew the difference between documents and noticed on each tab, there were bariel markings along them. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, out of all places to live, why New York? It’s got to be hard getting around such a crazy busy city given.. ” Bucky asked, but didn’t finish not sure how to word it. Y/N snapped her head in his direction and smacked his arm. “Ow!” Bucky jumped, sending her raised eyebrows. “What the hell?”

“I’m assuming you’re asking because of this,” Matthew laughed casually as he pointed to his glasses. “Don’t worry. You would be surprised just how often I get asked that.”

“Yeah, it was just a question,” Bucky pouted toward Y/N while rubbing his assaulted arm. The two falling back into their old behaviors rather fast. 

“I wasn’t always blind. I mean I have been for a good chunk of my life, but I’ve lived in New York my whole life as well,” Matthew went on to explain as he moved papers around. “If anything it would be harder for me to get around if I moved any place else. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“That’s impressive,” Bucky nodded, getting comfortable in his seat. 

“Eh, it’s either learn or get bumped around the sidewalk of a place full of people who don’t give a second glance to anyone who’s in their way,” Matthew shrugged. “Oh, I need to go grab something before we start.”

He maneuvered through the room leaving the door open as he went across the office. Tension filled the air as they were left alone for a second time in the past 5 minutes. 

Y/N was sitting straight forward, her eyes wandering here and there around the meeting room, but careful not to go over to Bucky’s side of the room. He looked down seeing her hands were fiddling in her lap. She was tapping her thumbs together while his leg bounced up and down.

Bucky had opened his mouth to start to say something, but even he wasn’t sure what was about to come out. Lucky for him, Matthew came back in and went back to his seat. 

“Sorry about that. I thought I had it all, but needed to get some pens and one last paper I left on the printer last night.”

“You’re fine,” Y/N said professionally, but kindly. “I have one quick question, if you don’t mind.” Matthew nodded her on with a soft smile. “What exactly happened to Hammer after all this chaos was discovered?”

“Oh, yes. He, uh, he will not be an issue to anyone else to put it lightly. His license was revoked and terminated and he is currently on trial for money laundering and malpractice,” he answered. 

“Serves him right,” Bucky mumbled, and instead of getting a smack to the arm, Y/N nodded in agreement. 

“Ok, if you two are ready, let’s begin,” Matthew smiled before grabbing the first set of papers. 

The two straightened in their seats and the process began.

After a few minutes of just signing, Matthew started to make notes of updated information for the two. 

“Ok, Mrs. Barnes, sorry, Y/N,” he corrected quickly. “What is your line of profession at the moment?”

“I work at Horizon Labs in L.A. It’s a company a friend and I from college started up. I’m a Sustainable-Conscious Financial Advisor for a lot of smaller businesses as well as some bigger ones we recently just became partners with,” she answered. 

“Horizon Labs, huh?” Matthew said with an impressed look. Bucky turned to look at her as she lightly blushed. “I think I listened to a podcast about them. You guys help companies use recycled goods and find energy efficient technology, right?”

“We just redirect them to people who can help them get those resources. It’s practically just connecting the companies that would work great together in helping the environment,” she nodded humbly. 

“That’s amazing,” Matthew smiled. “We need more people and companies like that.”

“Thank you.”

He made note of that on a computer. “I’m assuming with all that, you have to be a little too busy for a second job, right? I don’t need to make note of another?”

“Uh, actually,” she added, Bucky’s already focused eyes on her quirked at her response. “I just invested in a Woman’s shelter with another friend of mine. I haven’t really got to do much with it, but it is a second job as of lately.”

“Wait? Nat?” Bucky caught on.

“Uh, yeah,” she nodded almost shyly. Probably the second time out of this whole meeting that she actually made eye contact with him. “My company works with them in getting some of the resources and items they need for the shelter. I talked with Nat and I invested into it some to help with some with their financial advisements.” 

“Wow, th-that’s,” Bucky faltered. “That sounds like you,” he said with a breathy laugh thinking about how maybe she really hadn’t changed all these years. That being one of the ‘reasons’ they had broken it off, how people change and all. But that’s a story for another time.

Y/N didn’t show a response to his words, but she did take them in. 

“So you run a woman’s home and you run a well-off business that promotes eco-friendly resources for the environment?”

“Well, I don’t run the woman’s home. That’s all my friends doing. I just help where help is asked if I can,” she answered once again humbly. No sense of egotistical pride hinted in her explanations or answers. 

“That’s extremely impressive Y/N,” Matthew gushed some, and Bucky noticed the smallest form of attraction come off the lawyer. He straightened at that. “I’ll make a note of it. And you Mr. Barnes. What is your occupation?”

Bucky relaxed his shoulders and focused back at the issue at hand. Trying to not get jealous of something that wasn’t even his to be jealous of. 

“I’m one of the head occupational therapist at Stark Theracorp,” he answered. Now it was Y/N’s turn to look at him intrigued. “I run the geriatric occupational therapy floor and manage our equipment and employees. ”

“Two very impressive people in the work field from what I’m getting,” Matthew chuckled some as he made the notes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to ask about income from the both of you for the record. If you want to write it on a paper and hand it to me you can or if you are comfortable saying it outloud that works too. Either way, I’ll have Foggy add it in later to the finalized papers.”

“Wait, so we aren’t finalizing it today?” Y/N asked, somewhat shocked. 

“Did Foggy not tell you?” Matthew asked. “I thought he reached out to you before this meeting.”

“I don’t believe so,” Y/N shook her head. 

“Well, the reason this one is so quick is because I just need a few signatures and updated notes on you two. After that, I’ll make the altercations for the official papers and I’ll send those to you both on their own to get the final signature. You can either bring them to me here, fax them, or have them sent via mail after you signed off on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Y/N nodded. The look of defeat in her posture and facial expressions.

It hurt Bucky a little seeing her reaction to it. Did she really want to get away from him that bad? Was he that much of a nuisance in her life? I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be divorced 9 years ago, but he didn’t want it then and it still hurt seeing just how much she wanted it now. 

“That’s not an issue is it? I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Matthew apologized. 

“No, no. It’s ok,” she said in reassurance to him. But she let out an almost bitter laugh before she spoke again. “We’ve been married for the past 9 years apparently. What’s a few more days?”

“I guess that’s true,” Matthew laughed with her. 

Bucky rolled his eyes discreetly. He really hated how she was reacting with all this. It wasn’t surprising, but doesn’t mean it hurts any less seeing how badly she wanted out of the situation.  

“Mr. Barnes, are you ok with that?” 

“I’ll survive a few more days, I guess,” he returned just as bitterly as Y/N. The two looked at each other one more time, but this time, anger and annoyance was clear on both of their faces.

If you would like to be tagged in this series, please send an ask! It keeps things more organized for me. If you comment, I most likely will not add because I loose them:)

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Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624 @leyannrae @lonerlovescompany @jessyballet @angstysebfan @tita127 @semistablecentenarian @im-a-light-child @alyssahowden @studiesinspanish @natyvwe @rebekahdawkins@fanfictionjunkie1112 @millennial-teenybopper @scotlandasshole @aquariusbarnes @shinykoalacat​

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @heyiamthatbitch​ @lizzymacy555​  @srrymydood​ @xa-dia​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @morganclaire4​ @connie326​ @captain-asguard​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ @teenagedreams-bucky​ @shower-me-with-roses​ @pham-tastical @livstilinski​

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @laneygthememequeen​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @carls1022​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​ @princess-annna

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​

[heartsofbeskar]

red wood

farmer!din x fem!reader

warnings: me romanticizing small towns again, minor discussions of animal sickness (its all good tho)

words: 1.4K

a/n: ty to my babe @asta-lily for helping with the idea for this bit, and tysm to everyone for the amazing response to my last installment 🥺 i love u all so much and appreciate u!! feel free to drop ur thoughts and HCs on farmer!din, i love the inspo. oh and if anyones curious, this is my inspo for his house and the post that originally inspired farmer!din in my deranged lil brain

writing masterlist | farmer!din masterlist

It only took a few turns and a single lighted intersection before the downtown core of New Varo was getting smaller in the rearview mirror. It seemed like a whole universe encapsulated in just ten square kilometres, already overflowing with a wealth of new experiences you’d had in a short time.

You recalled the phone call you’d gotten that morning, the landline ringing loudly in the small clinic space, and you cursed as you made a mental note to figure out how to change the volume.

“New Varo Veterinary Services, how can I help you?” you rattled, phone wedged between your ear and shoulder as you moved about some paperwork.

“Hey, hi … uh, this is Din,” came a deep and recognizable voice from the other end. “From the market.”

A smile spread across your face, and you sat back in your chair, holding back a laugh that he had to clarify which Din he was. As if you’d forgotten the man you’d made a habit of visiting weekly without fail, trying his soap and jam and even the goat cheese he’d attempted to make; though admittedly the cheese had not been up to the standard of his other products.

“Hey, Din,” you chirped. “What can I do for you?” He’d never called the clinic before, though you’d given him the number, so you had to assume he was in need of your services.

“I was wondering if you make house calls. I’m just a bit worried about my cow, Molly Mae,” he said, confirming your suspicions. “She’s a rescue from a milking farm, and she hasn’t been eating well the last couple of days so I’m uh… I’m just worried about her.”

This was how you found yourself in your truck now, having closed up the clinic earlier than usual, leaving a note on the door for any potential walk-ins. One hand rested on the top of the wheel, and with the other you fiddled with your coffee mug, which you’d brought along, even though you knew the coffee inside was probably cold.

The trees lining the road were painted with brilliant and deep greens, some of them playing host to vibrant blooms of the late spring and early summer season. It had been hard, impossible even, to see the natural cycles and waves of life as it progressed through the year. But here, where nature sat close to the surface and cradled the town in its gentle hands, it was an obvious rhythm; a calendar you didn’t need to hang on your wall.

“Oh yeah, Din Djarin,” Peli had said, as she’d settled into your sofa for your regular coffee sessions. You poured the amount of cream you knew she liked into her steaming mug, before sitting beside her. “Moved onto that farm of his a few years ago, just him and the kid. Cheeky little thing!”

You laughed, brushing your hair back from your face. “He is; so adorable, though. So … you never met Grogu’s mom?”

Peli raised a brow at you, but refrained from the comment she obviously had waiting on her tongue, answering your question instead. “No, she was long gone before he got here. Keeps to himself, though, so I don’t know the story.”

Your fingers thrummed against the steering wheel as you drove further into the countryside, late afternoon sun bathing you in a warm glow. Unbidden, a lazy smile spread across your face as a wooden sign loomed closer, matching the red GPS arrow on your phone, reading “Djarin’s Hobby Farm,” the aesthetic matching perfectly to his stand at the market.

His driveway was gravel, long and winding, and a strange warmth grew in your stomach, settling low there as the house came into your view. It was shaded by numerous trees, red wood siding nestling it in naturally to the environment around it.

Din stood on the stoop under the overhang of a small porch, shirt half buttoned, exposing the top of his golden chest, a generous patch of dark hair smattered over it. He wiped his hands on his denim jeans as he smiled at you, where you climbed down from the truck, taking your mobile veterinary kit in hand.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you teased, feet crunching across the uneven ground. As you got closer to him, you could see the sheen of sweat across his skin. He smelled of pine and lavender and somehow like the fresh air that encircled you, and a different heat flushed through your body.

“Thanks for coming so soon,” he said. He gestured with one arm towards a paddock that extended around the back of the property, his other arm circling around your back, hovering but not touching. You felt the heat of its proximity to your skin. “She’s just around this way.”

“Where’s Grogu?” you asked, as the two of you stepped in rhythm.

“Kitchen,” he answered, head tilting in the aforementioned direction. “He just got home from school; we have a deal that he has to do his homework before he can feed the animals.”

Your smile widened at the sheer domesticity of the situation. He led you to the gate, unlatching it, and you got the first glimpse of Molly Mae, hovering near the fence, tail swinging lazily. She was a beautiful girl, coat spotted with large and deep colourations of black. You ran your hand down her back, gauging her temperament, and she just cast you a slow glance, seeming otherwise unbothered.

Snapping on a pair of gloves, you knelt down. Din watched nervously as you examined Molly Mae, hands running carefully and delicately across her skin, trying not to hurt her. It was warm to the touch, confirming the thoughts you had.

After a moment, you rose to full height again, shucking the gloves off now, stuffing them into a plastic baggie to dispose of later. You faced Din where he stood, shifting on his feet. He gently stroked the cow’s nose.

“It looks like a flare up of an old mastitis infection,” you told him, eyes sympathetic. “I’ll take a swab so I can run a culture, but I’m pretty sure. It’s extremely common for milking cows.”

Din let out a breath he’d been holding, eyes turning towards the cow. It was obvious to you how much he loved her, and your heart lurched where it sat in your chest. A warm breeze blew by.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked. When he looked back at you, his eyes were darker, serious.

“Oh, yes!” you assured him hurriedly. “It’s a bacteria, so a shot of penicillin should do the trick; since she’s no longer milking it’s likely some dormant bacteria, so I’d recommend you let me come back and flush her udders, so she doesn’t have any future occurrences.”

His shoulders sagged with visible relief, and you wanted to pull him against you. You busied your hands with your kit instead, seeing if you had any penicillin on hand.

“Thank you,” he said, voice heavy. “I was … I was really worried. She’s old, I know that, but … I’m not ready for her to go just yet.”

“I think she’ll be with us for a while to come.” You stroked your hand along the cow’s back again, appreciating the velvet texture beneath your fingers. You smiled when she moo’ed happily.

“What do I owe you?” he asked. You waved your hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry about it,” you insisted. “You’re always letting me try things at the market, anyway.”

“I need someone to test my cheese on,” he smirked now, the mood having lifted considerably and you laughed, remembering the sour taste of it that you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy for his sake. He ran a hand up the back of his head, and through his hair. “Well … if you won’t let me pay you, stay for dinner next time you come.”

Warmth rushed to your face, and you held his eyes for a long moment before you responded. It felt like you could find all the comfort you had ever yearned for within them, within him. You nodded. “I’d like that a lot.”

🐄🐄🐄

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[mrs-han]

Broken Pieces - Part One

Hello lovely can you write about mc getting hurt pretty badly but survived from protecting jumin from rika who was out for revenge .

~~~

This has been sitting in my inbox for how many months now? Thank you so much for your patience, anon!!

~~~

"V!!"

"Darling, darling -"

"V, wake up!!"

"MC."

Your eyes opened as if they would pop from your head. Jumin was breathing heavily... or was that you?

"That's it, love. Come back to me," Jumin cooed, pulling your head towards his chest. "It was a dream. You're safe."

You curled into his robust figure, trying to ignore the fact that he too was shaking.

Three months... had it been that long since...

You shook your head and buried your face in your hands. "I'm sorry, Jumin. I... it's still really fresh in my mind."

He didn't need an explanation from you - Jumin knew precisely what you were referring to. While V was alive and well, off traveling the world, both you and Jumin were still reeling over the events of his near-death experience at the vicious hand that was Rika's. It was too close a call - V had almost died in your arms that night. An experience you would live with for the rest of your life.

Jumin had supported you through the entire ordeal - from giving you space to waking up in the middle of the night to calm you from your PTSD-induced nightmares.

"Darling," Jumin hummed directly into your ear, stroking the back of your hand. "Perhaps it isn't a good idea to go to Rika's apartment just yet."

You closed your eyes. That's right - you still needed to grab some of your things. You put the idea off not once, but several times already, Jumin kindly supporting your decision every time.

"No, I need to do this," you sniffed, shaking your head. "I'll be quick."

"You aren't going by yourself," Jumin said, his tone stern. "Of course, I'll be coming in with you. None of us have been able to access the apartment, so there will be dangers lurking, naturally."

The idea of putting Jumin in any potential danger made your hairs stand on end. "Jumin, it would be so much easier if I went in there alone. I'll be in and out, like a shot."

"Forgive me, darling, but that won't be happening."

You could understand why his motives were as stubborn as he was. Since Seven had announced a bomb in Rika's apartment, Jumin took you in - no ifs, ands or buts about it. While he didn't seem concerned in the chatroom, Jumin would often mumble to himself about V's recklessness and keep you within his line of sight at all times.

You understood, naturally. And you were grateful that you not only had a safe space to stay in - but that your relationship with Jumin had deepened beyond your wildest dreams.

You lightly fiddled with the wedding ring on your finger - your expression softened. "To be honest, it'll be easier having you there with me. I think rage would overtake me, and I would set the place on fire, you know. For all the pain it's caused us."

"We wouldn't want that," Jumin crooned, taking your hand in his and kissing every individual finger. "We'll go first thing in the morning."

"Don't you have an early morning meeting?"

His brow raised. "Are you still trying to put this off?"

You blushed - he caught you.

~~~

The innocence of the apartment complex daunted you. Jumin grabbed your hand and led you out of the car, and you couldn't help but freeze in your tracks as you stared at the modern architecture.

"You can do this," Jumin cooed, squeezing your hand. "As you said - in and out like a shot."

"That's when we were in the safety of the penthouse," you mumbled, tightening your hold on his hand like a child would their mother. "Jumin? Could you give me some courage?"

Lifting your hand to his lips, Jumin kissed the crevices between your knuckles. His eyes, deep and full of love, met with yours - and he smiled. "You will be all right. I'll be with you every step of the way, I promise."

You closed your eyes and pressed yourself against Jumin's sturdy frame. You were so used to being there for him - now, it was your turn to be exposed to the elements of fear and despair.

"Come," Jumin rubbed his thumb across your knuckles and placed one more firm kiss against your hand. "You can do this."

Knees shaking, you gathered up the courage Jumin had selflessly given to you and made your way to the building's doors. With a yank, Jumin opened the door and lightly eased you inside. The lobby's familiar ambiance brought back nostalgic feelings - the smell of citrus over the stylish furniture and various flowers that were replaced regularly from week to week. Jumin's eye wandered curiously, and you smiled as he took in the environment. No doubt, he was already taking in what he liked, perhaps incorporating his findings into the penthouse within his mind's eye.

"You're so cute," you grinned, nudging him towards the elevator.

"Hm? I didn't do anything," Jumin blinked.

His cluelessness, innocent or not, made the tips of your ears heat up. You pressed the third-floor button, and the elevator smoothly shifted up. A cold sweat broke on the back of your neck as you clasped the strap of your bag with one hand and Jumin's hand in the other - anxiety coursed through you, making you shiver in place.

The elevator passed the first and second floors, each ding making your throat drier and drier. Finally - you two had reached the third floor, but your feet wouldn't budge. A two-minute walk would bring you back to the apartment of your dreams - and your nightmares.

"Are you ready?" Jumin leaned and looked you in the eye, instilling the courage you had lost.

"I am," you nodded, stepping out of the elevator and leading Jumin round the corner.

Without thinking, you pressed the code to the apartment and pushed the door open, Jumin close behind you...

"Hello."

You jumped. You frantically reached to turn the lights on - and saw Rika, sitting at a barstool by the kitchen island. You couldn't gasp. You couldn't scream. You couldn't let so much as a whimper out. Rika was there. And in her hands, she held a switch.

"What are you doing here," Jumin spoke sharply, easing you behind him. "We had received word that Mint Eye had been destroyed."

"I got away," Rika spoke, her voice soft. "I needed to come back here to remember where it all began. Savor the feeling, I suppose." She rose from the stool and looked squarely at Jumin, her eyes an entrapment of their own. "You know the feeling, don't you, Jumin? Of reliving each success and each failure and learning from both?"

"You should not be here." Jumin's tone hardened.

"But here I am," Rika smiled. She had not a care in the world - and that scared you. "I have something I need to take care of here. And you know what? I'm glad you two are here."

Jumin gripped your wrist now, easing you out of the apartment gradually. You fought against him, pushing back so you could see what she was doing - what she was up to.

"See this?" Rika lifted the switch in her hand. "This will activate the long-hidden bomb that will set this apartment and everything in it ablaze."

Jumin tried to shove you away - you clung onto him and pushed your way through to the apartment.

"Maybe there's a reason both of you are here," Rika smiled somberly, her thumb twitching over the red button. "Maybe you're meant to go with me."

Jumin reached a cautious hand out towards her. "Rika -"

"Come with me," she whispered.

"Jumin, move!!"

With all of your strength, you shoved Jumin out of the apartment - and a bright light surrounded you. Your surroundings were shrouded entirely by light and a sharp noise ringing in your ear. You couldn't move, you couldn't speak - but you felt an acute pain radiating through your abdomen. As you inhaled, the pain sharpened, traveling down to your legs. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as the discomfort spread across your body.

"No, no, no..."

Jumin. You strained your eyes through the thick cloud of dust, your heart beating faster as you saw his figure crawling towards you urgently.

"Jumin," you croaked, hacking at the dust that invaded your lungs. "Jumin -"

"Come on," Jumin encouraged, his voice trembling. "Can... can you stand?"

He grabbed your waist - you yelped and hissed. "Wait..."

Jumin closed his eyes tightly, his bangs shrouding his eyes. "This will hurt my love... I'll be quick, I promise. Hang onto me as tight as you can. Don't let go, understood?"

You grunted in agreement and let out a tremendous howl as Jumin lifted you into his arms.

"I know," Jumin huffed, tightening his grip on your legs. "I know, darling, just a little further."

You tried to cling onto whatever you could of him, but numbness and exhaustion were the only sensations bombarding your brain. "Jumin..."

"We're almost there," Jumin panted, his eyes straining through the dusty fog.

"Jumin, I can't feel anything..." Your arm fell limply from his shoulder, and Jumin staggered to his knees, you still in his arms.

"Darling, I need you to hang on for me. We can make it away from here," Jumin coughed. "We're almost there. I need you to -"

"I can't feel anything," you whispered, tears falling from your eyes.

Jumin pressed his hand to your stomach and paused. You had been bleeding from the moment the blast occurred, and he only now noticed, his eyes meeting his trembling bloody palm. Jumin pressed his body closer to yours, cradling you close - securing all the warmth between you and him.

"I can't feel anything, Jumin..." tears ran down your cheeks as you stared up at him. You tried to move your hand to cup his cheek to no avail - and in your frustration, more tears ran down your eyes. "What's wrong with me..."

"Nothing is wrong with you," Jumin grasped your hand and pressed it to his cheek, pulling you closer - wrapping his legs around you even in an attempt to keep you warm. "You're going to be okay, dear. You'll be fine."

His hands were cold - something utterly foreign to you. As you were about to comment on it, something else had captured your attention - sirens' sounds.

"Hear that?" Jumin pressed his forehead to yours. "An ambulance, my love... two, maybe even three of them are coming. You're going to be all right, I promise."

"... Jumin..."

"Yes, my love. Keep talking to me."

"... Are you okay...?"

Jumin pulled his head back to look you in the eye - he choked back a laugh and blinked hastily. "Silly lady. I'm fine. I'm fine."

"... Good," you grinned, resting your head against his chest.

"... Darling... hey..."

You hadn't realized you dozed off. You were far too comfortable to notice.

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part ii: i just want to be untangled

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 3.5k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

Johnny’s laugh rings loud and infectious in her ears, and Haewon squeezes her eyes shut as the glare of the morning sun shines into the passenger seat. She had forgotten her damn sunglasses. They had left their apartment at barely eight in the morning, but the sun was relentless nonetheless. It’s still too early to think, and Johnny hasn’t even had his morning coffee but he remains energetic as ever, his pink aviators jovially perched on the bridge of his nose.

“He really said that?” He turns to pull down the passenger seat visor for her, “that the kid won because of how he looks?”

“There’s no way something like that could win!”  Haewon mimics, “the emotions are too raw and the writing is too unrefined. He doesn’t even know his tenses!”

Johnny erupts into raucous laughter once again, “he’s such a literary snob!  I swear, for someone who preaches about discovering young authors’ works and all that future generations stuff, he’s a hell of a hypocrite.” Johnny’s shoulders are still shaking from laughter as he shakes his head.

Haewon smiles, “well, he’s thorough.”

“That’s what makes him so attractive to you, isn’t it?” He turns to wink at her playfully, but his face falls into concern when he hears a long sigh escape from her lips as she sinks deeper into her seat.

“So how’re you doing there kiddo?” He’s deliberately being generic, but Haewon can tell what he’s referring to.

She inhales deeply, and then lets it go.

“I don’t know,” she replies truthfully.

“It’s a month and a half to the big day,” Johnny softens his voice, slowing down to switch lanes. “Doyoung told me you haven’t RSVP’d yet.”

They don’t say the word ‘wedding’ in their conversations anymore, not since they got their invitations in the mail and Johnny watched her sink into their couch, her shoulders bunched and jaw tightened. Because Haewon doesn’t cry – not sober, anyway – and Johnny doesn’t have the heart to ask her to let it out, knowing how obstinate and prideful she can get about her feelings.

Three years ago, in a conversation with Mama Suh, Johnny unintentionally found out that his childhood friend was planning a move to Seoul. Upon further probing, it seemed that she had left a difficult relationship two years ago and really needed a change of scenery. While she’s only three years younger than him, Johnny has always felt protective over the shy girl who likes to read and who used to live two houses down from his, and had reached out to her without qualms. A month later, a place and a position was ready for Haewon.

What Johnny wasn’t ready for, was seeing the look on her face when Doyoung dropped off some food from Mama Kim at their house – that expression that revealed that she had fallen too deep and too fast, before Johnny had told her anything personal about Doyoung.

“What would you do if you were me?”

“I wouldn’t go. You don’t have to do this to yourself, Haewon.” Johnny clucks his tongue, signaling a left turn to the driver behind. “He’s just your boss, you don’t owe it to him. Just make something up.”

That’s true, she thinks. After all, he’s just my boss.

And in a couple of months, maybe even something less.

Finding Doyoung in a sea of dark-haired, frustrated travelers isn’t easy, so Haewon is thankful when she hears his voice saying her name. She swivels around, and Doyoung is standing in front of her, hair down in a natural center parting with the biggest, silliest grin on his face. Haewon thinks he’s most breathtaking like this; his striking brown eyes and the slope of his cheek catching the light in the airport as he smiles handsomely, and Haewon can’t help but smile back. She doesn’t usually get to see him like this, in a green shirt tucked under blue ripped jeans and a white denim jacket pulled onto him, complementing his wide shoulders.

“I knew you’ll be lost,” he teases smugly, “you hate crowds as much as I do.”

She laughs, unzipping her bag to hand the file over to him. He looks through the documents quickly, humming as he counts the papers in his hand before stashing it in his Valentino crossbody.

“Will there be someone waiting for you at JFK?”

He nods, “yeah, the company is sending a representative. Don’t worry about me! I’ll see you next week…”

A familiar face catches her eye and Haewon thinks she sees Doyoung’s fiancée standing a few feet away from them, smiling radiantly at the person next to her. She’s surprised, finding something strange about seeing Inhee here but being unable to put her finger to it. It doesn’t register in her brain that Inhee was only supposed to be back the following Sunday until another figure steps into her line of vision and wraps his arm tightly around her shoulders.

Haewon’s feels her blood run cold. She vaguely hears Doyoung saying her name, but is unable to respond as she all but drags him towards the departure hall without a second thought.

He’s frantically asking her what is wrong, but Haewon can’t seem to hear him against the thumping of her own heart. She doesn’t want to believe what she had just seen, but the scene flashes in her mind repeatedly, each time clearer than the last.

“You can’t be late for your flight, boss!” She fakes a laugh, “I’ll see you when you’re back!”

Doyoung still looks befuddled and unconvinced, but he gives her a smile and wave as he enters the departure hall obediently, checking the time on his watch.

She watches his silhouette become smaller and smaller before he completely disappears into the crowd, her mind whirling with images. She doesn’t forget the way crippling fear had flashed in Inhee’s eyes as she watched Haewon pull Doyoung towards the departure hall, her lover’s lips still in her ear.

Doyoung hadn’t been interested in dating in high school, until he met Inhee in his last year. According to Johnny, Doyoung’s mindset towards high school had been different from many others. He saw high school as a transitional phase, a time to try out as many things as possible and fill up his portfolio with accolades before university. He was student body vice president, chief editor of the school magazine and a short distance runner on the track and field team. He was far too busy dealing with entrance exams and early college applications, until Inhee came into his life.

Inhee was the president of the dance club and obnoxiously popular, acknowledged for her good looks and good heart. And unlike his schoolmates, perhaps Doyoung would never have even given her a second glance at that point in his life, if she hadn’t slipped him her number after his event on their school’s sports day.

The first time Haewon formally met Inhee was three years ago on Valentines’ Day, a month after she joined Dam-il. Johnny had already informed her of Doyoung’s attached status, but she couldn’t put a face to the name – until Inhee walked by her desk with a big beautiful smile, all red Lancôme lipstick and smelling like Chanel, into Doyoung’s office and encircled her arms around his neck, planting a generous kiss on his mouth.

(“She kind of looks familiar,” Haewon had whispered to Yuta on the phone that day after Inhee had lowered the blinds around Doyoung’s office and locked his door. “I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere…”

Yuta had scoffed into his phone. “Like, on every, single, Korean Air poster?”)

Inhee is difficult to hate – this is something Haewon had quickly gleaned after a short interaction with her. Her beauty is dizzying, her confidence making her even more charming without making her appear conceited, and she takes care of Doyoung so well. She is constantly showering the office with late afternoon snacks, visiting Doyoung for lunch on days she doesn’t have to fly. And while she hates books and anything to do with writing, and they don’t arguably have that much in common, she has always supported Doyoung in his career to a fault.

Haewon wishes she could hate Inhee, but she makes him so happy.

(Sometimes, on nights she feels particularly petty, Haewon counts the number of compatible traits she has with Doyoung, comparing it to that of him with Inhee. Truthfully, she does this to comfort herself, wistfully hoping to feel less pathetic given the knowledge that these things don’t matter when they all know who has Doyoung’s heart.)

“You have to tell him.”

Haewon looks up from her plate in surprise, meeting Johnny’s eyes. After Haewon had blurted out what she had seen at the airport, Johnny had fallen awfully silent, concentrating on the road ahead of them and only asking factual questions. Haewon had never seen him so serious before, watching his expression morph from disbelieving to crestfallen as the news gradually sunk in.

It had taken four hours and a whole pot of fettuccini for Johnny to say something.

She looks at him for a moment, twirling the pasta with her fork and making endless bolognese sauce circle patterns.

“Don’t get me wrong – I think he should know. But you don’t think that would be overstepping? It’s not really any of my business.”

“I’m over it.” Johnny comments abruptly, until he catches Haewon’s judgmental look. “I meant the betrayal. I’m over it. She’s not my fiancée, I’m not going to invest any more of my emotions in this.

“But practically, have you thought about this? If she can cheat so close to the wedding, do you think she’ll stop even after?” Johnny’s voice is low and measured. “God, I’m so glad I RSVP’d no. I don’t think I’d have been able to stomach it, especially now knowing this.”

Unlike Haewon, it had only taken Johnny two days to respond to Doyoung’s wedding invitation, citing an emergency company conference happening in London. This hadn’t sat well with Doyoung, at least not according to what Haewon had overheard when she had reached home a little earlier that day.

(“Look, why on earth would I want to miss your wedding, Dons?” Johnny had been facing the living room window, his grip firm on the windowsill. “You’re- No, you don’t need me there, Doyoung, I am one person. You’ll have your whole wedding party there, all your high school friends and your entire family. You won’t even realize I’m not there.”)

Johnny has never been the biggest fan of Inhee – an opinion he has never hid from Doyoung since day one. While likening Inhee’s personality to an annoying yellow cartoon character, Johnny had been frank with Haewon about his inability to hold back from cringing at how extraneous, overblown and unnecessarily exuberant she is. To top it off, her fiancé happens to be practically Mensa level intelligent, while Inhee…

(“I was telling Doyoung about a new accounting system the company had decided to adopt, how I had thought that it was offered to us at a price that was too good to be true,” Johnny had recounted to Haewon at dinner one night, “and he told me maybe we needed to kick the tires on that offer first.”

“And she went,” Johnny had started to imitate her voice and gone up to a vocal inflection that was uncalled for, “oh, maybe you should kick the trunk too!’”

Haewon had almost choked on her dinner.

“I thought to myself, ‘what about kicking the bucket?’”)

The hilarity of his condescension aside, Johnny has always been at least respectful to Inhee, an implicit understanding of their respectful roles in Doyoung’s life at the forefront of his interactions. From her understanding of Johnny, she had been pretty sure that the reason he had given was legitimate, that he wouldn’t intentionally miss Doyoung’s wedding for any reason, but now there seems to be room for second guessing.  

“I don’t know, maybe I misjudged the situation-”

Then she saw the look on Johnny’s face.

“Okay fine,” she picked at her food, “but I can’t ruin their relationship.”

“You’re not ruining their relationship; the relationship was ruined the moment she decided to cheat! You’re doing him a favor, you’re-” Then he realizes. “You’re projecting.”

“What?”

Johnny gnaws at his bottom lip, turning ideas over in his head. “You know what I’m thinking?” He continues when she doesn’t reply. “I think you want to tell him, but you think that the part of you who wants to tell him is the same part of you who’s in love with Doyoung.” He sighs. “That’s the real reason you can’t tell him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s not just that.” She takes his empty plate, scooping more pasta for him.

“The whole time we were in the car, and then back home, I’ve gone over so many scenarios in my head, of how this situation may turn out. The conclusion is always the same – he needs to know.

“I don’t need to be the person who tells him, but if I were in his position, I would want someone to tell me. Even if she ends it – which I really hope she does – it’s unfair to him if he doesn’t know that there was a time her heart didn’t belong to him. It is definitely cruel, but far less cruel than the idea of living in an illusion.

“It’s just that… I can’t think of a way to tell him without hurting him.”

Her phone rings, saving her from the conversation with Johnny, but his eyes are steady when he mouths to her “we’re not done” as she picks up her phone.

“It’s me.” The voice on the phone is quieter, gentler and wearier than ever, but undoubtedly belonging to Doyoung’s fiancée.

“Hi Inhee.” Johnny’s head whips up, his eyes widened.

“Can we talk?” She asks for them to meet later in the afternoon, then tells her that she would text her the details. Johnny has a resigned smile on his face when she puts down the phone.

“So it was her you saw at the airport.” He says lamely.

“Seems like it.”

“At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I’m just going to say what we’re both thinking – that if Doyoung had met you before he’d met her, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. If he’d met you a bit earlier, she wouldn’t even have been an option.”  

Johnny’s loyalty is touching, but not especially helpful in light of the present situation, when she’s faced with the quandary of meeting Doyoung’s fiancée at a café two hours later. Even across the street, she can see her perched against the window of the café, wringing her hands nervously. Her hair is brought up into a high ponytail today, and she looks stunning in a baby pink tweed dress and short white boots.

Inhee’s gaze meets hers as she crosses the road towards the café, pursing her lips together as Haewon smiles casually back.

“I got Americanos for both of us,” she blurts immediately when Haewon pushes the door and the wind chime tinkles brightly.

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve seen you drink cups of them every day.”

“Thanks.” Haewon pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

It’s close to a minute later before Haewon speaks again. Clearly Inhee isn’t going to broach the subject, but she refuses to either. “Cool nails.”

This brings a small smile to Inhee’s lips. “Thank you.”

The waitress arrives, placing hexagonal marble coasters down onto the table and then the drinks onto the coasters. Haewon sips on her coffee, looking at the way the patterns converge on the coaster.

“I won’t make this long, I have a flight to catch…” Inhee gestures towards the luggage sitting next to her, pressing her lips together. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she was meeting her thick-lipped lover.

“Did you… Did you tell him?” Inhee’s voice is softer this time.

Haewon looks up at her, watching flecks of fear dance in her eyes, and shakes her head.

Inhee nods her head and inhales, as if expecting this response.

“Are you… going to?”

She licks her lips and places the coffee back down onto the coaster. “I don’t want to, but yes if I have to.”

Inhee let out a laugh with an edge. “Of course you would.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She scoffs quietly, lifting her gaze slowly, her lips pulling back to resemble a scowl and her jaw tightening. Haewon had never seen her like that.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at my fiancé?”

Haewon swallows, unable to reply.

“Kang Haewon, I know that you’re in love with Doyoung.”

Haewon concentrates on her breathing, falling silent in favor of Inhee’s calculated monologue.

“You're not fooling anyone. You are constantly around him, you’re close to Johnny-”

“I’ve never tried to do anything.” It’s like a dam has broken, and the words rush out of her mouth before she can stop them. They’re not the wrong words, they just seem self-centered, like she’s attempting to justify herself when there’s a relationship independent of her that’s at stake.

“I’m just saying, don’t factor me into the equation. It’s always been professional. It’s my job to be around him, and when it’s not, when he wants to be around Johnny, I always excuse myself.”

There’s something cruel about being so self-righteous as the lips and hands of her boss’ fiancée tremble uncontrollably, but Haewon lets her words cut through. It feels like with every word, she’s slowly regaining the breaths that had been stolen from her all these years. She watches as something hard darts around in Inhee’s eyes, the same eyes that reflect her own rigid posture.

“He was attached even before I knew him, and passionately in love. I could never take that away from him-”

“You don’t think I know that you’re the reason Johnny isn’t coming to the-”

“You flatter me too much.” Haewon chuckles humorlessly, tucking strands of hair behind both her ears. “So is this why you asked to meet? Because if this is it, I would like to leave.”

She gets up from her seat, placing way too many bills that the coffee could be worth on the table before turning to leave, but stops short at Inhee’s next statement.

“Things haven’t been okay for a while now.”

Even as she sits herself back down, Inhee’s gaze remains far away from her.

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.” Something occurs to her, and she lets out a laugh somewhat verging on hysterical, “do you know we haven’t had sex in four months?!”

She looks at Haewon, like she’s searching for an answer she knows she can’t give her. And Haewon, she tells herself not to avert her eyes as Inhee squeezes her hands together. The whole scene feels vaguely invasive, bearing witness to the chipping of a stranger’s carefully polished veneer.

“You don’t need to tell me this-”

“I kept telling myself it’s wedding jitters, but…” Inhee bites back a cry, “I think he doesn’t love me anymore.”

She bursts into tears, shaking and crying into her hands. It’s like the glossy, rosy façade of the airline poster girl is slowly being lifted off, the remains of an embittered, desperate shell of a person sitting in front of her.

Haewon doesn’t know what to do, but can’t find it in herself to completely retract from the situation, so she pulls her chair towards Inhee, not even blinking when Inhee throws her arms around her and sobs even more mournfully.

“I know I don’t deserve to say this… but I just love him so much. I don’t want to lose him, Haewon, I’m so scared.”

“He’s my whole world, he has always been…”

It feels like hours later when she leaves the café, hailing a cab for a broken-hearted Inhee to take her to wherever she might want to go. She feels the tell-tale buzz of her phone in her pocket, knowing instantly that Johnny must have grown impatient of waiting for her update on this meeting.

But as she checks the notification banner on her phone, as her brain wraps around the curves of the letters forming the name of the email sender, her heart almost skips a beat.

Nothing, however, can prepare her for the first line she reads on her locked screen.

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

xx

w/n: last week’s update was intentionally postponed to this week; there will be regular posting (shifted to Saturday, 11pm KST) from now on.

also, I’m sorry for my long and sometimes convoluted sentences. i try my best, but we all know fic!doyoung would never give any of my work a second glance tbh. unlike the young author, however, i willingly apologize for my tenses.

[boilerevans]

A Waiting Game

Summary: Carrington Price was a small-town girl with a big dream. She just didn’t think it could become real life. 

Pairing: Chris Evans / Original Character 

A/N: So this is the first fic I’ve written in a long time and it's taken me over a month to post. All comments are welcome. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None

Chapter One  

Walking down the tile path, the young woman looks out the large windows to see a night sky, no daylight left. The closer she got to the terminal exit; the more people begin to appear. It seems much busier than one would expect for a Sunday night at… What time was it? She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket.

23:36

Carrington sighs and begins to calculate the hours she has until she has to wake up for work. Thirty-five more minutes to the apartment. Which meant she wouldn’t be going to bed until after one to turn around and wake up at 4:30. She couldn’t complain too much, she was going to be taking to the first step to her dream career. It finally felt like the past six years hadn’t been a complete waste of her time.

Yes, bags get mixed up and things get misplaced. But being put in the wrong apartment and then getting moved up three floors, that was a major inconvenience. Now it was 2:30. ‘At that point, why even sleep?’ she thought. She has already been up for nearly 21 hours. What was two more right? She had just gotten out grad school, she could pull an all-nighter.

----

Carrington shifts quickly, waking up from a nightmare. She rolls over to check the time before falling back to sleep.

5:15

SHIT! Now there was no time to do her hair, no time for a coffee before she made it to set, and barely enough time to put on a real face. She throws on her best jeans and a plain white V-neck tee. She wasn’t worried about looking exceptional, she wasn’t trying to impress them with her looks. Dry shampoo and a ponytail would have to do. She was making very good time but of course, there was traffic and dumb drivers. The fact that she hadn’t called an Uber yet. Breathe Carrington, breathe. Then she hears her phone ringing from the nightstand. She leans across the bed to reach it.  

Cooper

“Coop, I really don’t have the time.” She complains, walking back into the bathroom.  

“Chill out and take a breath.” He says in a calmer tone than usual.  

“I am breathing.” Rolling mascara onto her lashes.

“Sis. Everything is going to be fine. Have they told you what project you’re on?”  

She trips trying to put both her shoes and jacket on at the same time.

“I still have only been told, Mary Lou. I’ll know in about an hour if you would leave me alone.”

“Well I see mom today and I didn’t know if you wanted an update?”

“I’m sorry. Yes, please. Thank you for calling but I really do have to go. I’ll call when I get back.”

“I love you, Carrie. You’ll be great.” He says and ends the call.  

She locks up the door and heads towards the elevator trying to send for an Uber. The one day she tries not to over plan and now the day is completely ruined. The elevator door opens and she enters, accidentally running into a man’s chest.  

“Ope, I’m sorry. Late start.”  

“No big deal.”  

She glances over at the man’s shoes. Sneakers. Hmm. Plain. Carrington looked back at her phone to see that there was an Uber upfront. The elevator doors open and she quickly rushes to the front door.  

“Have a great day!” The man yells behind her as he walks out behind her.  

The girl turns to wave with a small smile. She just caught a glimpse of him. Tall, beard, wide smile. He, on the other hand, paid attention to all of her. Dark brown wavy hair. Jeans that hugged all of the curves of her long legs. A V-neck that showed just enough of her chest. He couldn’t help but follow her.  

Her feet hit the sidewalk and the cold hits her face. She quickly zips up her jacket. Who would have thought Atlanta would feel like this? Like home? She opens the door to the black Toyota and shuts it behind her. Before she can scoot over, the door opens again. She looks down to see the familiar gray sneakers from not too long ago. She looks up at the man to see the familiar beard, but no smile.

Chris Evans.

“I think this was mine.” He says to her.

“I am so sorry.” She blushes.

“Oh. You uh, you can take it. You’re in a hurry.”

“Are you sure? I should have checked.” She says and swings a leg out of the car.

“You’re running late. I couldn’t.” He says, reaching down to put a hand on her leg.  

Her first reaction is to flinch away but leaves it for a few seconds before putting her leg back in the car. She starts to dig through her purse.

“Let me get you some cash to pay for the other Uber.”

“Hey, it’s really okay. You go.” He smiles and shuts the door.  

She looks out the tinted window to see him still smiling and running his fingers through his hair. She couldn’t help but smile herself. Carrington dug through her purse one more time to find her phone and to text Cooper. Every time she looked out the window all she saw was his smile. Who would have thought you could be grateful for a late start to a morning?  

Making record time, she finds the building that she had mapped out in her head to find faster. She could see the large filming studio in the background as she entered the small office. A man about her age sat behind the front desk.  

“Hello. My name is Carrington Price. I’m supposed to start on the Mary Lou project as a production intern today.”  

“Um. Let me call someone. I don’t know where exactly to send you.”

The timid man left the room and she glances back down at her phone.  

6:50

Yes, she was early but you’d think that they’d send someone, right? They don’t have many interns for what seemed to be a big production. But again, she reminds herself that this whole thing was much bigger than her. She was just one small part.  

“They’re gonna send someone to get you. Shouldn’t be too long.” The man says as he walked back into the room. “You can, uh, have a seat I guess.”  

Carrington looks behind her and saw no chairs except a bench outside in the cold. She turns back around and gave the man a dry look as if to say, ‘you’ve got to be joking’. The door opens, and she turns back again. A middle-aged woman stood there as she threw the hood of her jacket off.  

“Hello, you must be Carrington. I’m Jennifer. We’ve spoken on the phone.” She said, reaching out a hand to introduce herself.  

“Hi. It’s so great to meet.”  

“Come with me and I can take you to set.”  

The women step outside where a golf cart sits just past the door of the small building. The sky had become grayer than earlier in the morning and drizzling rain had started to fall from the overcast. Yet again she found herself feeling grateful for the late start and a simple ponytail.  

“I promise you it’s not always so dreadful here. Just give it a few hours and it’ll be sunny.” Jennifer chuckles as we drove to one of the larger buildings.  

“Just wasn’t expecting it to be so breezy. Feels like I’m home which is nice.”

“Boston, right?”  

“Uh, that was grad school. Indianapolis is home.” Carrington says, stepping out of her seat.

“We have some agreements you have to sign. Nondisclosures and stuff.” Jennifer says, opening a door and stepping into a long hallway.  

They make their way down the hall before Jennifer pauses in front of a large blue door. She reaches in her bag and pulls out her iPad.

“Now you just have to read and initial for now. We can do hard copies later this week.”  

Carrington’s eyes quickly skim the bright screen she’s been given. DISNEY. MCU. MARY LOU. Everything starts adding up. She looks up at Jennifer with wide eyes.  

“This is Marvel,” Carrington says, but also asking at the same time.  

“Yes. Is that a problem?”  

“No, ma’am.” She says and quickly initials the page.  

They walk through the doors and the lights get brighter. Green screens line a lot of the back walls. She follows Jennifer around the set and all she can think about is Chris Evans. What are the chances that she would meet him and then be on this set? When would she see him again? All of the cliché possibilities roamed her head.  

“So, you are going to be meeting a lot of people but you’ll mainly be working with me. I try not to make it like the typical internship with the coffee and the running around. We could really use someone like you on this set. It’s a big production and we need as many hands-on-deck as possible.” Jennifer’s voice brings her back to reality.  

“I’m here to help. I’m just kind of in shock I was picked for this project. Especially with the thesis, I presented for grad school and the application.”  

Jennifer stops walking. “What was that?”  

“The history of sexism across the superhero film industry.”  

“That’s exactly why we picked you for this set.” She says and keeps walking. “Over the next two movies, we are adding more and more female actors to the film. We need someone with your kind of thinking for the smaller details.”  

Carrington smirked slightly. “What’s on our agenda for today?”  

That’s when she heard him. Just behind her, a roar of laughter erupted. A laugh she could recognize from watching one too many interviews in college. Carrington couldn’t help but to turn around and then she saw him. He had just walked in followed by Mark Ruffalo. She now notices that he was wearing a hoodie and dark jeans. How could someone be that happy all the time?  

“You’ll just be with me. It’s the first day with a lot of the originals. Oh, Good morning Chris. Hello Mark.”  

And that’s when he saw her. For a second, it felt fake. Especially since he was just telling Ruffalo about the girl that stole his ride.  

“Boys, this is Carrington Price from Boston. She’s our production intern.” Jennifer introduced.  

“Uh. Indianapolis actually.” Carrington corrects.  

“Nice to see you again and officially meet you.” Chris smiles.  

“Evans! Get to the trailer!” Someone yells.  

“Oh, we can come with you. That was my next stop on the tour.” Jennifer says, making a slight step forward.  

“Actually, I was meaning to find you, Jenn. I had a few questions. I’m sure Chris can take care of this young lady.” Ruffalo says, with a cocky grin on his face.  

Both Carrington and Chris look at him, and then at each other.

“Well, uh. If you wanna follow me.” Chris says as he reaches his arm around her to the small of her back.  

They walk across the set. Weaving their way through the crowds. Once they made it outside, it’s quiet again. It was all a lot to process for both of them.  

“So, what did you say to Ruffalo?” She asks him.  

“It’s really not a big deal.”  He says and runs his hand through his hair.  

“Good deflection.”  

“So, Boston?” He asks.  

“I went to Emerson for grad school.”

“Grad school, huh? And you’re how old?” He asks, turning the corner.  

They begin to walk in between rows of dozens of identical white trailers. Each one having a different last name than the one before it.  

“Why does that matter?” She asks him.  

He stops walking and she runs into him.  

“You’re not very coordinated, are you?” He chuckles.  

She looks and sees “FITTINGS” on the door of the trailer.  

“I’m twenty-six by the way.”  

“Would you want to go out sometime?” He says as he takes a seat on the step.  

“Excuse me?” Carrington crosses her arms.  

“I mean, there’s obviously some attraction between us and you’re a beautiful woman.”  

“I don’t think that would be very appropriate.” She begins to walk away to make her way back to set.  

“Wait, wait.” He runs up and grabs her arm.  

“What?”  

“Just come out to drinks tonight. A bunch of us are going and it’s always good for the newbies to meet everyone. If you don’t have a good time, I won’t make another move, I promise.”  

“I’ll think about it.”  

As he watches her walk away, he smiles. The way she quickly flicked her long ponytail off of her shoulder. How her body moved as she walked away from him.  

----

The day was long, but that was a job. Carrington had a constant sweat on the back of her neck from running around. She felt good for the first time in a long time. Doing what she loves. While she was on cloud nine, Chris watched her from afar. How she talked. How she carried herself. It was unlike most movie set interns. Especially on a production this big.

When the day came to an end Carrington searched the room for him and found him quickly. As their eyes met, he smirked at her. They begin walking to each other, their eyes never leaving sight of each other.  

“So, where can I meet you?” She asks him.  

“Give me your number and I’ll send you the address.”  

“You’re a clever one aren’t you.” She says, taking his phone from him.  

They felt their fingers graze and their eyes locked.  

“I have my days.” He says.  

“Do you want to share an Uber back?” She asks, giving him the phone back. “Before I steal one from you.”  

“I’m actually gonna leave from here in a bit.”  

“Okay.” She turns from him.  

He took one step closer to her and whispered in her ear. “I look forward to seeing you.”  

She felt the connection but also felt very wrong. It was against the rules, no doubt. But the whole thing seemed so meant to be. And even thinking it, Carrington felt dumb.  

“You still up to sharing a ride?” Mark asks Chris as they walk off the set.  

The sun had set and a few bright lights lit the lot full of trailers.  

“Oh yeah. Definitely. I’ll shoot you a text when I’m cleaned up.” He says.

Chris splits away from Ruffalo and heads to his trailer. He quickly goes up the short steps and into the dark trailer. He flicks on the light and locks the door behind him. Stripping down and getting in the shower, Chris can’t help but hope that Carrington will come tonight. Never had he had an instant connection like that before. He didn’t want to take it too far too fast. And all of the consequences crossed his mind too. This job could be her big break and he didn’t want to ruin that for her. She was young, had a whole life ahead of her and he didn’t want to take that away either.  

He throws on his pants from the morning and a fresh tee. He grabs his phone off the charger and sends a text to Ruffalo. He runs the towel over his hair one last time before using his fingers to push it back from his face. There’s a knock at the door and Chris goes to open it.  

“Hey come on in. I’m nearly done.” He says, inviting Mark in.  

Chris heads back to the small bathroom to brush through his messy beard.

“So, did you invite her?” Ruffalo asks from the other room.  

He steps out and lifts up his shirt on he puts on deodorant.  

“Yes. And I think she actually might come.” He smiles.  

“Are you gonna make a move or will I have to work my magic?”  

“I think I’ve got it covered. You good to go?”  

Chris walks towards the door, putting his wallet into his back pocket. He grabs his sweatshirt off the counter and they make their way out of the trailer.  

As Carrington got ready, she thought of what to say and what not to say. She takes her hair out of the ponytail and massages her scalp. That was a mistake, too tight for the first day. She let her wavy hair fall past her shoulders. She rummages through her unpacked suitcase. Carrington picks a flowing, white tank that had small blue flowers all over it. She puts on white chucks and the dark grey jacket from the morning.  

When Chris and Mark get to the bar, they quickly realize that they are the last ones in the group to arrive.  

“Hey, Scarlett! You’re early for once huh?” Chris laughs as he walks through the bar to a set of tabletops.  

“Evans, I don’t really want to hear it okay.” She says and gives him a hug.  

Chris walks up to the bar.

“Could open me up a tab and for right now I’ll take a tall Stella please.” He says and then heads back to the group.  

Walking down the dimly lit street, Carrington’s heart began to race. She hadn’t had nerves like this since… Well since a long time. After a short walk, she made it to the bar. Smiling at the greeter, she walks in through the two sets of doors.

Chris knew the moment Carrington walked in but didn’t want to make it obvious. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her as she looked around the room trying to find him. He could see her smile as she started across the bar to the group. And that’s when he looked to her. They make eye contact and she stops walking to wait for him.  

“Chris? Hello? Are you listening?” Scarlet asks, waving at him.  

“Sorry. Um. Carrington’s here.”

He gets up from his seat and pulls up another for her. Right next to him. He then walks through the group of people to her, a smile on his face. When he reaches her, she looks up at him. He smiles at her and moves a piece of hair back behind her ear.  

“Hi.” She says softly.  

His hand reaches around her back and they start to walk towards the group.  

“I’m glad you came.” He whispers to her.  

Everyone’s eyes begin to move to the two of them as they get closer. And the conversation dies down.  

“Hey, guys. I’d like you to meet Carrington.”  

The group smiles and a few people gave a wave. Carrington smiles in return. She follows Chris to the two empty chairs near a table. It was a lot for someone to take in. Being around so many important people at once was extremely overwhelming. She glances over her shoulder at the bar. Carrington gets up and makes her way over to the bartender.    

“Hi. Can I get uh… a double of Crown and a tall draft of Blue Moon please?” She asks with a smile.  

“You bet. Give me just a sec.”  

As she waits, she turns back around to watch the group. They all seem to be having a good time. Maybe she shouldn’t have come? It was rather intrusive. She watched Chris as he desperately tries not to look over at her, but fails. He glances at her and again has a big grin on his face.  

“Here you go. It’s thirteen dollars.” The bartender says.  

She pulls out her wallet from her jacket pocket and begins to search through the cash. Before she can get anything out. A twenty is placed on the table next to her. She looks over expecting Chris and sees Mark Ruffalo.  

“Keep the change.”  

“Thank you.” She says to him.  

“Oh, no biggie. Just helping out my friend.”  

“What do you mean?” She asks and takes the shot of whiskey.  

“You know loosen you up a bit. You seem shy.”

“Just intimidated. A lot of important people. I don’t want to make a bad impression.”

“Just be yourself. Chris likes that girl already.” He says and makes his way back to the group.  

Carrington takes a minute to process what Ruffalo had said. She and Chris had barely talked, so what was there to like already. She quickly drinks the rest of the whiskey and takes her beer with her. When she sits down, Chris puts his arm around the back of her chair.  

“So, um… you’re an intern then?” Scarlett asks.  

“Yes.”  

“And you’re from?”  

“Indianapolis.”

“Indiana… That’s uh…”  

“Boring as hell. Corn, pigs, and basketball. Oh, the Indy 500.” Carrington says. “I was one of the lucky few that actually got out.”

A few people chuckle.  

“Well, now you’re lucky enough to be hanging out with us.” Chris smiles, rubbing her back softly.

“Damn Chris. You’re really laying it on thick huh?” Scarlett chuckles.  

Carrington looks over at Chris and gives him a reassuring smile.  

“It’s the most attention I’ve had in a long time. I’ll take it.” She says.  

They all talk for a long time. Movies, politics, family. Every so often Chris would give a gentle squeeze on her shoulder or rub his thumb up against her arm. She slowly found herself scooting in closer to him.  

It was a nice change of pace. Carrington was never the person that made friends. Her whole life the past six years was college. The room slowly got quieter as people started to leave.  

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Chris asks leaning into her.  

“I’d like that.” She nods her head.  

They get up from their seats and Chris says his final goodbyes.  

“It was really nice meeting y’ll.” Carrington smiles and gives a wave.  

As they walk away, Chris puts his hand around her waist. The street is dark. Many of the lights have shut off. Carrington shivers as a breeze.  

“Here do you want my jacket?” Chris asks, beginning to unzip his thick sweatshirt.  

“Oh no. Please. I’ll be fine.”  

Carrington moves in closer to him and grabs his hand. He gives her hand a squeeze and brings her in closer to him.      

“I’m glad you came.” He says and looks down at her.

“Me too. I had a good time.”  

Chris steps forward and pushes the door open to the apartments. He lets go of her hand as they walk to the elevators. Carrington felt as though she had done something wrong. When they got into the elevator, they stood in opposite corners.  

“Are you okay?” She asks him.  

He looks over at her. “Yeah. There’s just a lot of cameras. I just wanted to be careful. For you.”  

She looked down and smiled. The elevator doors opened and they both walk out. Chris follows behind as Carrington walks to her room. She fumbles in her pockets trying to find her keys. She finds them and opens the door.  

“Thanks for the invite. I had a good time.”  

“Yeah me too.” He says scratching the back of his head.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She says and quickly walks into her room.

Carrington shuts the door and goes to sit down on the bed. She lays back and her head hits the comforter. If only she could just talk to her brother. But telling him the slightest thing could get her fired. She sighed heavily. She missed her dad. She could talk to him about anything and he wouldn’t say a word. But Cooper was too much like Mom and would tell the first person he could find.  

She gets off of the bed and heads to the bathroom. As she walks, she takes off her jacket and throws it on the floor. She flicks the lights on and looks at herself in the mirror. Damn. She looked good? She pulled up her jeans and looked over her body.  

Carrington felt the urge to see Chris again. She goes to her suitcase and digs through trying to find a cute bralette to throw on under a white tank top that she had. She finds high waisted denim shorts and quickly changes into them as well. She goes back to the bathroom and looks in the mirror again. Even better. She runs her fingers through her messy hair to take care of the tangles.  

She opens the door to find Chris. He was now just wearing a light grey tee shirt and the same dark jeans. His arm lifted up, as though he was about to knock.  

“Hello there.” She smiles.  

“Where are you headed?” He asks.

“I was actually coming to see you.” She looks down and then back up into his eye.

A grin comes across his face and he moves in towards her. Carrington moves back and opens the door wider so that he can come in. She shuts the door and turns to find Chris exploring her small apartment.  

“This is pretty nice.” He says.

“So why were you coming here?” She asks him.

“Oh uh. I just wanted to see you.” He sits on the bed. “I like being around you.”

She sits next to him with one leg folded up onto the bed and the other hanging off the edge. He pivots to face her. He places his hand on her knee and gently rubs his thumb against her thigh. They look up at each other and the tension builds. Hair falls into Carrington’s face. As she reaches up to tuck it behind her ear, Chris beats her to it and pushes it from her face. His hand rests on her cheek and again his thumb brushes her skin.  

Her hand presses into his thigh as she leans forward to kiss him. As their lips meet, it feels so natural. His beard rubs up against her chin. They both lean in for more as their lips continue to meet each other. Carrington pulls back and looks at Chris.  

“Wow.” She says.

“You’re amazing.”  

Chris leans forward to go in for another kiss. Carrington pushes her hand against his chest.  

“Wait.”

“What is it?” He says, giving a concerned look.

“What do you want out of this? Us?” She asks him and scoots back.  

“I want to get to know you. Kiss you more.”  

“We can’t date.” She says.

Carrington gets off the bed and begins to pace around the room.  

“This job is a great opportunity for me and if something were to happen it would be awkward. I would have a reputation.” She rambles and quickly runs her fingers through her hair, shifting the part.  

“Hey. Calm down.” Chris stands up and grabs her arm. “Take a breath. We can talk it out.”  

She sighs and sits back on the bed. Chris sits next to her.  

“What do you want?” Chris asks her.  

“There’s just too much at stake.” She says, putting her face in her hands.

“No. What do you want?”  

She looks over at him. His eyebrows are furrowed, expressing a concerned look.  

“I want you.”  

“So, let’s start there and see where it goes?”  

“Okay.”  

“I’m gonna kiss you again now.” He smiles, leaning into her.

[feel199x]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* cloud nine ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

god/demi-god!minho, street racer!minho

I II III IV V VI

felix’s god au  changbin’s god au

masterlist

a/n: i got a reblog commenting on minho’s motorcycle in another fic;;; and it really is a godtier headcanon so this fic is what happened. it’s a series!! and i’ll do this with other members. enjoy? ʕ ˵• ₒ •˵ ʔ 

warnings: nothing i can think of? but if you find some, please let me know!

The bakery you worked at was nice, your coworkers were pleasant and even your boss was a good person. The pay was enough, and it had a decent amount of benefits. That wasn't the problem, the problem was the awkward placement of the bakery. Next door was a lively bar, and at any given time, it was loud and buzzing with business. It was good for the bakery, as slightly tipsy people would end up craving some sweets. You and your coworkers did your best to help the wasted people that ended up in your bakery, ordering them an uber or lyft and making sure that they had texted people who should’ve been aware of their location.

Today had been particularly difficult, it was raining and you always biked to work, and the route wasn’t bad but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. And you did your best to maintain your patience when you interacted with impolite customer after impolite customer. Your coworker had called in sick last minute, and so, being as nice as you are, you offered to take over for her. Now you had to close and clean up, throw away all the stale pastries, and turn off all the machinery before you could finally clock out. So when you walked out in the unstopping, pouring rain, beating and dripping against your skin, you were less than pleased to see someone park their motorcycle on your bike. Well, less than pleased was an understatement.

You burst into the bar, leaving a big pool of rainwater at the entrance of the bar. Immediately, everyone turned their head to see who had slammed open the door to let in the cold air and scold them, but stayed silent as they recognized you from next door.

“Who’s the asshole with the black motorcycle?”

 A boy sitting at a table, watching the game raised his two fingers. “That would be,” he smiled, “The asshole with the black bike.”

“You ran over my bicycle.”

He scoffed. “That hunk of junk? It shouldn’t have been there anyway.”

“There wasn’t a post to lock it on!”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“Dickhead! It’s raining!” You tapped your foot impatiently, glaring at him, and ignored the crowd of onlookers. “You’re paying for my cab fare,” you said firmly, “And paying for my bike.” He looked genuinely surprised to see you stand up for him, and for a minute, and at that moment you knew that this didn’t happen often to him.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll drive you.”

“I’d rather walk.”

Instead of having any normal reaction, he smiled again. He turned back to the game, and leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Well,” he said, “Have fun.” You rubbed your eyes, the wind still blowing against your back. “Whatever,” you said finally, “Just move your bike so I can get mine.”

“You’re not actua-”

“I am.”

You apologized for the commotion at the bartender, who gave you a nod as he poured some gin for another man. You walked outside, and suddenly, the rain had stopped. Relieved you wouldn’t have to walk your bike back in storm weather, you smiled. You saw the boy from the bar get on his bike, and move it off yours with the uncomfortable crunch of metal. Without a word, and so much of a glance to him, you snatched your bicycle and began to awkwardly wheel it back down your route.

“I’m Minho.”

“I don’t care. Stop following me.”

“It’s dangerous, you shouldn’t walk home alone.”

“You’re literally following me.”

He laughed, and maybe if he wasn’t so weird, you would have been flustered. But he was, and you weren’t. You huffed and began to walk faster, doing your best to avoid puddles of water that littered the sidewalk.

“You know I can go faster than you, right?”

“I have pepper spray. Stop following me.”

“I can drive you home. It’ll be easier.”

You stopped in your tracks, thinking about how far your apartment actually was from the bakery. And then looked down at your bike, the wheel seconds from falling off. You groaned, thinking about all the ways that this could go wrong. “Fine,” you said, “But I have the emergency number ready to call. And I know self-defense.” He nodded, and tossed you his helmet. “You don’t need it?” you asked, unsure, “Why don’t you have two?”

“I wasn’t expecting to have to bring someone home.”

You were almost relieved that Minho had offered to give you his helmet, because he drove like a street racer. It was fairly late, so you expected to see some police cars, but none so far. The wind was whipping your face, so you rested your head against his back, clinging onto his waist for dear life.

“Can you buy me dinner first?”

You huffed again, squeezing your eyes shut as he accelerated. In a few minutes, you asked him to stop at the convenience store a couple blocks from your house. But as he stopped, you realized that you had forgotten to bring your beat-up bicycle. You inwardly sighed, and apologized to the universe for littering.

“I need the money,” you said getting off the bike, “I was going to fix it early morning, but I guess I forgot that I actually need it to get it fixed.”

“Sure,” he said, “But how are you going to get to work tomorrow?”

“I dunno. Bus, probably.”

“I can give you a ride.”

You gave a weird look.

“Nah. Maybe next time.”

He winked, as he put his helmet at the back of his motorcycle, and gestured a goodbye with his two fingers. He pulled a roll of money out of his pocket, something you were sure couldn’t have been there before and handed it to you. As he zoomed off, he said: “I’ll hold you to it.”

You didn’t think about it again, until you saw the roll of money on your nightstand. As much as you knew that carrying a roll of cash on a public bus wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t keep the money. As much as a weird guy Minho was, you couldn’t take a large sum of cash from him. Your day was going fine, just dandy, until Minho walked through the front door of the bakery.

“There wasn’t a bike out front.”

“I didn’t get a new one yet,” you muttered as you took the money out of your pocket, “Here’s your money. I only needed a hundred.”

“Keep it,” he shrugged, “It’s just money.”

He stuck around the entire day, as if he had absolutely nothing to do. Nowhere to be.

“If you’re not going to buy anything then you have to leave.”

Your coworkers whispered and smiled, urging each other to go to approach Minho, presumably for his number.

“Your friends don’t mind,” he said, winking at one of your female coworkers, “So I’ll stay. But I’ll buy a tart.” A burst of gasps came from the cash register as you threw a baggie containing the tart. Your entire shift, he bombarded you with questions, making attempts to strike up an interesting conversation. And as you clocked out, he followed you out.

“Minho,” you said impatiently, “What do you want?”

“You said next time. Now is next time.”

 Knowing this wasn’t an argument you could win, you climbed on the back of the bike. “Where’s your helmet?”

“Don’t need it.”

You scoffed. “What are you, a god?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

You gave him a confused look, putting on the helmet. You contemplated calling the police, but you weren’t sure if they could do anything. Minho hadn’t done anything illegal, weird or creepy at most, but no actual crime was committed. You wrapped your arms around his waist again, bracing for another extreme ride, and Minho did not disappoint. Just like the night before, there were no police patrolling. And even though the weather forecast said there would be heavy rain around this time, there wasn’t any. Your hair was everywhere, a lack of mercy coming from the air. You didn’t close your eyes shut this time, but instead chose to look around. You should’ve paid attention on your way home, because you never noticed how beautiful it was to pass the city lights faster than it could keep up and watch the transition into the quieter aspects of the neighborhood. But soon you were at the convenience store, and the wind turned into nothing but a gentle breeze.

“Can I have your number?”

“Why?”

He smiled, and for the first time, you didn’t think it was annoying. It was starting to feel endearing, and that, that was annoying.

“In case you need a ride.”

[melissatreglia]

Darkiplier in 2017: An In-Depth Look (Part 4)

(Memory a little rusty? Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 before going forward.)

"Well, I've got a news flash for you, brain trust. That's not how it works. You die, and a demon sets up shop in your old house, and it walks, and it talks, and it remembers your life... but it's not you."

- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (2x07: "Lie to Me")

So, here it is: the long-awaited final installment of my Darkiplier in 2017 essay.

Remember when I said anything could happen for the remainder of 2017? Well, it basically did. The final quarter of the year brought with it an explosive finale... that is to say, a fascinating origin story.

But we'll get to that in a moment.

Prior to the events of October and following in the wake of the Darkiplier vs. Antisepticeye vid, we were given quite a few bits, bobs and teasers of the horror to come.

In the second Try Not to Smile Challenge, our favourite Youtuber remarked that "I've turned my heart into a stone-cold ice cube of death. All joy has been purged from me in every way possible, and I have no smiles left for anybody." Then he added, with his usual sardonic humour, "It's #smilenever up in this bitch." He promptly spent the remainder of the video looking like he was in agonizing pain from the human experiences he was observing (and intermittently groaning and growling from his frustrated attempts at self-restraint).

A deceptively simple game titled V appeared on Mark's channel in September, and included a seizure warning as a result of its visual style... a style reminiscent of Dark's attention-grabbing, almost painful aura. Chook and Sosig: A Case of Murder is a quirky little diversion that follows a ghost chicken and a noodly-limbed cat as they solve the mysterious death of a popular entertainer (a writer, in this case). Another strange little vid, this time an animation of Mark's Firewatch playthrough, was also released. Though the dialogue is actually taken from a game that had been played a year prior, Forrest Byrnes' lines about death lying in wait and being unable to leave are also oddly fitting.

The artistic black-and-white game I woke up next to you again. contained themes that, upon reflection, are consistent with the overall narrative of Darkiplier's character. Its story is of an attractive, enigmatic stranger (whose appearance is occasionally marred by a subtle glitch effect) seduces you, slowly drains you of your life and ambitions, until you are left an obsessive and hollow husk of yourself. Interpretations vary on what the story of "I woke up..."  means (including that it might be a metaphor for drug addiction), but the real meaning is left intentionally vague by the programmer. The being your character is faced with might very well be a soul-devouring demon, for all one knows... especially given that the "girl" in question doesn't appear in the picture you show of her to a friend.

Following the events in early October, Mark joked during his play-through of The Evil Within 2 that the force-feeding mother was "speaking in multiple voices... a clear sign that that might be Darkiplier over there. I think she turned grey when the lighting changed..." (a clear reference to the insanity the fandom was gripped by earlier in the month). In a later episode, Mark eyeballs the rather dapper villain Stefano bathed in dim, moody lighting and quips, "Friggin' Darkiplier up in here."

The rather silly nyoom vid, created to promote Mark's new merch line of holographic M shirts, features the same distorted RGB effect we've become familiar with in Dark's appearances... although this time, it's all a bit of harmless fun with Chica set to a dubstep soundtrack. In Constellation, Mark jokes to "run away!" from the 3D effect the game offers, before conjuring what he dubs a "Darkiplier teapot".

During the Emily Wants To Play Too livestream, Mark comments that the "Let Her In :)" note left on the dry erase board is "some Darkiplier-level shit," adding that everyone now knows what happened with Damien and Celine, and later jokes that the tall stranger looks "dapper... in his suit... y'know that guy's lookin' a little grey. His skin turns grey; I think it's Darkiplier." He's unable to contain his mirth, however, and giggles a bit as he talks.

The vid ...Bonbon Loves You... offers an unsettling description of its events, where the bunny-shaped demonic imaginary friend provides his constant companionship... for a price. "You can never escape! You'll never need to escape! YOU'LL ALWAYS HAVE A FRIEND FOREVER!!" Prison Island likewise has a chilling description of its own, of a mystery that's been covered up and that "something terrible has been going on in the shadows and it's come back to haunt you..." The title for the vid of the game Deathlike Awakening also warns us "Don't move... don't breathe..."

There was also the short song “The Man With No Shadow”, a brief acoustic piece which had strange and surreal lyrics in honour of the solar eclipse.

My personal favourite of these teasers, however, has to be the easter egg contained in the finale of Mark's Popgoes play-through. Mark appears distracted as he hears a disturbance in his IRL vicinity, and he removes his headphones to stare out to his left (presumably where the door is). A voice that sounds similar to Wilford Warfstache declares offscreen, "Don't you worry!" Another voice, sounding suspiciously like Darkiplier Himself sneers in a somewhat muted rejoinder, "I'll get you." Mark stands motionless as the webcam view briefly warps, before the recording continues as if absolutely nothing happened.

But of course, this all pales in comparison to Who Killed Markiplier?, the four-part miniseries Mark created on a limited budget that's arguably his magnum opus. There's a reason it took me more than a year to write this part of the essay, and this taut 43-minute film is the reason why. It made me love characters I'd never met before, and even though I had a sickening feeling in my stomach as to their fates. Even knowing the monster Damien would become, and how broken William's psyche would be... I was still woefully unprepared for the onslaught of emotion I felt by the finale.

WKM has been analysed from every angle by the fandom at large, so I'm going to focus on providing a brief recap here.

We, as the viewpoint character of the District Attorney, are invited to Markiplier Manor for poker night. We're greeted by the Colonel and hand our invitation over to the Butler, before having a brief conversation with Damien, the newly-elected mayor. The chef warns us to stay out of his kitchen as the butler offers us a drink. Markiplier (well, this universe's version of him, anyway) descends the staircase and the night of drunken revelry begins.

The following morning, we're offered a seltzer with cocaine as a hangover aid by the butler (cocaine was a fairly common ingredient in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including in children's cough medicine), and Damien greets us. We wander aimlessly around the house, and are startled by the falling body of the newly deceased Markiplier. The detective, who'd also been invited the night before, proceeds to question the party-goers and examine the body. The mayor enters the scene and, showing his capabilities as a calming influence, asks for any information that can be gleaned. Damien then exits, ostensibly to talk to the Colonel, and clearly more disturbed by the events than he's previously let on.

The DA is drafted in as the detective's partner, and we overhear an argument between the Mayor and the Colonel. Damien angrily storms out, and we take the opportunity to discuss the matter with the Colonel. He promptly tells us a story about what he thinks happened, laying it on rather thick in the process and leaving no question as to his hostility towards their deceased host.  

The Butler leads us down into the wine cellar, before having a nervous breakdown about a broken bottle in the middle of the otherwise pristine floor. We go back up the stairs an are confronted by the Chef who, after some tough talk, offers some recorded (FNAF-style) footage of Markiplier and the Detective discussing the house's employees some nights prior. We then exit the house, and talk to Damien some more about his confrontation with the Colonel. Damien feels lost amid these events at the moment and has retreated to ponder matters for himself. We're soon called back in by the Detective to discover that Mark's body has now vanished.

The cast of characters reconvene in the room where the body was to discuss this turn of events, and the Colonel points out that there's a "storm" coming. The Butler and the Chef resolve to lock the building down, with no one getting in or out, until the matter is resolved. The Detective takes us up, down and around the inside of the house until we eventually get to the master bedroom.

The bedroom is a mess, but we find three pictures of Mark, Damien, the Colonel... and Mark's ex-wife, Celine. The Colonel talks with us about his relationship with Damien (which is more positive than his relationship with Mark). Damien briefly pops in looking for the Colonel, but just misses him... twice. Damien then pulls us aside, saying that he'd "stake [his] life" on the Colonel's innocence, and that he suspects that there's  another "guest" in the house no one knows about.

There's a sudden round of gunfire, and we rush in with Damien to find that the Detective and the Colonel are at a standoff. Then Celine barges in.

Everyone quickly catches her up on the events that have occurred thus far, and Celine points out that the lightning strikes indicate something supernatural is afoot. Celine proposes a séance to talk with the deceased Mark. After Damien reaches out in concern for her dabbling in witchcraft and she rebuffs him, Celine takes us with her to a quieter room where she reads the tarot and reveals that there are "dark forces" at work inside the manor. Her magickal influence enables us to go through time, seeing alternate events and getting a hint of what's to come.

But the answers we find aren't enough to satisfy her, and she grows angry with us, demanding that we "go back" into our visions. Damien and the Detective interrupt, with Damien putting a stop to the séance and the Detective dragging us away as Damien and Celine argue. The Detective shows the picture we've drawn to the Butler and the Chef, and it's revealed that the Groundskeeper (who hasn't set foot inside the house in over a decade) might know something.

Damien goes with Celine back into the séance room, while the Butler goes to find the Colonel. We, the Detective and the Chef go to talk to the Groundskeeper. The Groundskeeper resolves not to go in the house unless there's one specific "incident, one manifestation" that comes to pass.

There's a flash of light and the sound of thunder, and everyone rushes back into the house to reveal that Damien is gone and Celine is now possessed by a demon... the demon who's been lurking in the house the entire time, and who's aura is a familiar red and blue hue.

Most of the group decides to exit the house while they still can, with the exceptions of the Detective, the Colonel and the DA (ie. us). The Detective and the Colonel vanish and we're pulled into a darker, shadow version of the house that seems frozen in time and is echoing with the voices of those who fled. The demon of the house releases us from its grip, and we stumble upon the Detective's study... replete with the papers and evidence we weren't privy to before. The Colonel happens upon us in the study and becomes furious, thinking the Detective framed he and his friends.

The two are in a standoff once again, before the Colonel's gun goes off twice... purely by accident. One shot hits Abe. The other hits the DA (us) and we fall over the banister and crash to the floor.

In the space between life and death, we see the images of Damien and Celine. She's glowing red, and he's a soft blue. "Damien" is angry and lost, blaming Mark for what happened. "Celine" concurs, also blaming Mark for the events that transpired... and together they hatch a plan to release themselves from the void and back into the world. (All the while, a deep and demonic voice mockingly echoes their words, as if they are mere puppets.)

Damien then says these fateful words:

"Honestly, I don't know what the fuck is going on. But I know that I trust Celine. And if you trust us... just let me in. We can fix this. Together."

Celine then adds:

"I won't force this on you. You have a choice here. Just know this is the only way that you can escape."

And because we, the DA, have no real choice in the matter (as if death is a choice!), we agree. The images of Damien and Celine recede as we're driven back to our body. We get up, confused and disoriented with the daylight streaming in, and find the Colonel holding onto Damien's cane like a security blanket during a vigil near our body. And we watch, with growing horror and sadness, as the Colonel's mental state deteriorates. He hobbles away, calling out to the friends who will not and cannot answer him, leaving Damien's cane behind.

We reach out to the cane, with a small feminine hand which changes form into a man's larger hand. Our perspective tilts and it appears to be Damien in the mirror, looking bedraggled and exhausted as he contemplates his cane. He cracks his (broken from the fall) neck and we're thrown into the mirror, it cracking with the force and he storms away, leaving us behind without looking back.

Damien, if that was indeed him at all, is not the man we knew. Not anymore. He's long gone. What remains is made of demonic energy and rage; the demon of the house won. That being is now the one we call Darkiplier.

To lighten the lugubrious mood of the mini-series, Mark simultaneously released four "Jim News" shorts, featuring the Jims wandering through the house in an attempt at investigative reporting (ie. Mark goofing off on set, between takes). The legit bop that is "Fly Like a Butterfly" is another form of relief, that features in its music video scenes from Markiplier Manor and, of course, the handsome as always Darkiplier adorned with massive butterfly wings.

Hints at the expanded universe were also laid during Mark's play-throughs of Doki Doki Literature Club, specifically in the descriptions, which featured poetry based on the lives of the characters in Who Killed Markiplier?. Part 1 features a poem of Wilford Warfstache (hinting at his transformation from the Colonel), the District Attorney in Part 2, the alternate Markiplier in Parts 3 through 5... and what may be the Detective in Part 6 (though Monika's trapping the player in her world and the thumbnail of Sayori with a cracked/broken neck are both reminiscent of Darkiplier).

Likewise, Mark in the description of Party Hard Tycoon hopes to "party hard and hope no murderers show up!" In The Silent House, he says "this house is nothing but pain and suffering and also it can't talk..." The setting of The Sexy Brutale involves time travel to stop a murder at a gathering in a luxurious home. Sleeping Dawn's thumbnail is a dead body with a toe tag of "Y/N" (the typical reader insert fic's notation to insert your name, and the same notation provided on the invitation for the DA).

Markiplier also jokes that the channel isn't real and about being a paid actor during the 7th episode of his Slime Rancher Let's Play. In the otherwise adorable platform game I may die!, he plays a character whose house is surrounded by an empty void... that he promptly falls into.

Arguably however, the linchpin among the latter portion of the year’s hints is the HD Renovation of Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion, where a familiar resonant and echoing voice narrates:

"For as long as you can remember, legends have been told about the derelict mansion upon the hill that casts a blanket of darkness over the town. The history of the house itself is virtually unknown, and even the town’s oldest residents cannot remember the mansion’s origin. Being an avid history enthusiast, you embark up the mountain to visit the manor. Hoping to shed some light on the backstory of this crumbling fortress of darkness."

Sounds familiar, in more ways than one, doesn’t it?

But it doesn't even end there.

Only a few short weeks after the release of the final chapter of Who Killed Markiplier?, Mark released his Van Vlogs. One of these, the World's First Pop-Up Haunted House vlog, hinted that there was something more going on in the beginning, with some ominous music and the static on the van's TV growing louder. What was hinted at finally came to fruition in November. Another van video was released, titled Don't remember. In it, the viewer character has dozed off in the empty van and is woken in the dead of night.

A deep voice faintly says "Do you remember? I said we were going to do great things together. Go back to sleep."

Of course, it was Damien who had hoped that the prospect of working with the DA (the viewer character from Who Killed Markiplier?) would mean great things for the city he was elected to represent. In DoomVR, Mark finds himself trapped between life and death, before reviving and going forth to battle demons. Something which, in light of the events of WKM, doesn't seem too far-fetched now. Additionally, the ending to Part 5 of FNAF's Pizzeria Simulator spells out the words "S-A-V-E H-I-M". In light of possibilities yet to come, it could mean we have to try to save Damien himself.

But that is, as they say, a story for another time.

The description of the finale for Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn asks "Is it the end we really want? Is there a way to prevent the inevitable?" The ending, of course, is a leap of faith followed by the disappointing reality of having been deceived by a demonic trickster, and forced to live through the same events over and over again. It is a revelation reminiscent of the muddled timeline throughout the origin stories of Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier, two characters who were born years before on the channel, but whose origins did not come to light until the events of Who Killed Markiplier?.

But, I believe, Mark saved the best for last with two sadly coincidental questions on the light-hearted game Would You Rather?. Two days before the end of the year episode 11 of this game was released and, among the game's queries, two particularly heart-wrenching questions were asked.

The first was "Would you rather lose your mind or lose your significant other?" Many have pointed out that both happened to Wilford Warfstache, having lost his mind in the wake of the bloodbath of Who Killed Markiplier? along with his beloved Celine becoming merged with Damien and the demonic entity to become Darkiplier. Mark answers, after weighing the cost of both options, that he’d rather lose his mind than someone he loves.

The second, which he leaves for us, is "Would you rather be stalked by a ghost for the rest of your life, or be stalked by a demon for three days then die?" Of course, the latter actually happened in Who Killed Markiplier?. After the first three episodes, released from October 10th to the 12th, our character (the DA) was shot and fell from a banister on Friday the 13th.

Like in Who Killed Markiplier? itself, we’re left with a question that’s difficult to answer. The biggest of the all the questions anyone can conceive being simply this:

So, what happens now?

[kiliinstinct]

A Smile In The Embers: Prt 3

Rating: PG (or K) - For Now Setting: AU - Time Period Open for Interpretation Pairing: Nalu

{This is a Holiday Story I’ve been planning for a few months now. It’s not necessarily for Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, etc- but it takes place during these months and has some of those elements. Please enjoy!}

The lonely mansion held many servants and visitors, but the walls were always cold even in the hottest of summers. Lucy Heartfilia dreams of nothing more than to finally feel the warmth of a friend, something beyond the death she feels in her own home.  One-freezing winters night- a secret wish comes true in the most strangest of ways. This is her story, of the Smile She Found Through the Embers.

<– Part Three of Five -->

. A Promise .

Time went on. Winter turned to Spring, Spring began it’s slow changes into Summer. Lucy’s friendship with the boy in the fireplace continued and many a servant within the Mansion came to believe the Young Lady’s friend was a ghost. The gem she had revealed the day he’d given it had baffled them for weeks before coming to this decision.

The sudden way they chose to explain the strange occurrences was upsetting for Lucy, aghast at how their smiles turned to humored confusion. Despite keeping it secret from her Father while believing it was a mere game created in her loneliness- even she could read the stares they gave her with ease. Worry, concern: fear.

Lucy knew they believed she was abnormal and the little blonde girl withdrew further into herself, opening up to her happier smiles only during the night as the fire glowed- even in the heat of summer.

“Won’t they get mad?” Natsu asked her once, worried the extra heat would have her taken away from the fireplace, but she shook her head, fingers tapping on a newer book she had just begun to read to him.

“It rains so much.” She explained, smile not reaching her eyes. “And it’s only for a little while so they don’t mind.” Or dare to tell her otherwise, she thought.  Time passed on and she grew a little older day by day- and Natsu soon appeared before her in cleaner clothes and happier complexion.

Well taken care of. The orphanage that had a foyer much like her own, seemed intent to make Natsu a proper little boy before long.  His smiles never changed despite the time going by and he still managed to tear holes in his pants or get dirt upon them with each new garment. Horse play, he had called it- the other boys (and his brother) often teased him and small fights would break out.  The tales he would tell her always sounded like he was surrounded by bullies, but the smile never faded.

“Nah, they’re my friends- sorta.” He explained. “Not like you. You’re special! But we’re all here tryin’ to get new parents- and Miss Anna always patches us up after! You should see the Scarf she’s been … err.. Sewing? I dunno what it’s called, but she uses these big sticks and-”

“Knitting.” Lucy answered for him, smile faltering just slightly. Other children had come to join him, all without parents, but somehow together all the same. It made the hollowness inside her own heart clench just slightly, a small seed of envy growing in the pit of her stomach. “She sounds like a wonderful lady. I wish I could meet her… “

She refused to water that seed, it wasn’t Natsu’s fault she was stuck, unable to see others. The closest to friends outside of him were the children who sometimes came along with their parents for visitation. Play dates, she had heard them all. All dressed in frills and taught the same as she, but none of them broke the mold of that life, none of them argued it.

They accepted and spoke as if she would one day be their wife. (As her Father only ever let her meet the young sons of these families, never the girls.) It made her wish, quietly, that she would never age.

“You know,” Natsu continued, playing with a new tear in his shirt, “Miss Anna looks sorta like you. You even have the same last names! - but when I asked her about having family in a fireplace, she just looked at me funny.”

“You dummy!” Lucy giggled, attention falling back on the other as she squinted through the flames at him, “Of course she look at you funny. No one has family in a fireplace!” He pouted, arms crossed as he stubbornly stuck his tongue out, “If you’re over there, then why not?”

Lucy had just been about to explain how it would be impossible (though, even she wasn’t altogether certain her opinion was correct) when she finally registered what he had been saying earlier. “- Well, because, fireplaces aren’t usually connected to other- … actually, now that I’m thinking of it, I used to have a great Aunt Anna, but I’ve never met her….”

“Really?” This sparked the boys interest, eyes lighting up eagerly, “Why?”

“I - “ Lucy paused, eyebrows scrunched together in her attempt to remember. “No one really told me. She didn’t pass away like Mama, I don’t think, but…  they always talk like she just disappeared.”

This revelation only made Natsu more excited, “Then she really COULD be Miss Anna!”

“No, that’s not possible!” Lucy’s denial was obstinate, a strange, almost apprehensive feeling boiling into the pit of her stomach, but her friend didn’t notice, excitedly waving his arms about. “Natsu, it’s not- that was before I was even born, she’d be REALLY old if she was your Miss Anna!”

He froze, lips frowning as his eagerness died like an ember. “Oh, well, that’s no fun… it would have been great if you were related.”

“What makes you say that?”

Natsu shrugged, responding without a second to think, “‘Cause it would mean there’s a way for me to actually see you.”

The little girl didn’t have a reply. The former boiling inside her had changed to fluttering and her face warmed. Natsu as very good at making her feel butterflies, often blushing from the simplest of phrases. To her luck, the boy never noticed, thinking the redness on her cheeks was merely from the fire and nothing more.

This time was no different, but her fingers shyly rung together on her lap and she shyly glanced back through the small lashes of her eyes. His own cheeks seemed to darken in response, but the smile never faded.

He was just like that at times.

The closest it came to the next winter, it became more difficult to sneak out at night. Her responsibilities were growing- the times Lucy would awaken each day: earlier. Her Father and tutors were preparing her for something, but she couldn’t glean a hint from a single person. Each night she would sneak out to the fire place, her time to stay grew shorter and Natsu began to notice, becoming increasingly more disappointed each time.

Lucy began to wonder if perhaps one of the servants had told her Father, and he was purposefully keeping her busy to ward off ill rumors. The thought made her feel sick, unwilling to even imagine a time when she couldn’t visit him.

“You need more sleep.” He told her one morning, watching the little blonde yawn over her breakfast, head nodding each time her eyes slid shut. Lucy’s constant yawns caused a crease in his brow, eating calmly despite the tension in the air. “Should we look into sleep medication, again?”

The mere thought made the sleep leave her eyes instantly. A memory resurfacing of the time just after her Mother’s funeral- screaming fits and inability to sleep, often ended in being made to drink a bitter substance that had her sleep for hours on end. She shook her head, “N-no, I’m fine Father, I’m not having trouble sleeping.”

She still wasn’t willing to try to explain Natsu’s existence and a sudden comment from the butler had her staring wide eyed, silently begging he wouldn’t give it away. The man in question, gulped and nodded his head, offering to refresh the morning tea instead.  Lucy breathed a sigh of relief, never noticing the observant stare Jude had given her.

Lucy clung to the crystal Natsu had given her that evening while she snuck from her room. Over the last year the small item had become a charm for her. She felt as if it gave her good luck and courage each time she kept it close and Natsu had smiled as if it were his own birthday the night she had told him these feelings. He liked the idea as much as she.

“Maybe it’ll get so lucky that you won’t have to keep going to bed early!” He stated, minutes after his visage had appeared within the flames that night. Lucy could only hope i would come true, biting back another yawn.

“If it does that, then I’ll believe you’re magical.” She admitted, sleepily, eyes nearly fluttering shut as they had that morning. A loud clap from the other side startled her into waking and she blinked towards the boy- his expression worried.

“Lucy…” He murmured after a time, inching closer to the flames until she could hardly discern where he ended and the fire began. “You don’t… you don’t HAVE to come down here if it’s gettin too hard. You need sleep-”

She knew he meant well, and adored him for it, but shook her head. “I’m fine!  It would be so lonely if I didn’t get to see you. You’re my best friend!”

Natsu’s chest puffed out a little, smile full and bright, “You’re mine too- that’s why I don’t want ya wearing yourself out just for me. Not that I don’t want ya here, I just…” Want you to be okay. He never finished his sentence, words trailing off while they stared at one another.

Their conversation that night seemed almost solemn, Lucy even forgot to bring a book to read. Her favorite one telling the most beautiful of Fairy Tales. She had wanted to share all of them and Natsu had grown to look forward to every new story she told. Not that night. Instead they spoke in hushed whispers while he urged her to sleep, ‘Even if down here! I can watch you until the fire dies!’

Lucy continued to refuse. Times were changing and she could feel it, the little girl was being called a lady, her education becoming all the more complicated. She knew what that meant for girls in noble families. Though she silently hoped her fate would not be the same Or, at the very least, she could have just one more year before being considered an adult.

Just one more year, that’s all she asked.  Sighing, she realized, almost too late, that she had begun to nod off again and quickly moved to sit on her knees, scowling at Natsu. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Sorry, but I didn’t wanna try and wake ya again if you dozed off for good.”

“You should wake me every time!” She huffed! Clenching the gem within her pocket once more. A small idea began to form into her head then, lips quirking at the plan. “Do you remember how I said I would find you the perfect gift?”

His smile lessened to a curious head tilt as he slowly nodded, “Of course I remember. Cause I gave you my Mother’s crystal.  You don’t HAVE to give me somethin’ though-not right now, at least.”

The gears in her head were working over time through her sleepiness and with a lethargic, contemplative movement, she slowly reached for a small necklace chord that she kept around her neck. It was a long, rope necklace she couldn’t wear during the day and it dangled down beneath her night dress, hidden from view on most nights.

A tiny, bronze key, weathered from age- she held it close to her chest even as it was removed from her neck. “I keep this hidden most days,” She admitted quietly, fingers running across the small item, “- but it was my Mama’s, too. She called it a skeleton key.”

“What’s that?” Natsu asked, eyes wide, “it sounds pretty interesting-”

“It’s supposed to open any door.” Lucy answered, staring at it fondly before taking in a deep breath. She stilled for a second, as it to prepare herself, before her small arms tossed it through the Flames. “Catch!”  

She heard it tink on the floor and the boy gasp as he scrambled to grab it, cursing quietly as he went. “Shi- I mean, hold on, I’ll get it, no wait, it’s here-? Damni- no, I mean. Aww, Miss Anna is gonna be so mad if she knows I’m talkin’ like that! Ah! Got it!”

Natsu sprung back in view, triumphantly holding up the small corded necklace, grinning widely at the small key.  Lucy smiled in relief, giggling at his antics and pretending not to have heard his potty mouth. She would let it slide, and let Miss Anna deal with him if it continued.  Her laughter came out like tiny bells, echoing off the wall and Natsu’s own laughter joined hers.

A sudden loud slam of a hand on wood shocked them from the moment, Lucy’s heart leapt into her throat , entire body alert to the noise. Turning around, brown eyes widened as she looked upon the entry way, eyes meeting the harsh, angry, gaze of her father.  Jude stood in his own sleep clothes, a lit candle in one hand: eye twitching as his hand slowly slid from the wall.

“Lucy!” He barked, glancing about the room, “Is this what you’ve been doing all this time? You’re too tired to learn because you’re laughing at the walls?!”  Shriveling back, the tiny girl felt all her happy feelings escape her body, limbs feeling heavy like stone. Jude stomped his way through the room, eyes narrowed and a terrified gasp escaped her-

“I-I’m sorry!” She cried, legs wobbling as she tried to move to her feet. “I Just- I- “ Natsu! Yes- fingers pointing towards the fire, she tried to explain herself. “Father, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you during the day, but I have a friend, right there!  That’s why I’m up- !!”

The sudden strong hand that gripped her arm made a surprised whimper escape, pulling yanked towards her feet as the much taller man hissed at her to shut her mouth. His eyes glanced once towards the fire, but flickered back towards her not a second later, cold fury bunched in in his tightened jaw. “Enough! Your Mother filled your head with inane stories when she was alive, but you should be over this by now! No more talking of boys in fire places!”

It was like a bucket of ice had been dumped down her spine. He knew. He knew after all. Someone had told him, but when? Who? Hot tears stung at Lucy’s cheeks as she tried, once again, to make him notice the fire. Why couldn’t she hear Natsu? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“- It’s not talk, he’s really there- !“ Eyes casting upon the fireplace while feet slammed to the floor, trying to hold her place even as Jude began to pull her form the room- little Lucy met the surprised, stunned eyes of Natsu, through the flames. Hope surged within her, “He’s here! Just- look! Please! He’s right there!”

“Lucy-?!” Natsu questioned, voice strangely matching the hissing of the flames, face paler than she had ever seen it before. “Lucy!  I’m here, can you hear me?! Let Lucy go, you’re hurting her!”

His voice, rising over the roar of flames, did not meet Jude’s ears. His grip tightened as Lucy’s body was forced into the hall and a servant called to dispel the flames. Worried shrieks escaped her mouth as she reached for the door frame, desperate to stay in place. To prove her point. Could he not see Natsu?

“Let her go, let HER GO!” The boy was hissing, hand reaching out as if to reach for her, but reflexively yanking back as the fire licked at his fingers. “I’m going to save you, Lucy! I will!”

Save her? It was all a blur, she couldn’t understand, but the tears stained her cheeks and she nodded, body going limp as Jude finally wrestled her into his larger arms, carrying her up the stairs.

“I will NOT have a daughter speaking to walls and fires! This is the last straw Lucy!” He admonished, trudging up the stairs while his daughter’s eyes watched the flickering embers be dispersed- Natsu’s voice echoing even as the wall slowly reappeared.

“Finishing School. As soon as possible. No more late nights for you!”

To Lucy’s horror: he meant it.

“LUCY!”

[minsuxga]

Anagapesis

(n.) No longer feeling any affection for someone you once loved; falling out of love.

Inspired by the quote:  “How selfhood begins with the walking away and love is proved in the letting go.”

Summary: Falling in love with Yoongi was easy. Watching him fall out of love with you was hard and there was only little you could do but hope that he found his way home after long nights of being away.

Genre: !Yoongi! + angst + fluff (i swear there’s a happy ending)

Word count: 12.7k 

A/N : Initially, I was really hesitant about posting this. Most of the story really taps into raw emotions and personal experience and if im honest, I put my soul into writing this. I really hope you guys like it. I’ve spent ages on this and i’m so sorry about my semi-hiatus turned hiatus but im back! Please, please, tell me how you guys feel about it! criticisms and comments are v much appreciated. 

You don’t realise.

Maybe you do. Yet, only fail to accept the gnawing pang in your heart that screams to be acknowledged; tucked down every time you force to assure yourself more often than not these days that he loves you, he had to love you – right?

You say you don’t realise but you do, you definitely do, when the morning rays hit the bedsheets and a soft warm glow fills the room and your heart still stings like something akin to how an ice burn would.

You notice with a miserable ache that the bed feels as cold to touch as his skin and the icy miles you’ve put between yourselves is unbearable but neither of you stretches arms to each other to break the iceberg in the middle that hovers in the air in all its apparency.

An iceberg like a constant reminder that there was something obviously wrong in this relationship. Something that neither of you would yield to yet lying to yourselves to say you didn’t notice, fearful of the prospect of what happened when you did.

And his skin, God, his skin was smooth like untouched snow and the warming sunrise hues melted his ivory skin that stained the sheets like ichor into puddles of perfection.

And he looked like a porcelain doll and you could count numbers like the strands of his dark hair sprawled like a fan on the pillows of reasons listing why you loved him, why you’d fallen in love with this man who’d given you nothing more than the infinity and murmured soft kisses into your neck under the witness of the stars and the watchful moon.

The man who had caressed your skin under the soft moonlight, under the gaze of Artemis and the reigns of her night sky that he’d be with you till the ends of the world and beyond.

Loving him was supposed to be infinite. Yet the assurance of infinity was fragile and fell from the safety of your fingers like glass. A clumsy mistake. A hopeless desperation. Shards too sharp and painful to touch and only a longing stare to redo the past differently in its wake.

And here, laying together but not fully together you realised with a daunting recognition that this infinity that you’d proclaimed with naïve hopes and dreams was finite and finishing.

The seeds of a blooming relationship that you had once possessed had seeped into the earth. A connection that had seemed as impossible to break and decipher as the roots of noble trees, giant in age and true in their confidentiality was only the waterlogged earth gulping for breath at your feet.

And as much as you had hoped that your connection would remain as vibrant and prosperous like the first time it had taken to flourish, it was feeble against the change of seasons where flourished flowers kneeled before time and were helpless into becoming decaying ones.

You chastised yourself at the same clueless optimism that you had used to believe that this intimacy, this tenderness that was supposed to be stronger than its fragile appearance would breed life into the darkness of the earth and turn greyish leaves into burning red ones.

Golden speckled like embers and suffer forged and furious, resembling the autumn months did you believe that your love willed anger into a drive for its survival.

You were blind-eyed and walking in a fantasy that was as childlike as your want for the past.

In reality, love was weak and resembled more like the sand that slipped between your fingertips and seemed too far spread to collect, to piece back together like the small world you’d held in the palm of your hands for so long – till now.

For now you could only hang onto each of his words because your relationship to you was like a story. You’d come to the last few sentences and your heart tugged at the thought that you’d one day have to place your eyes on a final single word and a full stop to end whatever this was and close the book despite your stubbornness to stare at it forever.

And you stared at his back as the morning hues took a dullish turn and your monochrome bedroom resembled the dark turn of your life and the never-ending routine you would have to subject yourself to once more – one more day again and again till months passed and one more day was only a reminder that it would eventually only be one more day.

Laying here in the early break of dawn, his body tired out from the hours spent at the studio, you continued to stare at his back, vast as the oceans between you and thought about how he seemed too far away on the bed to be even considered to be sleeping with you.

Staring at his back, as cold and distant to you as the frosty evenings and conversations, you yearned for the memories where he’d turn around, like a sixth sense tingling in his sleep as if he’d known that you were staring and grumble to ask why you were awake and cross the mountains of pillows to pull you under his chin and drowsily tell you to go to sleep.

However, this time like most days, you were met with a still silence and an acknowledgment that those were memories – and memories were things of the past.

So here in your present, Yoongi the best present life had given you, you crossed the mountains of pillows today instead, a bold move and an even more labouring task that caused a quickening of your breath and a rapid thud at your heart against your ribs and you pulled yourself to rest your head in the nook of his spine knowing that he wouldn’t move and in the next hours you’d find yourself miles apart again and tried to assure yourself that nothing was wrong and that everything was okay like it had always been and this time you tried to pretend like he was telling you to go to sleep like he always did.

And you just wanted to sleep not to take solace in slumber but simply because you wanted to live in the land of dreams and fairy tales because you were simply too afraid to wake up and try your hand at another day of avoiding the problems that were becoming far too apparent to be ignored. You were too afraid to come to the terms with the fact that nothing was okay-

That nothing had been okay between you two in a very long time.

And in this present, lying next to him, you only sought to find sleep in the comfort of your lies and pretence and could only hope that you would wake up the day you didn’t need to anymore.

When you met him, he was a man that lacked in words.

Yet, his unwillingness to talk to you was enough to get you intrigued, entranced by the old soulful eyes that took you on journeys and held enough conversations that let you pry into the intimates of his life even without him opening his mouth.

And you travelled his little world in the few seconds you glanced into his brown eyes and you were left with a thirst, a desperation, a want needed to be quenched to see more, to know more.

And his silence and his stubbornness to take a foot forward towards you was the lack of a welcoming hand despite your persisting attempts to be patient and determined even when he wasn’t.

At first, he tried his very best to wave off your irritating attempts in getting to know him, tried to stop you from pursuing your efforts of reading into his story, prying open every cobwebbed page rotting away with years of feelings untouched and forgotten, suppressed into little lines and far too great a book.

You, however, were vibrant as the world that existed around him, a world that had lost his touch and seemed far too distant and tasteless.

And the world, this world he’d once wanted nothing more to do with was grey and monochrome yet your smile breathed light and colour into the ends of the earth that made him want to explore it again to see just what it was that could make you shine so brilliantly- god, he wanted to see it too.

You were bright, you were warm and homey and everything he needed to feel at home again. You were everything he wasn’t and so you moulded into the figures and curves of his body with perfection and your smile and your giddy laughter was contagious and he understood.

God, standing with you he understood that there were somethings in life that could make you too happy to explain.

He understood only by kissing you, on the same lips you used to smile as if the earth was star speckled and coated in fairy dust and magic- that this was what made you shine so brilliantly.

And he understood and more often than not, he’d find himself forgetting who he was, who he was supposed to be and letting himself delve into the little wonders of life that were you.

Together, you bred life into his little storybook. You named every character and held his hand and went over the fading ink so that it was new again and where once even smiling your way and any sort of contact or brief communication was something far too great a distance for him to fathom – he’d found himself miles away from where he’d started, travelled the distance and voyaged every corner of the world by the end of every sitting with you – creeping closer and closer to a territory that Yoongi would have easily expanded on the same earth he’d once found tiresome to share with you.

When in love, what time was there to think about technicalities?

 With Yoongi, there was a lot of things you’d found yourself having to become accustomed to.

You’d found yourself accustomed to the door and every one of its dents. You had stared at every stain with a straining sigh and a soft shake of your head.

You’d found yourself noticing the way the hinges had started to come of the door handle, time worn on the metal as a reminder that you’d been doing this for too long- waiting into the dead of the night for him to enter the door despite your knowing that this was another one of those days where he’d lay his head down and find sleep in the discomfort of his studio chair.

You’d found yourself accustomed to the repetitive routine of repeated events, accustomed to staring at the steam blow off the hot plated dinner into the vacancy of the room to keep you company before the stumbling footsteps at the door once you’d thrown most of it into the trash.

You’d become accustomed to the apologies murmured into the crook of your neck and the arms tight around your waist to yield your disappointment into understanding and you had become old and aged at the empty promises he’d leave on your skin and down your body of a fancy dinner the next night.

It's the same cold, cold night where he’d leave you dressed only to cancel, leaving your hopes and dreams at the foot of the doorstep, not so brave to leave the home and unwavering against the apology texts and more promises of next time that have snaked into an anxiety that pleads him not to because you’re sick of hoping to be anything but disappointed.

You had become accustomed to shaking your head and assuring yourself that his lack of time for you was okay because his work was unpredictable in the way that his actions weren’t.

But you are accustomed to it- you’re used to it. You’ve adapted and learned to change your ways to fit around your emotions because that’s what you’ve been born to do. Born to change and adapt and survive. You’ll make it survive.

So it doesn’t bother you. Despite the fact that everything in your heart yells at you in foolery, in a desperation to be acknowledged that it most certainly does.

And the days move on and dates on the calendar continue unstopping until the summer months welcome the winter ones until they yield their great leaves in surrender, bow their fiery colours for cold ones and take arms to a change inevitable and happening.

You watch the world embrace the frost and the edge of a softening glaze of white and silver and you listen as the sounds of happy summer children turn into carols that light up the sky in a brilliance that is as bright as the fairy lights that follow it.

You remain in your still world, watching the world change, adapt, repeat its cycle from the moment you feel the glaring heat on your flesh. Sweat wet against your skin changing to the soft snow beneath your fingertips, white as far as you could see and resembling the uncertainty of your future, bleaching your relationship in a single colour that made you nostalgic for the colours it couldn’t fathom any more.

And days turn into months and the world doesn’t stop for you despite your longing for it to wait- in a hope that one day you’ll catch up, stop stumbling like a shadow behind it and grip onto anything despite your dizzying fatigue because you simply couldn’t. You couldn’t adapt. You couldn’t change.

You couldn’t yield to a normality with Yoongi that was simply too bleak and dull in comparison once he’d shown you all the colours in the world.

How could you get used to the simplicity of a single thing when you’d felt it all?

It’s a familiar darkening night, the only difference being the change in the moon and the position of the blinking stars that watched on the repetition of the world under it.

The same darkening night, one that’s ripped away the warmth and sea of pinks and red and gold, distinguished the inferno that spread across the horizons and set the world ablaze into an emptiness, a dark aftermath that was nothing less of a still silence that rocked the earth.

And the stars, the stars were the only evidence that it had ever happened. Resting above heads and easily overlooked, the stars were the witness, the fall-out of the flames, now scattered like soft embers into the stillness of the onyx sky.

And it’s during these very nights that you begin to notice the way his apologies slowly start to disappear, how they meld into a mutual acceptance of how certain things will be in a fixture too permanent for either of you to change.

You begin to notice how his kisses have faded into mere imprints, sunk deep into the skin for you to rack your brain in remembrance of what they felt like when they were still fresh on the surface. You notice the lack of limbs around your body, his body etching further and further away on the bed until you’ve settled into a distance that you fear to cross.

You notice the vacancy of his voice in the room- how even in the morning with the vibrant sun, the house makes you shiver in something other than just the cold, lacking in his warming laugh and your giddy happiness, of days where you’d move across the kitchen in a choreography only the two of you could dance in.

Now, you feel like a phantom in your own home, gliding with a heavy heart as if searching the place in a desperation for memories. And Yoongi, Yoongi couldn’t even be called a ghost. His presence so void from the home that he was anything but the occupant that haunted it.

It’s one of those nights, emotions of something akin to loss mingling with the emptiness of the home and it’s suffocating silence, you continue to the stare at the door with the same naïve hope and foolish optimism that he’d be back soon- that he’d take his seat in the chair that almost stared back at you with a pity you couldn’t help but wallow in.

And the silence that followed you as you sighed, the screeching of your chair being the only sound to accompany you as you discarded the remains of your dinner reminded you of the things you’d long noticed and long since avoided, remaining mum about the paranoia’s that had settled in your chest and had crept into the little crevices of your body.

And you continued to think, grabbing a blanket from your room and treading back towards the couch to lower yourself, pulling the soft fabric under your chest as if to cocoon you, to fight away the stupid, stupid feelings of loss- what were you loosing? And still staring at the door in a sadness that wasn’t necessarily directed at anything but the goddamn door.

Time seemed to tick on and fatigue had long since settled into your temples and you fought to keep your eyes open, shaking off the way they draped over your eyes in a darkness you could lull yourself to sleep to but there was a yearning, a need for him to prove himself different today, to be awake when he did.

But the time didn’t slow and the creeping anxiety finding comfort inside you was enough to tell you that some things were bound to break no matter how hard you tried to preserve it.

And it was almost two and your back hurt from finding solace in the couch, tucking yourself into the plush material in the hopes that you could close your eyes and find the same magic, the same comfort that it used to.

You were desperate for some sort of normality, for it to just go back to the way it used to be but this house was full of memories and the man who lived in it a mere stranger.

And it hurt, broke your heart to think that the promises of the world and forever, of an endless love and an unconditional fairy tale was nothing more than a storybook, a fiction and a tale that would never be.

When had the title to claim the love of your life simply become a title with no claim? And you wondered, pondered under the night sky and the blinking stars in the hopes that it would qualm your distress.

In the hopes that it would offer you advice for the man that jumped at the opportunity to travel to the ends of the world and beyond for you- had beyond become too tiresome for him to continue?

And it was on the couch when you heard the keys click and the door creak open, heard him sigh and kick off his shoes and you only listened as he pattered through the home, his eyes merely resting on yours before passing you without even the word of acknowledgement, no reprimanding that you shouldn’t stay awake, no kiss on the forehead, no promise, nothing- nothing but the stillness and suffocation of a silence that said more than the words he lacked in wording to you.

You waited, waiting long before he’d retreated back into your bedroom without you till you broke down, till you made memories of a teary night on the couch that once held a history of a love story for the ages.

And you sobbed into the night, the twinkling stars staring at you with sympathy you didn’t want and you heaved, weeping sorrowfully because Min Yoongi was too far now and things weren’t the same.

You cried because he was your best friend, the person you confided in. Yet in your difficulties today, you were no one to him to weep your worries to.

And you cried, cried till your eyes were heavy with tears and sleep and everything in between and your woes fell deaf to his ears because behind closed doors, Yoongi slept and found solace in the world without you.

You weren’t losing Yoongi. How could you lose something you’d already lost? How could you preserve something that had long since been broken?

In time, you’d simply force yourself to adapt to the constant changes that were Yoongi and his attitude towards you. You’d stopped questioning the way things were and why there were and simply accepted the reality that things weren’t the same and ultimately, would never be again.

The emotion you’d tried so hard to suppress, the growing fear that you’d tried to stifle, tried breaking apart was resurfacing. In the end, behind closed doors and hidden frowns there was the undeniable reality that had you shaking your head, spending moments in front of the mirror to deny in order to drown down your anxiety.

There was the simplicity of a few words that weighed down your heart like the many- a few words that you’d forced yourself to look away from but there was no denying the undeniable, a reality so very real and despite it being deep as the bergs that bred in secrecy- it was like the smoke of a fire you couldn’t hide- one you couldn’t run from.

A simple truth, an inevitable happening: he had fallen out of love with you.

In the end, the truth congregated- gathered like clouds and came for you on dark nights and even darker days. Even the sunshine couldn’t act as a veneer anymore to the change that was inevitable like the sun setting above the horizons and the night appearing, night after night without fail.

You could regret, regret the days you’d taken with him for granted or regret the way things had become. You could long all you wanted for a world painted in colours once you couldn’t fathom them anymore.

Despite the world seemingly mostly black and white these days, your relationship with Yoongi unspoken and dulled down- there was a regret that burned deep inside you, clenched within your core because outside your dreary days is a world that moves spontaneously.

It pains you, to watch Yoongi belong to that world of colours and ignore that everything wasn’t okay. It pains you after seeing, after feeling all those colours, to be told to settle for shades of grey.

And when you wake up in the morning you aren’t surprised that the bed is completely cold and you don’t need to turn away from the ceiling to know that Yoongi’s already left and there’s not a single memo that could have reminded you that he was ever here to begin with.

Achingly, you force yourself up, running your hands over your face and sighing into the emptiness of the room before removing the covers off your body and readying yourself for another day filled with mundane tasks in a silent home filled with your conundrum of thoughts.

You almost dread how you’ve been given the day off work, a soft pat on the back from your boss who claimed you’d been overworking yourself and should take the day off.

However, looking around the house you wish almost longingly that you were back in the security of your workplace, distracting yourself amongst the papers and co-workers. Anything but here. Anywhere but the place that day by day felt less and less like home.

You sighed into your coffee mug, staring into the same kitchen that would be bumbling with noise had it been a few months back; Yoongi making his way over to peck your forehead, your temple, anything, everything, on the days he’d lie in and take comfort in the curves of your body instead but it’d been months and his habits had faded away and you felt stupid standing there making food for two because yours hadn’t yet.

“I should take him some.” You say to yourself, your fingers fumbling around the containers as you try to reassure yourself that this way okay, that you always used to bring him food and surprise him at the studio because he loved it. Why would it be any different now? “He probably hasn’t eaten.”

And despite having everything changed, if there was one thing about Yoongi and his personality was his forgetfulness and how caught up he’d get in his work to forget the simple necessities he needed like eating.

Any other day you might have texted him but this wasn’t like any other days and your phone was as void as ever in a silence he seemed adamant to maintain.

You were aware that you were talking to yourself, almost chanting the words as if they would ease the fear of doing this trivial gesture that should feel like nothing to you but do. You hoped that this, this could be taking the first steps to at least try and salvage the bits of your relationship while you could. You hoped maybe this would be the start of a new beginning, maybe he’d come back to you. Maybe.

And you don’t know what possesses you, what takes over you but your standing in front of his studio with a bag filled with all his favourite foods.

You can’t help but feel childish, like this wasn’t something you should be doing but here you were, a foot away from his studio door with an irrational fear of what would happen when you entered.

You almost felt like you were suffocating. Here, entering a room with a man that was practically a stranger to you now with an emotion that felt too much like the end. In hindsight, you could have said you’d known, that you’d felt it coming and maybe it was for the best but in that very moment, after months of uncertainty, you were firm in believing that today would be different.

After all, something had to break to allow change; whether that be you or your relationship.

With a heavy heart and a shuddering sigh, you closed your eyes and reached to turn the handle to the door that you knew all too well, spending far too many nights crashed on the couch when Yoongi overworked into the night or listening to the unfinished music fill the room- basking in the security that was simply your boyfriend.

This time, the door creaked and groaned under your touch and the magic that you’d always felt in this room that was all too Yoongi were lost and you stared at his back, you were always staring at his back, watching him get further and further away from you.

His face was scrunched up in the way you knew was utter concentration, his headphones around his neck and staring into his lyrics completely and utterly oblivious to the world around him.

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure of yourself anymore and the confidence you had to salvage the remnants of a dying relationship had withered away.

It struck you just how much you didn’t belong in this world, how much he’d pushed you away and just how much distance had grown between you that the few feet that separated the two of you now couldn’t compare in comparison.

The studio had been a place that you had associated with fond memories, yet standing in the middle of it all with not so fond feelings stirring inside your belly made you realise the sheer emptiness of it all; that everything was simply a reminder and there was nothing you could do that would change that.

You felt like you were staring at a picture.

You could remember every feeling, every laughter that you’d felt captured into a single moment adorned with great smiles and even greater emotions but standing here in the aftermath of memories cemented how you couldn’t recreate pictures.

No matter how long you stared at it, it was just a remnant of a single past moment amongst the countless of many futures.

You coughed. He turned. And you watched his brow furrow, staring at your figure in confusion as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were here.

“What are you doing here?” and his voice is void of its usual pleasant surprise and it cements just how much has changed between you and though you expected every bit of it, it doesn’t stop your heart from dropping. He sounded exasperated, tired.

He’s tired of you, a little voice in your head said and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t know but unlike Yoongi, you weren’t tired of him and this was your last attempt, your little act of selfishness- holding onto him because you wanted to slow down the moment you had to let go.

“I brought food.” You said softly, stating the obvious and pulling up the contents in your hand to show him the bag filled with all the delicious meals that only makes your stomach churn but your particular response isn’t the answer to the question he’s looking for.

Here, staring back at a stranger it’s obvious that you don’t know this man and his brown orbs scream nothing but unfamiliarity to you now- he was asking why you were here. His real question left unasked in the air but one you could read with ease. Why were you still trying?

“Oh,” Yoongi says and he’s looking anywhere but at you when you leave it on his side. “Thanks.”

Was that it? Was he supposed to say something? Were you? But you know it’s your cue to leave when he doesn’t say anything else, when he doesn’t acknowledge you and doesn’t ask you to stay but instead moves to put his headphones back on.

You wonder then, just when did your relationship result in this? Just when did his warm affections become nothing more than cold glances and you can’t help but stare at him with a longing in your chest, a desire to stomp on all the floors and pull a tantrum because you just want to go back, you just want him to love.

You wanted him to look at you, come back with the same vibrant smile you were used to.

You wanted him to love you but fuck, did he even know what loving you was when you were sure he’d fallen out of it?

You stared at his back. You hated staring at his back.

You hated how closed off he’d become, how your attempts at trying to rekindle your relationship bounced off the same goddamn back. You didn’t even realise you were crying, hot tears forging paths down your warm cheeks. Ironic because he’d done nothing but make you feel cold all these months.

And from the way his body stiffens when a sob breaks from your chest and fills the room, from the way he stops himself from looking at you, a deep sigh resounding against your harsh breaths as if he knew it was coming, you know he’s heard.

“Look at me.” You sob angrily, a fierce fire bubbling in your stomach because enough was enough. Because you couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep ignoring.

You couldn’t do this to yourself. You couldn’t continue to live unhappily because you were trying to save something that didn’t want to be saved. “Just this once, look at me.”

And he does and there’s enough emotion in Yoongi’s own eyes for you to know that this is it, that there was no going back from this.

It almost surprises you though, when you see a deep sadness coat over his orbs, a pain present and upfront and inevitable. Even if he didn’t love you now, he had once and letting you go meant letting go of all your memories; of all the things he’d fallen for and all the things he’d adored.

Letting you go was like burning a photobook of a life he’d long since outlived and grown out of. The only reason he’d kept on so long was because of the little attachment he had left, because you had been there when the days and years moved on and when the summer months welcomed the winter ones.

You were there on the same nights, listening with him when the sounds of happy summer children turned into carols that lit up the sky in a brilliance that was as bright as the fairy lights that followed it. You were there, with him, under the same sky that had witnessed it all. The same sky that could retell your history like the stars it had unfolded beneath.

Letting you go was like burning a photobook of a life he’d long since outlived and grown out of but him damned, he didn’t want to let you go because he was scared to make a new one.

“I’m so sick of this.” You cried, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Who are we fooling? Ourselves?”

And you didn’t need an answer and Yoongi only soaked in your appearance, tear-stricken and racking horribly. Your big sparkling eyes had been dulled down with the tears he had caused you, a fire dancing across the softs of your cheeks in a way he knew was only anger, disappointment.

And he hated it. He wished he could take you in his arms and mumble away your woes but he didn’t love you in the way he had and he felt so guilty for falling out of love with someone who’d taught him what love was.

He hated how he was the one who had been the one to suffocate your relationship even after multiple tries when you were the one that had breathed life into his mundane world.

“We don’t even look at each other anymore.” You whispered and he hated how fragile you looked, how the strongest woman he knew crumbled in a state that was as sad as this. And you hated it yourself, hated yourself for succumbing to this. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when we both know it isn’t. It’s just not fair.”

“If I went wrong, if something happened, just tell me. Just tell me how we can fix this” You sobbed desperately and this was it, this was the last and you knew all too well that you couldn’t fix anything and there was nothing you’d done wrong.

Now, here, in that moment, you drank Yoongi in like it was the last time you’d ever be intoxicated.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, because he was sorry and he’d forever be sorry and there was nothing he could do now. Even then he could hardly get himself to look at you.

Despite anticipating his words with every ounce of salt in your body, every hope crushed the moment you’d first walked in through door, it did nothing to ease your pounding heart and you couldn’t stop it when your lip quivered and you had to just stand there embracing yourself when the onslaught of tears came flooding in.

You didn’t know how long you had stood there but it was enough time for you to realise that there was nothing more either of you could say now.

After months of beating around the bush, you’d finally addressed the elephant in the room, finally cut through the tension that had built up in your home and scouted the replies to questions you already knew the answers to.

You and Yoongi were breaking up. After years together, you’d continue apart like individual people on individual paths.

“I’m sorry too,” You said once you’d composed yourself. You were sorry because you hadn’t tried hard enough or maybe because you had longed this out for far too long. You were sorry because you couldn’t keep all the promises you made to him, that he couldn’t keep his.

Sorry because after months of silence where you’d spent endless nights going over what you’d say to him and then finally arriving here- you’d said nothing. Because there was nothing.

Because more was said in the unsaid.

Because he didn’t have to say any more for you to know because you couldn’t scream and cry when it’d been coming and it was more of a matter of when you ended it than how you’d amend it.

You don’t linger much after that, stay only a few more moments to soak in his milky skin, his pretty brown eyes that searched anywhere but yours, his dark hair before turning to walk out of the door with a greater purpose than when you had entered it.

You’d missed the way Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, how his stomach churned at the sight of your food and despite having turned back to his music, there was nothing he could focus on more than you.

He should have been happy. He should have been relieved but his heart feels heavier than ever and he regretted that he couldn’t stare at you enough, his first love, before you disappeared in an air colder than the one he’d given you.

He was a coward but he regrets how he can’t even cower in his emotions before you. A woman made of fire and ice and everything in between.

It doesn’t take you long to gather your stuff.

It doesn’t take you long to collect all the pieces in your- his home. Bundling up all the things that were you and yours before leaving the house in a manner that resembled the state before you’d met him, back when your shirts hadn’t started appearing in his drawers, when your toothbrush wasn’t placed next to his and back when the webs of his life weren’t entwined with yours.

And you can’t help but stare at this sad, sad place that you’d once called home; can’t help but trace over the furniture that had kept you company in months of solitude, accompanied you through bursts of tears and anger and though they might not remember it now, even times of great love and adoration that had once brightened your world in a comparison that could make even the sun yield.

You were quick on your feet, gathering with haste and dread and everything falls apart in your arms but you’re adamant on holding yourself together while you can, stubborn in forcing yourself to be level-headed because you didn’t want to be here when Yoongi got here.

His studio had been your last goodbye and there was no time for treacly sentiments if he came back and encountered you. Knowing him, he’d probably spend the night there anyway, his practice in avoiding you almost an art now. There would be no mistakes, no sentiments.

No weeping would change facts and your feelings despite heavy on your chest and though it felt like the world was falling apart, they were small, insignificant; minuscule against the vastness of the universe that you were nothing against.

Your existence was a speck of dust, your feelings yours and yours alone- one you couldn’t share, one you couldn’t voice.

A pain that was so very individual, so very yours that in the haste to grip onto your things, you’d dropped the strength that had held onto your emotions, unchained them, released an intensity that was wild, untameable.

The realisation of just how alone you were hit you so intensely that you could feel it burn in your core, a desire to rip out your insides and plead them to obey, to reason, please.

But feelings were wild, untameable and they were products of the heart and no matter how many times your mind concluded logically that this would pass, all things do, your heart felt like it was in pieces within your chest and God, you would do anything to make yourself feel whole again.

They’d never told you that love could hurt so hard, that the aftermath of love was just as intense as falling.

No one, no one could teach you heartbreak in the way you’d learn from experience. No one could teach you the magic of falling in love, the vulnerability, the passion, the intensity that could rival a flame and was as magical as the Garden of Eden, with every emotion as vast as the number of flowers that were adorned in it.

No one could teach you loneliness until the veneer that had shrouded your sorrows in a pink cloud of love had washed away in wisps of grey that magic was fleeting and love was as deceiving as the thorns that tempted naïve seekers. An attempt to grasp beauty, a futile venture to seek Eudaimonia.

The aftermath of love was one that was as bitter as it was sweet and the remnants made you feel empty, hollow and as vacant as the world you surrounded yourself in; especially when you hadn’t come out of love and only witnessed the dark truth and a cruelty of what happened when someone else did.

You were falling apart.

Your breath ragged and harsh and this house screamed finality. Vacant-looking and cold.

This would be the last time you stepped foot into this house, the last time you breathed into it, bred life into it and you didn’t know if the attachment was to the love couch in the middle of the room or the love you’d made on that couch that made you less wanting to let it go, to leave.

You were severing ties with things you’d familiarised yourself with, severing ties with years, severing ties with attachment- severing ties with Yoongi.

It would be the last time you would see Yoongi.

You wondered where love went when it died and almost laughed at yourself, a bubble of lacking laughter flittering in your chest because you were going to the same graveyard to be tucked in the very same coffin.

Who cared where love went when it died? Wherever it went, you were going too.

You couldn’t say that you were happy.

What was happiness if not momentary? But in hindsight, it was easy to see that the choice that he made, the choice that you made was something that allowed you to be happier.

It was a privilege, a liberty that was allowed to you after suffering for so long. It was an emotion so foreign, so invasive that you didn’t know when enough time had passed that you’d allowed it to crawl, travelling through blind spots and breaching apparent sight into the cracks that needed filling.

In time, you’d learn that memories made after him were memories as precious as they were with him and you didn’t need to feel guilty, gnawing on days that maybe, maybe, somewhere he’d made a mistake he’d come running to amend.

Gone were the days were you wallowed in self-pity, in self-hatred and clung onto your insecurities with the idea that they were the only things you were allowed to keep.

Now, your chest felt lighter, breathing was easy and the concept of feeling better after time had done its work on you, after hours turned into days and days into months into years- that this emotion wasn’t a foe but a friend come after long nights was a concept befriended.

Your try at being somewhat happy was overdue and though brief as all moments are, it was something that made you think that maybe the wait was worth it.

It wasn’t as if breaking up with him had meant a break up with love either. His absence didn’t scare you from the emotion and neither did its scars frighten you from approaching it time and time again.

You knew love in more forms than he had given to you and you didn’t need his to know, didn’t need his love in a dependency that was unhealthy and poisoning to know that even in the absence of receiving, you could give in abundance.

You gave it in the affection you had for your parents. You felt it in the adoration you had for the sky, the ground, your home and your cat and your work.

You knew love in the smiles of grinning faces, you knew love in the air around you and in the breaths you took throughout the day- platonic, materialistic, familial- you knew love because you’d been around it. It was a shame then that he simply hadn’t been in it with you.

It had been two years since you’d broken up with Yoongi.

Two years since you’d stormed out the home that the two of you had shared and found solace at your best friend’s house, sobbing well into her shoulder and allowing her to hold you, being the little stability that you needed, a pillar on whom you could rely on when your walls fell.

Two years since you’d asked her to pick up the last of your things, instructing her to leave the keys on the kitchen counter when she did and then residing with her until you could find your own place, gradually filling up the vacancy of your new apartment with things that were you and you alone.

Two years since you’d quit your job, tired of the mundane tasks, of the repetitive nature of days crouched over the computer, nodding insincerely at scoldings only to repeat the same things months on end in the room that resembled a prison cell.

Sick of routine, you take up spontaneity.

Grinning when you capture pictures that reflect the freedom in nature, stories behind old eyes and beaming smiles. Days are spent travelling, from wedding to wedding, tomorrow the lake, the day after the sea.

You voyaged from people to people, capturing the essence of one’s world into another’s.

You weren’t happy, who really was? But your life was happier and the air around you was softer, the colours in your home bright as if to aluminate the days you stay in bed, staring hours on end at the ceiling unable to find your path and lost as to where to go.

Two years since you’d pieced your world back together, gluing edge to edge with nothing but time on your hands and as if to apologise for your sorrows, the world was patient and allowed you to steady yourself again, allowed you the years, allowed you to grow and gain and change and learn.

You learned.

You learned with time that you were better than what you had accustomed yourself to, better than the long nights and dark days and better than what you’d been given and so you were allowed to go and demand more.

Two years was a long time and in that time, though you hadn’t forgotten Yoongi’s face or his solemn touch and his gummy smile, you’d learned that you were simply better without it.

You hadn’t had any awkward encounters and you avoid all the places you visited together, avoided the area around your old home and not once did he reach out and not once did you but the fondness in your heart was still present and despite everything, you couldn’t help but think that he still had always been the best for you.

Your first in many things and last in others, with Yoongi moments were countless but it had been two years and your heart didn’t ache at his name.

Your eyes could wash over his pictures in fondness over spite and despite it being two years and despite you having made your peace with your breakup, you couldn’t squash down the little bittersweet nostalgia and the acknowledgement that no matter how many dates you went on, how many people you met, there was a part of you that only ever wanted to love him.

A part of you that only ever wanted to be loved by him.

And here you were, years later, the woman you had always aspired to be. A woman that knew no chains and felt emancipation like the wind between the locks of your hair.

Frenzied, ungovernable and every bit free, you were achieving the world, beyond the promises he couldn’t keep to you. A woman who amounted to nothing less than the universe with a presence that demanded attention yet there was the void somewhere in your chest that you had suppressed over the years that demanded greater caring, a filling that was Yoongi shaped and unforgiving.

You could pretend that you’d moved on completely, could pretend that his name didn’t make your heart sigh in contempt, lost in worlds of what ifs and what could have been.

You could pretend that even years down the line he had no effect on you, pretend that silent moments sat on the sofa watching reruns of your favourite show didn’t sometimes lead to moments with him.

You could pretend that you didn’t still call into your apartment to inform whoever you were home despite there being no one there, pretend that buildings like the dingy café around the corner where’d you first met didn’t remind you of him.

You could pretend a lot of things but you’d be a fool to think that you were anything more than an actor. Actors pretended and what you felt didn’t feel like pretence.

You weren’t holding onto fragments, weren’t cradling them to your chest in an unwillingness to let go. You simply couldn’t delete the effects he’d on you, the changes you’d made as a result of being with him.

You simply couldn’t scare away the phantom that had been your first love and had learned as a result to live with him rather than hiding from him.

Time hadn’t made you forget. It had made it bearable. And though absence had made your heart grow fonder, history was a reminder that things of the past couldn’t be erased.

When you wake up, you simply can’t pin the bubble in your stomach and the soft jitters in your chest to a particular emotion. You can’t place word to face but there is something in the air that screams nostalgia.

All the daily norms that present themselves in the way the light bounces of the walls, how the house feels refreshingly warm and your cat lazy slings between your legs in her morning greetings seems nothing if not odd.

And you don’t know why you do and in hindsight you could blame it on the odd feelings that stir within your chest in a restless agitation to want pleased that you find yourself staring at the old coffee shop that you’d first met Yoongi with a little more than just longing.

You’d spent two years walking past it, never offering it more than a measly glance and a fond smile but there was something almost magnetic, appealing about the store in all its old and dinginess that has you standing before it today.

That after two years of religiously avoiding the café did your heart ache wistfully at the sight in a want to relieve old memories and feel emotions as ablaze as the first time you’d entered it.

You wondered if the feelings you’d buried were still present in the little quaint building, abundant with importance or whether time had nulled its flames and your reach for familiarity had simply wandered away like all good things do.

The café despite its overall unappealing exterior had always been your favourite. You had looked past the falling sign and the uneven canopy and found solace in the grounded coffee scent and the little bakery tucked in the back, finding home in wooden seats and warmed beverage that presented you with comfort on winter days and summer nights.

It was your little secret that hid in the corner in the heart of the town, almost always empty and quiet and very often overlooked.

It was your treasure, the same place where’d you’d met him, finding shelter on a rainy day that soaked through your clothes and had you shivering.

It was the same place you’d locked gazes with him, albeit unfamiliar then but familiar with the dullness in his eyes that had you forcing your way through his walls and layers to extend a friendly hand out.

It was the very same place that had you returning back on dates, familiarising yourself with the seat next to the window and the menu and him until it was practically tradition to sit across from each other on casual nights spent talking aimlessly until it closed.

So returning after two years of being away made you feel apologetic, feeling as though you’d neglected the place in your want to avoid the pain that came with reminiscing and almost repentant in your actions as you stepped inside, knowing nothing had changed and there was still the same wooden tables and the same barrister at the front but still washing your eyes over to drink it all in and playback memories of times before things had changed.

You walked over to the front and smile at the barrister in acknowledgement, wondering if she remembered you and by the way her grin grew and she looked almost surprised you think maybe she does.

“Hi,” You breathed. Your stomach felt a lot better than this morning and it struck you after finding yourself here so abruptly, overwhelmed with familiar smells of pastries and coffees that your want for a beverage was only stronger than ever. “Can I have a-“

“I’ve got it.” She interrupted and a large smile played on her lips as you stared at her in mild amusement.

“How did you-?” You trailed off, wondering how she could possibly remember your order after all these years of being away. Sure you’d been a regular customer but the odds that she’d remember your usual was almost touching in a sense.

“Boss often said we’d lost our best customer,” She replied, a strong glint in her eyes as she busied herself in preparing your drink, her voice soft as she spoke to you. “We don’t get many people but you were here always here without fail so we thought you’d moved away.”

“I’m sorry,” You offer and you really are, this place was like home to you and you’d avoided it in the want to let the past be the past. “It’s been a busy few years.” You told her and it’s half a lie because you have been busy. You been busy in finding yourself, in getting to know yourself and live by yourself.

You’d been busy in getting to know the little liberties that had made you you before you’d known Yoongi- the ones you’d lost in loving him and though you were past the point in your life where you wallowed in self-misery and nostalgia, you’d simply been carried away.

“I can imagine.” She sighed, finishing off the lasts of your coffee before turning to you with a slighter sadder smile. “He still comes here, you know.”

And you know exactly who’s she’s talking about and you can’t help the way your heart leaps at the mention of him, at the thought that he still comes to the same place that was important to you as it was to him, sitting down in the same cosy spot right by the window to mull over his music after long nights of needed solitude.

“Often looks like he’s looking for someone as if any day will be different than the previous,“ She continues, knowing the look on your face and despite only being acquaintances through the cafe knowing more about your love story than the rest.

And when she turns to you, she’s grinning wider than ever, almost glad that of all days, today was the day you’d decided to show up. And she hands you your coffee before she speaks again, and you look down to realise that it’s exactly how you like it, creamy and milky as always and years could pass but your taste most definitely hasn’t.

“I think he can stop looking now.”

And you don’t have any time to really ponder on her last words as she thanks you again, shaking her head at your questioning smile before you turn around, automatically moving towards the area you know best when you see him.

And its been two years but your stomach does backflips and your chest heaves and for a second you forget how to breathe. Your throat feels as if it’ll clam up anytime soon but he looks more beautiful than the last time you’d laid eyes on him.

And he sits there, by the window with dark hair and even darker eyes that contrast greatly with his milky skin, staring out into the streets and sipping at his coffee with his face pulled in a characteristic you know all too well is to show that he’s thinking.

Two years is a long time and he looks slightly older, more mature and his hair hangs low and brushes against his eyes, more rings adorned on his fingers and there’s something about him that screams difference, stranger but has your heart soaring in familiarity because god, you were a liar if you thought that you weren’t still in love with him and seeing him did damage to your strengthened heart. Even now, you could stare at him forever.

And you don’t know whether it’s the stubbornness to sit in the same spot that you’ve always sat, unwilling to sit any place else or simply to talk to him, to hear his voice that gives you strength, holding onto your cup with a firmness that is new to you when it comes to him and marching over with a sense of purposefulness that even you can’t place.

“Is this seat taken?”

And his head whips to look at you with his eyes blown wide and his pink lips parted in disbelief. He could recognise your voice anywhere.

He doesn’t speak immediately, rather taking you in standing before him after years had done its work on you for a few moments. You offered him a small smile in encouragement and his stomach churned unpleasantly because you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.

You were standing there before him with a cup of coffee, your hair shorter, your smile wider and he hated that in your last few months of being together he had stolen that from you. He hated how he’d made you feel, hated the way his stomach churned in guilt, in regret every time he thought of you.

The way you stood only indicated independence, promise and you were strong and holding yourself together with a new profound confidence that left him speechless, repentant for the wonders that were you and the ungratefulness that was him in ever letting you get away.

He could sit there and drink you in, mumble apologises into your skin for the rest of his days and search for any indication in your brown orbs for a hope, any hope that you still loved him.

He could call out for you, reach out for your hand and bring you home, re-find the corners he loved best and re-explore and voyage across the pages in a story that was yours.

He wants to apologise, wants to tell you about the mistakes he made. He wants you to understand him in the way he didn’t understand him, retell his account of those last moments. He wants to tell you about the days where he struggled, the days where he didn’t, he wants to confide in you in the ways he did time ago because this, you had once been his best friend and his world.

The thought is almost dizzying and instead he replies with an even smaller smile that resembles a grimace before gesturing to the chair in front of him because there is time for that and one day he’ll let you know. “Not at all.” Never for you, he wants to reply.

And it almost gives him déjà vu of the first time you’d met, when you’d fought for the seat in front of him and he’d given a slight nod unknowing of the years fate had planned for the two of you, only these were different circumstances.

In a way, he thinks that maybe you are meeting again for the first time, two years was a long time and it was apparent, with the way you approached him with nothing but loose ties and fragmented memories that you were two different people.

And it’s almost painful to think that had it been a few years back you would have bumbled in with a smile radiant enough to make the sun look dull and you would plant a kiss to his lips and you two would sit there, sit here in the very same spot by the window, addicted to each other’s presence.

He had learnt a lot these past few years. From the moment he’d come home to find your things missing to the disappointed stare your friend had given him when she’d collected the last of your bits that somewhere along the lines he had gone wrong.

He hadn’t been wrong to fall out of love but wrong enough to realise that it was a mistake to fall out in love with you when all he wanted to do was bundle you into his arms at night, chat aimlessly on the days he was overridden with frustration and lost for inspiration.

He realised months on, when he’d fall asleep on his desk not wanting to go home because what was home if it wasn’t with you that he didn’t feel relieved, he didn’t feel less burdened without you but rather empty after years of feeling so full with love.

Heartbreak was not a one way street and it took him as much as time as it did you for things about you to stop bothering him and though he still searched for you in the café, always going in case of finding you, he figured you’d made your peace without him.

And if there was one thing he was grateful for, was that made you’d realised that he had never been good enough for you and he hadn’t valued you enough when you were worth more than anything in this universe.

No date he went gave him the same feeling, the same excitement and no music he made felt genuine enough but he’d realised that it was his short fallings that had cost him, something he’d learn to live with yet years on staring at your face, slightly more lined with age and maturity did he realise just how much had been at stake.

“So you still like your coffee black then?” You joked and you couldn’t help but feel relieved when you see a slight quirk of his lips as he stared at his cup sheepishly.

“Some things don’t change do they?” He shrugs before raising his own eyebrows at your cup that you pull towards your chest defensively, almost shocked at yourself when your laughter leaves your chest so genuinely.

“I guess they don’t, Min Yoongi.” You smile at him and he smiles back but there’s something odd in the air, something different about the way you hold and present yourself but it’s obvious with the way he stares at you and you right back at him that maybe there’s a little more than just your coffee that hasn’t changed.

“You look different,” He says finally and you can’t help but stare at him questioningly. Did he mean your appearance? “Better.” And the way he frowns slightly and his eyes avert from yours do you realise that he feels guilty.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to wave off his doubts. “I’m sorry,” and it surprises you when you both speak at the same time, laughing lightly at the interruption and ready to continue when he shakes his head at you.

“What could you be sorry about?” he says, looking at you regretfully. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let it build up like that and I shouldn’t have let you leave like that either.”

You sighed, after so long of thinking about what you would say to him when the time came, you felt oddly empty. “I think maybe it was both our faults. None of us said anything. I think more than anything I was just scared of letting you go.”

“I was scared of letting you go too.” Yoongi whispered and you looked at him, encouraging him to go on because you needed your closure, you needed answers for a time where he’d refused to give you any. “I was being selfish.”

He looked at you then, eyes filled with raw emotion that are apologetic and gentle and has you choking up. “I just wanted you to be there even when I didn’t think I loved you anymore. Losing you was like losing my security so I avoided it and I’m just- I’m sorry we ever got to the point; for doing that to you.”

“You were my best friend.” You told him and he sighed audibly and it’s shaky but you march on relentlessly. “I would have understood if you had just talked to me. I hated that nothing was the same because I loved you more than anything. I would have ended everything in a heartbeat if it meant that you were happy, that we could still talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi tells you and this time it’s genuine and unlike the time where you’d stormed off and disappeared from his life.

“I’m sorry too,” You smile, shaking your head because you accept his apology and there were things that you had gone wrong in too. “I guess its better this way.” And you don’t want to say that because everything in your heart screams that you still love him, that you couldn’t really cope with anything but loving him and you could live with the fact that he didn’t love you back.

“Is it really?” He whispers, so softly that you almost miss it but you’re sure, you’re sure that he’s said it and maybe, maybe he does still love you and maybe these years were what you needed to make the heart grow fonder. These years are what you needed to grow, to realise your worth as individuals and your strength in being together.

And when you look at him now, he, his own person and you, your own, you’re not as insecure to think that he his your entire world and you are nothing without him.

And you take your time in speaking, take your time in conjuring an answer to fit to reply to him and when you do, he looks at you, patient and waiting and you offer him a smile and a reply that isn’t absolute but provides him with a hope that leaves a smile, a genuine smile lingering on his lips.

“I guess we’ll see.”

And you walk away from the coffee shop, glad you had entered it in the first place with a lighter chest and a blooming smile that makes even your friends question.

“I’ll see you later?” and the implication that you want to see him later, that you don’t want this to end but rather to start has him nodding fondly, glad that after years of searching for you again, he hasn’t found you but rather a new version that leaves him excited and just as eager as the first time you had met.

“I’ll see you later.” He promises, watching you twirl away with a light wave before catching the eye of the barrister who’s absolutely beaming from ear to ear.

A promise that is one absolute that he can definitely offer you.

The promise of later comes sooner than you expect. You find yourself in the coffee shop without fail every afternoon, a brighter step, a bigger grin and a world that wasn’t too large for you to fit into.

He was there too. And you’d end your day welcoming the barrister who’d have your order ready for you, maintaining small conversation before your eyes wandered away and you’d find him tucked away in the corner as if waiting for you.

You’d find yourself sitting in front of him, making up for lost time and re-establishing everything about each other, exploring and discovering and you realise that you had never fallen out of love and seeing the same thing that had once broken your heart reflected in his own orbs- you realise maybe he didn’t either and rather had wandered off lost where familiarity had bred contempt and absence had birthed love.

And it’s inevitable how you two fall in love again, slowly and just as deeply as the first time. He doesn’t promise you anything and there’s nothing guaranteed but the security you feel when he stares at you in wonder is overwhelming.

And you’re glad, glad that you aren’t bound by obligation and sentimental vows but rather in the very purity of simply wanting to be together.

“You took up photography?” Yoongi asks you when you’re huddled up in front of your laptop and camera over a cup of coffee, sighing at the countless images needed edited. You look up to find him staring at you curiously, his eyebrows slightly furrowed because he was discovering new things every day.

“I hated my old job.” You tell him after a long moment, bringing the drink to your lips before indulging in its sheer creaminess, watching him watch you as you hummed in content. “I was just forcing myself to do the same thing every day and so I quit and took up something I actually liked doing.”

“And I like this,” You smile, “I love taking pictures of nature, of people, of everything- every day is different, every person is different and it’s beautiful really, being able to capture every emotion into an instant.”

Like every art came freedom and with photography you had the autonomy to do what you liked and the world to do what you liked with it.

“Can I see some of your work?” Yoongi asks and you stare at him, searching his face only to find that he’s genuinely curious, genuinely interested in the things that you find passion in.

And you realise, not so much as daunting as you think, that you’re slowly letting him back in. what he asks is an innocent question but there’s a sense of intimacy, something almost invasive that makes you realise the extent of your closeness.

You remember days of when he’d ask you to come down to his studio, staring at you with anticipation as he let you listen to his music because it was important to him. By sharing his art he was allowing you to see glimpses of his life. He was allowing you to see his story in other means that were beyond just him.

You understand then, nodding your head in affirmative and watching in the same daunting anticipation as he scrolls through your photos. And he stares in awe, eyeing at the pictures as if he’s trying to gain memories of lost time and you understand then that you’re fine with this.

You are fine with letting him back in after years of being apart and it’s not so scary to realise that this is a start of a new journey in the same love story that in hindsight, never did really end.

Unbeknownst to you, staring at your pictures and seeing your drive in shaping your life to fit the mould that you wanted inspires him and when he returns to his studio that night, it’s your very passion that makes music come easy to him.

“You have a cat?” Yoongi questions, grimacing lightly as he steps into your household for the first time, taking a step further in your new established relationship by dropping you home when he sees that thing twirl between your legs and purr contently at your side when you nestle into the couch.

“Isn’t she pretty?” You ask back, grinning up at Yoongi who doesn’t take his eyes away from her. She hisses at him, scowling deeply when he tries to take a step forward and you laugh at the affronted look Yoongi gives her, offended that he wasn’t even allowed to come near you.

“She hates me.” Yoongi deadpans and you grin because watching both your cat warily eye Yoongi in the same way he eyes her back as if to challenge one another is absolutely beautiful.

Months later, it’s a sight to behold when you find Yoongi asleep on the couch, having given him a set of keys, to see the same feline snuggled up on his chest, purring away as if she hadn’t spent the afternoon snobbishly turning away from his affections.

You had done your growing, he had done him and it’s different. You’re different. And you find a greater independence in voicing your own concerns and holding your ground in moments of anger.

You’re allowed to take up space. You were not an inconvenience. And so when you and Yoongi argue, you don’t cradle emotions to your chest and hope for moments of fury to disperse, but rather yell and scream and cry until there’s an understanding that allows you to grow, to move on, to learn.

“I don’t like it.” You sighed, sitting at the edge of your bed after a long day of arguing. Yoongi pretending to be asleep. “I don’t like it when you sleep at your studio because I feel like you forget that I exist.”

And it doesn’t take him long before he bundles you up in his arms, kissing your forehead because the anger has disappeared into the air and there’s nothing less he wants to do but to argue with you.

“I don’t forget that you exist. I don’t want you to think that.” Yoongi reassures you and you stare up at his long eyelashes and he tucks a hair behind your ear. “I’ll try come home earlier.”

And these aren’t promises but he keeps them anyway and he can’t help but feel a burst of adoration when you two actually sit in front of each other at dinner, babbling away because he’s home early and your showing him your work and he breathes in your inspiration.

It doesn’t take you long to love him and rather you build your relationship in between cracks and corners and you piece them back together in an adaption that is refined and strong.

And so when he kisses you, taking your lips as if there were his own, you realise with him you are whole and there is no other than him you would love.

And when he makes love to you, after years of being apart, your soul drawn to his as if you were forged from the burning ends of the same stars and your souls star-crossed and inseparable, you realise that there is nothing better than him loving you.

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers to you and you turn back to him surprised, it had only been a few months since you had gotten back together and you knew that the idea of saying that you loved each other was a daunting prospect.

“You-“ You start off but can’t possibly end because he’s repeating it over and over onto your skin, lips mouthing the phrase into your lips, your neck, your chest.

“I love you so much,” and he means it, and wonders how he could possibly fall out of love from someone as beautiful of you and he assures you that everything he says is only the truth because he’d be damned if he ever let you get away again.

“Show me.”

And love was not infinite and emotions had ways of dying out but you and Yoongi had proved all ends and if soulmates existed, you were undoubtedly his. You had found yourselves inseparable by a bond that was as strong as you allowed it.

And after nights of living alone, separated from one another and adamant on change and tastes of different waters, he was certain that it was in between your legs, bundled into your arms and smiles was where he wanted to be.

You had started your selfhood by walking away, proved your love in the letting go.

You had finally found each other again after a long winter. Two hearts connected like one, sure of finding the homes to which they belonged.

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Tulip

The Daily Tulip – News From Around The World

Friday 26th January 2018

Good Morning Gentle Reader….  Clear. Cold morning with Stars as far as the eye can see, the Moon is in its waxing phase, but it doesn’t affect the view still more Diamonds to be seen than can be found on the “Soles of Her Shoes” (  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-I_T3XvzPaM ) Bella and I walk towards the beach, the silence of the early morning our companion, the town is recumbent in the arms of Hypnos, she has wrapped the people in her comfort, she must have missed me, We stand and gaze at the ocean and I imagine days of yore when Barbary Pirates controlled these waters, Bella pulls time to go, she’s feeling hungry and I could do with a cup of Java… Wishing you all a great day…

DRIED FLOWER MAY BE LINKED TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN…. SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS—The Illinois News Network reports that a dried rose discovered in a box of artifacts at the Will County Historical Society may have adorned the funeral bier of Abraham Lincoln in Washington, D.C., in April 1865. Sandy Vasko, director of the historical society, said she thinks the flower had been given to General Isham Haynie of Illinois, who was a friend of Lincoln’s and may have been by his bedside when he died of a gunshot wound. General Haynie is thought to have given the rose to Mrs. James G. Elwood, whose husband was mayor of Joliet, Illinois. Elwood’s possessions were given to the historical society and stored away after it moved to its current building in 1971. The delicate dried flower will be put on limited display. Vasko added that the only other known flowers from Lincoln’s funeral are held in the Library of Congress.

ROCK-HEWN TOMBS UNCOVERED IN NORTHERN EGYPT…. NEW ALAMEIN CITY, EGYPT—According to a report in Ahram Online, a first- or second-century tomb containing several burial cavities has been discovered at the site of Al-Alamein on Egypt’s northern coast. Naema Sanad, director of the site, said there is a rock-cut staircase leading to the tomb’s main chamber. Its southern wall had been decorated with a Greek “welfare horn” adorned with flowers and leaves. Coins, pottery, and lamps have also been found.

EARLY BRONZE AGE ARCHITECTURE AND TECHNOLOGY STUDIED IN GREECE…. CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND—According to a report in The Guardian, an international team of researchers has uncovered drainage tunnels and metal workshops on the small island of Dhaskalio, which was first modified by people more than 4,000 years ago. Back then, the island was a heavily populated promontory connected to the Cycladic island of Keros—and its prehistoric sanctuary—by a narrow causeway. A network of terraces and stairways was carved into the surface of the pyramid-shaped promontory, which was then covered with white stone imported from Naxos. “What we are seeing here with the metalworking and in other ways is the beginnings of urbanization,” explained Michael Boyd of the University of Cambridge. Colin Renfrew, also of the University of Cambridge, suggests the development of the site may have been spurred by its expansive views of the Aegean Sea and by the fact that it had the best harbor on Keros. Traces of grains, grapes, olives, figs, almonds, and pulses have been found in the soil on Dhaskalio. Much of the food is thought to have been imported. The drainage system may have been used to pipe in fresh water or to carry away sewage.

NORWAY’S STONE AGE HOUSES STUDIED…. TRONDHEIM, NORWAY—Silje Fretheim of Norwegian University of Science and Technology analyzed the excavation of 150 well-preserved Stone Age dwellings in Norway and found that some Mesolithic hunter-gatherers built pit houses that were maintained for 1,000 years. According to a report in Science Nordic, the earliest traces of homes are small rings of stones that secured tent flaps made of animal skins, and cleared surfaces with areas of debris from stone tool construction. Fretheim thinks hunter-gatherers traveled with these small tents. Then, some 9,500 years ago, as the ice retreated and sea levels along the coast stabilized, people began to build pit houses with frameworks of wood and turf that were slightly larger than the tents. These larger dwellings may have been shared by larger family groups. Some of the pit houses were abandoned for a time and then reused over a period of more than 1,000 years. Fretheim suggests people placed the houses in areas supported by good fishing and hunting conditions because they recognized good places to live.

EXPLORERS FIND UNDERWATER ROUTE CONNECTING MAYA CENOTES…. TULUM, MEXICO—Telesur reports that researchers from Mexico’s National Institute of Anthropology and History have discovered a route through underwater limestone caves connecting the Sac Actun cenote and the Dos Ojos cenote. Maya pottery, human bones, and the bones of elephant-like creatures, giant sloths, bears, tigers, and extinct species of horses have been found in the tunnel-like caves, which range in width from 400 feet to just three feet. “This immense cave represents the most important submerged archaeological site in the world,” said Guillermo de Anda, director of the study. It is not yet clear how the Maya artifacts came to rest in the caves.

TRACES OF MEDIEVAL CASTLE UNCOVERED IN IRELAND…. GALWAY, IRELAND—The Irish Times reports that limestone walls uncovered in Galway during the restoration of a fifteenth-century manor house may be part of a castle built in 1232. Called the castle of Bungalvy, the structure was built on the banks of the Corrib River by the De Burgos, an Anglo-Norman family credited with founding the port city. Charcoal deposits at the site could mark the fires that damaged the castle in 1233 and 1247. In the late thirteenth century, stone from the castle is thought to have been used to construct the nearby Red Earl’s house, which acted as a courthouse and was used by the De Burgos to collect taxes and host banquets. The De Burgos are thought to have constructed the castle at the site of a wooden defensive structure that had been built by the Gaelic O’Flaherty clan in 1124.

Well Gentle Reader I hope you enjoyed our look at the news from around the world this, Friday morning… …

Our Tulips today are simple still life in a window area.. …..

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Friday 26th January 2018 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

[emmaspirate]

The Birds

A/N: Hey look! 500 years later and I’m back! Anyone still here? Thank you to @lenfaz for looking this over for me! Please forgive me for any spelling/grammatical mistakes, I rushed through this trying to get it up for you all! 

Summary: Meet Emma Swan: mother, detective, and angel. She’s just trying to get through her eternal afterlife in one piece. Naturally the universe has other plans for her. When a murder occurs in the divine community, she must enlist the help of angels and demons alike to help crack the case. Enter Killian Jones, a mysterious demon who has every intention of making Emma’s life a living hell. Angel/Demon AU. 

AO3

Chapter I/Chapter II/Chapter III/Chapter IV/Chapter V/Chapter VI

Chapter VII: Off I Go

“If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them?” - Jodi Piccolut

She was late. Of course she was late. Regina had called her maybe ten times, and Emma had ignored each of those ten calls. It wasn’t like the plane was going to leave without her.

Perks of flying on a private plane she supposed.

She’d thrown a tantrum when Hook had insisted they take his jet to London. She’d flown commercial her whole life and she didn’t see the point in changing that now. Regina had taken Hook’s side, of course. She’d said that there was no way she could handle the two of them and all the common people. Emma had then asked Regina why she was even coming, to which the Queen demon had told her someone needed to make sure they didn’t have a repeat of the Zelena incident. That had made the angel quiet.

That was how Emma found herself running through Logan Airport at six in the damn morning about to board a plane with two of her least favorite people. She also felt like she had the world’s biggest hangover, and she hadn’t even been able to enjoy the means of getting to that state. No, she’d spent about two hours scrubbing red paint (it had been paint, thank God) off her wall. She’d then spent the next two hours staring at said wall before it was time to drop Henry off at David’s. The kid could clearly tell something was off, but bless him for not asking questions.

She just wanted to take a nap for the next few years.

So it really wasn’t her fault when she was a little short with the attendant at the gate desk. The woman’s plastic smile really grated on her for some reason, probably because she figured no one should be so happy when the world was clearly going to hell. “Emma Swan?” the woman asked.

Emma sighed and adjusted her blonde curls. “Who else would it be?”

The woman continued to smile, clearly used to people’s frustration being taken out on her. “We’re all set to go. Shall I escort you to the plane?”

“No, I’d much prefer to waste some more time here for a while.” When the attendant just gave her a blank stare, Emma continued. “Lead the way.”

The human gave her a cheery nod and took her bag before Emma could say anything. The pair quickly made their way outside into the cold Boston air where a shiny jet was waiting. She rolled her eyes and pulled out a pair of black sunglasses from her purse as she climbed the steps.

Stopping suddenly, she took in the spacious interior. Regina was chattering away on her cellphone in the first row, where a large tv was mounted on the wall. Hook was a few feet back on a large white couch thumbing through a newspaper. The floors were hardwood, and there were several more spaces for sitting down. “This is a different plane.”

Hook looked up from his paper and gave her his infamous smirk. “You’re very observant this morning, aren’t you, Swan?”

Emma huffed out a breath and moved towards him. “How many planes do you have?”

His smile grew. “A few. This one happens to be my favorite.”

The angel rolled her eyes. “You have a favorite plane?”

“Yes, this one is a Gulfstream G550.”

The angel crossed her arms over her body, staring at him over the top of her sunglasses. “I don’t speak plane… or rich people, for that matter.”

Hook raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over her form. “No, I don’t imagine you do. It has the capability to fly 6,750 nautical miles, and was one of the original jets in the ultra-long-range class.” Hook looked around the cabin with a critical expression as he added, “it’s a bit outdated at this point, I’m looking to update, but it gets the job done.”

Emma let out a low humming noise like she was following anything he was saying. “How much does it cost to run this thing?” She asked as she waved down a stewardess carrying a tray of champagne. She wouldn’t normally drink this early in the morning, but she’d already been up for several hours. There was also a time change from Boston to London, so where she was going it was later. Plus she really just needed a damn drink after the morning she’d had.

She could just say that the demons were having a negative effect on her  if all else failed.

Without any hesitation, Hook said, “About seven thousand dollars an hour.”

In all of her abundant elegance, Emma proceeded to choke on the alcohol she’d been downing and spit it all over the floor. She’d figured it’d be expensive, but she couldn’t even fathom that amount of money being blown in only a few short hours. Just how much was Hook worth?

“Can you pull it together for five minutes, Ms. Swan? Your lack of decorum is astounding,” Regina quipped from the front of the plane.

Emma curtseyed and shot the Queen a sneer as she turned back to Hook. “Seven grand? Seriously?” When Hook nodded, always smiling, she shut her eyes. “I’m going to need another drink.”

Hook, ever the gentleman, offered up his own amber alcohol. “Ask and you shall receive.” There was a hint of a challenge in his voice, daring her to take it and not expecting her to do just that.

She’d throw herself into the fiery depths of hell before she ever backed down, particularly where he was concerned. Emma took the glass from him and downed the rest of it. Rum, per usual. Placing the glass down, she took a final look around the cabin before sitting next to him, much to his apparent surprise. “I’m naming the plane Irv to cope with this,” she informed him.

It was his turn to sputter like a fish on land as the smile dropped from his face. “Absolutely not.”

Emma laughed and settled in. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“You are not naming my plane something as undignified as Irv! If you insist upon naming it, it needs to be something strong,” he shot back, sounding as though she’d just murdered his first born.

Emma toed off her boots, Hook’s outrage only making her more at ease. “Nah, I think I like Irv.” She pulled her legs underneath herself, sitting criss-cross on the white couch. She patted the wall of the jet and didn’t take her eyes off his face as she said, “Good old, Irv.”

“I’m also likin’ Irv,” a familiar voice called out.

Emma whipped her head around to find Will Scarlet emerging from the bathroom. She wasn’t sure why, but she was actually mildly pleased to see him. Will’s total and complete “lack of decorum”, as Regina had put it, nearly rivaled her own, and that put her at ease. “Scarlet, it’s good to see you again.”

Will did a little jig and gave her an exaggerated bow. “Milady,” he quipped as he tipped a faux hat. “Glad to see you again too. I wasn’t quite sure we’d be runnin’ into each other again, which woulda been a real shame, given how nicely we work together.” Will then proceeded to pick up two glasses of champagne from the stewardess in the back of the jet and give one to Emma. “See ya two are getting along a bit better,” he said as he looked back and forth between her and Hook, one eyebrow raised.

Emma, who had no idea what he was referring to, followed his line of sight to her and Hook’s shoulders, which were firmly pressed against one another. She hadn’t even realized the lack of space between them, and quickly shifted so that she was further away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered at the same time that Hook shot, “we aren’t.”

From the front of the plane, she heard Regina snort in a decidedly un-regal way. “That was ridiculously unconvincing, especially for you Hook.”

Hook stood and shot her a glare, but chose to ignore the comment. “I’m going to go tell the pilot we’re ready to go. Everyone should get comfortable.”

Will moved into the spot Hook had just relinquished. “So, you two are gettin’ along then.”

Emma pulled off her sunglasses and rolled her eyes. “No,” she said and she heard Regina snort again. “We’ve just been spending a lot of time together, which means we have to be civil.”

Will looked at her like he wasn’t buying anything that she was saying. “Seems ya two are quite civil . He’s not all that bad lookin’.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You and I are not seriously having this conversation, are we? I barely know you!”

Will huffed in annoyance. “You know me; we took a lovely trip to New York together.”

“Not by choice.”

“Details. Point is, we’re friends, you and I can talk about this stuff.” Will stood and moved so that he was sitting next to Regina. Not quite done with the conversation, he turned back to look at her and quickly added, “and don’t think I missed the fact that you didn’t deny he wasn’t bad lookin’,” before turning away.

If Emma could still blush she would have. Instead, she fixed her eyes forward and sipped at her champagne. Whatever rum Hook had been drinking had been good stuff, she could feel it loosening her up already.

Hook emerged from the cockpit, speak of the devil, no pun intended, and made his way back over to her. “Champagne treating you nicely, Swan?” He sat down next to her, keeping a distance between them.

Emma hummed affirmatively. “The rum wasn’t too bad either. Hopefully it’ll help me get through this flight.”

Hook looped his hands behind his head, looking quite content. “Won’t be that bad. Just take a nap and we’ll be there right quick.”

Emma froze up, her blood turning to ice in her veins. He couldn’t possibly know how much the simple prospect of falling asleep scared her, and she didn’t want him to. “I’m actually quite rested, so you know, I’ll probably just chill. Or something,” she shrugged, failing miserably at appearing nonchalant.

Hook stared at her. He stared at her for a very long time. So long, in fact, that Emma began to squirm under his gaze. She thought he’d call her out, she could tell he knew. Instead, he just nodded and gave her a tight smile. “Very well,” he said. “Do whatever it is you need to do.” With no warning he stood up from the couch and made his way to a bar in back to refill his glass.

Emma stared at him as he began to make small talk with the stewardess. The woman was clearly a demon, there was no other angelic presence on the plane other than her own. She watched the petite redhead bat her eyelashes at him and swat his arm playfully.

It shouldn’t bother her, she knew that.

But it did.

She didn’t know why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why either. They had both made it expressly clear that they weren’t close. She wasn’t sure she’d even call him a friend.

Emma watched the stewardess push herself up against Hook and felt her stomach twist in knots.

Tipping her champagne back into her throat, she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

Emma’s first impression of jolly old England wasn’t exactly a positive one.

Granted, she was in a pissy mood when they landed, having been hovering between sleep and wake for the last 6 hours. Everyone else had slept for the majority of the flight, but she had been too petrified of what might happen if she allowed herself to drift off. She had probably been amusing to watch, given that every half hour or so she’d find herself succumbing to sleep only to jolt up like she’d been electrocuted. Hook had caught her once, and while he’d shot her a questioning look, he still hadn’t asked.

It was raining when they landed, and while Emma assumed it was just typical London weather, she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t her newly discovered weather party trick. Judging by the way Regina was staring at her with a judgmental look, she suspected that could be a part of it. Then again, when was Regina not shooting her a judgmental look?

She noticed the two black Range Rovers waiting for them on the tarmac as they deplaned, and turned to raise an eyebrow at Will, who was coming down the steps behind her.

“Probably Hook’s,” he shrugged, and she could tell he was as in the dark about their plan of action as she was.

Emma watched as Hook, who was leading them off the plane, made a beeline to one of the cars, where a man in a red cap was waiting. “You all remember -”

“Smee,” Emma finished for him as she stopped in front of the demon. “Nice to see you again.”

Smee didn’t even spare her a glance. “You didn’t tell me a bird was coming, Sir.”

Hook, who had been staring at Emma for the entire conversation, turned and looked at the man with unbridled outrage. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t under the impression that it was me who was reporting to you? Have you forgotten who’s in charge?”

Another demon, who had been standing off to the side, one that Emma didn’t recognize, spoke up. “Well sir, maybe if you hadn’t been wasting time in Boston we wouldn’t have forgotten.”

There was always a moment of pure and absolute calm before the chaos hit. It was a moment of silence, of peace, that Emma had yet to experience anywhere else. Whenever it happened, she felt an almost euphoric high. She was certain that was a bad thing, that it said something about her character that she felt the best when the world was at its worst. She really was a horrible angel.  

Emma felt that euphoria as she watched Hook turn to stare at the demon. It was only when she felt darkness saturate the air that she realized things were about to go horribly wrong.

Hook seemed to make a split second decision, one Emma had no time to react to, and swung out his arm, sinking his hook deep into the man’s neck. He dug in deep, making sure to twist it around before quickly pulling it out. Hook stepped back as black blood, characteristic of a demon, began to pour from his subordinate’s neck.

Emma looked on in mute horror as the demon clutched at his neck before falling to the ground, dead. She then proceeded to stare at the body for what felt like hours as Hook wiped his weapon off with a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket.

It was Will who took it upon himself to fill in the silence. Turning to Regina he smirked and said, “I thought you were bad.”

Regina, who had been watching the whole situation unfold with apparent disinterest, hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. “Mouth off like he did and I can assure you I’m much worse,” she replied, boredom leaking into her voice. “Shall we go.”

Emma looked up, her tranquility and subsequent shock were quickly giving way to rage. “Are you kidding me? What about the body?”

Hook stared at her, confusion and annoyance on his face. “What about it?”

Emma stared at him, exasperated at his actions over the past twenty four hours. “You can’t just leave it here! Isn’t there someone we can call? His family?”

Hook regarded her with a neutral expression. “He doesn’t have any family.”

The angel huffed in reply. “I’m sure there’s someone who cares about him.”

He smiled at her, as if he were enjoying her frustration. Maybe he just liked arguing with her. “There’s no one. Besides, anyone who has any sort of kind words to say about him, and I assure you, there are none, work for me. Considering I just killed him, people aren’t going to be lining up to attend a funeral. We’ll leave the body here, someone will dispose of it.”

Emma was about to shout at him, scream at him, ask him why he didn’t get it. Instead, she let her shoulders slump. He was clearly past reasoning with. Instead, she moved to grab the dead man’s shoulders and began to tug.

Hook did little to hide his surprise. “What are you doing?”

Emma didn’t look up from her task. She pulled the body along the asphalt easily; her angelic strength making the bulky man seem light as a feather. “You made it clear that anyone who is afraid of you isn’t going to do anything,” she spat.

He was evidently still confused. “Aye, so what are you doing?”

Emma looked up to meet his gaze. “Doing something.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. His face shifted into a sneer, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her upright. His hand remained squeezing her shoulder as he whispered, “You seem to be under the idiotic assumption that there’s a way to skirt around violence in this world. I don’t know how things work in the world of birds, but let me clear something up for you, for us,” Hook looked at Regina, Will, and Smee. “Killing is a necessity. If you don’t assert your dominance, you die. If you show weakness, you die. If you allow people to tread on you in any way shape or form, you die. Get it?”

Emma shook him off. He clearly hadn’t learned that she wasn’t one to be easily deterred. That, and she absolutely despised being talked down to. “I may not be as old as you, but I’m not stupid. I know about the ins and outs of the ethereal world, and believe me , things aren’t sunshine and lollipops on the other side of the fence either. I know it’s kill or be killed. Doesn’t mean you need to enjoy it. Doesn’t mean that you can’t feel bad about ending a life.”

Hook stepped back, and it was one of those rare instances where he seemed unsure. “You don’t know what kind of person he was,” he muttered.

He was right, there was no denying it. But so was she, and so she asked, “Do you? Do you know who his parents were, because at some point he had them. Do you know if he had siblings? Maybe a dog? Hell, he could’ve been married. Do you know the answers to any of those questions? He was a person before you decided he was nothing.” Emma paused. She usually liked to attribute behavior like this to her angelic side, but this was different. This was different and she wanted him to see that. “If it were you what would you want?” She knew what his answer would be before he even said it, but she tried anyway.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint. “I don’t deserve -“

She interrupted him. “Look I know you’ve done some messed up stuff, but your crippling self-hatred aside, what would you want?” She needed him to know that this wasn’t just about this specific man. This was about any loss of life and the tragedy it symbolized. She needed him to know that even for people like him, people like her, there would at least be someone to take care of things at the very end. “I’m burying him.”

Emma went back to dragging the body across the tarmac, trying to get to the grass a little ways away. She watched as the black blood smeared against the pavement and, whether it was her doing or not, she was grateful for the rain. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for his body to lose its ethereal power, and become similar to that of a normal human. At the very least she knew it would decompose eventually. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even hear him approaching.

His voice was so quiet that even she had to strain to hear him. She didn’t think he whispered out of shame, but rather so that she would be the only one who could hear. “I cannot be seen as weak.”

Emma let the body fall for a moment as she straightened up to really look at him. There was something in his face that looked apologetic, but she had a sense it was more for her sake than his. She knew what he thought of her. That she was perfect, a beacon of moral behavior. The fallen all thought that about angels, that they had no spine and had never experienced true struggle, because if they had surely they would’ve embraced the dark. So Emma met his eyes and allowed her voice to drop into a whisper as well. “There are worse things than that.”

He didn’t say anything this time, and for that she was grateful. Hook looked on as she made her way to the edge of the tarmac, being careful to avoid the blood on the ground. God forbid he get his shoes dirty. Come to think of it, they were probably worth more than Emma’s life.

The angel laid the dead demon carefully on the wet earth. Her boots dug ever so slightly into the mud, and she was grateful the ground was soft; it would make digging easier.

“You don’t have a shovel,” Hook remarked ever so helpfully.

Emma gave him an exasperated look. “Thank you, for that wonderful observation. Nothing gets past you, does it? I’ll just use my hands.”

It was his turn to look put out. She half expected him to chastise her in his usual patronizing tone, but instead he moved past her towards the body. With no explanation, he pulled out the handkerchief he’d used earlier to wipe the blood off his hook. It was stained a dark black color. He looked over at her expectantly. “Go on then,” he commanded.

Emma was absolutely sure he had lost it. Regina had warned her before she’d met him that he was unhinged. “What?”

Hook looked at her like he was amazed she remembered how to breath. “Set it alight,” he said like it was the most obvious thing.

“What?” Emma repeated.

He let his arm drop for a moment. “Set the damn thing alight. I’m not going to have you rolling about in the mud; you’ll get the car dirty, so we’ll just burn the body.”

Emma quirked an eyebrow. “You want to cremate him?” She asked slowly.

Hook nodded, seemingly pleased she was finally getting the point, or, maybe he was just happy he’d come up with the idea. Probably the latter. “And since heat and light are your kind’s area of expertise,” he explained as he dangled the handkerchief in front of her face once more.

There was something in his eyes, an almost earnest look, that kept her from arguing with him. He seemed to be trying to appease her, in his own unique way. He was trying to understand where she was coming from, and while there were still issues between them, she wouldn’t ignore the gesture. So, with a pronounced eye-roll, she twitched her fingers and the cloth went up in flames.

Hook quickly tossed it onto his former employee’s body, and soon enough his cotton t-shirt also caught fire. “Satisfied?”

Emma watched as the fire quickly worked its way up the demon’s body. Emma’s magic was strong, so the rain did little to dampen the flames. She didn’t meet his eyes as she croaked out a “yes,” before turning and marching back towards Regina and Will. “Let’s go,” she called.

The angel hadn’t realized the rain had picked up until Regina was staring at her pissed and soaking. “What? You two don’t want to continue your little melodrama? Perhaps we should go roast marshmallows over his burning body and sing Kumbaya!”

“I told you to wait in the car,” Will muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for Regina to hear, and she shot him a withering look.

“You work for me, Scarlet, so I’d be careful what you say next.”

Emma pushed past the two of them. “Let’s just go to the hotel,” she called as she yanked the car door open.

From behind her, Regina let out a sharp laugh. “Ms. Swan, I wasn’t under the impression that you were staying at the hotel with us.”

Emma paused and maybe it was the exhaustion, but Regina’s words weren’t making any sense. “What are you talking about?”

The Queen smirked at her and Emma was briefly reminded of those girls who used to make fun of her in high school for wearing the same thing everyday. “I wasn’t aware you could afford to stay at Claridge’s, and on such short notice too. I guess they’re paying Boston PD better than I assumed.”

Emma was in front of Regina in, literally, a flash, rage flooding her veins as the demon’s words clicked. “You didn’t book me a damn hotel room? Anywhere?!”

Regina stepped forward to meet her, still maintaining her superior facade. “I’m not your personal assistant, Ms. Swan. It’s not my job to find you accommodations.”

Emma let out a disbelieving laugh and as she readied herself to give Regina the smackdown she deserved, but Hook was in between them before she could.

“No reason to go at it ladies,” he purred in a voice Emma suspected was usually reserved for getting human’s to do his bidding.

“Can’t say I’m surprised really. Ms. Swan’s complete and utter inability to show any degree of competency is all too familiar at this point.”

Emma reared up, but this time Hook physically restrained her. “Let me kick her ass,” Emma argued, and she knew she could probably get away from him, but she stopped herself for the moment.

Hook moved so that his lips were at her ear, his head turned away from Will and Regina. “Not worth it, Swan, as much as I wouldn't mind seeing that. Just go get in the car.”

She felt his grip loosen and she debated just lunging at Regina. She didn't want to do any permanent damage, obviously, Henry would be pissed, but she wouldn’t mind smacking her upside the head. Nevertheless, she heeded Hook’s words and slowly backed towards the car. She was sure she looked childish, but she kept her eyes on Regina, and it took everything in her not to do the “I’m-watching-you” sign.

Emma waited impatiently in the Range Rover, her knee bouncing up and down as Hook exchanged words with Regina and Will. Smee was in the driver’s seat, watching her with calculating eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t like you,” he said suddenly.

She didn’t turn to meet his gaze. “How will I live?” She replied dryly.

Smee turned around in his seat so that he was facing her head on. They then proceeded to engage in a staring contest for a good minute and a half before he spoke again. “I don’t like you, and I don’t like whatever is going on between you and my leader, but, all that aside, I respect you.” Emma’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the little demon continued. “I respect you for what you did for Hank.”

Emma nodded, suddenly understanding. “He’s the one who died?”

Smee faced forward again, not saying anything. “I don’t like you, but I respect you.”

Emma wasn’t quite sure what to say, and judging by what she could see of Smee’s facial expression in the mirror, she sensed the conversation was over. So, instead she said, “Tell me something, because I’m curious, how do your tiny little legs even reach the gas pedal in this thing?”

Smee smiled.

She was in his house.

When he’d informed her all too casually that she’d stay at his place, she’d vehemently rejected the idea. They’d been blurring the imaginary line she’d drawn between them since Lily’s, and now he was proposing they just skip right over it. She wasn’t sure when he’d decided to throw all the rules out the window, but she wasn’t about to allow it.

He kindly told her that she could spend the night on a bench in Hyde Park if she wanted, since she had no other options. She’d almost done that, but it was still raining pretty heavily and she wasn’t in the mood to be both exhausted and soaking.

So now she was in his fucking house.

It was a beautiful home, although she’d expect nothing less from Mr. “I’m-looking-to-expand-my-fleet-of-private-jets-because-my-current-one-is-too-small.” He lived in Kensington in a big white terraced house, well, technically, four white terraced houses that were all connected. He owned the entire block. Which was completely normal and average and she was handling it all very well.

By very well she meant she was not handling it at all, at all.

Granted, she knew that Regina liked luxury, but she was quickly discovering that was apparently a characteristic of creatures of the dark. The property wasn’t what she would’ve expected for a demon, and, more specifically, for him. It was a very bright space, with floor to ceiling windows and white walls. Every room that she’d been in had a massive fireplace, and various trinkets that he must’ve collected over the years were scattered about the house. She couldn’t imagine how much that stuff was worth.

It did, however, feel a lot like a museum. The place lacked a warmth that she’d come to recognize in most homes. In fact, it was oddly reminiscent of Lily’s apartment save for the difference in opulence. There were no photos, nothing was out of place, and the entire house was the temperature of a morgue. Someone existed in this space, but it wasn’t truly lived in. “When was the last time you were here?” Emma asked as she stared at a painting hanging above the fireplace in one of the sitting rooms. It was an odd piece, a bunch of different colored blobs spread out on a canvas. She did her best to ignore the name scribbled in the bottom right corner, because, if it had truly been painted by him, it likely cost upwards of a million dollars.

Hook, who had been standing in the hallway texting someone, entered the room. “Couldn’t tell you. I spend most of my time in and out of hotels on business,” he called from behind her. The demon paused, and she could practically feel the smirk forming on his face. “Or pleasure.”

Emma rolled her eyes and moved to run her finger across a golden telescope on the mantle. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m an investor,” Hook said much too quickly. Emma turned to see him standing there, scratching at his ear, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

It was her turn to smile. “For someone who pretends to be as confident as you do, you sure don’t like to talk about yourself.”

He shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Let me show you to your room, I already had your bag put upstairs.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Hook shot her a disbelieving look. “Nonsense, Swan. It was the least I could do,” he said before he exited the room.

She was certain his mood changes were going to give her whiplash one of these days. Pulling her purse higher on her shoulder, she followed him down the hallway. With each room they passed, she made sure to peek inside where doors were open. Maybe something in them would finally clue her in as to what game he was playing. They made their way to the end of the hall, and he slowly began to make his way up a staircase.

“That,” he pointed to a painting hanging above the stair landing. “Was done by my brother.”

Emma stopped walking and felt the breath rush out of her lungs. It seemed to have been off-hand comment, but Hook never struck her as the type to give up personal details. “You have a brother?” She whispered.

Hook didn’t meet her eyes, and he tensed up as he seemingly realized that he had just revealed something deeply personal about himself. “I had a brother,” he breathed.

The middle of the stairs wasn’t really the ideal place to be having this conversation, but she couldn’t drop it. “What happened to him?” Their voices were so low they weren’t audible to human ears.

Hook gave her a tight smile and looked up at the painting. “The same thing that happens to all of them.”

It all made sense to her then. Why he was so blunt about Henry’s fate on that first plane ride, why he promised David to keep her safe at Lily’s, even when he insisted that he would never hurt her brother. She had known that he’d probably experienced loss during his many years, they all had at one point or another, but this was different. He’d had a brother. “You know firsthand how fragile humans are,” she reiterated, more to herself than him.

“I wasn't talking about humans,” he replied, interrupting her train of thought. Without another word he turned and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

Emma paused, trying to make sense of his words. Realizing that he was moving very quickly down the hallway, and that she didn’t want to get lost in his gigantic house, she raced after him. “What do you mean? Who were you talking about?” She shouted.

He stopped abruptly in front of a door on the right and she almost bumped into him. He didn’t speak as he produced a key from his back pocket and shoved it into the door. Swinging it open he looked pointedly at her as he said, “I was talking about the good.”

Emma stared at the ceiling.

There was a tiny crack in the crown molding in the far right corner. Directly above her there was a dark smudge and the paint was slightly chipped, as though someone had thrown something up there. The chandelier, which had probably been connected to a gas line, had six white bulbs, one of which appeared to be slightly loose.

She’d knew all this because she’d been staring at it for nearly six hours, having completely familiarized herself with the layout of the room. It was a beautiful space, with big, ornate looking couches and a large four-poster white bed that was the most comfortable thing she’d laid on in a long time. If only she could fall asleep.

It was three in the damn morning, and she was wide awake.

She was just trying to do her civic duty and make sure that she didn’t murder anyone while she slept. Such a good Samaritan. Letting out a sigh, she swung her legs out of the bed and stood up. If she was forced to stay awake she might as well poke around a bit. She was sure Hook would object to it, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Emma allowed light magic to pour through her hand, using it as a makeshift flashlight to guide her way down the hallway. She was surprised at how many paintings lined the wall; she wouldn’t have pegged him as an art snob. A vast majority were nautically themed, and she vaguely wondered if perhaps he’d been a sailor at some point in his life. Moving quickly through the darkness, she made her way over the stairwell, and creeped down slowly. She wasn’t sure what part of the house his bedroom was in, and she didn't want to risk waking him up. When she reached the bottom floor, she proceeded to wander around aimlessly, occasionally pausing to examine some sort of bauble. Eventually, she found her way into the kitchen, which she could only assume from the quiet, but familiar, hum of a refrigerator. Emma decided that perhaps she’d indulge in a late night snack, at the very least she could try and find his undoubtedly expensive stash of alcohol. She felt along the wall, searching for a light switch. Angels heightened senses were dulled ever so slightly in the dark, so it took her a little longer than usual. After what felt like an eternity, she finally found it, smiling as she flicked it on.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Hook called.

Emma shot up and let out a startled yelp. He was leaning against the kitchen counter wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with an amused expression on his face. She closed her eyes and tried to get her heartbeat under control as she muttered, “Don’t do that.”

Hook held up his hand and hook in mock surrender. “I figured you knew I was here.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged as she finally calmed down. She made her way over to the nearest cabinet, undeterred in her hunt for food. “Yeah, well I didn’t.” Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Is it possible that I could be growing used to your presence? We have been spending an inordinate amount of time together.”

Hook chuckled quietly. “Perhaps. I haven't spent enough time with your kind to know if that’s a thing that occurs.”

The angel nodded and opened the cupboard, annoyed to find it empty. She quickly moved on to the refrigerator to find it equally as barren. “What the hell?” She shot Hook an annoyed look, demanding an explanation.

“Why would I stock my house with foods I can’t eat?” He shrugged and took a sip of rum out of a glass Emma hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Emma huffed and moved so that she was leaning against the counter next to him. “You can still eat food, you just can't really taste all that much of it. It’s good to keep up with the habit.”

Hook twirled the glass around in his hand, so that the amber liquid spun at the bottom. “Yes, well, I don’t have anyone living with me who would need access to human food, nor do I have any need maintain that habit. Rum, on the other hand, has proven to still be a necessity.”

The angel paused, unsure how to respond. Smirking, she plucked the glass from his hand and hoisted herself up onto the counter, so that she was now sitting on it. “Were you a sailor?”

Hook’s head whipped around quickly to look at her. “Why do you ask?”

Emma placed the glass against her lips. “You have a lot of pictures of boats, and, well, there’s your affinity for rum,” she pointed out before tipping the liquid into her mouth.

Hook looked away from her. “I suppose you could say that,” he replied. There was a long silence, as he appeared to be debating with himself, and then, “my brother and I were in the Royal Navy.”

She nearly choked on her drink. “You were what?” She was surprised at how much she was discovering about him over the course of a few hours. Emma had no idea what had prompted him to open up, but she wasn’t about to tell him to stop.

He gave her a tight smile and swallowed nervously, still not meeting her gaze. “Aye, he was Captain of a ship in the Queen’s Navy, The Jewel of the Realm. I was Lieutenant.”

Emma couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at the thought of him wearing a navy uniform. “You were a lieutenant in the Navy?”

He finally looked over at her, and while he looked affronted, he was smiling. “And a damn good one at that. Does that surprise you, Swan?”

Emma let out a very unladylike snort. “No, of course not. You, in the Navy, that’s exactly what I would expect given what I know about you.” Her amusement was short-lived, however, as a new thought popped into her head. He couldn’t have been older than thirty when he died, and she knew that six hundred years ago they probably enlisted them young, but there was a good chance that’s how he’d met his end. “Did you die while you were serving?”  

Hook paused, and she was sure he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Quickly, so quickly the words blurred together, he gave her his answer. “I was born in 1350, right at the beginning of what’s now commonly referred to as the Hundred Years War. My brother and I joined the Navy when we were teenagers, and worked our way up from there. In 1372 I fought in the Battle of La Rochelle, it was a huge navy battle and we were slaughtered. That’s when I lost my hand.” He stopped then, drawing in another breath.

She could tell this was where things were about to take a turn. Without thinking, she reached forward and grabbed his hand, which was curled into a fist. She held on until he loosened up just enough so that she could intertwine their fingers together. Giving him a reassuring squeeze, she waited until he was ready to continue.

“Western Europe was in complete and total chaos. The Black Death had wiped out a large part of the population, and taxes were high because of the war. The peasants were hit the hardest, as they always are, and they decided to take action. They rebelled and tried to kill anyone they thought was associated with the royal government. I thought,” he cut himself off then, sighing heavily. “Liam, my brother, told me that it was our duty to protect those under our care, the very same people that were being targeted. He died trying to save as many people as he could. I was turned into this.”

Hook didn’t say anything, and Emma started rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. She was having trouble processing his words, the sheer magnitude of what he was telling her weighing heavy on her heart. To lose your life and your humanity was one thing, but to lose the only family you had was an entirely different ballgame. She wanted to know when he’d become a demon, but she recognized now wasn’t the time. So instead she asked the most important question she had. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He finally looked at her, and he really looked. There was something else in his eyes too, a softness that she’d never seen there prior to this moment. He cocked his head and, in spite of it all, he smirked at her. “What you said a while back, in Regina’s office, about not being able to trust me; it shouldn’t have bothered me.” The smile dropped from his face as his tone became deadly serious. “It shouldn’t have, but it did. I’m not pretending to be a good person, and I’m not saying you should, but I’d like you to feel that you can trust me.”

Emma had completely forgotten she’d even said that. She mulled over his words, and she knew he wasn’t expecting a response, but she found she wanted to give him one. “Hey, I know what I said, but I do trust you, Hook. When push comes to shove, I know you’ve got my back. Believe it or not, you’re one of the few people that I feel comfortable opening up to.” She paused then, and this time she was the one smiling. “But lay a hand on my brother again, and I’m gonna have to kill you.”

Hook rewarded her with a laugh. “Understood and respected.”

Seeking to change the subject, she asked, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Hook bristled visibly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for an encounter with Mr. Supremely Delusional, but I also reckon I don’t have much of a choice. See what you drag me into,” he tacked on with a very forced smile.

“You two know each other?”

It was becoming quite apparent this was a subject he wasn’t interested in discussing, but he humored her nonetheless. “We’ve bumped into each other a few times, none of our encounters ended very well. He used to have a working relationship with the man who taught me my mind trick.”

It took Emma a moment to understand what he was referring to, and when she finally grasped that he was talking about his ability to inflict mental torture, she was understandably surprised. “Someone taught you that skill?”

Hook grimaced. “Aye, Love, even the most skilled protege needs a teacher. He was a nasty demon, very powerful. I can’t overstate that. He saw something in me, I guess, and took me under his wing. Taught me everything I know, although I’m not sure why. He never did anything like that again, as far as I know.”

“What happened?”

She didn’t really know what she expected, only that whatever had happened had clearly been bad.  

The demon’s jaw flexed and his expression shifted into one Emma had never seen before. “We had a falling out, the details of which are unimportant. It’s a story for another time.” With that, he sent a clear message; the conversation was over. Maybe not forever, but at least for now.

She was never one to be forthcoming with sentiment, but he’d told her a lot, and it only seemed fair to give him something. Emma knew she shouldn’t tell him. She shouldn’t tell anyone. Yet, she’d just said herself that she trusted him, and for some strange reason she believed it. She knew that he wouldn’t tell anyone else, that he wouldn’t give her up. They weren’t friends, not really, but they understood each other. It was that mutual understanding that prompted her to say, “I had another dream, or, memory. That’s what they are; memories.” She was sure of that now, that she was reliving moments from some past life she couldn’t remember. “I met this homeless guy in New York when I came to find you, and I just gave him some money but he seemed to recognize me. Then he cropped up in my dream except he was just a kid and I was wearing some weird 1960’s-esque outfit which is odd because that would mean-“

“That you were having a memory from the 1960’s,” Hook interrupted. He was nodding slowly to himself, seemingly lost in thought.

Emma shook her head vehemently, not wanting it to be true.“But that’s not possible because I wasn’t alive during the 1960’s. Then I woke up and I was covered in dirt and I’d written on my wall in red paint Nesir Sah Roivas Eht.” Every time she closed her damn eyes she kept seeing that message. It was killing her that she didn’t know what it meant; Hook, Regina, and Google Translate had all confirmed that it wasn’t written in a foreign language, so what the hell was it?

“The message we keep seeing at all the crime scenes.”

Emma rolled her eyes and let out a humorless laugh.“Yes, thank you for reiterating all of these things,” she muttered before continuing. “So now I’m scared to close my eyes because what if I’m the one doing all this, what if I’m the killer?”

Hook turned to look at her, and he seemed genuinely concerned. “When was the last time you slept?”

The question, not in line with the rest of the conversation, took her off guard.“What?”

“When was the last time you slept, and I mean a good, hard, restful sleep? That’s what you need.”

Emma scoffed. “Did you not just hear what I was saying?”

She hadn’t realized that they were still holding hands, that she was clutching onto him like a life line, until he was tugging her off the counter. “Come on then,” he commanded as he dragged her down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“To your room,” he answered like it was obvious.

Emma stopped walking, he wasn’t listening. “Hook-“

He interrupted her by giving a sharp tug. “I will sit on the chair and watch you to make sure you don’t do anything psychotic,” he explained quickly.  

Emma raised an eyebrow, voice dropping with disbelief. “You’re going to watch me sleep?”

“In a very non-creepy way, of course.” He gave her a patronizing smile as he quickly added, “I’ll make sure you don’t murder anyone.”

With that the two headed the rest of the way up the stairs, Emma still confused at his ever shifting moods. She knew she wasn’t useful without any sleep, and she was loathe to admit that having him there might finally be enough to get her to rest. At least then she wouldn’t be so damn afraid of herself.

He dropped her hand when they entered her room, and she was surprised by the sudden coldness she felt at the lack of touch. She watched as he made his way over to one of the couches in the corner, and she hadn’t realized how uncomfortable they looked until now.“You can sit on the bed,” she muttered as she herself got under the covers.

It was Hook’s turn to be surprised. “What?” The disbelief in his voice was almost comical.

“You can sit on the bed.” She didn’t like the idea of him literally studying her while she slept, and with him on the couch that’s very much what it felt like. However, she also realized it would be breaking a lot of the boundaries that had been set up between them, so she added, “It’s a very big space, we won’t have to touch or anything, and you can stay on top of the covers. It’ll be more comfortable… for you.”

Hook smiled, seemingly on to her. “If you’re scared you can just tell me, Swan.”

“I’m not scared.” She was. She didn’t want him to know that, obviously, but he read her like an open book, so it wasn’t hard for him to figure out she was lying.

He didn’t call her out, the gentleman that he was. “Of course not.” Hook positioned himself so that he was sitting up against the headboard on top of the covers. His eyes scanned the room before landing on her, a lazy smirk on his face.

She would never admit it to him, but he really was beautiful, particularly when he wasn’t being insufferable. Suddenly, she was exhausted, the weight of the past few days slamming into her like a freight train. She couldn’t explain why his presence made her feel more at ease, she only knew that her eyes were finally drifting closed. “Goodnight, Killian.”

All she heard was a sharp intake of breath and a soft “Goodnight, Emma,” before sleep claimed her.  

[startrek-z]

STZ V: Part 3

“You never did tell me why you ended up on his ship,” Jeremy asked later that evening as they sat down for dinner. They’d spent a long day at the library, and Link had a feeling his roommate had been dying to ask since he’d mentioned the book. He seemed to have not heard the redhead at first. He stared thoughtfully ahead, swallowing the first mouthful of food he’d had all day, before responding. “Not something I really enjoy thinking about,” he admitted quietly. Jeremy looked at him closely. “Is that a 'no’ on the explanation, then?” he asked. Link shrugged. “For now, I guess.” Jeremy nodded. “Fair enough.”

Link picked meagerly at his food after that. For some reason, the question had made him feel homesick–and the recurring thought that he had no home to go back to didn’t help. With a sigh, he stood. “I’m going in early tonight. I’ll see you at the dorm.” Jeremy gave him an odd look, but nodded. Link returned to their room soon after, glancing at his computer terminal. It wasn’t flashing. No one had mailed. With a disappointed sigh, he sat down to work on his assignments. *** It stormed that night. Violent rains pelted the window near Link’s bed, and lightning brightened the room as sharp cracks of thunder shook the walls. Link slept restlessly, his dreams haunted by memories. Images of Ganondorf and his minions flared through his subconscious mind, only instigated by the cracks thunder and lightning. Ganondorf was laughing; it was a cold, harsh and bitter sound. Link’s home, his planet, was disintegrating all around him. Voices of long lost friends and allies cried out for his help. They begged and pleaded for him to come back–for him to save them. A scream pierced the other murmuring voices. The terrified face of a girl with red hair flickered into his mind’s eye. Tears of fear traced down her pale cheeks. “Link! Help me!” The Hero of Time rushed foreword, his heart racing with adrenaline. Flames roared to life all around them, and Malon’s scream pierced the air again. “Malon!” Link cried, running faster now. No matter how far he’d run however, she remained just as far away. “Link, where are you?!” she screamed, terrified, sobbing with pain. “Malon!!” Something shook him. “Link!” Malon screamed again, but her voice was somehow different. 'No, I must save her…let me save her!’ “MALON!” A hard shake brought him back to the waking world much faster than his mind could comprehend. He felt hot–almost sick. Sweat was beaded on his face and neck. The concerned face of his roommate was looking down at him from above. “You all right?” Jeremy asked worriedly. Link sat up shakily, trying to get his bearings back. A crack of thunder caused him to flinch involuntarily. “Y-y-yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered, his voice huskier than he’d intended. Jeremy looked somewhat unconvinced. “That must’ve been some dream.” Link shrugged, looking away. A few moments passed where the only sound was that of the rain pelting the window. “…who’s Malon?” Wide blue eyes focused on Jeremy in surprise. “You were calling that name out…I just wondered.” Link opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He gave up with a shake of his head as he looked away. He could not talk about her…not tonight. Jeremy watched him awhile, trying to figure him out, before standing with a sigh. Lightning flickered again, sending streaks of shadow and light across the boys’ faces. “We’d better get back to bed; we’ve got classes in the morning,” he said quietly. Link nodded and lay back down in the tangle of blankets. He listened to Jeremy’s bed shift as his roommate did the same. In the silence, and the dark, Link closed his eyes, and his hand reached up to touch the cool surface of a small ring he wore on a chain around his neck. It was silver, with aqua crystals embedded in the front. Inside the band, intricate letters spelled out her name. Oh how he missed her. *** In the morning at breakfast Jeremy continued to eye Link with interest and concern.     “Are you alright?” he asked , “You don’t look so good.”     Link gave him an unconvincing smile, “I’m fine…the storm just kept me up I guess. It was a pretty bad one.”      “Yeah it was, seems like the weather gets worse around here all the time.” Jeremy agreed, deciding to let the subject take a neutral turn after Link’s feeble attempt at a lie.    Link felt bad about not being honest with his roommate, but telling people about himself was not his strong point. He was about to try and put an effort in to expanding the conversation, but Melissa came over to their table and smiled at them. “Hi guys. Mind if I join you…there aren’t many empty tables today. Everybody’s stuck eating inside.”    “Sure,” Jeremy said scooting over and moving his pile of books so there was a place for her to set her tray down.     “Good morning Link,” she said.       “Hi.” He replied, continuing to push uneaten food around on his plate.   “Some storm last night huh?” Jeremy commented trying to alleviate what he felt might be an awkward silence. “Kept me up for a good while.”    “Yes, it sure was a bad one. We didn’t get storms like that back on  Centuri , but the lighting was kinda beautiful in a way.” Melissa agreed.    Link gave her an interested look, how she could think that was beyond him. He would forever associate it with pain and darkness and would never see any beauty in its occurrence.  He shuddered slightly at the thoughts of Ganondorf that came to mind again and he hurriedly pushed them back into his subconscious.   “Wonder what They have planned for us today..” Melissa was saying to Jeremy and Link forced himself to listen them and not his own mind.     “I opened instruction packet last night…All it said was that Squad’s  twenty threw thirty were to report to the outdoor track at 10:00…but since we got all this rain I wonder if we’ll do something else…" The redheaded boy replied.     “I wouldn’t count on it.” Link said, “I’ll bet they make us do whatever it is, rain or no rain.”     “Your horribly optimistic aren’t you?” Melissa commented jokingly, and he just shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve heard the stories.”  Was all he said.      “I had S’al’ter send a copy of the order to the rest of the team, and I said if we didn’t meet up at breakfast we’d all meet over at the track.” Jeremy sighed, “It’s exactly 9:45, and no one else is here, so I guess we should get goin’.”    He got up and took his tray over to the recycling unit , followed by his Chief of Security and his Science officer. The trio headed out through the bustling morning traffic in the halls, passing many upperclassmen who snickered and laughed behind their hands as similar small groups of first years went by. One girl listened to her friend then shot Link and Melissa an apologetic smile.   “What the hell is up with them?!” Jeremy asked in a low hiss, “It’s like they know something we don’t!”    Melissa raised her eyebrow at him. “Maybe they do.” She replied archly, catching a another  weird look from a blue skinned Andorian.    “Did the command message you got say how long this ‘activity’ was going to be?” Link asked his ‘captain’   Jeremy thought for a second. “It said our normal classes would resume after lunch…so I guess they get us for at least two hours.”     ‘Great.’ Link thought. And Melissa laughed as she saw his facial expression.   “Oh lighten up!” she giggled, “It could be fun.”  The Hylian was a bit put off by being told to ‘lighten up’ and by nature he did the exact opposite and sunk deeper into his dark mood.    They came to the large glass door that opened on to the track and suddenly became bottle-necked in with their classmates.     “Over here!” Zander called and waved, catching Jeremy’s attention. The Rigilian was standing with Mackenzie and S’al’ter .   “Good morning people,” Jeremy said falling into his mock authoritative voice, a fair impersonation of Admiral Kirk in Link’s opinion , and a tad on the annoying side.   The squad fell into speculating about why they were here and Link’s attention began to wander. All the cadets were bunched up by the door because no one wanted to venture outside where a faint drizzle was still falling in the grey morning. He didn’t feel this was going to be a happy thing, his gut kept warning him that the Admiralty had something wicked planed for them, and that the rain was just playing into their hand.  As if on cue Admiral Linn and the female Commander  from the self defense  class a couple of days before strode in view down at the end of the hall.    “Ugh…guys,” he said trying to break into their discussion. “Guys…The Admiral is coming!” That caught their attention.    “Where!?” Jeremy cried looking wildly around. Link pointed wordlessly. The pair of officers was only a few feet away, and only Squad 24 came to attention as they stopped and inspected the crowd of now silent students.     “Well? What are you people waiting for? And don’t answer ‘you’..your instructions were to wait out on the track. This doesn’t look like the track.” Admiral Linn’s voice was a quiet as ever, but Link thought he caught a hint of amusement in her tone. “ What? Are you all bothered by a little rain? Out. Everybody outside!” she ordered and  everyone made a rush for the door, afraid to be the last ones out.     The class stumbled out in to the warm rain and stood face to face with their worst nightmare. Jeremy and Mackenzie shared a look of dismay. Zander groaned. S’al’ter made a noise of obvious distress and Links stomach feel to his feet. You could hear the broken hearted sounds from the rest of the cadets as the morning fog lifted even more, revealing their curse- A huge obstacle course. A fifteen minute explanation was given to the group. The obstacle course would be run in a relay format. Each team would have one member run it at a time, and the entire class would run it for two hours. Their scores would depend on the number of successful runs each squad got in before the hours were up. Each squad lined up. Jeremy immediately took the front of the line. Link blinked, his mind sharp with the onset of nervous adrenaline. ’Unfamiliar territory; if this was real, it’d be up to me to make sure it was safe to proceed,’ he thought through the noise of quiet chatter and drizzling rain. ’…and it’ll get me out of my own head.’ His decision made, he walked up to Jeremy, touching his shoulder slightly to get his attention. “Let me go first, Captain,” he offered quietly. Jeremy looked puzzled at first, but relented. “Fine, if you really want to.” Melissa seemed confused as well. Link dared a quick glance at Admiral Linn, and he could’ve sworn he saw an approving light in her eyes. The rest of the teams had lined up with the captain going first. He felt a bit awkward lining up alongside them, but remembered the Admiral’s look. ’you’re doing the right thing,’ he reassured himself. “Three, Two, One,” Link tensed, “Go!” They took off, coming to the first part of the course; A tall, plastic wall with odd hand and foot holds scattered along the front. Link started up as he reached it; the holds were wet and slick. For a moment, he was in Kakariko again, struggling to climb out of the horrific depths of the drained well. A cadet above him slipped, and slapped against the side of the wall as he caught himself. Link frowned in concentration, climbing steadily upwards. He was the second one to make it to the small wooden platform above. About 10 feet away was another platform. Between the two, several sets of ropes swung in the wind. Each set consisted of one rope to walk on, and two to hold on to. Below the ropes, a huge cushion waited to catch the cadets to fall. If a cadet did fall, they would have to go around and climb back up the wall, with their squad watching. Link bit his lip as he approached the daunting challenge. The ropes would be soaked from the night’s rain, which greatly increased the chances of falling. He didn’t want to be the one to fall and suffer the embarrassment of going back. Carefully he stepped onto the rope. It was good and tight, and he clutched the other ropes. Slowly he inched his way across, fighting the urge to brush his damp bangs from his eyes. The rain was starting to fall heavier now. Water dripped off the ropes. Link was too focused to even see the cadet in front of him slip and fall into the cushion below. He was nearly there when his boot slipped. The other followed suit, and his heart jumped to his throat. His teeth clenched hard as he held desperately to the ropes in his hands. The cords cut painfully into his bare palms as he swung from inertia; it was everything he could do to not let go. The platform was only a few feet in front of him; he was determined not to fall now. Biting his lip in pain, the Hylian summoned all the strength he could and inched his way onward with just his hands, knowing it’d be a waste of time and valuable energy to try and get his feet back on the slick rope. A great sense of relief washed over him when he set his feet down on to next platform. He practically peeled his sore hand off the ropes, wincing at the sight of the blistered flesh on his palms. Hopefully it wouldn’t get in his way later on, though he doubted he would be that lucky. Link was surprised to find no one ahead of him as he moved on. After sliding down a wet, cold metal pole, he found himself looking at a web of ropes and cords. The tangle went on for a several feet. Getting down, he crawled through the tight cords, carefully winding his way threw. It only took him a few minutes to get past it, and he ran through a line 16 black circle like things (he thought he remembered the admiral calling them ‘tires’), careful to put a foot in each one. Following that was a set of horizontal bars, which he was to swing across arm over arm. He took hold of the first bar, and winced deeply in pain as he put pressure on the blisters. There’s was no way he could successfully cross like this. Determined, he looked down at his clothes, trying to decide what he could spare. He’d put on a spare t-shirt under his uniform–that would have to do. Using his teeth, he tore off a strip of cloth from the bottom of the white t-shirt, then tore that strip in half. Quickly he wrapped one around each palm, wincing at the initial pain it brought, but feeling it would help in the long run. Now, he had to make up for lost time. He put his hands on the bars. It still hurt, but not nearly as bad. After making it across, he now found himself faced with a set of wooden beams, balancing on a block at the center. He got on the first one and ran across, though his balance wavered slightly when the beam shifted. He managed to make it across without too much difficulty, and found himself at another wall. At the top, he swung across with a slick (but thankfully knotted) rope. The course finished with a short run across a slick rubber bridge, another metal pole to the track, and an 100 meter dash back to the line of cadets. The run wasn’t difficult, but after he’d finally tagged off to Jeremy (making sure to warn him of the slick conditions), a wave of dizziness washed over him. It had been a day or so since he’d eaten anything more than a few bites–something which didn’t sit well with his body after nearly starving to death on Sira-8. “Why’d you go first?… Hey, are you alright? You look pale,” Melissa said quietly to him after Jeremy had disappeared over the wall. “I figured it’s the security officer’s job to ensure the safety of the crew–if this had been real, I’d have gone first to make sure the way was clear,” Link murmured, before nodding. “And yeah, I’m alright…just a little light-headed is all,” he bit his lip at her look of concern. “It’s not bad…I’ll be fine,” he assured, now embarrassed. He kicked himself for saying anything, and remained silent for the rest of the exercise. By the time the two hours were up, each member of squad 24 had gone through the course seven times. At this point, Link’s head was pounding, and he was grateful when the Admiral congratulated them on a job well done before dismissing them for lunch. The wet, chilled group of cadets tromped to the lunch room rather quietly. Spending the morning in the rain and wind had left them all feeling worn out. The Hylian couldn’t help but wish he could crawl into bed and huddle under a thick layer of blankets. The chill running through him didn’t want to let go, even after they’d been sitting in the cafeteria for a half hour. He felt a little revived after picking at a bowl of fruit, and trying to force down a glass of warm milk, but not much. He couldn’t help but notice that the milk was a lot blander than LonLon Ranch’s, and sighed quietly at the wave of homesickness that followed. ’You gotta stop this; you’re not a helpless child. You shouldn’t be wallowing like this,’ he thought to himself, but the mental lecture backfired and only made him feel worse. The group was rather quiet, so he assumed they were feeling the effects of the miserable weather, too. Melissa made some attempts at conversation, as did Jeremy, but their attempts were mostly in vain. In any case, lunch ended far too quickly, and Link felt himself dreading what was to come. He wished that they had had more time to dry out, but the bell rang and the cadets were forced to get up and head out to face the rest of their day damp and shivering.  Next on Link’s schedule was a class in astro-botany, an exciting prospect he thought ruefully, and Melissa had a class in Physics. Both were in the same wing so she offered to walk with him. He nodded his assent and they headed off.   “That was some pretty quick thinking, offering to go first..” she commented giving him a sideways smile. “I noticed that Admiral Linn thought you showed good initiative.”   “Yeah I think I saw her smile at me..or at least through her eyes.”    “Bet that performance goes in your record.” Melissa continued mostly to herself, “It’s always good to have the favor of the Admirals…I know some people would literally kill for it…”    Link could too, Jeremy being one of the first to come to mind. They walked on in silence for a bit, their teeth chattering and Melissa rubbing her arms to restore some sort of circulation to them.   “I really didn’t like the part with the ropes,” she said randomly.   “Me neither,” Link agreed holding out his blistered palms. “It’ll take forever to get rid of these.” Melissa held her palms out too, the were just as raw and red as the Hylian’s.    “That had to be the worst training exercise ever!” the girl sighed. “I’ll take a guess that it wasn’t and that the Admirals have something even worse planed for us in the future.” The blond boy said dismally.    “Your all sunshine and roses aren’t you?” Melissa noted with a wry smile. “Well this is my stop..Say why don’t you meet me in the gym after dinner..we can go a few rounds?”    Link stopped to consider the offer and nodded slowly. “Alright, sounds good.”    “O.k…see you later then.” The girl said waving as she entered the class room.

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[kp-reading-blog]

Best Served Cold: A Short Story by Jasmine Silvera

Best Served Cold is a short story by Jasmine Silvera from her KP world of Death's Dancer. It fills in some backstory about the world and serves as a great introduction for new readers to try it out!

About Best Served Cold

Best Served Cold takes place after Death’s Dancer and features Azrael’s enforcer Gregor Schwarz writing wrongs and settling scores with a new ally. 

A Note from Jasmine Silvera

It always delights me that people responded so well to Gregor, Azrael’s enforcer, from Death’s Dancer. He was one of my favorite characters to write. This story was initially intended to be the prologue to his book, but the timeline doesn’t work so I had to cut it. I hope readers will enjoy this “slice of life” from Gregor’s day. Or night, as it were. 

Best Served Cold

The ancient pug, wheezing as he inspected each cobblestone in the sidewalk, snuffled in alarm and raised his head. His ears twitched upward. When the dog splayed its legs and urinated in place, the stooped woman quit patting her pockets for a match and crowed with delight.

“Dobře, dobře, Ferda.” She praised the dog, the hand rolled cigarette bobbing on her lower lip. 

Accustomed to more meandering searches for the perfect spot, she thanked her luck, pocketed the unlit cigarette, and turned for home. Her thoughts raced ahead to her bed, warming under the electric blanket, and the novel waiting beside it. She looked back. The dog stood rooted in place, staring fixed into the vast darkness across the street.

Under the new moon, the dense bushes and trees cast Riegrovy Sady - the expansive city park straddling two of Prague's oldest neighborhoods – in velvet shadow. The silent street lined with parked cars formed a no-man’s land between the lit sidewalk bordering apartment buildings and the sweeping mystery of night.

“Ferda!”

He began to bark. Through rheumy eyes, the woman watched his hackles rise. He circled once and raced to the edge of the sidewalk, growling. 

“Co tam máš?” she asked the dog, not waiting for clarification before attempting to calm him. “Nic to není.”

When the bushes on the park border stirred, he fell silent. His nose twitched. His vocalization became a high-pitched whine. He backed slowly between his owner's feet, and lay down. 

“V klidu,” she murmured, voice trembling. Was she reassuring herself or the dog?

The long nights of her childhood returned to her in a rush, evenings spent at the hearth of her grandmother, listening to fairy tales from the old days. She rubbed her neck absently, thinking this was the kind of night Likho might choose to roam. Had the dog's early urination been the unexpected boon which would lure the goblin?

Old stories, she chastised herself, to scare children and amuse fools. Still, her heart hammered at speeds unhealthy for her age. She squinted into the shadows, calling out a threat to notify the police, as she clutched her walking stick tighter in one hand. The bushes rustled again, as something moved - something bigger than a dog and lower than a man. The next morning she would swear she hadn’t seen a long nose, a set of yellow eyes, and a black-plumed tail. 

Tonight was not a night for self-deception. “Vlkodlak,” she breathed.

Ferda chose that moment to break and run. Tiny claws scrambled on the squared off stones, before stubby legs propelled him toward their flat.  

She hurried after, waving her stick, and muttering about big, feral dogs. When she looked over her shoulder, the bushes were still again, and the park silent.

***

The wolf moved between the trees of the city park, leaving the fear-drenched scents of woman and dog behind. He was larger than a wild wolf would have been, a uniform black from nose to tail, except for his startling eyes. He kept to the shadows, like a manifestation of their depths, moving with purpose and awareness beyond the lupine mind, as he alternately stalked and raced along the underbrush.

 Behind him, a man from another century kept pace as an ordinary human could not have. Dressed in black from head to toe, a long coat flared behind Gregor like a cloak as he ran. Between his shoulders, a vague suggestion of steel coalesced at his back.

That was our street. He paused as they veered away from the curb and the distantly keening dog. 

The wolf bared his canines, his mental voice human. I'm not giving an old lady a heart attack, so you can take a shortcut.

Eyes the color of a winter sky flashed with humor. Have it your way, Markus.

Come now, isn't this nice? The wolf's tongue lolled from his mouth, lips pulling back to show teeth in an uncannily human expression. Night air, no moon. 

Gregor could think of half a dozen ways he'd rather spend the shortest night of the year, but this opportunity was too good to miss. It would have been much nicer in the car. Faster, too.

The wolf sat back on his haunches and scratched absently at one ear with a hind paw. Nice enough to justify the hair on your seats?

Not that nice. 

The wolf watched the man take the lead before he rose to follow. 

Gregor glanced over his shoulder once and tried not to imagine canines at the back of his neck. The long way, it is.

They emerged on the other end of the park, slowing to a brisk walk on the uneven streets. The wolf fell in to a perfect heel at his left knee. To the casual eye, they bore a fleeting resemblance to a businessman taking his very large dog out for a final walk of the night. But casual eyes weren't the only ones about in the city this late. And no one who recognized him would have dared to pass on the same side of the street.  

Still, there was his quarry to consider. It would not do well to spook her and ruin the whole evening. And fate only knew when he'd get another perfect chance to settle a score. Two birds, one stone.

Without looking up, the wolf asked, Going to tell me who we're hunting?

You'll see soon enough. Gregor checked his watch. Look, I know these joint patrols were Azrael's idea.  

The wolf paused to sniff at the wheel of a Jaguar. He lifted his leg, before moving on. Gregor's mouth twitched irrepressibly. 

The wolf glanced at him. What?

Appreciating your choice in targets.

The wolf sniffed. They continued on. Look, Greg, you and I aren't on the best terms.

Gregor's jaw clenched. The wolf snuck a look, and his ribcage expanded as he issued a lupine chuckle. It was disconcerting.

You should know that I asked for you, specifically, Gregor said.

That silenced his companion. A member of the Allegiance of Necromancers that controlled the world divided into in eight territories, Azrael had chosen Prague as his seat. How business was conducted in his capitol city set the standard in his region, and Azrael knew it.

Azrael's patrols were a regular duty among the warriors who made up his aegis - the elite corps of warriors given immortality to fight at his side. They worked the city at night making sure any non-humans behaved according to the strict code the allegiance had impressed on them to keep them from disrupting the human population. 

The addition of the only three werewolves in Prague, as well as the gift of telepathy which allowed them to communicate, was new. The wolves were intimidating enough with their preternatural size and speed. But their resistance to magical influence and intelligence made them true allies. Inclusion had also been a gesture of good faith to the pack. Giving them more visibility among the supernatural denizens of the city enabled them to better protect the coven they served. 

Most of the aegis had taken to shared patrols, appreciating the advantage a massive set of teeth could provide to any trouble they encountered. Known on the streets as the Black Blade of Azrael, Gregor preferred to work alone. Azrael had been surprised when he asked for this assignment, and the pack's alpha as a companion. 

Gregor might have asked for the youngest wolf tonight, but he was guarding his mate as she neared her time. Even Gregor would not interfere during that sacred event. Plus, he suspected the eldest and the middle brothers of being the ringleaders in the mischief with the cake. The youngest's wedding had simply provided opportunity. 

Now, it was Gregor's turn. And opportunity was everything. 

As they closed in on their destination, Gregor commented idly, Did you know, unlike German and English, the word for werewolf in Czech translates to ‘wolf and coat’? Since I can't have my pelage, I thought I ought to at least have a companion who matched my attire.

You have some balls. Markus bared his teeth, and the hair on his spine flared into high relief. The ‘coat’ in Vlkodlak refers to fur, not clothes, anyway.

When Gregor stared, Markus’s bared teeth relaxed into that odd lupine smile again. 

Everyone assumes Toby’s the smart one. The wolf cocked his head. But I know a few things, Old Man.

I assume nothing. Gregor said cheerily at the confirmation that he had picked the right brother after all. And yes, I am old enough to be your great-great, one more I think yes – grandfather. Now, we've arrived.

Gregor assessed the storefront at the base of a neoclassical building well past its prime. The windows glowed an invitation with gold light. The yeast and sugar aroma thickened the air outside the door. 

The wolf's nose twitched. He rocked back on his haunches in surprise. A bakery?

The man smoothed his coat, and the sword blinked out of visibility at his back. Indeed.

The door resisted slightly under his hand, but a muttered word and the locks slid away. He walked in, as the bell above the door tinkled brightly, holding the door for his companion. The wolf paced the shop, lifting his nose to scent the four small cafe tables and the counter. He circled back, as a small woman in her sixties came bustling from the kitchen, her arms and apron dusted with flour.

“We are closed,” she said in a flurry of Czech, before coming to a stop. “And no dogs!”

Her eyes widened with recognition. 

What are we doing here? The wolf’s head lowered.

Having a cookie. Now, be a good doggie and be quiet.

“Promiňte nám paní.” He beamed smoothly, continuing in Czech. “When I heard how special the bread was, I could not wait until morning. Permit me?”

The woman trembled approached the glass display case. “Mr. Schwarz, these are from yesterday. Too old. If you tell me what you like, I will send an order to the castle directly. Freshly baked.”

Gregor watched her carefully, assessing the offerings. He was certain her age was an illusion. It was no wonder she had gone undetected for so long. He shook his head, surveying the case with hands clasped behind his back. “I am not a patient man.”

He made his selection seem random enough, all the while watching her face. She was good, but not even half his age, and still too close to her human birth to have shed the details of body language which revealed exactly what he was looking for. He paused before a dark loaf, flecked with something resembling pistachios.

“I'll have that one,” he said, indicating with a look.

“But, sir,” she said. “We are known for our rosemary bread. This is just a rustic loaf I make for the old timers.”

“I do so love authentic cuisine,” he said with savage cheer, straightening from his examination so swiftly she jumped backward. “I will take it.”

She lowered her eyes. “Of course, sir. A moment, please.”

He waited as she withdrew the loaf, carefully wrapping it in paper, and slipping it into a paper bag. She set the package on the counter. He reached into his pocket and chased the jingle of coins.

“How much?”

“No, sir,” she said. “It is my honor to bake for the necromancer's man.”

Gregor bared his teeth in the mockery of a smile. “I insist.” 

He slid a few Czech crowns across the counter, the silhouettes of the Charles Bridge glittering silver as they caught the light. Snatching the bag, he ripped into the paper. Crumbs scattered over the clean floor as he tore the bread in half. He glanced at the wolf. “Sit.”

Markus flattened his ears and showed enough teeth to make the woman behind the counter recoil.

Gregor laughed. “Good dog.” 

The woman sucked in a breath. Gregor flung the chunk at the wolf. Massive jaws snapped twice, and the bread disappeared.

Delicious. She's good. You have a perverse sense of –

The wolf's voice cut off. His eyes darted up to the man, before narrowing at the woman. A low, uncertain growl reverberated through his chest. He sat back on his haunches and his tongue spilled helplessly from his jaws. Whining, he sank to the floor. The change began before Gregor’s eyes.

Gregor was moving before the wolf's strangled cry became a human voice. He hurdled the counter, reaching for the semi-automatic holstered under his coat with one hand and the necromancer’s throat in the other. He pinned her to the wall and the air left her chest in a rush.

“Adelaide Haase, you are under arrest for violation of your license,” he snarled.

“I only make it as a defense for the elders,” she choked, glaring at the gun’s muzzle. “So they are not taken in confidence by those duplicitous creatures.”

“You know who I am?” It was a question offered with surprise, rather than boast. 

As Azrael's Head of Security, his face was synonymous with the necromancer's rule. The position afforded respect, but he had earned the fear which accompanied the recognition on his own. 

She nodded, and he felt her swallow against his palm.

“Yet, you lie to me,” he said, glancing at the now-incapacitated wolf on the floor. 

Markus was stuck between his forms. His body was human, but his hands were still mostly paws, and his feet haired with wolf pelt. His head maintained most of its lupine features, even in human shape. 

Gregor turned his attention back to the young necromancer. “A licensed necromancer not practicing in favor of owning a bakery was strange enough to attract attention. But the loaf worked fast, so you're clearly not out of practice. That kind of spell work takes more than a few pastries to support.”

She met his eyes. “I don't know what you're insinuating,”

He pitched her across the room into the tables and chairs, sending them clattering to the floor. “Where are the others?”

“There are no others!” She managed to get to her knees and elbows much faster than a woman her apparent age should have.

His expression turned thoughtful. “Your buyer seemed to think you sold in bulk.” 

The necromancer’s eyes darted around the room, betraying her.

“She's casting,” Markus growled in warning.

Gregor lunged and grabbed her by the ankle, flinging her into the wall. She slid down, unconscious. 

“Not anymore,” he announced, snatching a cloth off one of the remaining tables and tossing it in the general direction of the man’s haunches. “Keep an eye on her?”

He gave Markus credit for remaining functional. The man levered himself to the fallen necromancer's side, glancing around for a weapon. Gregor handed off the gun on his way behind the counter. 

“Try not to kill her,” Gregor said as an afterthought. “Azrael would like to have a word.”

Markus managed a decent grip with his more hand-like paw and grunted assent.

Gregor passed through the swinging door to the kitchen. In the silent space, he appraised mounds of unfinished bread and bowls of half-mixed fillings, which had collapsed when Adelaide was rendered unconscious. Apparently, the necromancer was also using her power to do the bulk of the baking. There was work here for four people, but she was the only one in the shop.

Except, she wasn't. 

His eyes swept the room. It was a tidy kitchen, but no matter how clean, a bakery always accumulated a fine layer of flour dust in the oddest of places. 

Though not a creature of magic by nature being bound to a necromancer had its advantages. Centuries of service had taught Gregor a few things about sensing power. If a little bit of Azrael's had rubbed off on him over time, he used it to his advantage. 

He followed his instinct to the blank wall. However, now that he was looking for it, the break in the flour where the wall met the floor seemed obvious. As well as the slight semi-circle of white dust left by the opening and closing of a door where there should be none.

The sword at his back became solid only when he reached for it. A symbol of his vow to Azrael and a gift of power, the blade coalesced like black smoke as he drew. He touched the still translucent tip to the wall. It went solid instantly at contact with power other than itself. He murmured the words of the same unlocking geas he'd used on the door outside. The wall gave up its hidden door with the sound of reluctant lock tumblers sliding into line. He sheathed the blade, grabbed the newly visible handle, and pulled. 

The hard light of the kitchen spilled into the hidden room beyond. He made out half a dozen bodies, after overcoming the pungent reek of fear and animal. The mix of skin and feathers and fur was tangled and matted with captivity. Six pairs of eyes stared up at him, some from human faces, some from the faces of the animals they had been. Mostly birds, a few mice, and even a tabby cat. All lured with crumbs, and captured to be traded or sold. 

Gregor crouched low, and the captives shrank away from him. He exposed his palms and spoke in slow, formal Czech. “You're free now, by command of the Necromancer Azrael. Your captor will be punished for her crimes. Our people will be here soon to offer you succor, should you require it.”

He watched their expressions, fear and hopelessness falling away as his words registered. He repeated himself in German, English, and Dutch, suspecting one of the leggier birds was a heron common in the Netherlands.

He heard the front door open, and Rory's voice at the counter. “What the hell happened to you, Mark?”

Markus' reply was too low for Gregor to catch. Rory had to duck to enter the kitchen, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Is this about the bloody cake, mate?”

Gregor shrugged. “He’ll live.”

“The Consort is going to lose her mind.” Rory sighed. 

“I'll see her in the sparring ring, at her convenience.” Gregor said pleasantly.

“She’s going to gut you.” Rory eyed him with the patience of familiarity. 

“She may try.” Gregor showed teeth.

Rory’s brow rose. “Azrael will be happy to do it for her. I hope it's worth it.”

“Always.” Gregor snugged his coat and changed the subject. “You secured Haase for transport?”

Rory looked insulted. Gregor apologized with a shrug.

“I've called for a recovery team to pick them up.” Rory took in the little room and its huddled occupants with a frown. “Terrible business, this.”

“And Markus?”

“In the Rover, pissed as hell.” Rory chuckled, shaking his head. “Go. I'll stay until they’re sorted. Try not to rub his nose in it too much.”

“That's no fun.”

Gregor strode out of the bakery, brushing a bit of flour from his lapels. Aelfir, Azrael's Nordic bruiser, prodded the revived necromancer toward the transport vehicle. Gregor paused to check she was bound and warded to keep her from attempting escape. It was a cursory check. She knew she was done. Her head hung low in defeat. Azrael's punishment would be severe, and every supernatural in his territory would know of it. Gregor did not waste pity on her.  

Next, he walked to Rory's Range Rover and opened the back door. Markus was curled up on the seat in a blanket. With a shudder, his body tried to transition to wolf and failed. He groaned and shivered wildly. The bread forced the transformation, but arresting midway it was a nice trick.

“Don't worry,” Gregor purred at the shape-shifter. “It will wear off in a day or so. Perhaps Mommy has something which can speed it up “

“You're a real dick, Old Man, you know that, right?” Markus managed a snarl, his eyes stuck between wolf muddy yellow and a more human shade of hazel. “I should have let her turn you into a toad.”

“I am grateful for the warning she was trying to cast,” Gregor said. “There are six shifters free to return to their lives, thanks to you. Consider us even.”

“Even?” 

Gregor's smile widened. “For the Schwarzhirsch.”

Gregor and the wolves had a rocky start, but the pack had made a peace offering in the only way they knew how—a practical joke. The joke, a cake in the shape of the stag in Gregor's family crest, was made from red velvet. Markus had taken particular pleasure in hacking the thing bloody and handing out forks.

Gregor decided revenge was best served cold, and slightly stale. Markus glared up at him, but he couldn't keep the corner of his lips from twitching upward. 

“This is just the beginning, Old Man,” Markus promised. “Welcome to the family.”

Gregor closed the door on his laughter and strode away.  

A flat black Audi roadster vibrated slightly at his approach and the headlights winked on. Finally, the replacement for his beloved automobile had arrived. He hoped he wouldn’t regret acquiescing to Azrael’s insistence on electric. The engineers had assured him he wouldn’t suffer a loss of performance. An undead boy leapt out of the driver's seat, holding the door as the car chimed a familiar, pleasant greeting.

“Up past our bedtime, aren't we, Dr. Sato?” Gregor asked, wondering what the Consort's attaché was doing delivering his car.

“Lord Azrael thought it a good idea I start participating in patrols,” Tyler said. He corrected himself at Gregor's scowl. “Taking on additional responsibilities.”

Gregor wondered how much of Tyler's being here was Azrael's idea, and how much Tyler’s own. The boy seemed determined to rise from his position as attaché to something more substantial. 

“I take it he's keeping the Consort out of trouble all by himself.” Gregor smirked, sliding into the car.

Tyler flushed. “The Academy, sir. It's the Summer Showcase. Issy's friend is performing.”

“The martial artist,” Gregor pondered.

“Trinh,” Tyler said, a little too sharply. 

The dancer had made a point of cornering both men. In their brief interaction, she'd announced it did not matter how old either was, she would cut them into too many pieces to be recovered, if they harmed Isela Vogel. 

The idea that Gregor would, or could, harm the Consort was laughable at best. His life was hers now, as it was Azrael's. He didn't have to like it, but he would obey it with every fiber of his being. Such was his vow, not just the one he'd taken to Azrael. Still, he'd been too charmed by the fearless eye contact be offended by the threat. Apparently he hadn’t been the only one.

“She's too much woman for you, little one,” Gregor said, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps I'll catch the second half. If I hurry, I may make the end of intermission.” 

He slammed the car door in the younger man’s face. He slipped the car in gear and swung away from the curb. On the way, he woke up his favorite florist with a call, arranging for a delivery of roses to meet him at the theater. 

The florist spoke around a yawn. “The card, Sir?”

“To new beginnings.” 

Death's Dancer

Check out Death's Dancer, the world where Best Served Cold comes from!

Summer Solstice

Death's Dancer short story is also featured in the Kindle Press Anthology Summer Solstice. You can get it from Instafreebie for free!