#(i think the measurement comes from literally measuring the width of your fingers on the glass you're pouring into)

[superiorjello]

The ways some folks write drunk people can get pretty wacky too

The shows (c-dramas are egregious, but not unique in this) where someone has the equivalent of a shot of wine and passes out, aquires a second personality, or just starts hallucinating... like... my dudes...

Okay, so, in my experience, if you're passing out after a glass of wine or a beer...that's a medical condition. You should be taking that blorbo to a hospital/healer. And if you are passing out from a normal amount of alcohol that could cause that, it's because your blood-alcohol content has reached a super high level and that can literally kill you. So you should also be keeping an eye out and not laughing it off.

Moving on, when people say drunk people Are Different™ it's because their inhibitions are lowered, not because they've had a personality transplant. Unless you are Really Drunk you are still somewhat aware of what's going on around you and what you're doing, you just care less about possible future repercussions. If you ARE Really Drunk, you're kinda stuck in the moment and don't remember much about why you shouldn't do things, beyond any really deeply ingrained morals/beliefs you hold. Like, I have been drunk out of my MIND and still known that I Could Not Drive like that because it is Wrong. Those thoughts are still there until you are literally passing out.

Hallucinations are also not normal after a glass or two of wine or a couple beers. Mishearing and delayed processing of inputs is common though, which can seem like you're being haunted, or from an outside perspective is a little weird because the drunk person is replying to something that the conversation has since moved past. But actual hallucinations come from being like... an alcoholic who has severely damaged their whole body with years of heavy drinking. Or from mixing other substances with your alcohol.

But yeah, to cap it off, when you're just tipsy it can feel a little dream-like or floaty, your reactions might be slower than usual, and you relax some. If you're mildly drunk you start getting silly, angry, sleepy, sad, or horny; this can depend on the person, their mood, the people around them... all sorts of things. Drink some more and your brain gets muddled, you might start focusing on singular details that you can grasp and ignoring others because there's too much happening around you and it seems too fast, and often you can't hold onto the string of events that led you somewhere, so you're pretty distractable. "We should all get pizza!" Turns into "Where's Steve?" Turns into "This couch is really comfy!" Turns into "Oh Yeah pizza!" But meanwhile you never found Steve because you were distracted by the couch. It's only when you REALLY drink heavily that you start losing time and puking and blacking out. I've still never managed to lose memories from heavy drinking, and I got VERY drunk in my 20's.

Anyways, sorry for dumping all this on your post. I hope it helps someone, have a nice day!

i love when fic writers who have clearly never tried any kind of alcohol in their lives try to write someone drinking bc they're always like

"he ordered a tall glass of hard liquor. after three large glasses he was feeling tipsy" like babygirl i can't be sure but i think u just sent this man to the hospital

[reallygrossstuff]

for the friday the 13th requests, would you consider doing some ftm transformation/masculinization? or something with trickster mode and weight gain? preferably with jake on the receiving end of either of these!! your fics are like life fuel

Sorry it's so late! I didn't want to leave your idea unwritten, so hopefully I haven't left out anything you'd like in this. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

"Just stand still, I'll get you measured for your costume."

Jake shifted from foot to foot, but eventually did as Dirk had asked, holding still as Dirk took measurements and made notes. He didn't technically have to do any of that, but Jake was at least bright enough to notice if Dirk wasn't doing any of the things he was supposed to be doing.

Really, all he'd had to do after Jake had swallowed that candy was bide his time and say the right things.

"So! What kind of costume were you thinking of making for me?"

Dirk shrugged. "I haven't decided yet, these are just the basic measurements. But I was thinkin' maybe some sort of villain or henchman, play on your masculinity."

"…my masculinity?" Jake asked, clear scepticism in his voice. It wasn't unwarranted; with his smooth skin and lean build, Jake was about as masculine as Dirk himself, with an Adam's apple and not much else to show for it.

This was where Dirk would come in to sell it. "Yeah, obviously. With the right outfit, all your real tough guy features can come out and pull their weight."

"Stop pulling my leg and tell me what the real plan is, Dirk! I can't well pull off anything like what you're suggesting."

"No way, you definitely can." Here was where Dirk mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he'd given his preparations long enough to take hold, that Jake would be properly suggestible. Running one hand over Jake's arm, he said, "Like all this muscle you've got here, you've got those big brawny arms henchmen always have in movies."

Jake opened his mouth to protest, and Dirk worried he'd spoken too soon, but then he paused, a slight glaze coming across his features. "My… hm. What was that?"

"Your arms." As he spoke, Dirk felt the effects of his words; Jake's arms were swelling with new muscle, growing rounder and firmer as Dirk's hands could no longer find bone. "You look like you carry fridges for a living, man, how does that not fit the part? I mean, you're built all over, but they're definitely where most of it goes."

"Hm… hm, yes, I suppose you're right." Looking down at himself, Jake didn't blink at the change coming over his body, simply flexing one of his arms curiously. "They are rather big, aren't they?"

"Huge," Dirk agreed immediately, nodding as well. "I dunno why you aren't prouder of these things, they're really something."

"Yes, well." Jake literally puffed up with pride; the more he thought about himself the way Dirk implied, the more he resembled that implication. "I don't want to boast, you know, it'd be unsporting."

"Boast all you want, bro. You think people aren't jealous you've got all this hairy muscle on show all the time?" Dirk was laying it on thick, but he didn't care, focusing more on watching Jake's muscles begin to put strain on his shirtsleeves and the legs of his shorts, short hairs sprouting from previously smooth skin. "Definitely makes up for you puttin' on the pounds."

"Mm, what was that you said? I mustn't have heard it right, I thought you said-"

"-that you've been putting on weight, you heard right. You eat like someone twice your size, you're gonna start catching up to that. You think I didn't notice?" Dirk slapped Jake's currently-flat stomach, taking a moment to feel his abs before they went away.

What came next was out of Dirk's control in the best way possible. With that one thought inserted into Jake's self-image, the man began to pad out in almost every direction. He'd been growing taller already, shoulders broadening and his middle filling out, and all that height became easy ground for width and depth to take hold of him.

Jake's stomach curved out immediately, pushing out his singlet top until a large slice of fuzzy flab sagged in open air. His shorts grew tighter at the thighs as his legs gained some thickness, making up for the lack of new muscle that had settled there. His arms, while still visibly strong, lost some of their definition and gained a slight wobble as he continued to flex them curiously. Even his face softened, his previously-squared jaw rounding out as stubble bloomed across newly sagging cheeks. He was by no means obese, but Jake was definitely overweight now, and he'd stay that way if Dirk had any say in it.

"Er - now, hold on." Jake continued to frown at his jiggling arm, some lucidity entering his gaze again. "I don't think I recall looking like-"

"You're thinking too much." Dirk interrupted Jake without hesitation, cutting off the thought before it could cause any damage. "You shouldn't think about things this much, you aren't good at it."

"W-what?"

"Think less. Pay less attention. That's what I'm here for, I keep an eye on the small stuff so you don't have to bother."

This was a harder sell than what Dirk had said before, and it showed in Jake's continued frown, the way his body tensed as if resisting the suggestion. But Dirk leaned in, his slimmer hands groping Jake's thick arms and stroking through the new hair there, and he could see Jake's resolve dimming. "I suppose you've never steered me wrong before…"

"And I won't now. So stop trying to impress me with those big words, I know you've got not clue what half of those mean. You're the guy in charge, you just say what you feel."

"Yes… yeah, I do." Jake began to smile again, his eyes unfocusing as the concern left his expression. Dirk reached up and took the spectacles right off his face; they didn't look right on him any more, with so much less intelligence to light up his eyes. "Dunno why I ever bother with that crap, really."

"Neither do I," Dirk replied, tucking Jake's glasses away into his sylladex where they wouldn't prompt any difficult questions. "I got all your measurements by the way."

"Huh?" Jake barely turned his head towards Dirk, still watching himself flex idly.

"We're done here. You can go push shit around in the basement or whatever you do all day, I'll make your costume in time for Halloween."

"My… oh! I forgot about that," Jake explained, as if Dirk couldn't have guessed. "Thanks for doing all that, I really just don't care for that fiddly shit."

"You're still talking too much." Dirk might have been pushing his luck, but the power he had over Jake in that moment was compelling, and he pushed without hesitation. "It's easier to talk to you when you don't talk back."

Jake opened his mouth to respond, then paused, the words clearly fleeing him. He stood in place for a moment, and Dirk wondered if he'd have to repeat himself, but eventually Jake responded with a simple, "mmh," and began to trudge away.

No sign was left of the person Jake had been before Dirk's suggestions got in his head; physically, emotionally, not to mention his personality. He looked like an older, more rugged, less sensitive version of himself, the kind of man that belonged in the rough climates Jake had grown up in. His steps thudded through the house as Jake went off to find something simple to occupy himself with, and Dirk let himself feel accomplished for a minute before returning his attention to his work.

Jake looked the part now, but Dirk still had to come up with a perfect costume for him at the Halloween party.

[everybodyscupoftea]

finally free

ole miss rafe x reader

rafe is tired, you try and help, and eventually the two of you get to drink

two in one day baby (almost?)

(warnings: cursing, drinking, hardly edited)

Rafe had been exhausted lately, cancelling dates to do homework and pulling at least one all-nighter a week. He’d decided to TA his first semester in the program, and while you were happy he got the subject of his choice, you were worried he was running himself too ragged.

It’s not like you had much room to talk, Vet School had been brutal, and the amount of work was what you expected, but weren’t exactly prepared for. A lot of the time you’d spent together starting mid-semester was takeout and homework in one of your apartments.

Your semester came to an end before Rafe’s by two weeks, and you spent the first week catching up on sleep, working out, and making actual home cooked meals for Rafe. You’d been practically living at his apartment, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Babe,” you called one morning, walking out of his room around 10:30.

He was sitting at the dining room table, and looked up at you, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, “What’s up?”

“About to head to the gym, want some breakfast before I go?”

“Had a bagel, thanks though.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead before heading toward the door, “Gonna get some groceries while I’m out and probably Strange Brew. Text me if you decide you want me to pick something up.”

He smiled at you tiredly, and you could see the bags under his eyes from across the room, “Thanks, sweetheart, I think I’m good though. Going to work for a few hours and then take a nap.”

“Please take a nap, you need it. How many days do you have left?”

“Three and then next week is finals. So I’ll have tests and papers to grade. Plus my schoolwork.”

“Are the tests multiple choice?”

“Yeah.”

“I can do those. So you can focus on your own shit and the papers.”

You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his eyes filled up and the lines on his face softened, “That would be fantastic.”

“Alrighty then, sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few, you’d better be asleep when I get back.”

Rafe grinned and sent you a salute, “Yes ma’am.”

-

He had clearly just laid down by the time you got back, and when you walked in, arms full of grocery bags. Laid on the couch, he jolted, eyes snapping open. You winced, “Sorry, babe.”

Putting away the groceries, you went over the couch and knelt down before running your fingers through his hair. He hummed, leaning into your hand, “Not asleep like you told me to, sorry.”

You smiled softly, “S’okay, you almost were, I woke you up.”

“Groceries put away?” he asked suddenly.

“Mhmm.”

Without saying anything else, he lifted the edge of the blanket closest to you, a clear invitation for you to slide in next to him. Huffing out a laugh, you kicked your shoes off and laid down, half on top of Rafe.

Rafe wrapped a leg and both arms around you, adjusting the blanket until he was happy, and then promptly fell asleep. You smiled and rested your forehead on his collarbone, content to lay in silence with him for a little while.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours before an alarm on his phone under the throw pillow started going off, startling you out of the half asleep state you’d fallen into and waking him up completely.

“Fuck,” he slurred, “don’t wanna get up.”

“Sleep more,” you told him, voice just as quiet.

“Can’t. Got a paper on the Black Plague due in a few days, don’t have enough sources yet.”

“Baby,” you muttered, “you’re running yourself ragged. If you don’t sleep your paper won’t be good anyway.”

Rafe shut his eyes tightly, “I know. But I just can’t.”

“Is there something I can do for you.”

“I-” he paused, one hand coming up to rub his eyes, “you aren’t my mom, I hope you know I really don’t see you that way. I don’t want to treat you like that, you need to know that you’re my equal and that you don’t have to take care of me, that I’m capable of it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I know. Where’s this coming from?”

“Can you,” Rafe sighed, clenching his eyes shut for a second, “would you mind taking care of my laundry? It’s been a few weeks and I’m almost out of underwear.”

“Yeah, of course. I need to do mine too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I did offer.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen my friends act like children, treat their girlfriend like a glorified mother. I don’t want to be like that.”

“You aren’t,” you reassured, “I promise.”

He smiled wryly, “Let me know if I am, yeah?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

-

A week later found you and Rafe sitting on the floor, side by side, backs leaning against the couch. He had a key spread out between the two of you, and you had a stack of exams handed in by two sections of the class. He had an even thicker stack of essays in one hand, and a blue pen in the other. 

“Why blue?” you asked, twirling your own black pen in your fingers.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, looking over at you.

“Blue pen instead of black or red, why?” you asked again.

“Oh,” he smirked, “Ole Miss blue.”

“You,” your jaw dropped, “I hate you.”

“You so don’t. I’d even go as far to say you love me.”

“You know I do, please don’t act slick. You’re an MSU student now.”

“Uh huh, only two years compared to five at Ole Miss.”

“Grade your essays, I don’t want to talk to you,” you huffed, faking annoyance, and turned up the quiet music playing through the speaker.

He dropped his head back against the couch and whined, “These papers are so bad though. Like they barely even tried.”

“I’m sure they did, babe, but you’re used to graduate level writing now.”

“No,” he shoved one in your face, a strand of hair falling over his furrowed brow, “read this.”

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled it a few inches from your face to read. He stared at you as you scanned, and made a triumphant noise when you squinted,

“There are a few mistakes,” you mumbled.

“Generous,” he added, sounding smug.

“Don’t make fun of kids, they’re barely 18.”

“They’re assholes,” he corrected you, “like I knew it was a mostly freshman class, but goddamn. I hope I wasn’t this annoying back then.”

“You probably were. I mean, you were barely tolerable when you and I met.”

“No, I was relatively mature, I just didn’t know how to express emotion in a normal way.”

You put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, “You’ve come a long way.”

Rafe’s cheeks went a little red, and you cooed at him. He pushed your face away from his and muttered, “Grade the exams. You’re a menace.”

-

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rafe asked three nights before his last exam.

“Mhmm?” you answered, half asleep.

“Do we have Christmas plans this year?”

“Don’t think so, why?”

“I wasn’t sure if we were going to your parents’ house.”

“Haven’t talked to my mom in a while,” you frowned, “you think I should call her?”

“Up to you.”

“No, you’re part of this decision too. I know you’re exhausted, so if you don’t want to travel, we won’t.”

He frowned, “You can still go.”

“And leave you alone on Christmas?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye, and you pushed yourself up, staring down at him, “Rafe, you know I wouldn’t, right?”

“I mean, we’ve only been together for a year,” he mumbled.

“Not quite yet,” you corrected, absentmindedly, “but still, you’re important to me.”

“Well, in that case, call your mom, we’ll make the trip.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a few days to think it over. I know you’ve never met them in person before. Doing it on a holiday would be a bit overwhelming.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I guess it would.”

“Sleep now, get back to me.”

“Fine.”

-

The afternoon of Rafe’s last final, you walked into his apartment to hear Christmas music blasting. Your boyfriend was sprawled out on the couch surrounded by beer bottles, and he gave you a lazy wave, “Sup, mamas.”

“Hey, Rafe. How’d the test go?”

“Excellent. Now I’m celebrating.”

“I see that.”

“It’s Christmas season now.”

“Now, huh?”

“Well the tree has been decorated for two weeks now, so I could argue that your logic is flawed.”

“No no,” he held his hand up, “it’s only Christmas now that I can focus on it.”

“You given any thought to Christmas plans?” you asked.

Rafe sat up suddenly, “Yes,” he pointed at you, “what if we FaceTime your parents instead of making the long ass drive.”

“Fine with me. I talked to my mom the other day and she told us that she’d put our presents in the mail anyway. They expected this.”

He frowned, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Great, sounds great.”

“Great,” you joked in response. 

Rafe rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder, “Drink with me.”

“I will. Picked some stuff up this afternoon for spiked eggnog, by the way.”

“Oh fuck yes. Homemade eggnog?”

“Of course.”

He followed you to the kitchen, so close he was almost tripping over your heels, and you huffed, coming to a stop. Rafe ran into your back before stepping back, a sheepish grin on his face, “Sorry.”

“Can I trust you to help me or are you too gone right now?”

“I can help,” he nodded, doing his best to look sober.

“Fine, you’ll stir, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, feet spread further than shoulder width apart, dropping down to your height. You measured out the milk and cream and turned the heat up, giving him a weird look, “Why are you standing like that?”

“You were humming that song that’s like do you see what I see and I don’t, so I was curious.”

“It’s a song? You don’t have to take it literally.”

“Hmm, braincells gone. Everything is literal unless specified.”

You snorted, “Stir, dumbass,” before starting to separate the egg whites from the yolks. Keeping an eye on him, you started to whisk the egg yolks, pausing to help him add in the sugar, vanilla and nutmeg when the milk started bubbling.

“Smells good,” he told you, sniffing the mixture.

“It does. You ready to whisk it in?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rafe very carefully poured and you whisked before pouring it back into the saucepan.

“You got a thermometer?” you asked him, flipping the heat back on.

He pulled open a drawer and brandished one eagerly, clearly proud of himself for being prepared, “Fuck yeah I do.”

“Put it in, tell me when it hits 160.”

Rafe stared, eyebrows furrowed, fully focused on the number. When he told you, you flipped the heat off again and poured in the rum and brandy. Making it a bit stronger than you normally would.

“Bro,” he said, taking a spoonful, “this is incredible.”

“Thanks, bro,” you answered, bumping your hip into his.

“Oh, hip check,” he bumped back, twice as hard, knocking you off balance.

“Rafe,” you glared, stepping away to pour two glasses, “don’t make me spill or you can make another batch on your own.”

“No,” he pouted, “I could never.”

“You couldn’t, no.”

You watched, appalled, as Rafe chugged his first glass, slamming it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand.

“Shit’s good,” he told you earnestly.

“We’re not at a bar, Rafe. Take it easy.”

“Nope, blackout remember?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your forehead, “pour yourself another I guess.”

Rafe leaned in for a kiss, missing your mouth and landing on your chin, but it was like he didn’t even realize before he was moving around you back to the pitcher you’d poured it in.

It didn’t take many more cups for Rafe to be totally gone, curled up with you on the couch while the live action Grinch played in the background, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds.

“Tired?” you finally whispered, when you were pretty sure there was drool on your shirt.

“Huh?” he asked, blinking rapidly, “No.”

“Sure,” you responded, amused, “let’s go get ready for bed, huh?”

You put the empty cups in the dishwasher before guiding Rafe to the bathroom to make him brush his teeth and get undressed. 

“Tryna get me naked?” he asked, swaying in place as he pushed his shirt over his head lazily.

“Yeah,” you answered, rubbing moisturizer in.

Rafe followed you to bed, falling in after you, mostly on top of you, knocking the breath out of your chest.

“Jesus, Cameron,” you wheezed.

“Rafe is fine,” he mumbled into your neck, and was out like a light a few seconds later.

You sighed, squirming under him to try and get comfortable before falling asleep yourself.

~

day 7 of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: spiked eggnog or cider

[ve1vetyoongi]

better with you | 02

Chapters: index

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Genre: fake dating/arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 18k

Summary: A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Warnings: (mostly) fluffy smut, unprotected penetrative sex, handjobs, oral (f recieving), creampie, spanking, lots of pining hhhhhh.

A/N: HELLO omg it’s literally been so long since i updated this fic and let me tell you it was so fun to finally write for these characters again!!! thank u for everyone who has sent lovely asks about the first chapter and for waiting so long for the next one! ily and i hope ur all staying safe and well during these crazy times my honeybuns <3<3

"Seokjin," You gasp. "N-not here."

Fingers toy with the hem of the expensive sequin dress you found wrapped up in tissue paper on your bed that morning, edging agonizingly closer to the damp throb between your legs that under normal circumstances would require immediate attention from Seokjin -- if only you weren't in the back seat of one of the Kim's private cars.

"Why not?" Seokjin mumbles against your neck, the way his plump lips nibble the lobe of your ear making you shiver. "I know you're wet for me. Nobody has to know if I just..."

His palm cups your heat brazenly, and you have to bite back a moan, cheeks flushing when Seokjin chuckles low and gravelly against your ear. Your arrangement as you've taken to calling it has been going on for a few weeks now, Seokjin dragging you along to family outings and fancy dinners as his fiance and rewarding you with sensual rendezvous and get-to-know-me time in between.

"I know you want it, sweetheart." He drags a finger down your panties and you whimper. "Just say the magic word, and I'll give it to you."

Oh god. You are so weak for his touch, and he knows it. The things Seokjin's tousled hair and cocky smirk make you feel should be illegal. Anyone would think you have the sex drive of a teenage boy, constantly eager to jump his bones just looking at him. But not now, not here. The windows might be tinted, but you are sure you spot the chauffeur's eyes drifting to the backseat in the rear view mirror.

"Sir," The driver coughs, eyes trained politely to the steering wheel. The car has stopped at some point, not that either of you noticed. "We have arrived."

Seokjin flashes you a satisfied look as his hand reluctantly slips out from beneath your skirt so he can fish around in his back pocket for his leather wallet, throwing a couple fifty dollar bills on the front seat as a tip. "Thanks, Pierre."

You're still busy straightening your skirt when the car door opens and a black-gloved hand helps you out onto the sidewalk. You can't help but blush ferociously when you meet the driver's knowing gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. "No problem, sir'"

"I'll take it from here." Seokjin nods to the driver and slips his elbow through yours. Pierre lifts his black cap, before getting back into his shiny Mercedes and whizzing off into the city traffic.

Your legs shake in your stilettos, partly because you're not used to walking in anything other than your beat up converse but mostly because of the reassuring smile Seokjin sends your when when he see's you glancing around nervously.

You're in a upper class part of town, the street lined with shiny black cabs and designer boutiques with French names you can't even pronounce. You can't help but feel out of place, like the eyes of every passerby see right through your immaculate rich facade and see you for the ordinary kitchen girl that you really are.

"Don't worry," He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear so only you can hear as he pretends to adjust your diamond necklace. At least you think its diamond...what would you know? "You look beautiful. Just relax."

A small smile plays on your lips. Beautiful. It makes your heart flutter like a butterfly between cupped palms, even though you know it shouldn't. That's been happening a lot lately, and you don't like how easily he can make you melt. Snap out of it!  You tell yourself.

Still, his reassurance makes you feel more at ease than before, and you straighten your shoulders with a new found confidence as Seokjin takes your hand in his, even if it is just for show. You have to make the fiance thing believable, after all.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." It's true -- Seokjin is good at keeping secrets. Probably because he knew that you'd say no to most of the crazy situations he seemed persistent on putting you in.

"Don't hate me," Seokjin eyes you carefully. You narrow your eyes, with a nod that says go on. "Hyejin wants us to go dress shopping."

"You bought me this new dress this morning?" You smooth down the front of the floaty summer dress that hugs your figure.

He coughs, eyes averting yours. "Wedding dress shopping."

That's when you come to a stop on the sidewalk outside of an elegant white-brick bazaar, eyes widening at the glaringly white dresses styled on mannequins that stare at you from behind the floor to ceiling windows.

Seoul Bridal - For All Your Wedding Dress Needs.

Your blood runs cold. Oh no.

You grip his hand tighter. "I'm going to kill you."

Seokjin is already pushing open the door with a chuckle that mingles with the tiny tinkling bell that rings out and announces your arrival. Too late to kick off your stiletto's and run.

"After you, sweetheart."

"Welcome to Seoul Bridal," A pretty lady with curly hair in a striped pant suit welcomes you inside with a hand shake. Her name tag says Wheein, and you can't take your eyes off the red lipstick on her teeth. "It's nice to finally meet you, Seokjin."

"The pleasure is all mine," Seokjin responds, voice deep with a suave charm that makes the girls behind the reception desk giggle unashamedly. For some reason you have to resist sending a glare their way, not missing the way your chest burns when Seokjin flashes them a dazzling smile. "Hyejin said you had some ideas for Y/N's wedding dress?"

"Of course. We have everything ready. We just need to get some measurements first." She smiles at him courteously, then whips a tape measure out of her trouser pocket which she wastes no time in wrapping around your waist. "Arms up, please." She murmurs as she slides the glasses balanced on top of her head behind her ears so she can get a better measurement of your shoulder width. You send an eyeroll Seokjin's way when you hear him snort bemusedly at the sudden man handling.

While Wheein bites the cap off a pen with her teeth and scribbles down the size ratio of your waist to your hips for future reference, you finally get the chance to take in the boutique properly. The sweet scent from the bouquets of white roses all over the room fills the air and the walls are painted a blush pink to match the faux fur rugs. Streams of sunlight pour through the chiffon curtains making the racks of blindingly white wedding dresses of all sizes and designs glow invitingly.

"Which one am I trying on?" You ask absentmindedly, nodding towards the sea of satin and lace hanging delicately from pink hangers.

Wheein looks up confused, then her nose wrinkles with distaste."Oh, none of these darling. You deserve the very best." She starts walking quickly towards a back room, heels click clacking as she beckons you to follow her with a crook of her finger. "We received some luxury designs from two of our best designers in London and Milan just this morning -- oh! And it looks like the dress from Paris just arrived!"

She shuffles you and Seokjin into a private dressing room, seating you on an elegant couch upholstered with grey velvet. Seokjin picks up one of the gossip magazines on the coffee table and helps himself to the complimentary cupcakes, all while you wring your hands together nervously, Wheein emerging from the large closet with three white garment bags.

"Here they are! Oh, how exciting." She claps her hands together with a beaming grin in your direction. With a flick of her wrist she removes all three bags, revealing three of the most beautiful dresses you've ever seen. You must look dazzled, because Wheein crosses her arms triumphantly. "Hyejin knew you'd like them. Just wait until you see the veils..."

She disappears into another room, and you're left gawking at the garments set in front of you like a goldfish. Fingers trembling, you reach out and touch the first one. It has a giant poofy skirt, like something you imagine a princess would wear, and you imagine how it would float down the aisle like a real life cloud. The second is more slinky, with shiny beads littering the bodice that glint silver beneath the glow of the chandelier and the third is made from gorgeous lace that shows skin in all the right places.

"How much did these cost?" You hiss to Seokjin, ripping your hand away like your touch alone might burn a hole in the fabric.

"Hm?" He says through a mouthful of cake, eyes widening when he takes in the dresses for himself." Too much, probably. Hyejin went a little over board but honestly, these aren't as bad as I was expecting." Seokjin runs his hand over the lace one, and nods approvingly. "You should've seen the rejects. One had a trail longer than my monster coc-"

"I can't try on any of these!" You splutter, arms hugging your torso. They're too beautiful for someone like me, is what you want to say, but you don't. "I'll look dumb."

"Just do it." He leans back against the wall with a roll of his eyes. Like this is all nothing to him. "It's not like you actually have to get married in one of them."

Ouch. His words sting, even though you know they're true, and you're reminded of the real reason you came here in the first place. It makes your stomach turn, how he can go from the sort of sweet Seokjin you know when you're alone to the cold, arrogant rich guy in the drop of a hat.

You turn away so he doesn't see your frown, when you catch a glimpse of something white in the corner, poking out from beneath a dust sheet. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and before you can help it you're crossing the room and ripping the sheet away to reveal another dress; except this one makes something in your chest flutter.

It's simpler than the others. Tiny white roses are stitched into the sleeves, the neckline dipping into a V shape where the bouncy chiffon skirt meets the satin waistband. It's straight forward, uncomplicated. Just how you like it.

"Have you decided which one you want to try on first?" Wheein's shrill voice calls, but it's drowned out by the blood pumping through your ears.

"That one." You breathe, pointing at the dress that you can't help but reaching out to touch.

"That one? Are you sure, darling, I'm sure we can find something more fancy--"

"No!" It comes out too loud, and you cover it with a cough, turning to send her a pleading smile. "I mean, no, no thank you. This one, please. I want to try it on."

"You know, when Hyejin told me Seokjin was finally getting married I just knew you would have to be something special." Wheein says once you're safely alone in the dressing room, away from prying eyes and mischievous ears. "Suck in."

"Hm?" It's all you manage to get out as you're strapped into a boned under-corset that feels like its trying to squeeze every last breath out of you. You're so close you can smell her floral perfume.

"It's just that I've had so many wedding dresses made that never made it to the aisle. Honestly I was starting to think Seokjin would never settle down..." She trails off, lip tugged between her teeth as she helps you step into the floaty white dress, tying the belt into a bow at your waist before stepping back to admire her handy work. "But now I see what made him change his mind. You make a beautiful couple."

"Oh." You realise she's looking at you, a blush creeping up your neck. "Right."

If only she knew the truth.

You start to turn towards the mirror, but she plants a hand on your shoulder hurriedly. "Nuh uh. No peeking yet." You feel your face drop. "Don't look so worried. It looks perfect. He's going love it."

"I...I have to show him? Now?" You shift uncomfortably. The shoes are rubbing your soles and the sleeves sort of itch. "Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the wedding dress before the big day?" You ask sheepishly.

"This is just the rought blueprint," Wheein reassures. "It doesn't count."

"I..." Your voice breaks. The thought of Seokjin sat out there with his roaming eyes seeing you in this dress makes your stomach churn. "I'm nervous."

"Don't be. Save that for the big day." She bites her lip, stepping back to look you up and down like there's something missing. Her eyes light up, and she digs around in a leather trunk in the corner to retrieve a sparkly tiara which she tucks neatly into your hair. "There. Perfect. Now lets not keep him waiting, hm?"

"Holy shit."

The words leave your mouth before you can think better of it.

Your reflection stares back at you, wide eyed and awe stricken, except it doesn't look like you at all.

The dress is beautiful. There's no denying it. It hugs your waist perfectly and the skirt waterfalls down to your ankles in just the right way. Wheein tugged your hair over your shoulders so the sweetheart neckline shows off just the right amount of collar bone, tiara sparkling beneath the soft light. A matching veil partially covers your face, and you've never felt more beautiful than you do now.

It's almost enough to make you want to believe that this is all real. That you're marrying Seokjin. That you get to walk down the aisle looking like...this.

"I don't see why I have to get all dressed up, Wheein, it's no big deal -- woah."

The door flies open, and your eyes snap up to meet Seokjin's in the mirror.

He has half of his seventh cupcake hanging out of his slackened mouth, his hair gelled back and tousled to reveal his forehead, and his piercing brown eyes that can't seem to decide where to look, glancing up over your exposed shoulders and down to your ass and back again, like he can't get enough.

He's lost his casual slacks from earlier, seemingly under Wheein's instruction, now clad in a black suit and matching shiny-toe'd shoes. His tie hangs slack around his neck, like he tugged it loose, and he fiddles awkwardly with his cuff links as he tries to get a grip over his roaming eyes.

"Y-Y/N you look--"

"Beautiful, right?" Wheein straightens his shirt, fastens his cuff links and knocks him beneath the chin to remind him to close his gawking mouth with a tut. He nods, speechless. "I'll leave you two to talk."

The door shuts behind her, and the room suddenly feels quieter than now you and Seokjin are alone, him on one side of the room, you on the other. You dare to meet his eyes and you find them staring straight at you, the glint that's usually there replaced with a wonder that's soft and gentle around the edges. You melt beneath his gaze.

He clears his throat, scratching a phantom itch at the back of his neck. It's the first time you've seen Seokjin seem sort of...awkward?

"C'mere." His voice is low, filled with something you can't quite put your finger on. "I want to see you."

You have to remember how to get your feet to work, hesitantly putting one in front of the other to cross the room. Seokjin stands with his palms clasped, a small smile playing on his lips as you close the space between you, and you swear you can hear the wedding bells already.

After what feels like ages, you stop a few paces away from him. He steps towards you carefully, flipping the veil out of your eyes like he's done it a million times before.

"Hey." You whisper. You don't know what else to say, but it makes Seokjin laugh and the sound makes your chest squeeze.

He looks dapper in his suit, like a real groom, and as he leans in closer, closer, until there's barely any distance between you, you can smell his cologne.

Your eyes fall shut instinctively. You almost swear when you open them there'll be a pastor and a pair of rings and Seokjin will be saying I do--

"You scrub up pretty well, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, and your eyes snap open to punch him in the chest playfully.

"I could say the same for you, mister."

A thumb grazes your jaw, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. "Whoever gets to marry you is one lucky bastard."

The pounding in your chest is so loud you're sure the whole store can hear it. His lips are inches from yours, parted and plush. You've kissed them plenty of times before but only in the height of passion. Never like this. Not when his touch feels like a jolt of electricity running straight from his body and right into yours.

Just when you think he's going to give in and close the distance, he turns your face in his palm and plants a peck on your cheek. It's soft, careful. Like he's not really sure of it himself, his hand running through your hair before he takes a couple steps back with a shake of his head. Like he almost did something he shouldn't have.

"What time do you have to be at work?"

The question breaks you out of your trance. You realize he's staring at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Oh--not until this evening." You manage to choke out.

"Good. Then you're all mine for the afternoon." He grabs another cupcake from the stand and disappears behind one of the fitting room curtains. "Hurry and give the dress back to Wheein and I'll call Pierre to come pick us up."

"Where are we going?"

You hear him snort. "You'll see."

"This is where you wanted to take me?"

The late afternoon sun sparkles on the surface of the Paradise lake like diamonds. It's peaceful here at this time of day, the gardeners already disappearing into the lounge for a late lunch, rows of pastel canoes tied up to the dock bobbing in time with the chirping birds.

"Well?" Seokjin huffs impatiently. He's stood in the hull of a dark blue canoe that he stole from the boat shed — or borrowed, as he put it, since everything here belongs to him anyway — hand extended towards you. "Aren't you getting in?"

You narrow your eyes and nod towards the sign that says NO BOATS ON THE LAKE AFTER 4PM in curly gold letters. "Isn't that breaking the rules?"

Seokjin raises a brow, jangling a set of keys. "I own this place remember? Besides, I stole the boat worker's keys so we can stay for as long as we want."

The breeze ruffles your skirt, a shiver running down your spine when you peer over the edge of the dock and see your sheepish reflection staring up at you from the water, rippling and watery around the edges. You never did like deep water, and the thought of getting in that rocking capsule of death makes your stomach churn.

"It looks cold," You point out, grimacing at the clear blue water. "What if we fall in? Do you even know how to steer this thing?"

Seokjin shoots you a look, like you just said the dumbest thing he's ever heard. "Pfft. Of course. I've been taking rowing lessons since I could toddle."

Of course he has. You roll your eyes. Rich kids, huh?

"Oh come on, it's fine!" He jumps up and down as if to demonstrate just how safe, but the boat just rocks manically side to side and he has to grab the dock to steady himself before he plunges straight into the lake. He flashes you a sheepish smile. "See?"

You cross your arms, unconvinced. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."

Seokjin slumps into the canoe with an exaggerated sigh. "Well goddamn, I'm sorry for wanting to do something nice. We don't get much alone time so I thought—" He waves his hand at you in frustration, starting to unravel the rope keeping the boat secured to the dock. "You know what, fuck it, I'll just go by myself—"

"Wait!" Something about the disappointed frown on his face makes you change your mind. Fuck it. "I'm getting in."

He pauses, and then his lips curve up into a small smile. Not his usual too-big-too-polite smile; the kind of smile you reserve for special moments. The glint in his eye is back, and if your legs weren't already jelly, they are now.

"I knew you couldn't resist me." He stands up and puffs out his chest, offering you his hand again, which you take this time.

"Don't be an idiot." You flush. "The lake just looks inviting today."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He chuckles, before his arm wraps around your waist so he can throw you over his shoulder and tip you into the canoe.

"Seokjin!" Your knuckles whiten with how hard you grip the edge of the boat that tilts left to right sickeningly with the impact of your limp body being man handled into the hull. "Be careful!"

"Okay, okay. Just sit back. Relax. Enjoy the view..." You wobble over to the wooden seat opposite him, grateful for the way the boat balances out on the surface of the water. "Let me take care of everything."

You have to admit the view is beautiful. Dangling your hand over the edge of the boat, you let your fingers swirl through the cool water, and listen to the hum of a speedboat nearby. The sun has turned the water a yellowish hue, like liquid gold.

When you look back up at Seokjin, the sight of his lightly perspiring skin glowing beneath the stream of light as he unties the left oar practically takes your breath away. You almost want to reach out and see what it would feel like to touch his cheek, run your hand down his chest where his flesh peeks out from the top of his dress shirt...

"Ah, shit!"

There's a light splash and you're snapped out of your trance, a pair of sheepish eyes staring back at you.

Yeah. Never mind.

Seokjin peers over the edge of the boat, watching as one of the oars floats into the middle of the lake. The canoe has already floated just out of reach of the dock, so without it you are stranded.

You let out a panicked groan. "I thought you knew how to steer this thing?"

"I do!" He grunts, a flush creeping up his neck. "Besides, I said I knew how, not that I was good at it."

He fumbles with the latch beneath his seat which opens to reveal a secret compartment, inside of which are a pair of life jackets, and, much to your relief, a spare oar.

"Aha! We're saved." Seokjin pulls it out and waves it at you with a look of satisfaction.

You roll your eyes and settle back into your seat as Seokjin grasps both oars and starts to row. "Wow, my hero."

"Don't thank me too hard." He snorts.

You shoot him a look, and he breaks into laughter, the sound melodic enough to have you joining in and before you know it you're both chortling uncontrollably. It feels easy, nice.

Your laughter dies out into a hazy giggle, and you shut your eyes, letting the sun caress your face.

"You're nothing like how I expected you to be, y'know."

Seokjin splashes you gently with the oar. "What did you expect?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Stuck up, selfish rich dude with an ego complex?" You snort, but Seokjin's chuckles have disappeared now. His brows are furrowed when you open your eyes, and you feel sort of bad for ruining the ease that had settled between you. You shift awkwardly. "Can you blame me?"

"Huh," The boat floats beneath the shade of a weeping willow, the scent of white blossoms and freshly cut grass filling your senses, and Seokjin hauls the oars into the boat so he can rest for a while. "You know, it pisses me off that everyone sees me that way. I don't want to be that guy."

"Why?" You're surprised by his honesty. There's a sincerity in his voice that you've never heard before.

"I just...I just try and fit in. To make everyone happy, I guess."

He avoids your gaze, looking out over the lake with his chin in his palm and his shoulders slumped. Your heart twists.

"If it helps, I don't see you as that guy anymore." You shrug. "When we first met I thought you were just like everyone else at Paradise. But you're...different from everyone around here. Nice. Underneath all the designer of course." That earns a snort from him. "Why do you hide that side of yourself?"

"You're hardly one to talk about hiding, kitchen girl." He crosses his legs and points a finger at you. "One minute you're calling me a douche and shooting arrows like an Olympian and the next you're getting all insecure when I call you pretty or something."

You feel a blush rise in your cheeks. Insecure? Is that how he sees you?

"Do not." You mumble.

"You act like you're so much better than me for being good, and then have a fit when I say something nice."

"Well, I never asked you to call me pretty. That wasn't part of the deal." You pick at an invisible piece of lint on your skirt. "I figured you were humouring me."

Seokjin's eyes turn serious. He leans forward, like he's about to take your hand or something but changes his mind.

"I know...that what we have is weird. I know I ask you for a lot, and we're supposed to be strictly friends with benefits but—" He sighs, trying to find the right words."I like spending time with you. Like this. Just us."

You feel giddy, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. "I do too."

"And I always mean what I say, Y/N." A breeze ruffles his hair, and he shoots you a grin. "Like I said earlier, whoever gets to call you theirs is one lucky bastard."

I'll be yours, you want to say, but you know it would be futile; someone like Seokjin could never belong to you, and that's exactly why you don't belong here.

"Oh shit."

Before you can respond, Seokjin's expression is turning grave as you both watch with matching horror as the spare oar splashes into the lake.

"Please tell me there's another one underneath there." You nod towards the storage compartment with wide eyes.

"Nope." He scratches his neck awkwardly and shrugs."That was our only one."

"Then shouldn't we call for help or something?!"

"No, I have an idea. You lean over the edge and I'll hold your legs."

"Me?! Why can't you do it."

"Because I'm heavier, duh? I'll tip the boat." He links his fingers together pleadingly. "At least try, or else we'll be stuck out here all night!"

You cup your hand around your watch face to block the glaring sun. Your kitchen shift starts in forty five minutes and you can't afford to be late. Namjoon will certainly fire you on the spot.

"Fine!" You wobble to your feet and slide over to his side of the boat. "But you better not let go, or I'll kill you."

Seokjin salutes. "Scouts honour."

Before you can change your mind, Seokjin has both hands wrapped around your thighs and you're sent hurtling head first over the edge of the boat, face inches from the water's surface.

With a grunt you extend your arm, and your fingertips barely brush the oar, sending it further away.

"Fuck!" You call over your shoulder. Seokjin is red in the face with extortion, and you feel the boat rock as you lean further out. "I can't go any more or we'll tip!"

"Just a little more!" Seokjin yells back. "You've almost got it."

"Okay...almost..." You shift a little more and aha! The oar is just within your grasp! Until you hear a low buzzing coming from behind you, and you hear Seokjin yelp, his grip on your legs starting to slacken... "Jin? what are you doing?"

"Get off me!" He yells, letting go of you in favour of slapping something on his shoulder wildly, and before you can give him a piece of your mind the canoe loses its balance and tips upside down, sending the pair of you hurtling into the lake.

You manage to hold your breath before you go under. The water is an icy shock on such a warm summers day, your limbs flying into action and scrambling wildly until you break the surface and take a heaving breath.

Wiping the tendrils of dripping hair from your eyes, you glance around for Seokjin, but he's no where to be seen.

"Seokjin?" You call, panic evident in your voice. "Where are you?"

Bubbles appear on the surface of the water, and before you can let out a sigh of relief, a hand grabs your ankle and yanks you back under the water.

When you surface, choking and spluttering, you're beneath the cover of the upturned canoe. Seokjin grins at you, whole and in one piece and perfectly alive, and you can't help but feel pranked.

"Hey, sweetheart." He drawls, running his fingers through his soaking hair. The shadow of the rippling water reflects on the underside of the canoe, turning his skin a pale blue. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Seokjin!" You yell and he jumps when you start splashing him wildly. "What the fuck was that?"

He shields his face with his hands."It was a bee! I'm allergic."

"So? I was hanging out of a fucking canoe!"

"Oops." He's chortling now, and it echoes beneath the canoe. "Did I let go?"

You splash him again, and he grabs your hands with his to stop you from sending another tsunami his way. His palms are warm compared to your clammy ones and his eyes are watching you fondly, but that just pisses you off even more. "Okay! Okay! I get it, I'm sorry okay?"

"You idiot! Now I'm all wet and I'm totally going to smell like trout at work and—"

"Just shut up for a second would you?" A hand brushes the tangles of wet hair from your cheek, and before you know it a pair of plump lips are crashing against your own.

"Mmf!"

You're surprised at first, but there's something so tender in the way his hand cups your chin to pull you closer, how his arm curls around your waist, and before you know it you're grabbing him by the collar and kissing him back wildly like the world is ending and you're the last two people on earth.

"You're kinda cute when you're mad." Is what Seokjin whispers against your lips when he pulls back, out of breath.

"Oh." You breathe, a smile beginning to play on your lips. "Okay."

It's like you're in your own little bubble. Just Seokjin and you. You and Seokjin.

Until it bursts.

"Holy shit! Are you guys okay?" The sun is glaringly bright when the canoe is ripped away from your heads, and you have to squint through your fingers to see the figure swimming towards you.

"M-mr Kim?"

Seokjin jumps back from your body at the sound of his title, his hand letting go of your wrist. It falls into the water limply.

"That's me." He coughs, straightening his tie, like he isn't soaking wet and it's somehow going to make him look more professional.

"I didn't know you were rowing today..." Your eyes focus, and you instantly recognise Taehyung, the Paradise lifeguard. You have met a couple times at staff meetings.

Shit. You turn your face to the side, and hope he won't look to closely.

"I wasn't." Seokjin deadpans, gesturing to his soaking appearance. "Y/N and I thought we would go for a swim."

"I— oh." You muffle a chuckle at Seokjin's sarcasm and the wide eyes of the life guard who seems utterly stunned.

It doesn't seem so funny when he turns to you suddenly, eyes scrutinising, and offers you his elbow.

"Here take my arm, we have to get you two dry."

You glance at Seokjin carefully, but he just nods for you to go ahead, so you take Taehyung's arm and let him pull you back to the dock, Seokjin leisurely kicking on his back behind you like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Once you're safely on dry land, Taehyung disappears into the boat shed before returning with a pair of towels which he drapes around your shoulders with a concerned look.

"Take these. You aren't hurt, miss?"

"No." Seokjin answers for you with a roll of his eyes. There's a bite in his tone. Is he...jealous?

"Good, this is why we say no boats after 4..." Taehyung sends Seokjin a stern look, and you feel the tension rise when he just clicks his tongue in response. "I should really report this to my supervisor."

"We won't do it again," Seokjin's eyes bulge when you grab Taehyung's forearm. The lifeguard seems surprised himself, looking you in the eyes for the first time. You turn on a sickly sweet tone and bat your lashes. "We can keep this between us, hm?"

"I...I suppose so." Taehyung coughs, but then his eyes narrow. "Hold on a second. Do I know you from somewhere?"

Your mouth turns dry. "I..."

"No!" Seokjin jumps in between you, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder. "She's not from around here."

His face has turned a deep shade of red, and you can feel his heart beating rapidly against your back. Anyone would think he was embarrassed. Then again, what did you expect? You are just a kitchen girl after all.

You nod slowly. He sighs with relief. "No. We've never met."

Taehyung scratches his chin, stepping back to get a better look at you. "It's just you look super familiar..."

"We have to be going now!" Seokjin stands up suddenly and grabs you by the hand. He squeezes extra tight, swinging your interlocked fingers where Taehyung can clearly see them. "Thanks, uh...Taehyung?"

"My pleasure, Mr. Kim." The lifeguard looks startled by Seokjin's sudden departure, but steps back to let you pass. "Be careful next time okay?"

"Yup, we will kid."

"Thanks!" You call over your shoulder, as Seokjin is already dragging you away from the lake and up the steps to the grand veranda that lines the resort.

"Thanks?" He rolls his eyes. "Y/N, the lake is like a foot deep, it's not like we were gonna drown."

"He was nice..." You bump his shoulder playfully. "Why? You jealous?"

His cheeks flush pink. "No! Of course not, I just...didn't like the way he looked at you."

You reach the top of the steps, and Seokjin slows down to a leisurely walk once he's in the clear. From here you can see the whole of the resort, sprawling greenery and luxury living in all its glory.

"Speaking of, that was a close one." You laugh. "He totally almost recognised me."

"Yeah." Seokjin laughs too, but then his face drops. "You're right. That was close."

"Seokjin?"

He stops, and turns towards you. His hand drops to your waist, lifting you up so you're sat on the balcony's edge, and then his mouth is capturing yours once again.

This time something feels different. It's desperate, but timid. Passionate but broken. It leaves you breathless.

He pulls away first.

"Jin, what just happened—"

"I..." He swallows thickly and looks away. "I shouldn't have done that. I've gotta go. I'm sorry."

It's then, as he turns and hurries down the back staircase towards the plaza and leaves you all alone on the veranda, that you realise you had never let go of his hand, not even for a second.

"I had fun tonight." Seokjin says as he drops you off at the Paradise gates after an evening spent perusing high fashion wedding venue magazines with Hyejin over tea and finger sandwiches. "Hyejin looked like she was on the verge of a stroke when I suggested walking down the aisle to The Thong Song."

Seokjin boasts a simple T-shirt and tailored pants tonight, the turtle neck draped over his shoulder unnecessary on such a warm and sticky summer night blessed by the lingering caress of the day's blazing sun. The drive slopes downwards, Seokjin's angular shadow a contrast against the twinkling lights that blur Paradise into a picturesque backdrop of pristine white brick, and a warmth spreads through your chest as he beams at you.

"I thought it was a fine choice," You muse, suppressing a giggle when you think back to the way Hyejin dropped her teacup at Seokjin's suggestion, eye twitching in disgust. "We're not even engaged yet and she already has our entire wedding planned out."

Oops. Seokjin stiffens. Your laughter comes to an abrupt stop, face reddening with embarrassment at your slip up. Of course you aren't engaged. You never will be. At least not to each other.

He's been weird like that, lately. Ever since that day at the lake when he left abruptly, seemingly shaken up, you've been walking on egg shells around him. One wrong word could send him flying away with that same scared look in his eye. And honestly, you still don't understand why.

All you know is that things have been different since you almost got caught at the lake. Sure, you've continued to hook up like normal, but Seokjin seems to be making a conscious effort to be more distant around you. You haven't talked about what happened that afternoon on the veranda, but it's clear something did; Seokjin hasn't kissed you since.

If Seokjin notices your poor word choice, he doesn't mention it. "Pretty sure she has my entire life planned out too." He murmurs almost bitterly, despite his face boasting a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. You figure it's better not to press him further.

He walks beside you to the end of the drive in a relative silence that feels all too loud — not awkward per se but filled with a definite unspoken tension that has you hiding behind your hair, eyes trained to the ground because you don't know how you are supposed to look at Seokjin when it was just you and him.

Moments like this, not heightened by passion or under the watchful eyes of his family are rarities. You take a deep breath and try to savour the taste of geraniums which lingers in the air from the gardens and the closest thing to normal you have ever experienced around Seokjin.

Despite the the emotional distance Seokjin seems intent on keeping in place, every physical step seems to edge you closer to him, eyes trained to the way his shoes sidestep until you are practically shoulder to shoulder. Seokjin doesn't so much as look at you as he does so and you are content to think he is too deep in his own thoughts to notice the way your bodies cling to each other like magnets, until the tips of his fingers brush against your palm in a delicate touch that may have been perceived as intimate had he not ripped it away with a pained expression, like he touched an electric fence or something.

You have admit that you felt it too. The spark as they describe it in romance movies. It was more of a tingle really, warm and fuzzy as it fizzed all the way from your hand to a spot in your chest suspiciously close to your heart that was beating a little faster now as you imagine how it would feel if he took your hand in his.

Except he doesn't. And when you glance up at him he is no longer engaged with his own thoughts but rather staring at you with a questioning look, brows slightly furrowed, and embarrassment replaces the fuzz in your veins when you consider for a moment that perhaps he was reading your mind and the completely inappropriate thoughts for a fake bride to have for her fake husband along with it.

The flush that caresses your cheeks is nearly as vibrant as the rose bushes which line the drive, perfectly pruned and as beautiful beneath lantern light as they are in the day and a perfect reminder of your embarrassment as you create a relative distance between your body and his. That way you were sure you could keep your hands - and your thoughts - strictly to yourself.

Far too quickly you find yourself turning the corner onto the street where you always part ways, the stoney gravel evening out into the same boring old scuffed concrete that winds through the entire city, a clear indication that you were leaving behind the Paradise grounds and entering the not so pristine visual of reality.

Usually you were glad to be on your way, sick of talking about neck lines and lace types and the way your shoulders ached from nodding politely at people who got wine drunk on weekdays but tonight you feel like you could keep walking with Seokjin forever in this strange bubble of unspoken words.

But you know as soon as he stops dead beside you that the bubble has already burst, floating away just out of your grasp like the false reality you live at Paradise.

"I'll be going then." It's quiet out here, not a trace of the music from Jazz night at the bar or the laughter of couples crossing the plaza to their suites after a few too many Chardonnays. Seokjin opens his mouth and then closes it again while you fidget awkwardly. "Thanks for a good night."

The way you say it sounds like he took you on a real date, one that you were supposed to thank him for. It's too late by the time you realize that a boundary has been overstepped when Seokjin doesn't return the genuine smile you shoot him as you turn to leave.

"Wait!" The click of your shoes against the sidewalk halts at the serious husk in his tone, jarringly loud against the silence. "I need to ask you something."

His face is partially lit by the street lamp you find yourself beneath, casting half of his face in a golden glow that emphasizes the shadow of his lashes against his cheeks when he closes his eyes, as if to briefly collect his words.

Despite your better judgement, probably blinded by the normality you had fallen into, you press him further. "What is it?"

"Listen Y/N..." Seokjin scratches the back of his neck and you shift awkwardly in front of him, chest suddenly tightening with a niggling dread. "You haven't told anyone about us have you?"

"Us?" Your eyes widen. Since when did Seokjin start referring to you as a pair? You tilt your head quizzically. "I mean, your sister and your parents know —

"No, I mean the things that we...do in private." The summer evening suddenly turns chilly. Seokjin must notice when your face drops, the way you hug your arms to try and keep hold of the warmth that had practically singed each of your nerve endings just a moment ago.

"Things?" You splutter. "Is that all they are to you?"

You can't help it. The way Seokjin talks when you are intimate, the way he kissed you so desperately that day on the veranda -- it made it feel like those moments meant more to him. He was damn convincing - when he told you that he wanted you, you believed him - and you can't help but feel cheated.

Seokjin's brow simply furrows, flummoxed by your sudden outburst. "Yeah, I mean we had an agreement — isn't that all they are to you?"

An agreement.

The way he says it sounds like your relationship is strictly business. As if he's paying you for a service - which, in his own way, you suppose he is. Sure, you knew he wasn't really going to fall in love with you in the way he told his family he loved you but you thought he at least felt something — no, you were sure he had at the lake. Maybe you were just confusing pleasure with intimacy.

Still, the way his finger points at you accusingly makes a hot rage rise in your chest but you simply take a shaky breath and plaster the closest thing to a grin on your features as you can muster.

"Of course they are." The sweetness in your voice is a little too forced, but it goes unnoticed on Seokjin who lets out a sigh of relief. "None of this means anything. I know that."

"Good. Then we're on the same page..." He still looks slightly unconvinced - you can just make out the way he narrows his eyes doubtfully in the dim light - but he doesn't have time to press further before a black car rolls into the drive and he clasps your wrist to pull you across the paving and into the shadows. "Watch out!"

Seokjin suddenly yanks you closer to him, your chest nearly pressed up to his. You almost mumble a thanks, idiotic enough to think that his only motive is to prevent you getting flattened by a Mercedes Benz nearly invisible in the night if not for the crunch of tyres against gravel.

But then you feel his breath hitch when he catches a glimpse of your white kitchen uniform reflected in one of the tinted car windows, sending a salute towards the security guard in the drivers seat with fingers crossed behind his back, and you silently condemn yourself for thinking he cared about anything other than his reputation even for a second. You go numb.

You look between your bodies where your hand dangles limply in his grasp. Just a moment ago you were envisioning how it would feel for him to hold your hand in his, the way his skin brushed yours enough to give you shivers. Now it just made the hollow ache in your chest throb with a cold emptiness.

Seokjin strains his neck, only releasing you from his hold when the glow of headlights disappears around a corner and you are smothered by darkness again.

Seokjin's sigh of relief stings. The words never leave his lips but you can tell what he was thinking. Phew, now I don't have to explain why I, almighty Kim Seokjin, was conversing with a staff member after hours. Lucky escape!

A smile appears on his face, as if you were supposed to share his relief. "So, same time tomorrow?"

You feel yourself stagger away from him in shock. Seokjin is many things but you didn't think he was heartless. It's enough to send you over the edge.

"Clearly we are not on the same page." You spit. "Actually, you know what? No. I'm busy tomorrow."

Seokjin scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "Doing what?"

"I have things to do." Your emphasis on the word makes his eyes widen,

"Oh great!" He barely raised his voice before glances behind him warily, making sure there was no one around to see him getting heated. When he turns back his voice is nothing but a harsh whisper. "And what do you expect me to tell my family, huh?"

"Tell them that your fiancé to be had to go do the job they actually pay her to do." The way he laughs breathily makes your fists clench at your sides as you turn on your heels and stalk down the street before he can see the way your face reddens with a combination of hurt and anger, though not before you are calling over your shoulder despite knowing it would only fuel the fire. "Unless you're too embarrassed to tell them who I really am."

"You don't seem to mind when you're cashing in your favours." He calls after you, hands on hips with a bitterness lacing his voice that makes your heart twist painfully.

You hear the way your pulse quickens, the lump in your throat growing bigger and bigger as you stop dead. "What?"

"Y/N, I didn't mean that I —"

"So that's what this is? You are embarrassed of me?" Your voice raises incredulously.  "Is that why you've been so weird with me since Taehyung almost recognised me at the lake? You're scared someone will snitch on you to your rich friends?"

"No, I--"

"No what, Jin?" You let out a hollow laugh. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's just you and I...we could never be anything more, you know that right? I don't want you to get the wrong idea. We don't come from the same background and it would be..." He pauses. "Inappropriate."

"It's too late, anyway. Forget I said anything." Tears streak your cheeks hotly and you hide behind your hair, determined to hide your weakness from him. "This was a mistake."

You start to walk away, but then you're running, as fast as you can away from Paradise and all the hurt. The sound of Seokjin's tennis shoes hitting the concrete picks up as he follows you down the path, calling your name, and for a moment you think he's going to comfort you. Tell you that he was sorry and that none of this was meaningless to him after all.

But he doesn't.

"I'll text you!" Is the last thing he calls before you disappear around the corner out of sight. You want to sneak a look over your shoulder, see him standing there at the end of the street beneath the street light.

Instead you resist, letting the bitterness pooling in your stomach rise up and burn your throat like bile. "Don't bother!"

Either he listened or he didn't mean it when he said he would text you.

The anger that ran hot through your bloodstream after your fight with Seokjin has faded to nothing but an indescribable emptiness and regret.

You haven't heard from him in three days. That is a long time where Seokjin is concerned and completely out of character.

Even on normal days, when you had a day off from pretending to be his fiancé, Seokjin would find a way to make you laugh by sending you a low angle selfie from the dinner table at one of his father's business conferences or a cheeky message to let you know he'd just seen you walk past the golf court wearing the red sundress that he liked.

You couldn't remember when Seokjin became a normal part of your day. Just like brushing your teeth or washing your hair, you had become almost expectant of a vibration against your thigh at work or the ping! of your ringtone before you went to sleep or even a heated make out behind the restaurant when you just couldn't wait any longer.

So when it all suddenly came to a stop, you were sure you were going crazy. All you were left with was a feeling of emptiness, as if something vital was missing.

It wasn't even as if he owed you anything, not really - it was true that the romance wasn't real and even the sex was just sex to him; but at some point you had to admit you had crossed some kind of invisible barrier. In between lying to his family, public "dates" flavoured by champagne and hanging off his forearm at celebratory cocktail parties, you and Seokjin had become friends.

(Sort of. If you ignored the parts where his lips made you lose your breath or the night's that ended with his head between your legs.)

So god forbid you expected something from him after your fight the other night. A sign that he cared, if even a little bit. An apology for the way he'd deliberately tried to hurt you.

That's how you find yourself checking your phone anxiously on your kitchen shift breaks, refreshing your inbox obsessively and trying to ignore the heaviness weighing down your chest with each passing hour without even so much as one of the cheesy emojis he used way too frequently to be ironic lighting up your screen.

He even stopped dropping by the restaurant under the guise of a casual lunch like he usually did. You found yourself on edge, breath fogging up the glass of the window with your disappointment every time you heard the door zip open and you rushed to greet him, only to be met with someone utterly not Kim Seokjin.

You thought you saw his broad figure dipping into one of the other restaurants across the plaza instead one afternoon as you left work and you couldn't help but wonder if he shamelessly flirted with the kitchen staff there, too.

It hurts knowing that it was so easy for him to cut you out of his life completely when he had become such a constant part of yours. It hurts knowing that he probably wasn't even thinking of you when he was the only thing on your mind.

And to make matters worse, it seems that the tight smiles and vacant nods you shoot Jimin as he divulges the latest and greatest Paradise gossip he overheard while serving at some fancy dinner party last night didn't do a good job at hiding the melancholy gloom which hangs over your head.

He's still talking as you swipe your cards to check out of work, charmingly holding the door ajar for you to slip outside the restaurant where you told Jungkook you'd wait for him to join you.

The air is cooler than expected against your face, the first time that summer where the sky is covered by splotches of grey cloud that refuse to let any blue peek through like an ugly patchwork quilt that mirrors your ugly mood.

"Y/N, didn't your hear me? Mr Kim's wife literally grabbed him by the balls and threw him out of the building when she caught him cheating with the waitress — wait, are you okay?"

Jimin is already half way down the limestone stairs, too caught up in his own dramatic storytelling to notice the way you stand rigid at the top. The phone in your palm is lit up with the same three words that have haunted you all day — NO NEW MESSAGES — but Jimin's question breaks your trance for a moment.

"Huh? No, I'm fine." You assure, slipping the device into your back pocket, swallowing thickly and mustering up a watery smile you hope will appease him before he can ask any more questions.

It doesn't work.

"You've been acting weird all day." Your legs feel wobbly as you close the distance between you, like the very foundations of your body are beginning to give in to the weight that has set up camp in your chest no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

"I have?" Jimin is peering at you with narrowed eyes, not malicious necessarily but inquisitive. They narrow further when you sigh shakily, averting your gaze to the shirtless gardener who mows the green lawns that spread out as far as the eye can see into perfect lines, counting the distant rose bushes as a distraction from the impending tears that have begun to well. "I don't want to talk about it."

Jimin throws an arm around your shoulder a little too roughly to be comforting, following your stagnant gaze. "Damn he's kinda cute." The lack of witty remark from you when he lands a jokey punch to your shoulder seems to finally perk Jimin's attention. "Tell me, are you and Mr Kim Seokjin having trouble in Paradise?"

Jimin lets out a snort at his own pun before he spots the sullen look on your face, covering his impending chuckle with a cough and releasing you from his grasp to sling his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Oh shit, really?"

You simply sniff in response, allowing that to be confirmation enough, slumping down onto the grand staircase and letting your face fall into your hands.

Jimin plonks down beside you, sidling up until your knees touch, the simple act of comfort making the tears that had been threatening to emerge all day prick hotly at the corners of your eyes.

"I messed up, Jimin." Your voice is muffled by your palms but that doesn't mask the way it wavers slightly, Jimin's hand immediately rubbing soothing circles into your back. "I think he's mad at me."

"Why?"

"Because I basically told him that I kind of have feelings for him—"

"You did what?" Jimin grabs you by the elbow, alerting the atention of a guy in a velour tuxedo leaving the restaurant who gives the hot tears staining your cheeks a funny look. "Hold up, go back. You have feelings for Seokjin?"

Even with vision blurred by tears you can see the wide eyed expression on Jimin's face. You cross your arms in a pout. "Well you don't need to say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the idea is completely crazy or something."

Jimin runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "So you mean the truth?"

It isn't the way he says it so much as the realisation that he is right that stings. You bow your head, a few silent tears rolling down your cheeks until you can taste their saltiness. "I know, I know. I'm not good enough for a person like him, I was stupid—"

Jimin shakes his head gently, placing his palms firmly on both of your shoulders and forcing you to face him head on. "Listen up because I'm about to serve you a cup of piping hot real shit, okay?"

You wipe your nose noisily on your sleeve, giving him a curt nod. "Okay."

"The reason you and Seokjin will never work out has nothing to do with you so I won't accept any of that mopey shit." Jimin shakes you vigorously as if he is knocking some sense into you, and you offer him a tearful giggle. "Truth is, Seokjin can't see a good thing when he has it because there is no room in his rich ass heart for anything other than money and his reputation."

"But—"

"No buts!" Jimin shucks up his sleeves until they cover his hands like paws, using the fabric to dab away your tears, unphased by the growing damp spots on both of his cuffs. "The sooner you realise that Seokjin's issues are not your issues the better."

Your tears are dry now. You're pretty sure Jimin's pep talk ended your momentary wobble but your voice still sounds slightly hoarse when you speak. "It just felt like more when we...you know..." You wave your hands around wildly hoping Jimin will fill in the blank, which he does with a click of his tongue.

"Then you need to stop sleeping with him immediately."

"What?"

"You know what I think?" Jimin links his arm with yours, pulling you alongside him. "I think that you're confusing intimacy with actual feelings."

Maybe he's right. It's natural for emotions to be heightened when Seokjin is making you literally fall apart beneath him, probably for him too which would explain the intimate things he had said. Perhaps all this time you were just confusing loving the way he made you feel for loving...him. After all, you had always thought the regular Seokjin was kind of an asshat at times. Of course you didn't have feelings for him!

"You know what? I think you're right." Jimin raises his eyebrows in surprise, as if he was expecting you to be harder to win around. You slap a palm to your forehead. "I can't believe I actually thought I caught feelings for him for a second."

"Happens to the best of us." Jimin grins. "If I was getting dicked down by that beautiful god of a man then I'd want to have his babies too. Imagine how cute they'd be..."

"Jimin!" You smack him playfully before leaning across to rest your head on his shoulder, his chuckles vibrating against your cheek. "You just basically told me he's an asshole."

"And I stand by that!" He defends, letting his own cheek rest against your hair. "But you can't deny that he is fucking inhumanely gorgeous..."

"Are we talking about Kim Seokjin again?" A dry voice appears somewhere behind, making you jump and pause your laughter. A glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jungkook, arms crossed and a sullen vibe emanating from the way his thick brows furrow so deeply they almost connect. Come to think of it, he always seems to be moody where Seokjin is involved. Huh.

"Why? Are you gonna try and tell me that he's not that buff again?" Jimin scoffed, stiffening ever so slightly beside you and refusing to even glance in Jungkook's direction.

"No, I just don't see why we have to always talk about him." Jungkook puffs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes bitterly. "Besides, I just saw him outside the kitchen and his body isn't that good. I'd hardly say 'sculpted'."

Huh? Seokjin? Outside the kitchen...

Neither of the boys seem to share your bewilderment, launching into a spat heavy with a tension that had been building long before. "And what would you know, anyway?"

"I go to the gym!" Jungkook flexes his arm, earning a scoff from Jimin to which he frowns. "Look!"

"You saw Seokjin where?"  You breathe, butting into the squabble and drawing two startled looks when you jolt to your feet, wiping off the back of your leggings.

"O-outside the kitchen...why? I assumed he was waiting for you..." Jungkook is wide eyed, blinking with a lack of understanding considering his previous absence. Jimin has already wrapped his hand around your wrist to pin you in place.

"He is?" You nibble your lip.

You imagine him leaning up against the wall outside the kitchen, probably looking at his watch impatiently as he waits for your shift to finish. He never could wait for long so perhaps he'd even already left, storming off to go let his anger out in a game of extremely competitive table tennis with a retired CEO in the lounge.

But there's a chance he is still there and that he was waiting for you and even though every fibre of your being screams that it is a bad idea, you just want to see if it was true. If he really was thinking about you. If you'd misjudged him after all and a part of him did care.

"Y/N this is a bad idea." You're already bounding down the steps when Jimin tugs you back to offer a slice of reality. "Remember what we just talked about? Not catching feelings." He draws the last word out and wiggles his eyebrows which only makes Jungkook even more confused.

"It'll be fine Jimin," You brush him off though it sounds a little like you are pleading with him. Carefully dislodging your wrist from his grip, you plaster a reassuring smile to you face that doesn't seem to appease his anxious foot tapping. "I won't let him get inside my head. I'm not confused anymore, see?"

"Fine. Knock yourself out." Jimin steps back, gesturing for you to go forth which you do far too quickly for his liking, flashing him a thumbs up before turning your back and disappearing down the steps before he can protest any further. "But promise to call me immediately if you get horny feelings again!"

The way your heart thumps in your chest as you speed walk around the building has to be unhealthy.

You slow down as you get closer to the corner that obscures the back of the restaurant from view, taking cover behind a bush pruned into a perfect ball.

There he is.

Your breath hitches. It's almost as if your brain tricked you into believing he was a figment of your imagination these past few days without him. Like you made the whole thing up. But no, here he is and he's breathing and he has blood pumping through him just like you and he's so real that it hits you like a freight train.

For the first time this evening, the sun pokes it's head out from behind the clouds, a small crack opening up in the sky that sends a stream of soft golden light cascading across him. And almost as if in unison, it feels like the light shines right through the Seokjin shaped cracks in your heart as you watch his eyes flutter shut at the kiss of warmth and his arms reach above his head to lean into the light in a leisurely stretch.

It almost feels like you are seeing him for the first time all over again.

If Seokjin didn't let out a sigh of impatience in exactly the way you imagined he would, shaking his head and throwing his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts in defeat, you would have been content to just watch from the sidelines like you promised Jimin you would.

Perhaps you wouldn't have rushed out from behind your camouflage of foliage, sending a garden gnome flying in a crash of broken china in your haste. And even more importantly, perhaps you wouldn't have found yourself calling out for him to stop.

"Seokjin!" Your voice sounds small but the word flies out before you can slap your hand over your mouth to keep it in. It's familiar on your tongue, like coming back home after a long trip, and you savour the taste.

"Y/N?"

Seokjin stills at the crunch of your shoes approaching him tentatively, shoulders squared as if weighing up his options - fight or flight? - and just as you think you are mistaken and he didn't want to see you after all, he's taking flight - straight towards you and drawing you into his arms in an uncomfortably tight bear hug.

His chest hits yours with a force that makes you literally lose your breath, hairs on your arms rising as you feel his warmth encapsulate you completely like a comforting blanket.

The sudden embrace stuns you to a shocked silence, arms pressed to your sides stiffly as he buries his nose in your hair and takes a deep inhale. Is Kim Seokjin smelling your hair?

You have to admit the scent of his cologne makes you giddy, a little woodier around the edges than you remember it to be which you put down to the still slightly sticky and sweaty gym clothes hugging his torso. Under normal circumstances you would've been grossed out but the heightened thump of your heart in your ears acts as an ample distraction.

For a moment you forget about Paradise and the argument and the door to the kitchen beside you that could open at any moment. It's just you and him again, and you're melting.

You could stay like this forever, if his grip didn't tighten considerably, as if he was trying to squeeze the breath straight out of you and hold that too, and you are pushing his chest away from your body with a cough. "Jin — can't breathe!"

Seokjin lets you go — reluctantly, settling for holding you at arms length instead — and you are sure you spot his neck flush at the nickname you used accidentally.

"Sorry." His gaze dips to your feet and then drags all the way back to your puzzled eyes as if he is taking all of you in, like you had changed since he last saw you or something as if that wasn't just three days before. A lazy smile appears on his face. "Missed you, that's all."

His words are slightly breathless and punctuated by a shake of his head as if he can't quite believe he's saying them either and the honesty is so unlike him it makes your chest ache.

"Then why didn't you call?" There's a snipe in your words that seems to jolt him out of his sunny disposition, mouth downturning into a frown, arms dropping from your shoulders and going limp at his sides instead as if he is coming to his senses. "You're the one that's been avoiding me."

His shoulders droop awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"It just didn't make sense why you would stop talking to me—."

"No, not for avoiding you — well I am sorry for that," He explains. "I mean for the things I said. The other night."

You furrow your brows, stunned. "Why?"

"It was mean and...truthfully I couldn't face you because of it." He drags a hand down his face and presses his back to the wall in defeat, giving you a perfect view of the regret that makes his jaw tighten.

With a sigh you sidle up next to him, careful to leave enough space between you so that your arms don't touch. Deja vu masks the ordeal and you realise it's all too similar to the first time you met in this very spot, watching the very same plaza except today it's still bustling with life beneath the orange glow of the setting sun and you have to squint to see it clearly.

You clear your throat. "I thought it was because of the things I said. About us."

"No!" His exclamation is a little too quick, too loud, and he looks embarrassed, following it up with a gruff "Don't be stupid."

"Well don't worry. While you've been avoiding me I've had plenty of time to think it over and you were right after all."

His nose scrunches, a habit of his you've noticed before that gives him an air of innocence. "I was?"

"Yeah, I think I must have had a few too many glasses of champagne at dinner that night." Your laugh is hoarse with the effort it takes to force it past your lips. "I'm happy with our agreement how it is. You don't need to worry about me going all crazy on you again."

"That's...good." His adam's apple bobs. He seems unconvinced by his own words. "Good. I'm glad."

Then he smiles and your heart throbs so hard it could explode so you just smile back and join in with his nervous laughter.

"So we're okay?"

"We're okay."

There's nothing left to say; now it's clear where you both stand. So why is Seokjin opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish?

"Is that all you came here to talk about?"

His laughter stops, and then he coughs and puffs out his chest, returning somewhat to the cocky Seokjin you are used to.

"Actually I was thinking...it's getting kind of late. It would be bad mannered of me to let you walk home alone."

"Why? I always walk home alone?" Seokjin never seemed to possess the worry you can see in eyes before when he dropped you off outside the club and watched you disappear into the night multiple times a week.

"For protection. Just in case." He rolls his eyes, as if it should have been obvious.

"It's okay, I've got pepper spray in my bag plus it's like 5 PM—"

"No. Protection for me." He suddenly pleads. "My mind will start to wander if I go back to my apartment alone again."

Seokjin seems so serious you know you can't reject him now without your conscience taking a beating, so you choose to say nothing at all. You want to be there for him, but at the same time you know you're only going to get hurt. The toe of your shoe draws circles in the dirt. "I don't know what to say."

"How about you don't say anything and just come to my place instead?" Your neck snaps up. He's never invited you to his place before. It always seemed like an inappropriate boundary to cross considering you are hardly even friends let alone lovers. "That way we both win."

You smile and he seems relieved. "I guess, just for a little bit."

"Great! Think of this as you doing a favour for me."

"Again?" You roll your eyes teasingly.

"I repay you don't I?" He sees your face fall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—"

"I know." You butt in. "It's fine. Really."

A silence falls in the same way it did the night you fought and it seems neither of you know what to say next. Truthfully you're just glad he doesn't seem mad at you, his quiet company a familiarity that tells you nothing has changed between you.

That is until he leans in a little too close and his fingers brush your wrist. You swallow thickly and wait for him to push you away again, when you feel him hesitate.

This is supposed to be the part where he pushes you away again, looking at his hand in disgust or wiping it on the back of his pants like he touched something dirty.

Instead, he reaches between you to link his fingers carefully with yours. It's like you are suddenly filled with helium, at risk of floating away if the feeling of Seokjin's warmth beside you wasn't there holding you to the ground.

"Is this okay?" You ask with wide eyes, nodding down at where his slightly clammy palm smothers your own.

He nods. You melt.

"You were right, the other day." Seokjin squeezes your hand comfortingly. "I need to stop hiding how I really feel."

You've never been to the residents part of the resort before. You never dared. But truthfully, by the time you realise you are walking not floating, you are already half way across the plaza.

Seokjin guides you around the circular fountain spitting water from the mouth of a cherub, carried by the breeze as a fine mist that feels cold and refreshing against your hot cheeks and marches you up a marble staircase to the resident lodge which rises up out of the ground like a beautiful half moon of white brick, stylish balconies decked with jacuzzis, chiffon curtains and a sea of people who fit Seokjin's class perfectly.

A tired looking doorman stands posted to the entrance and despite feeling Seokjin stiffen beside you, he never lets go of your hand. Not even when the doorman gives you a once over, an eyebrow raising at your casual attire.

You wait for Seokjin to force the doorman to sign an oath of secrecy when his eyes widen at your interlinked fingers, except the moment never comes. He simply rubs his thumb across your knuckles soothingly, striding straight past the doorman and holding the gilded door open for you to slip through himself.

You mumble a thanks, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding and hope Seokjin can't feel the way your heart thumps against your rib cage uncontrollably. For what reason you can't quite decide — is it because you're conditioned to fear getting caught with Seokjin or because he doesn't seem to care? 

Seokjin doesn't let go of you until he has to press the elevator button, and it feels ten degrees colder when he does. Your curious eyes take in the perfumed lobby, grand staircase winding upwards as far as the eye can see, lined with a carpet that's intricately embroidered with gold thread. Paintings line the walls which makes the place feel like some sort of museum and you half expect someone to ask you for an entry fee.

Then the elevator's ornate doors open with a ping you thought only existed in movies and Seokjin's hand is back and shuffling you into the elevator at the small of your back, refusing to leave even once you are inside.

The elevator is lined with polished mirrors and you do a double take when you make eye contact with your reflection, nearly reaching out and tapping the glass to check they are real and not the kind you find at a carnival that make everything look distorted. The way Seokjin pulls you closer to his side makes you look like any one of the other normal couples who frequent the resort, if you ignore the way your baggy cardigan contrasts his head to toe designer outfit.

Seokjin's too busy humming along to the classical music which crackles through the speakers overhead to notice the way your gaze travels to him. You know he wants to make you think that none of this affects him like it does you and his unbothered attitude would have worked had you not noticed the way his cheeks have a pinkish tinge, even in the dim yellow glow of the elevator.

The elevator opens, and you follow him down the hall only to find out Seokjin lives in one of the penthouses. You shouldn't be surprised but when he swipes a shiny key card and the lock beeps with a little green light that tells you the door is unlocked, you can't help the way your mouth gapes. Almost as if you were expecting it to flash red instead, denying you entrance and reminding you that you didn't belong in a place like this.

"Aren't you coming inside?" Seokjin has already crossed the threshold, wiping his polished shoes on the gaudy WELCOME mat inside while you stand awkwardly in the hallway, peeping through the crack of open door. You suddenly feel self conscious in your cardigan and leggings, as if you should've dressed up or something.

Seokjin seems to sense your hesitation, fingers finding your wrist with a smile. "You'll catch a cold out there."

He tugs and you don't resist, letting your feet follow him inside. "It's summer. And we're inside, Jin."

"Well how would I live with myself if I took the risk?" The click of the door locking echos from the high ceiling and you swallow thickly knowing there's no going back.

Inside, the suite looks like a luxury hotel room, like every last penny from the royal Mint had lived and died there.

It's open plan, the grand chandelier glimmering in the evening sun casting miniature rainbows across a living room consisting of pristinely white sofas sporting an array of throw cushions that look as though they have never been moved, collecting dust in the same way as the open magazine on the marble coffee table and the empty coffee mug beside it that look like they were placed there to create the illusion of the space being lived in.

Everything feels a little too pristine, a little too perfect like it materialised straight out of a furniture magazine.

The far wall is entirely glass, floor to ceiling windows looking out over a view of the entire resort; with a squint you can just make out the soft lights of the restaurant you know well, reflection shimmering like gold dust on the surface of the undisturbed public pool. An array of caddy boys on the golf courts collect stray balls and haul clubs back into the lodge and beyond that the vibrant gardens, a blur of pink roses and green hedges from where you stand but still a pleasant sight against the evenings pale blue sky.

Seokjin hums to himself as he flicks on all the lights, disappearing around a corner until you can't hear the click clack of his shoes against the tile anymore. You don't know if you are supposed to stay with knees knocking in the living room or if he was expecting you to follow him; but you presume the latter is true when his voice rings out into the room, jolting you from your shameless study of his living space.

"Have you eaten?" You shake your head in a silent no even though he can't see it, somehow managing to get your legs to carry you beneath a decorative arch and into the kitchen where Seokjin stands with his head ducked into a fancy looking fridge - even the most basic of appliances seem high tech, a touch pad visible on the front for what purpose you don't want to even ask. "I don't know about you but I'm famished."

"I was on my way to find something to eat when we — when you saw me, actually." The correction is quick but it makes your stomach feel funny. Since when did it start to feel normal to refer to you and Seokjin as a "we", as if you are anything but his accessory?

"Perfect." He emerges from the fridge with an armful of tupperware boxes balanced beneath his chin, foot kicking the door shut before he dumps the entire load onto the marble kitchen island that separates you from him.

"How about you stay for dinner?" He flashes you a small smile, corner of his mouth blowing the bangs out of his eyes, and your heart practically skips a beat.

It's just a formality surely, the polite thing to do. The Seokjin you knew was usually eager to get you out of his hair.

He is looking at you expectantly, your throat suddenly dry as you try to muster a response, an excuse. The word that immediately crosses your mind is no. This is dangerous and you know it. But then the bite in your stomach is back and despite knowing an I shouldn't be here in the first place would have been more appropriate, your lips betray you with a simple, "Yes." And the way that Seokjin's face lights up in surprise has every regret falling away as you relish in the knowledge that he is actually happy to have you.

"I thought I would have to bargain with you. You're usually stubborn with me." Shiny bar stools sit tucked beneath the little kitchen bar set up beside him, a few expensive looking champagne bottles littered across the surface. He pats one of the plush cushions in a gesture for you to sit which you graciously do, even as you scoff at his words and silently wonder why someone who lives alone needs so many seats.

"Because you're usually trying to get me to do something ridiculous." You chide. "And besides, I'm hungry."

"So you're just using me for my cooking skills, huh? I didn't think you were that kind of girl." Seokjin eyes you cheekily, hands fiddling with the dials on the stove with a pout. "How do you turn this thing on?"

You let out a sigh of mock despair, joining him at the counter and turning the knob until you hear a familiar click as the gas ignites, basking the kitchen in a blue glow. "If your 'skills' end with me getting food poisoning I'll never forgive you Kim Seokjin".

"I think I can handle a simple pasta dish," He retorts, but not before sending a pot from the utensil rack crashing to the ground with a clatter. "Maybe I spoke too soon." He picks up the appliance, holding it out to you sheepishly, a flush caressing his cheeks now.

You click your tongue but in no way maliciously, instinctively filling the pot with water and pulling open a few drawers in search of some other equipment. "Where do you keep the spoons?"

"Top drawer." You hear him call, settling himself into the askew stool you previously occupied, kicking his feet up onto the opposite stool and making you internally wince when the soles of his shoes settle on the white leather cushion. "Can I ask you something?"

Something in his voice changes, a seriousness that you aren't used to with him. In fact the only time you'd ever heard it was last week on the lake, when he admitted he felt like an outsider at Paradise.

You dump the pasta and lean against the counter to face him. "Sure."

"Do you think I'm an asshole?" He asks quietly.

You pause. "Sometimes." Eyes narrowed, you let out a sigh. "Why?"

"I'm sorry." Seokjin sounds small, and he wrings his hands together awkwardly. "For making you do all this for me, and then acting like a douche."

You push his feet off the stool and take a seat opposite him. Your mouth is dry, so you say nothing. He looks at you expectantly. Like he's hoping his apology will make up for the stinging hurt that still lingers in your chest every time you remember the look of shame in his eyes when he almost got caught talking to you at the gates. You flash him a sad smile, and he sighs when he realises it's not enough.

"God, I'm so fucking lame. What normal guy has to get a girl to pretend to be his fucking fiance?"

"What normal girl agrees to pretend? If you're lame then I'm just as bad." You chuckle, somewhat bitterly. "If you're so embarrassed by me, why don't you just tell your family? Then you won't have to worry someone will find out who I really am."

There's a sharpness to your words that makes Seokjin wince.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed of you! I'm...embarrassed of me."  Seokjin rushes. "I just can't tell them. It would break them if they knew we've been lying."

Oh. So all this time he wasn't afraid someone would find out your real identity...he was just worried about disappointing his family?

"I always knew I was going to marry some nice girl from upstate and take over Paradise one day," He continues. "But now it's actually happening and I'm realizing I'm not cut out for this."

His head falls into his palms, forehead creased. You can tell this has been weighing on his mind for a while, and part of you feels thrilled that he trusts you enough to confide in you.

"I want to be the man they want me to be but I don't know how much longer I can pretend."

You slide your hand over the counter and cover his. He looks up, surprised, when you give it a comforting squeeze.

"I think you're just scared." You whisper. "I know you Seokjin, and you'll be an incredible CEO."

He puffs out his chest. "Pfft, I'm not scared."

"You're scared you won't be as good of an owner as your dad." You say. "And you're scared that you won't love the girl who you marry like you're supposed to."

Seokjin falls quiet, like what you said hit a nerve. He frowns. "I know what it's like to love someone. And those other girls -- the ones my parent's tried to set me up with -- they were nice and all but... I didn't feel it with any of them."

"You can't force love." You offer him a sympathetic smile. "Sometimes it just pops up in the strangest of places. It just happens."

"You're right." He smiles back, and shakes his shoulders like a weight has been lifted. His eyes soften fondly. "Hey. How do you always seem to know exactly what to say?"

"One of my many talents,"You laugh as you instinctively start to dish up your meal. That's what working in a kitchen does to you. "Including making incredible pasta."

The smell of carbonara wafts through the kitchen, and he rubs his stomach gratefully.

"God I love you." Seokjin says breathily, threading his hands through his hair and looking at you in wonder.

"What?" You go slack, the metal spoon between your fingers hitting the ground with a tinny crash.

Seokjin blinks twice before rushing to cover up his mistake. "You know what I mean."

You do know. But a part of you wishes that you didn't know, that you could pretend that the words that spilled from Seokjin's lips were real and true and meant something.

Not that it matters anyway. You aren't in love. You are just pretending to be. So why does it feel like a ton of bricks smushed your heart when you realise this was probably the only time you would ever hear him say those words, even if he didn't mean them how you wished he would?

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before it can start to wobble and bend to your knees to retrieve the spoon. Seokjin is already ahead of you, leaping out of his chair to grasp the metal at the exact same time.

A gasp passes your lips when his hand covers yours tightly, the contact accidental but enough to send tingles up your spine like it always does. Except this time, it seems he feels it too, because when you dare to look up he is staring at your almost interlocked hands in wonder.

"Is now a bad time to repay one of your favours?" His voice is hoarse.

"What—"

Seokjin's fingers hook beneath your chin, tilting your head towards him so that he can press his lips against yours in a tentative kiss, swallowing your words in transit.

The kiss is slow and languid, the way he slots his plump bottom lip between yours making you melt instantly. His cheeks are warm and soft in your hands as you cup them, the action feeling just as natural as the warmth blossoming in your chest when Seokjin moves his mouth in time with your own with an impossible tenderness.

He sighs into your mouth like he'd been waiting forever to do this, and you feel a similar satisfaction, finally able to curb the craving for him that has been aching inside you since your last encounter when he left you standing alone on the veranda.

Seokjin's fingers trace up your arms tentatively, hairs raising wherever they touch, before tangling them in the hair at the base of your neck and pulling you ever deeper into the kiss, not just with pure desire like you were used to but with a yearning to hold you closer. For the first time you let yourself succumb to your senses, protective guard over your heart shattering as you get lost in the scent of his woody cologne and the roughness of his simultaneously pillowy lips.

By the time he pulls back you are already breathless and he is too, lips parted slightly, breath tickling your nose.

"Sorry." The curve of his lips tells you he didn't mean it. He wanted to kiss you. You melt. "'S cause I missed you, that's all"

"C'mere." With a breathy laugh you pull him closer to you again by the collar, mouths crashing together in a tangle of teeth and tongue this time that makes you burn with a hunger to commit every caress of his lips to memory, blood running hot as he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth like he wants to devour you right then and there. "I want you."

His hands search your body making you shudder, swell of your chest pressed to his as he slips his burning hot palms beneath your thighs to hoist you onto the kitchen island, uncaring when the spice rack rattles precariously. His lips never leave yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that has you panting for more, suddenly desperate to feel his warmth against you without the damn barrier of your leggings between you.

"Wanna take you right here so bad." Seokjin breaks away, eyes glazed over and slipping from your swollen lips momentarily to take in your quivering body, slotting himself between your welcoming legs. "God, you drive me crazy."

His hair tickles your cheek when he lets his face fall into the crook of your neck as if accepting defeat, his self control hanging by a thread in the same way as yours.

"Then take me." It's hushed whisper but it makes Seokjin groan, his hands rubbing flat circles into the tops of your thighs but never getting quite close enough to the ache that pulses between your legs, as though he can't trust himself.

"Don't want you to do something you'll regret." Seokjin sounds pained as he nips at your neck, lips sucking marks into the flesh obscenely while his tongue soothes the burn, your eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

"I could never regret you." You stammer between quiet whimpers when his teeth attack the sensitive spot behind your ear and in that moment you believe every word. "I promise."

Seokjin leaves one last wet kiss to your jaw. "Open your eyes. Look at me." His hands tremble when they take your face between them and hold your already damp forehead against his. You obey, biting your lip when his own lustful eyes stare into yours with a gentleness. "Promise. You want this — me?"

Your heart throbs. "I promise."

"Then how could I refuse?" With a peck to your lips Seokjin hoists  you over his shoulder like you are weightless, blood rushing to your head as you come face to face with his butt.

"Let me down!" You laughed as he carries you through the apartment, pounding your fists against his back playfully. He only tightens his grip, landing a sharp smack to your ass that has you quieting down quickly. "Ow!"

"Don't pretend you didn't like it." His voice is muffled as he lets you down but you can still hear his smirk before he even comes into view. Your back lands on top of a plush mattress, silken sheets a welcome cold against your skin which still burns from Seokjin's touch. You manage to glance around the room briefly, taking in the elegant matching silk drapes and the luxe gold trimmed furniture which makes it feel like a hotel room you probably could not afford.

But then Seokjin is hovering over you again and the way his eyes darken as they rake across your body captures all your attention.

"I wouldn't mind if you did it again." You hum coyly, enjoying the way his pupils dilate as he swallows a groan. Seokjin grips your ankles and lands another slap to the flesh of your ass that has you panting and choking on your own smirk.

"Such a slut, hm?" Your knees fall apart instinctively as he leans over your body, leaving a few lingering kisses across the expanse of your chest that peeks out of the top of your tank top, all while your fingers find the hem of his gym t-shirt. "God I love your ass."

"I'll fuck it myself if you don't hurry up." The way your hips buck up give away your impatience, never quite meeting the painfully visible tent in his crotch and gaining the friction you so desperately search for. Your panties are soaked through and clinging uncomfortably to your dripping folds by now, the heat between your legs pulsing unbearably.

Seokjin chokes at your threat, eyes rolling back as he pictures the image you painted. "F-fuck, I'd love to but maybe another time." Your lithe fingers manage to get his shirt over his shoulders, throwing the garment somewhere behind him and sucking in a gasp when you take in Seokjin's naked torso beneath the warm glow of his bedside lamp, toned and slightly damp with anticipation. "Gotta take care of this cunt first, hm?"

His palm cups your mound obscenely through your leggings and you whine at the first contact you'd received all night, eager to have him touch you without the barrier of your clothing. "P-please." The way you twist your hips needily, trying to grind your throbbing clit against the heel of his palm makes him laugh lightly.

"Sit back, get comfy." He helps you slide up the bed, arranging a selection of tasseled throw cushions behind your head until he's satisfied you are adequately supported, kneeling between your legs to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and press a prolonged peck to your parted lips. "Want this to be good for you."

"It's always good for me." You assure, fingers trailing fleetingly down his chest and feeling him tense above you at the ticklish contact. Seokjin makes quick work of your top, leaving you quickly in just your bra which you graciously save him the trouble of undoing by snapping the clasp open yourself.

The way he gazes in awe at your bare chest makes you self conscious, hands coming to cover the flush that caresses your face until he rolls one of your hardened nipples and lets out a sigh in unison with your own when your hands fall away, unable to focus on anything other than the tingle of Seokjin's touch and your own shallow pants.

"You're so pretty." His words make your chest blossom with warmth and you arch into his touch, air cold against your hard buds until Seokjin takes one of them into the heat of his mouth and reduces you to a gasping mess beneath him.

As soon as he comes up for air you manage to wriggle your hands between your flush bodies, latching on to the waistband of his gym shorts and sliding them down his thighs along with his boxers as soon as you catch his nod of confirmation.

His cock springs free, hard and already leaking against his stomach. Seokjin hisses at the cold air against his length. You wrap your hand around his girth, lidded gaze watching the way his face twists with a pleasurable agony with each flick of your wrist. He's hot and heavy in your palm, impossibly hard and your entrance clenches when his cock pulses against your palm, forcing him to swallow a moan and stop his hips from thrusting into your hand. You are suddenly hyper aware of how empty you are, another bout of lust pooling in your stomach as you anticipate how good he would fill you up, length enough to stretch you out perfectly.

When your palm twists around the angry reddened tip he just about looses his mind, falling forward to grip your shoulder with a bruising grip, uncaring when a few choked groans spill into your ear. You take pride in the way he falls apart so easily until his large palm covers yours and halts your ministrations all together.

"Stop, fuck—" He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a hiss as he tries to regain his control, length twitching and drooling against your bare stomach. "Nearly came, shit." Seokjin's chest heaves with laboured breaths, cheeks flushed as he grips the base of his length firmly.

"I'm that good huh?" The teasing tone makes his eyes snap up, the scarlet tint to his cheeks deepening.

"No — I mean yes — but mostly I've been imagining this for a while." He seems slightly sheepish and you find it cute, feeling a little pang in your heart when his nose scrunches with shyness at his confession. "Got too worked up too fast."

"Guess you don't want me to suck you off for a bit, then?" You ask almost hopefully, your heat growing ever wetter at the thought of his girth fucking your throat mercilessly.

"There's plenty of time for that, princess." The glint in his eye is the same as the one he had that day in the locker rooms, except this time you trust his words knowing that nothing could stop you coming back for more.

"Guess I'll have to save my skills for another day, then." Seokjin chuckles at the pout that graces your lips, swatting your hand away before it could stroke his length again. "Unless..."

"Brat." The shake of his head is affectionate.

"Don't pretend you don't like it." You echoe his earlier words and he rolls his eyes to your amusement.

"Touché."

He holds your gaze for a little too long, the way his eyes soften at the edges and his lips part cutely too intimate for you to deal with in the moment so you focus on the neglected ache between your legs instead.

You interrupt the moment before you let a piece of your heart flutter straight into his hands. "Hurry up and get inside me, idiot!"

"Okay, okay jeez!" Seokjin raises his hands defensively before he shuffles down the bed, eye level with your crotch.

You can't help the way you arch off the bed as he peels away your leggings, whining shamelessly when your swollen folds finally hit the air.

Soon enough you feel Seokjin's hot breath hovering over your slit, making your clit pulse even more desperately if that were possible. Before he could devour your heat like you wanted him to, you are reminded of his own self control. "'S not fair, is it?" You slur, head spinning with lust as he spreads your lips with his fingers, taking you in completely.

"Not going to eat you out this time, don't worry," The sight of him looking up at you with pleading eyes from between your legs, lips inches away from your clit, is enough to have the coil in your stomach tightening, sure you could cum just from the visual alone. "Just a taste?"

You nod, too breathless to speak, and he runs a flat stripe up your dripping slit, the contact enough to make your legs shake and your head fall back against the cushions. He places a single kiss to your clit which makes you quiver before he climbs back up so you are eye level. "Can't get enough of your pussy," Your breath mingles, his lips glistening with your arousal just inches from yours. "Could taste you forever."

"You can." You whisper.

His tongue traces your bottom lip languidly. You can taste yourself just barely on his lips. "I don't deserve you."

Seokjin supports himself on his forearms, hovering over your body and taking his cock in his palm to line it up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He scans your face for any concerns, any suggestion that you are having second thoughts. Even your small smile and the shameless twists of your hips as you tried to impale yourself on his cock wasn't enough to appease him, apparently. "Promise?"

The tenderness in his voice makes you lose your breath in a mixture of shock and warmth. This has to be a dream. "Promise."

Seokjin's lidded eyes light up and he finds your hand where it tugs on the sheets beside your bodies and carefully interlinks your fingers. The callouses on his fingers, the grooves of his palm and how it slots perfectly into yours is starting to feel familiar. You don't have time to dwell on whether the action was supposed to feel as romantic as it did before he's pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance which clenches with every inch until he bottoms out with a guttural groan of his own.

The slide is slow and languorous, allowing you to feel every ridge of his cock drag against your walls, the stretch burning a little as you tried to accommodate his girth.

"So fucking wet for me, huh?" It's true; you can feel your arousal dripping down your ass, his hips meeting yours with an audible squelch that was testament of his affect on you. You feel his cock twitch inside you, his nose scrunching as he resists slamming into you straight away to allow you to adjust. Instead he focuses on rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs into your hips, taking in your bare form with a fascination. "So fucking pretty underneath me like this."

"All for you." You manage to stutter between hard pants as he snaps his hips back until just the head of his cock remains at your entrance and you whine with the impossible emptiness. "I'm all yours."

"Promise me." It comes out as a command but it's tainted with a softness that makes your cheeks burn with more than just lust.

"I promise. I'm all yours."

That's all it takes to have him slamming back into you, hips meeting yours repeatedly with a loud slap which is almost drowned out by the soft moans that spill from his lips into the crook of your neck. He's more vocal than you were expecting and it drives you crazy.

"Fuck, I'm close." His breath hitches at your words, tongue snaking out to wet his lips as he shudders closer to his high. With a pained expression he pauses mid thrust, head barely inside you as he searches your face for answers with desperate eyes. "Where can I—"

"Inside me." You buck your hips, whimpering when he slides back into you to the hilt as if he can't help it. "Wanna feel you fill me up."

"Shit, okay." He stutters as your fingers move the bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, his neck and shoulders glistening slightly in the deep glow of the room. "God, you're so tight."

By now you are clenching around him wildly, the heat between your legs getting hotter with every drag of his cock against your velvety walls. With his next thrust he hits your sweet spot deliciously, the mewl that leaves you alerting him of the fact and he watches with a dark amusement as your eyes roll back and you lose yourself to the feeling.

"Mmf — g-gonna cum." Seokjin's thumb rubs circles into your throbbing clit in time with his thrusts and the pressure is enough to have you falling over the edge, vision fading to black as Seokjin fucks you through your high.

"That's it, cum for me baby," He coaxes, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him release inside you, the feeling of him coating your now sensitive walls almost too much. "S-shit."

You don't realise your eyes are squeezed shut until Seokjin's palm cups your chin, his face a picture of pure bliss when your lashes finally flutter open. There's barely any distance between your noses, his breath lightly tickling your parted lips and you're sure he can hear your heart thumping against your rib cage, loud in your ears as he closes the distance between you in a lazy kiss that feels indescribably intimate with him softening inside you.

"I don't deserve you." He says again, voice croaky this time. "You could do better than me."

"Shut up," His cheek presses to your chest, warm against your clammy skin. "Don't be silly."

"There's something I need to tell you..." He begins, cut off when you sit upright abruptly, eyes wide. "It's nothing bad. Well, it might be depends on how you respond. It's just that day on the lake, when I saw how Taehyung looked at you, and when I thought I lost you, it made me realise that I'm—"

"No, not that." You begin feeling around for your underwear. "I think the pasta boiled over!"

"Oh shit!" He joins your search for clothes, rolling onto his back beside you, though you don't miss the frown that appeared on his face. "Guess I can wait a little longer."

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit. 

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall. 

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor. 

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store. 

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted. 

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right? 

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :) 

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again. 

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it. 

I’m counting on it. 

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind. 

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.” 

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing. 

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs. 

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.” 

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up. 

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?” 

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded. 

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.” 

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.” 

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back. 

October 9 (sat) 

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime. 

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

 It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all. 

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?” 

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—” 

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?” 

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.” 

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them. 

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria. 

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.” 

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged. 

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head. 

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks. 

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends. 

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself. 

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls. 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.” 

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline. 

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug. 

“I will,” she responded. 

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person. 

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high. 

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha. 

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked. 

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted. 

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account. 

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases. 

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.” 

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.” 

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle. 

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to. 

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically. 

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked. 

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised. 

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him. 

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure. 

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch. 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously. 

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them. 

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.” 

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted. 

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.” 

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?” 

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging. 

“Honestly hour.” 

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off. 

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.” 

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.” 

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.” 

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.” 

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.” 

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.” 

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said. 

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was. 

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked. 

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag. 

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”  

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm. 

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” 

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?” 

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously. 

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food. 

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.” 

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening. 

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?” 

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?” 

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p. 

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by. 

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.” 

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense. 

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him. 

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.” 

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.” 

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently. 

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.” 

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions. 

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.” 

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.” 

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting. 

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all. 

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

[firelord-frowny]

re: that last post, 

that guy literallyyyyy has been a Prominent Figure in music education in my region for yeeeeeaaaaars. Like, I didn’t really MEET meet him until, I think, my junior year of college, but when I was in high school, he came to my school to give a masterclass where I was one of the students he worked with. 

And like... even then, I felt kinda ????? like... he didn’t seem to be telling me anything that was tremendously useful. Which, the whole POINT of a masterclass is for a MASTER to share information that is transformative to a student’s playing. Like, they’re not just saying “that’s sharp” and “vibrate that note more” or “the tempo should be slower.” 

A true master giving a true masterclass is going to show you, for instance, an innovative practice technique to help you gain more control over the speed and width of your vibrato. Or they’ll show you how you can trick your brain into thinking a huge shift is smaller than it really is just by measuring it from a different angle. Students who perform in a masterclass should damn near ALWAYS come away from the experience as a more skilled player right off the bat. 

But when I played for this teacher... he ain’t tell me shit other than “a saraband is in 3/4 and emphasizes the 2nd beat.”  Like... ok?? And?? And if I remember correctly (i might be confusing him with someone else), I even asked specifically if he had any advice for how I can manage to play all the notes in the fast slurry sections of the dvorak f minor romance, and he literally was like 

“just practice, it’ll come around” 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it never came around. 

NOW i know that the actual answer to my question would have been “use [various etudes and exercises and practice techniques] to train your fingers to press on and release from the strings more quickly and with enough pressure so that each pitch has time to resonate before the next pitch is supposed to begin.” 

and now i ALSO know that the reason he didn’t say that to me is just because he didn’t fuckin know! 

And despite not being able to offer useful technical advice... he’s been faculty at music schools and he’s given masterclasses at festivals and he’s guest lecturing here and there and blah blah blah and literally like...

i have half a mind to see if i can get a job as an adjunct violin professor at some public college somewhere bc like... lmfao if he can do it, i should DEFINITELY be able to do it. 

[tsubaki3192]

250+ Followers Celebration! Proposal HCs [Yukimura, Nobunaga, Mitsuhide, Mitsunari]

Requested by: @nad-zeta​

Notes: Hm… I suppose ‘mitsu’ means both Mitsus? xD Okie, I’m doing them both anyway :3

Lmao Halfway through Mitsuhide’s and I’ve completely forgotten that this is supposed to be a PROPOSAL headcannon and not a wedding one oops-

------------------------------

Yukimura:

….. Mah boi Yuki has no idea how to propose to you.

It shocks Shingen, who, by the way, had been expecting it, though perhaps not his vassal asking him for help. Somehow, Sasuke just happens to be there, dropping from the ceiling to contribute.

…. Given Sasuke and Shingen, It’s not surprising when his proposal plan begins to become overwhelmingly similar to that of a wedding… in terms of how much is put into it. 

You’re lucky that he manages to stop his lord’s excessive behaviour, fuelled by Sasuke’s modern ideas.

Honestly, he miraculously manages to slip out of the conversation after it changes in a very… Shingen direction, coming across Kenshin not long after.

The God of War’s a good listener, and since he knows it’s gonna interrupt his war plans, he gives his own suggestion: It’s a rather Kenshin suggestion but, Yuki ponders, violence aside, it’s not a bad suggestion.

….He goes through with Kenshin’s idea.

Yukimura knows how much you adore his pet wolf, Muramasa, and just like how Kenshin said he would use his bunnies, he uses Muramasa in an indirect kind of proposal.

He spends several days and several long, gruelling hours attempting to write a letter to you, like Kenshin suggested. And... gives up, realising the sheets of paper hold nothing more than bullet points of the reasons why he loves you.

So that’s what he goes along with.

He sticks pieces of paper everywhere in the Uesugi castle, remembering all the little spots 

It begins on your pillow one morning, when Yukimura wakes before you do (maybe to shy away or to check if the others are still there). The message simply says “You look so cute when you wake.”

You know it’s Yuki- His handwriting is obvious to you now. You sleepily flush, following the arrow and turning the page around. It says “Now go get changed, dummy.”

You smile through the blush, doing as he tells you to. The next note is pinned to the collar of your haori. You follow through with this, curious at each next note. 

The final one is in an envelope in Muramasa’s jaws, with a final note inside.

It says: “The reason I’m doing this? … Please marry me…”

A flushed Yukimura had been following Muramasa around, finally coming up to you as you give him a hug and whisper “Yes” in his ear.

The boy blushes, grabbing the envelope from your hands and-

Yukimura’s had an engagement ring made for you, encrusted with several small diamonds within the band width, thanks to a suggestion by Sasuke. It’s his way of giving you something even slightly modern.

Your eyes just widen as he smiles, slipping it onto your fourth finger.

“Yuki, it’s supposed to on my left fourth finger, not the right one”

*Cue a blushy mess of a Yukimura*

Nobunaga:

…. Is the type to splurge…. And…. it’s not even the wedding yet… 0.0

To be fair, it takes him not much longer than a quiet night by your side, watching your chest rise and fall beneath the covers for him to make up his mind. 

He’s never felt more at peace with his split-second thought to decision.

It takes only a day morning for his plans to begin: Extravagant kimonos designed and commissioned for a couple in his clan colours: Crimson, black and gold, decorated in greys with his clan symbol. 

Flowers from who knows where in the world are delivered to the castle on the day, and he assigns Masamune on cooking duty- an utter delight, considering he’s the first and only member of the Oda forces who knows of Nobunaga’s plans.

Hideyoshi has no clue what’s going on when there’s suddenly a small-yet-noticeable dent in funds. Mitsuhide on the other hand, has already sussed out the situation, smirking and ignoring Hideyoshi’s pestering.

(Ieyasu couldn’t honestly care less, and Mitsunari wouldn’t even notice until the event....)

He’s confident too and absolutely certain you’d say yes: That’s your whole reason for staying with him anyway. But that doesn’t stop him from going the extra mile just for you. 

He takes the day off (as much as he can xD He’s still a Daimyo after all), taking you to a particular field of flowers your eyes have lingered upon many-a-time he’s headed off to war in that direction. 

He’s not sure if you’ve realised it, but your lips had once spoken quietly, “I’d like to go there one day…”. He knows it’s cheesy, but he’ll pretty much do as you say… with some level of arrogance, of course- It’s Nobunaga, after all xD

He takes you there in the middle of spring, when the flowers are in full bloom- He’s sent a handful of (rather excited) scouts to check.

He takes you out that same day, picking up the wrapped bundle of completed kimonos, handcrafted and specially designed by one of the best seamstresses, and Masamune’s meal in a basket beside him.

And despite the lavash everything he has for you back in the castle when you return, his proposal is simple, genuine and… well, less demanding.

When you arrive at the field, he unravels the bundle of cloth and drapes one over your shoulders as you stare at the flowers in awe. It catches your attention and you run your fingers along the greys and blacks of the fabric, tracing the embroidered sakura on the inside.

“Nobunaga-”, your lips begin, only to be cut off with a gasp: He’s kneeling on the ground in front of you, smiling softly as he takes his hand in yours. 

“Do you remember my first words to you? I asked you to ‘stay by my side’... and the offer still stands. But I would like to add a single word to that. So won’t you forever be by my side?”

Your response is nothing more than a leap into his arms, whispering a quiet “yes!”

Mitsunari:

……

Can I tell you the truth? The thought of marriage has come across in his mind before, but it’s never had the chance to be in a conversation, so he’s left it alone, thinking that you’re fine the way the two of you were.

He’s also anxious, that poor boy, but he brushes it off when you once asked him what’s wrong after he had been staring at the same page in his book for a solid hour.

So……. I headcannon Mitsunari’s the type where you need to propose to him first… Not that I don’t think he can’t, but it’s more so the fact that marriage doesn’t really matter to him.

The proposal’s nothing special- 

It’s a simple morning when you go to wake him up, slipping a small note into that unfinished book he’s reading, several pages ahead of where he’s up to.

It’s something you’ve consulted the other warlords with, each giving their own wild idea for proposals.

You’re not gonna lie though- When you had initially proposed the idea to them, they were shocked until you had told them that it wasn’t unusual for a woman to propose in your time.

Ideas you dismissed immediately were from Masamune and Nobunaga, and Mitsuhide too, when he suggested something completely within his boundary of actions.

Poor HIdeyoshi was so shocked he literally couldn’t say a word…. Any coherent word, anyway.

Only Ieyasu gave you something decent, scoffing down his tea in embarrassment when you smiled and thanked him.

The note slips from the book once he picks it up, and he freezes, dropping the book immediately to search for you.

You’re out in town, Hideyoshi mutters, he, too, faltering when he accidentally sees the note in his hand.

And you are- with some friends you’ve made in town who, admittedly, know exactly who you are. You’ve told them you’ve proposed to Mitsunari, who they also know to be your lover, so they’re not surprised when they spot the silver-haired warlord seeking you, clothing and hair disheveled from his search.

But when he falters at the sight of you smiling brightly with your friends, they grin at you, playfully shoving you in his direction and making a handful of rather… unnecessary excuses.

“Do you really mean it?” It’s something he asks when you finally reach a quieter location. And you just smile at him, nodding your head. 

His only response is to draw you to him, pressing his lips firmly against your own.

Yes.

Mitsuhide:

…. Okay. 

So the thing is, even if you tried to propose to him, he’d out-propose you with something even more amazing… Perfectly incorporating his own ideas with the plans you’ve made.

But the thing is, you don’t mind: You know he’s wanted this since forever. In fact, you’re almost certain all his dreams will come true by simply marrying you.

So instead, you don’t say a word. Instead, you begin your plans with requesting for silky, white fabric, several rolls of blue thread and ribbons of a maya blue and white.

Yes, you’re making your own wedding kimono and for some unfathomable reason, he knows you’re making his too. 

(maybe it’s because you’ve stolen clothes from him for size measurements… But who honestly knows… Maybe Kojuro told him? xD)

Either way, it’s a rather simple occasion. Neither you, nor Mitsuhide, had ever fancied anything extravagant anyway…. Nor do you do it in public either.

But he knows anyway: It happens one random day in his private quarters, as opposed to a celebration in the Azuchi halls. 

Really, it’s nothing special, yet Mitsuhide has somehow snagged the artificial fabric bellflower from his wedding hakama, strutting into his bedroom with it pinned to his usual clothing. A wooden box of a bellflower branch in his hands, this time made of blown European glass. 

You’re just there in his room, reading through a scroll you had created specifically for the occasion. You don’t even realise he’s entered and he creeps behind you, wrapping his arms around you.

You’ve predicted it instead- Turning your head to face him in response, you kiss him against the cheek and hold the scroll out to him.

“You received a letter while you were away…”

He smirks, replying with a “So you took the liberty of opening it?”

A glance at his face and the flower pinned to his clothes, you know he knows your question. And he’s given you your answer already.

Yes.

Nevertheless, he gently takes the scroll from your hands and places the wooden box gently into your own. 

Inside, the blue-white-purple glass flowers sits amongst the soft, fluff-filled silk. Written gently on each flower are the words “Will” “you” “marry” “me?”. 

You both share a grin, pressing a kiss to his lips in mutual agreement.

Tagging: @tsuki-no-usagiii​ @unstoppablelinda​ @zavannahmj​ @nad-zeta​ @thesirenwashere​ @ikemenmitsuhide​ @choi-jiyu​ @nuttytani​ <3

[writing-for-amusement]

Commission for Confidence, 12

Summary:  Y/N has been struggling with her self-esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?

A/N: Okay, y’all, this is literally ALL SMUT. Please, please, PLEASE do NOT read if you are under 18. That being said, I’m pretty happy with how this ended up! I hope you guys enjoy it, and please give me feedback. I CRAVE feedback on smut more than anything else. Do not be afraid to be super honest, okay?

A strike-through means your tag didn’t work, my friends.

Permanent Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @jordyns-library, @natblidaclexa, @peterseuphoria, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @beccaboo929, @softrdj, @icecoldban, @paintballkid711

CFC Taglist: @scatterbrainedgenius, @wildfirecracker, @pastlives-purplesouls, @maybemona, @hotchocolattee, @heregoestheworld, @134340-cm, @this-is-just-for-fanfic-lmao, @poc-gotbang, @sincereleygmg, @toastedpopsicles, @imstupidsblog, @casual-vaporwave, @xfangirl-trashx, @thefutureartteacher, @randomkpoplover97, @spaghetittiesbcimgay, @thebookisbtr, @artxfuck

Word Count: 3345

Tags: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT (do NOT read if under 18), dirty talk, oral (female receiving), some fluff and cuteness, some nipple play, hair pulling (Peter loves it and no one can tell me otherwise), brief insecurity and anxiety, brief allusion to previous shitty lovers

“If you keep looking at me like that, or touching me like that… it’ll be hard to keep myself from absolutely devouring you and making you scream my name.”

Peter’s words echoed in your ears as your hand froze in his hair. The way he said it made your heart pound in your ears. Goosebumps erupted on your arms, and after looking at Peter’s beautifully soft lips, you decided to just go for it.

It was a night of bravery, you decided.

Leaning down slightly, you moved his arm and pressed your lips to his with as much passion as you could. He let out a small sound in surprise but was kissing you back nearly instantaneously. As you nipped his lip, a groan came from Peter’s throat and you were suddenly pinned underneath him, his eyes burning down at you with loving lust.

“You’re such a tease, aren’t you?” he murmured deliciously, the deeper-than-normal timbre vibrating through your body.

“Perhaps,” you replied, biting your lip slightly as you gazed up at him.

Peter quirked a brow and them his thumb was coming up to your lip. “If I don’t get that gorgeous lip, you don’t either,” he chuckled.

“Then take it if you want it,” you whispered before giving his thumb a light lick.

With another growl that made you shiver in the best way, Peter dipped down and hungrily pressed his lips to yours. He caught your bottom lip in his teeth and sucked slightly, eliciting a tiny whimper from your mouth. You threw your arms around his neck and pressed into him; one hand tangled itself in his hair and tugged ever so slightly.

Things were going wonderfully until Peter’s hand started playing with the bottom of your shirt. That snapped you back to reality and you found yourself pushing him back.

“What’s wrong, love?” Peter asked as he nuzzled into your neck.

Unable to find the words, as Peter teased a finger under your shirt, you grabbed his hand frantically, but gently.

“I, uh,” you stuttered, “I’m, um…”

Peter seemed to understand, moving his hand from your stomach and shirt. “You’re worried I’ll run away.”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to stave off tears. “I, well, I’m, um… not the prettiest, especially not my tummy. And… it’s worse than you’d think. I just… don’t want you to think I’m gross.”

“Have people run before?” Peter asked gently, sitting back before helping you sit up.

“Not exactly… but they always treated me differently.” You glanced at him before shutting your eyes once more.

Peter’s eyes flashed with anger, the fire burning hotter as tears escaped your eyes at the memories. You barely felt yourself move before Peter was hugging you to his chest, one arm wrapping up and around your head to hold the back of your neck.

“I’m so sorry they did that to you,” he whispered to you, the pain and anger evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Never again… never again while I’m alive will you have to deal with it. I promise.”

You squeezed Peter closer and let out a muffled sob into his chest. It didn’t take you long to calm down; Peter’s hand rubbing on your back helped you breathe easier.

Angling back, Peter’s hands came up to cup your cheeks. He thumbed away a few tears before pressing the sweetest kiss to your forehead.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmured as he pressed his forehead to yours and shut his eyes. “But I do want to touch you, feel you, see you, when you’re ready. You could never drive me away, Y/N. I promise.”

“I… believe you, Peter,” you found yourself admitting. His sincerity seeped into your bones. “I want to, Peter. I want to… make love to you, fuck you, whichever term you want to use… I believe you, but… you’re sure, right?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” he replied vehemently, pressing a kiss to your lips for good measure.

“Okay,” you chuckled against his lips.

The kiss quickly turns heated again, but less hungry than before. It’s desperate in a different way, as if Peter is trying to convey everything that he feels into one kiss. Even more than that, it’s desperate to feel, to know, to… to love.

This particular kiss almost makes you tear up again.

“Please let me show you how wrong they all were… please, Y/N. You deserve to feel good and loved,” Peter pleaded a breath’s width from your lips.

Your heart was warm as you smiled up at him. “Only if I get to do the same.”

Peter beamed as he laid you back gently. “Who am I to deny a gorgeous girl her wishes? Especially one so pure?”

You bit your lip and quickly flipped Peter over while he was distracted. “Who said I was thinking completely pure things?” you whispered in his ear before nipping his earlobe.

Peter’s chuckle quickly turned into a breathy exhale as you began to kiss behind his ear. He placed his hands on your waist and gently urged you to sit comfortably on top of him. You cautiously placed your weight on top of him as you moved your lips around his neck.

He was rock hard underneath you, in more ways than one. Your mind was racing with possible thoughts of what to do, yet you were internally rather collected. While you were still slightly anxious about Peter seeing you without a shirt on, his hands gripping your waist, and his hard cock pressing up against you through his clothes, that was where your focus was.

Peter let out a breathy moan as you kissed along his collarbone. The moan became deeper as you slowly gave him a hickey while beginning to grind on him. His grip on your waist was tight, and you internally moaned at the thought of him leaving light bruises to remind you of this night for the next few days. It made you more excited and wet.

You moved back up to Peter’s lips, taking a small detour to mouth across his jaw and delight in his small whimper. As you devoured his lips, Peter’s hands urged you to grind against him more. You happily obliged, letting out a breathy moan into Peter’s mouth.

“Fuck, even your small moans are amazing,” Peter murmured against your lips.

You exhaled through your nose in amusement as you nipped his lip and rolled your hips. Peter’s grip tightened, his eyes flashed and the next thing you knew, you were on your back again. His smirked at you as he leaned up to give you a sweet kiss on the forehead.

Peter’s fluffy curls tickled your face as he moved down your body. He found the sweet spot on your neck and sucked lightly, making your breath hitch. Peter chuckled and worked a hickey onto your neck, delighting at your hands running through his hair. When he bit your collarbone and you pulled his hair a bit in response, Peter let out another growl.

“You are going to drive me crazy,” he murmured as he moved down. Peter nosed along the hem of your shirt, slowly moving it up so he could kiss your skin.

As he kissed the bits of skin on your stomach as they were available, Peter slipped his fingers in the band of your pajama pants and underwear. His eyes sparkled up at you, causing you to bite your lip in response. You just wanted him to fucking touch you already.

Apparently, you said that aloud.

Peter chuckled and pressed a kiss to your hips. You thought he would continue down, maybe, but instead, he moved upwards. His hands pushed your shirt up. Apparently, he heard the spike in your heartrate, because he pressed a soft kiss to the skin of your stomach.

Your lover continued up with his kisses, moving your shirt up with them. He gently asked you to sit up, and off came your pajama shirt. Peter’s hands were gentle as he reassured you with more kisses. You laid back, letting him move in to kiss and suck along the top of your breasts. He quickly moved up and sucked a hickey onto your collarbone.

Peter palmed over your breast, obviously pretty happy that you weren’t wearing a bra (because you were ready for bed when he’d arrived). In response to him tweaking your nipple slightly, just the way you happened to like it, you pulled on his hair, silently urging him on.

With a dark chuckle, Peter sucked your other nipple into his mouth. You let out a moan that you abruptly cut off, but he popped off and raised a brow.

“Nope, babe,” he murmured as he twisted your nipple gently, “I want to hear everything you’ve got. Let’s wake up the neighbors, hm?”

Your breathy laugh was cut off as he pulled your nipple with his teeth. The laugh quickly turned into a gasp, which obviously prompted a chuckle from Peter.

He laved his tongue over your nipple, eliciting all sorts of whimpers from you in response. Your hands traveled from his hair to his shoulders and back again. You didn’t know what to do with them as you were riled up by Peter’s tongue and hands.

Peter upped the ante as one hand slid down to squeeze your hip. Everywhere his hands went, warmth followed, setting every nerve on edge. His hand dipped from your hip to underneath your pajama bottoms. You inhaled a sharp breath as he rubbed one finger over the crotch of your panties, which were already soaking.

“Oh, baby, you’re positively soaked for me,” he smirked into your skin, obviously delighting in how your body reacted to him. “You ever been this wet before?” He punctuated the question by pressing against your clothed clit.

“Only when I think about you,” you breathed out without thinking.

Peter stopped his ministrations and suddenly his face was above yours. “You’ve touched yourself while thinking about me?”

Suddenly incredibly shy, you nodded and bit your lip.

Peter’s face lit up at your admission; he captured your lips in a searing kiss as his fingers moved your panties to the side and played with your clit. You moaned into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

Your hips canted up into his hand as he pressed one finger into you while rubbing your clit. Peter bit your lip and pulled just as he pressed another finger into your wetness. The groan that left you was surprising, but Peter ate it up.

Peter rubbed your g-spot and rubbed your clit simultaneously. You pressed up into him, feeling his hard cock against you. Taking his lip in your teeth, Peter moaned and moved his hand faster.

“Please, Peter,” you breathed out, “I need more, please.”

The smirk he gave you as he moved down your body nearly set you on fire.

Peter slid your pajamas and panties off in one go, tossing them both over his shoulder. He tore out of his boxers and your mouth watered when you saw his cock. He was painfully hard, leaking precum. He was a bit longer than you’d had before, and he had a good amount of girth. You wanted him, desperately.

You expected him to ask you for a condom, or if you were on birth control. No, he did not. Instead, he crawled between your legs and spread them apart.

His tongue was on your clit and your hands shot to his hair. One of his hands gripped your thigh as his tongue dipped down to taste you. He moaned into your cunt as his tongue did its work, making you moan in response. A shot of electricity ran up your spine as he grinded his length into the mattress.

“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he breathed as he moved back to your clit.

“You feel amazing,” you breathed out as you tugged his hair.

Peter chuckled, the vibrations running through your clit and to your body. You had been on edge for what felt like forever, but he wasn’t ready to let you fall yet. You knew because he lessened his ministrations on your clit ever so slightly. As he did, though, he slid three thick fingers into your soaking pussy.

“Oh, please, please, Peter,” you begged heavily, pushing your hips up to his mouth. “Please, Peter, you feel so good, please, I want to cum so badly, please.” His other arm came up to hold your hips down, easily using his strength to keep you down. It was sexy as fuck.

“Mmm, baby, are you sure you’re ready?” Peter asked as he slammed his fingers into your wet heat, rubbing against your g-spot all the while. “Fuck, you sound so dirty, Y/N, all for me, yeah? Can’t wait to fuck you, Y/N.”

“Fuck, yes, Peter, please, you feel so good, just wanna be good for you, please, please, please make me cum!” you cried out, one hand tight in his hair as the other gripped his shoulder like a vice. He was still grinding into the mattress, making you even more on edge.

“As you wish,” he chuckled sexily, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

Peter rubbed your g-spot repeatedly as he flicked his tongue over your clit. You came with a load moan of his name, pressing up into his mouth and digging your nails into his shoulder. He groaned as you clamped on his fingers, pulsing around them.

He couldn’t wait to have you wrapped around his cock.

Your amazingly sexy lover worked you through your orgasm, pulling back just as you were too sensitive. You turn into jelly on your bed, panting heavily, a light sheen of sweat covering your body. Peter hummed happily as he slid up your body and curled next to you.

“You okay?” he asked, even as his cock was begging for actual attention.

Still a little high, you flickered your eyes to him and nodded. Peter laughed brightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You are so, so gorgeous, baby,” Peter murmured, one hand coming up to push some hair from your face.

You hummed happily at his touch, whispering a thank you to his lips. As you kissed, you were obviously ready for more, kissing him more fervently. Sliding one hand down his chest, you gripped his cock in your hand, internally marveling at the feel of it.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait,” Peter interrupted you as you had begun to slowly stroke him.

Your hand flew off him and tucked behind your back. “What’s wrong? I’m so sorry, what did I do? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again—”

Peter stopped your rambling apology with a gentle kiss. “Y/N, baby, there’s nothing I want more than you to learn my body as well as I’ve learned yours so far, but if you touch me too much, this will be over much faster than I would like.”

You smiled bashfully and nipped his lip softly. Peter grinned and quickly positioned himself over you. Quickly reaching into your nightstand, you tossed him a condom.

“Thanks, was just about to ask,” Peter chuckled as he carefully opened the condom and slid it on with a light hiss.

“You make me feel so good, Peter,” you said gently as he lined himself up with your entrance. Peter used his hand to guide himself in, quickly swiping through your juices with a delicious moan.

“Fuck, Y/N, this might not last long anyway,” he breathed out as he pushed into you.

“I don’t care as long as it’s you,” you breathed out, moaning as he filled you perfectly.

“You’re too sweet,” Peter chuckled as he bottomed out.

Peter stilled for a few moments, looking down at you with an adoring fire in his eyes. A hand came up to cup your cheek; you turned your head to kiss his palm, making him smile.

Rocking your hips up, you ran your hands up and down his chest. “C’mon, Peter, please move, you feel so good, please fuck me, please.”

It was obvious that Peter loved dirty talk, both hearing it and speaking it himself. He also seemed to adore praise, so as he pulled out and pushed back in slowly, you started whispering about how good he made you feel, how much you liked him.

Peter sped up as you squeezed around him, his own praise for you falling from his lips. His deep voice set your further on edge and you rocked against him. Peter’s cock filled you beautifully, dragging across your g-spot with each thrust. He wrapped one of your legs around his waist and reached even deeper, driving you closer and closer to your peak.

You pushed up on an elbow and brought Peter’s lips down to yours. It was less a kiss and more of a desperate mashing of your lips together, but it was what you wanted, what you needed. Lacing your hand through Peter’s hair and tugging slightly, you swallowed his moan desperately, squeezing your cunt around his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/N,” Peter cursed into your mouth, taking one hand and offering you his fingers. You took his fingers in your mouth without hesitation, slicking them up quickly and delighting in his deep groan.

Peter took his fingers from your mouth and rubbed your clit. You vaguely heard yourself saying something, likely something akin to praise and/or begging, but all that mattered was Peter, Peter filling you and loving you and making you feel amazing.

“C’mon, Y/N, come on, baby, cum for me, please,” Peter whispered into your ear, his pace fast but a little sloppy, both your orgasms right there.

His words made you cum harder than you had earlier, which was a feat in and of itself. As you basically screamed his name, Peter buried himself in your wet heat, moaning your name into your neck.

The two of you remained tangled together for a minute or two, catching your breath.

Peter slid out of you and got off the bed, though he was a bit wobbly on his legs. You could hear him puttering around in the room, likely tying off the condom and tossing it. Still out of breath and a bit too much like jelly, you didn’t quite hear Peter walking into your bathroom and turning on the water.

You weren’t sure of how much time had passed, but Peter returned and gently kissed your lips. With a smile, you kissed him back.

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s get you up and into the bathroom,” he urged you gently.

You hummed and nodded, slowly sitting up. Peter chuckled at your state, making you glare jokingly at him. He guided you to the bathroom and urged you to pee before you climbed into the bath that he had waiting for you.

Peter turned away while you peed, only turning back when you were done and already in the bathtub. He climbed in behind you, even though it was a tight squeeze, and began to massage your shoulders.

“You’re too good, Peter,” you mused as his hands worked into the knots of your body.

“Nonsense, Y/N, this isn’t even close to what you deserve,” Peter said easily. “You deserve much more than this.”

You turned around in the bath and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I only want you, Pete. As long as you’ll have me, I just need you.”

Peter grinned, wrapping you in his arms. “I feel the same, Y/N.”

It was a relatively quick bath, with the both of you soaking for a bit before climbing out. You toweled each other off, pressing kind and loving kisses into each other’s skin. After that, you gave Peter a pair of sweatpants and you put a long t-shirt on.

You and Peter climbed into bed and curled around each other. Sleep captured both of you easily, with sweet smiles on your faces.

[allthemarvelousrage]

Set on Fire 10 (WIP, section 1)

When last we left our heroes, they were finally attempting to communicate with each other, when Rhodey interrupted unexpectedly. 

I wrote the first part of the next chapter:

Rhodey doesn’t remember throwing Clint through the window. 

He remembers the flight to the Barton farm, fuming the entire way with the kind of restlessness that comes from literally not being able to protect and help Toni any faster than War Machine’s top speed. He remembers landing, and stepping out onto the Barton’s charming front door walkway. He remembers smelling Toni, safe and warm and sated and better, remembers the scent of pain still clinging vaguely to him from his stop in the penthouse, and then he remembers a haze of red. 

Apparently, somewhere in there, he decided to throw Clint through the window. 

This thought occurs to him literally as he is stepping through the shattered window to hunt Clint down. For the next precious few seconds, he’s helpless with bemusement as his body marches with intention toward Clint, just now hitting the ground and rolling with a pained grunt back to his feet. 

Something feels off, but he can’t place what it is. Rhodey halts mid-step, trying to piece it together. He lost something somewhere, lost it between Laura’s wide, startled eyes and the sound of heavy glass breaking and Toni’s beginning yelps of protest. “Barton,” he says, wary, off-balance, 

“Nice to see you too, Rhodes,” Clint wheezes, and something in his tone, the precision pitch of irked alpha humming in his voice, the unspoken but blatantly present go fuck yourself, asshole harmonizing in the cadence, abruptly skyrockets Rhodey’s blood pressure, and there’s a snarl twisting his mouth before he even consciously registers his sudden, overwhelming rage.

He’s got his hands on Clint’s throat, and Clint is kicking him, punching him, biting him, and all Rhodey wants to do is squeeze until his smartass mouth stops flapping, stops opening with more snide comments. It’s a favor to the world, really, shutting this clown up, and Rhodey’s red-hazed vision narrows down to the width of Clint’s face as it turns purple, savage, primal glee taking root in his breast. 

And then someone steps between them, yelling and windmilling their hands, shoving his chest, pulling at his wrists, screaming a familiar set of epithets with strident, familiar tones. 

“Rhodey! What the loving fuck do you fucking think you’re fucking doing?”

Toni, hair wild and eyes spitting fire, more fire than he’s seen in her for years, jabs two fingers directly against his breastbone and it hurts, hurts enough to pull him out of the red killing haze,  enough to lance the rage so it drains as quickly as it rose. He lets go of Clint, confusion replacing the wrath, and backs up as Toni advances right into his space.

“If I wanted you to fly eleven hundred miles to come to my rescue,” she yells, on her tiptoes, hand on her hip and fury flushing her skin deep, lively rose, “I would have made your suit a literal suit of fucking armor! Do I look like a fucking damsel to you, Rhodes? Do I look like I need you coming in here and throwing people through windows on my behalf? I throw my own people through windows, Jimbo, so back the fuck off.”

Her scent overwhelms him, punches him in the olfactory organs, crowds out his higher thoughts, and suffocates him in the heaviness of her disappointment, the sharpness of her ire. He hunches into his shoulders, makes himself smaller, less of a threat to her anger, cowers by instinct, sees Barton doing the same in the corner of his eye, sees Toni swell and darken and loom her indignance in the blow of her omega pheromones...

And then the calming, pleasant and neutral scent of Laura Barton, the betaiest beta he’s ever even heard of, slices neatly through the dominant omega smell, the sickly bad-heat smell still clinging to his pores, and it’s a balm to his jangling nerves. 

Toni makes a startled noise, and deflates like someone popped a balloon, and Rhodey sucks in a desperate lungful of air, staggers back away from Toni and wonders when the hell she learned how to do that. 

“If you’re all done posturing and measuring genitalia,” Laura says serenely, her scent continuing to cleanse his nostrils of mind-altering pheromones, “why don’t you come in and we’ll all sit at the table like civilized beings. I just made lemonade.”

[veridium]

March was a wonderful month for commissions. For one, I got to write again for this lovely pairing, Inquisitor Jodianna Lavellan and Ambassador Montilyet. Thank you so much to @brancadoodles for the commission! 

CW: N/A

Rated: PG

--

One did not wander outside of the Skyhold fortress if they were the faint of heart. They did so with an understanding that they would be met by three principle things: first, a great deal of snow. Secondly, a great deal of cold. Last, but not least: a great deal of unsettled and unmarked traveling, likely on foot.

So, indeed, wandering the woodlands was not for the faint of heart. However, Inquisitor Lavellan and the Inquisition’s Chief Diplomat were both women for whom the phrase “faint of heart” did not apply. Though, for Ambassador Montilyet, “healthily skeptical” would.

“My love, are you absolutely certain this is a good expenditure of our time?” Josephine walks by herself, but she is not alone. Her lover, the Herald, is busy in the greenery lining the narrowing trail that is growing increasingly covered in thicket. Her voice cuts clear throughout the wintery stillness.

“Agh! No! I mean--yesAGH!” is all she hears coming from elsewhere. Perhaps east? A bit north of her?

She comes to a standstill just as the path lets off onto what looks like a break in the tree canopy. They must be several miles down from the mountainside, in the valley the main road to the Fortress cuts through on its way across the range. More trees, more flora and fauna to witness -- and deeper snow. As always, though, Josephine comes prepared with thick boots and a heavy, warm, royal blue hooded cape to go over her outerwear. For as much as this excursion has been a mystery of her lover’s conjuring, the day out in the fresh air is a welcome break.

The cold, dry air makes her eyes water and her cheeks go numb. But the intention is what mattered.

“Josephine!” she hears after a couple more minutes, and she looks from side to side.

“Yes, my love? Where are you?”

“Over here! I think I found a place!”

“A place? For what, exactly?”

“You’ll see! Wait...I-I see you! Turn to your left!”

She does as she is recommended, and turns to her left. Just as she is about to press onward in the requested direction, though, Jodianna’s voice corrects her navigation.

“No, the other left!”

Josephine’s chin lifts. The other left? What could possibly be another ‘left’ besides the one...oh. Goodness. She smirks as her hands hold onto her cape fabric. “My love, you meant your left, did you not?”

“Er...yes! Perhaps!”

“Okay, then my right.”

“It’s okay I--GAH!” Jodianna appears out of the tree line just ahead, indeed coming from Josephine’s right side. She falls when her boot gets snagged by a tree root covered in snow. Josephine turns and flinches at the sound of a cracking branch.

Jodianna is resourceful though, in her particular style of grace. She hooks an arm onto a low-hanging and thin tree limb, saving herself from falling flat on her face. Once frightened for her, Josephine presses the top of her softly gloved fingers to her mouth and quells a laugh. She makes clumsiness look so captivating.

“Mi amor,” she hums before hiking through the knee-deep snow separating them, “are you alright?”

“Oh? Me? Yeah, I meant to do that. For...posterity’s sake,” Jodianna huffs, landing on her feet and coming closer. She’s dressed without a cape, and that’s probably for the better. Weaving through the wild is hardly the occasion for having pomp in attire. On Josephine, though, there is always some measure of it, and it rarely is out of place.

“I found the spot,” Jodianna affirms, hands going to her hips, “come with me. I promise, it’s worth your while.” Her smile is keen, inquisitive -- pun perhaps intended.

Josephine smiles, and can’t help but go along with it.

“Okay, but just know I have couriers landing at Skyhold within the hour. I must not be gone long,” she warns, but with a cheeriness. It would be no erroneous hindrance if she was missing from her desk for a bit longer than she should. Just this once.

Jodianna takes her hand, and they break off from the barely-there path. Hiking between old, aged trees, and with Jodianna’s assistance over a fallen one, they come to a small, rounded clearing in the forest. Just secluded enough, but open for a certain mage to have necessary space for whatever antics she has planned. Josephine is unaccustomed to rugged practices but being an Advisor to the Inquisition -- one who had to endure the trek from Haven’s ruins to Skyhold -- has seasoned her more than she ever expected. Still, her experiences pale in comparison to Jodianna’s, and it leaves the Inquisitor looking rather marvelous in this light.

Once there, they stand smack-dab in the middle of the clearing. Josephine’s lungs are recuperating air lost from the robust journey there, but her spirits remained uplifted. Jodianna, meanwhile, releases her hand and steps jovially away from her, her arms going out at her sides.

“Do you even know where we are, currently?” Josephine asks, but has a hunch as to the answer already, which is confirmed by the way Jodianna’s brow becomes uneven and her shoulders hunch up towards her ears. No, but it is of no concern.

“No, not exactly, but!” Jodianna then plants her feet confidently in the snow, shoulder-width apart in a wide stance. “I do know that this is the perfect spot.”

“Perfect for…” Josephine grins, clutching at the opposite rims of her cape, and pulling them over the front of her body.

“For a trick!” she replies simply, humbly even. Alas, nothing is ever rarely as simple as a ‘trick’ with Jodianna. A happy accident, an extraordinary feat, a beautiful disaster -- but not quaint. It is one of the best parts of her, and the most easily beloved. A side of her that makes it rather effortless to forget that the majority of Thedas understands her as an unapproachable world power.

“Alright,” the Inquisitor says as she cracks her knuckles. “Time to show you what being in the woods in the depth of winter can be good for!” She went to stretching her arms, too, swinging them jovially at her sides. Her energy and her high spirits are so contagious. Josephine looked over either side of her shoulder, though nothing about their surroundings would suggest they had an audience. Well, that is, except for the hand full of Leliana’s scouts that were surely following them to ensure safety.

“Might I ask what the parameters are for this?” she inquires, more out of curious jest than legitimate concern.

Jodianna smirks and digs the balls of her feet deeper into the ground beneath her. She has a sly look on her face, the kind she gets before she enchants, and...well, other activities that spur her imagination.

“I am going…” she said, a pause of slight suspense, “to make it snow.”

At first, the statement is...interesting. In the obvious sense, of course.

“...Snow?” Josephine confirms, her face skewing to the right. “Is that not….well, isn’t it...ahem,” she clears her throat, not wanting to deflate the exuberance of the outing. The place was covered with snow and frost, it was the middle of the season. In the Frostbacks, no less.

Jodianna doesn’t miss a beat, though, to be sure. “No, no, I mean, I’m going to make it snow my way,” she clarifies. It is a matter of fact thing. Even though the Ambassador is still unsure what she means, they have come all this way, and it is pleasurable to be in her company regardless. What could humoring her harm?

Well...actually, maybe that isn’t not the most plain hypothetical question to ask, given Jodianna’s tenure thus far and its unorthodox qualities.

“I am going to show you what magic can do. What cool magic can do, anyhow,” Jodi says as she takes off her winter gloves. The gloves are, quite literally, coming off.

“Oh?” Josephine quips, but nothing more.

“Yes! Pun intended…”

Josephine snorts, a chuckle under her breath. She will keep her gloves on, but the commitment to the endeavor is admirable. As Jodianna prepares to execute her plan, Josephine takes a step back to give her some more room. She is otherwise quiet, ready to witness whatever it is that’s on the wings.

“Now, I’m going to have you do something…”

Oh, alright, well, do more than witness.

“What is it you need of me?” Josephine asks, confused as to what she, a non-magically talented person, could do to participate in enchanting.

“I need you to throw a snowball at me,” Jodianna shifts her weight from hip to hip, as if she is readying herself for enemy fire. “A big one, if you please. Nothing that will fall apart mid-air!”

A snowball? What is spectacular about a snowball? Goodness, when was the last time she even made a snowball? It had to have been during a family retreat and towards Yvette’s face. But, she cooperates, scanning the snow before her feet and -- however hesitantly -- reaches down and begins collecting snow between her two palms. Jodianna is smiling, a contagious and bright expression only she can provide.

“There!” she directs, hands clapping together once, “that is the perfect size!”

Josephine evaluates the fruits of her albeit short-lived labor: a snowball patted together, larger than the size of her two fists combined. As she rises from her crouched position, she holds it like a bowl of something to eat rather than a projectile.

“And you wish me to just...throw it...at you?” she holds it gently. It could break apart as easily as she pressed it all together.

“Yes! Aim for my head!”

“Your head?!”

Jodianna bursts into laughter, hands softly hugging her stomach. “Yes, my head! Come on, I know you can do it!”

The whole thing seems rather needlessly hostile. Josephine’s eyes dance from her lover standing across the clearing, and the now weapon in her hands. It is a curious desire to wish a snowball to be thrown at your face, but, there is ideally supposed to be magic involved. Magic that will hopefully intervene before Josephine must both blame Jodianna for her demand and apologize for the blunder.

“All...alright…” she shrugs one of her shoulders, a cleverness to her tone despite being a bit of a fish out of water. How did her brothers throw their ball out in the fields again? Their throws went far, if she can recall. She will need it in order to have her one shot make it across the near half-dozen yards between her and the Inquisitor.

“Are you sure, my love?” she asks, but deep down the contagious playfulness is starting to settle in.

“Yes!” Jodianna chuckles some more, holding her hands out in a welcoming shape with her palms tilted towards the Ambassador. “I promise!”

“Alright…” Josephine sighs a bit, and with a sharp inhale she primes all her strength in her arm and goes for it. Her eyes shut for a brief second mid-throw, and when they open, to her fortunate surprise the snowball is still flying. Traveling high, in fact. Higher than she might have planned.

The arch of the throw seems to work perfectly fine for Jodianna, though. She scoots back a bit, nearly tripping in the unforgiving rigidity of the snow, but she is resolute.

She dust-claps her palms against each other once, and light breaks forth from them. Her eyes don’t exactly get...brighter, but fuller with the colors already contained in them. In a flash she reaches out and sends beams of golden, almost copper-hued light towards the humble snowball. It all goes by so fast that there is hardly time for a full breath. Upon impact, the snow bursts into thousands of tiny pieces of ice. Deflected, so it seems.

Jodianna is not done, however. As the remains of the snow first fly up and then down around them, a few fluid hand motions continue the current of warm light emanating from her hands. It is a beautiful sight, truly, to see her conducting such incandescent power. It seems as though the light is both collected and spread throughout the air, first as rays and then as an aura enveloping the air above their heads. The pale blue sky becomes further washed in contrast to it all: a new kind of sunlight, almost.

The pieces of snow melt, and where it is expected they should disappear, they start to shine. Like glass first, and then jewels -- crystalline, brilliant traces reflecting everything around them.

Jodianna allows them to fall just a hair longer, closer until they are around their heads and faces, and then she snaps her fingers. The snapping seems to be more of a clever facade for what she actually does, but it makes her appear all the more cooly capable. She always has a flare for those sort of things.

Her ‘trick’ makes them all freeze, in unnatural stasis above and around them.

“Hah! It worked!” Jodianna’s rejoicing cuts through the ethereal wonderment of the scene as Josephine steps forward. She turns in her step, around so as to take it all in. It is stunning, indescribable, unlike anything she’s seen depicted in artwork -- and that is saying something, giving her experiences.

“Jodianna, this is…” she is slightly breathless towards the end, “they are splendid!” It seems like such an underwhelming word to use. But, in a rare show, Josephine cannot immediately find the proper rhetoric to deploy.

Jodianna’s smile is broad and open-mouthed, almost like she had just ran onto the scene, her hot breath escaping from between her teeth and into the crisp atmosphere. She, too, comes forward, helping to enclose the gap between them.

“You can touch them, you know. That is what I intended. Go ahead!” she directs, before picking a couple for herself. She collects them in the middle of her hand like small, fragile pebbles. Josephine’s mouth opens for her to speak, to inquire with more questions, but her hands speak for her: finding and selecting a couple right in front of her face.

They are cold, like ice, but not slippery. They hold their shape and do not immediately melt at her touch. If you were to place them in the enamel of some decorative accessory, or jewelry casing, you would swear they were precious stones. Not one holds the same shape as the next one; they are all unique, uneven but not broken.

She holds her treasure close to her chest as Jodianna approaches, an extra kick in her step from pride.

“See?!” she says, “I promised it would be cool, did I not?”

Josephine giggles low and matches her gaze with her own. “You did. Both literally and figuratively, you have delivered on the notion of ‘cool,’ my darling.”

Jodianna further basks in her glory, pressing and playing with the pieces in her hand. She bites her lip and watches them roll in her touch, before hopping onto the balls of her feet.

“Well! Look!” she says, coming closer, “they are not just for being pretty.”

Josephine eyes her, the side of her mouth upturning. While she watches, Jodianna’s hands go to the rim of her hood, and she gently pushes it back off her head of the neat twists and braids of her hair. Jodianna comes around behind her as if she were to place a necklace around her neck. Instead, though, she begins placing the pieces she collects from the surrounding air and placing them in Josephine’s hair. No sharp pins, no clips, and no heavy metals like what she is used to. Careful, loving presses into her braids. Jodianna’s fingers then push gently in the tucked space between her bun and her head; the placements feel so strategic Josephine wishes there could be a mirror to see it.

Jodianna’s focused while she tends to her decorating, her tongue sticking out the side of her pursed lips. Everything has to be just right, evidently. When it is all said and done she comes back around, placing a hand on Josephine’s shoulder.

“There,” she says with contentment, “now it is not only pretty, but purposed.”

It is Josephine’s turn to blush, for even though she can’t see a thing of what Jodi’s accomplished, she trusts it is worth the wait.

“Will it melt before I get a chance to see it?”

“No, not if I can help it. Though, I wouldn’t stand next to the fireplace for long,” Jodi teases, her hand falling from her. It is not a welcome break; Josephine sends her own hand to the side of Jodianna’s face, having her own ideas.

“Smile,” she asks with a warm, endearing tone. Jodianna’s eyes go wide and round at first, caught off guard by the sudden shift into indulgent affection. Josephine stops and smiles back in a persuasive, demonstrative way. “Come now, smile!”

“Okay, okay!” Jodianna loosens up her shoulders. She closes her eyes to take a breath, recollecting her nerves. At last, she smiles, and the world goes still.

Josephine places one of the ice pieces on her thumb, and then with a swiftness she presses it against the subtle, shallow dimple on the corner of Jodianna’s mouth. The touch of heat in her cheeks is palpable even to just the touch of her fingertip. The ice sticks, fitting almost perfectly.

She pulls her hand away, beaming some more. “Do not move! It may fall.”

Jodianna’s brows lift and she freezes as if she’s quite literally stuck in place. Her eyes open, but that is all she allows to move. It is rather adorable how dedicated she is to her happiness, even in the smallest of requests.

A half minute of stifled giggling, and Josephine places a hand on the opposite cheek. Jodianna flinches, her eyes narrowing.

“Josie,” she says out the corner of her mouth, “you’re not making this easy on me.”

The Ambassador laughs, her head tilting back slightly. “Apologies, my love, I cannot help it. Allow me to free you from this commitment.” She leans on her toes and into her, her lips going to the same soft indentation. With a devoted kiss and the surge in heat under Jodi’s face, the ice melts -- a spell broken like in a romantic, and perhaps slightly corny, romance story.

Jodianna sends her arms around her waist, under her cape as she pulls her in close. A kiss on the cheek won’t suffice on its own. Josephine’s lips do not travel far nor long before they collide with Jodianna’s own. On her forehead and cheeks there begins to be small bursts of cold like rain, as the enchantment is resolved in favor of Jodi’s focus on her. A personal kiss in a shallow fall of rain just for them, that is ended as quick as it begins. Josephine can only hope that the ones remaining in her hair have survived, but knowing Jodi, that is a doubt she need not have.

It could not have been more than an hour they were gone. Beyond the tree line and the paths both known and unknown, there were plenty of other ways to take up their time -- and who they were. But, In the woods, lost, and surrounded by that which shines under a sunless sky, endearment yet survives. Josephine, just barely, allows herself to believe it is all there is.

[musutofu]

【 When Darkness Falls 】

♡ pairing | Kaminari x ᶠᴱᴹ Reader ✑ word count | 6.7k ✎ genre | angst ✗ warnings | season 3 spoilers, (temporary) character death, cursing

Above you the thick canopy of leaves is parted by gnarled and spindly branches, like weathered hands parting the curtain of darkness to reveal the light glowing from above. Everything’s been leached into an almost grayscale appearance by the arrival of the moon’s pale light and it works to make the woods that had seemed so indicative of exploration in the warm light of the sun, cold and sinister. It makes you long for the constant glow on the horizon, broken only by the outcropping of buildings, that’s prevalent in the city. Here though the only thing blocking out the night sky are the ridges of mountains looming like sentinel past the the distant tree line. It’s easy to see why this has been chosen as the prime location for a test of courage. You’ve yet to encounter anyone and yet the absence of light has set you on edge. A twig snaps like a crack of lightning in the darkness and you instinctively reach out for reassurance. Momo is there to catch you before you completely lost in the abyss of paranoia.

“Had I known you were so scared of the dark, I would’ve offer to hold your hand earlier, [Name].” Her laugh is reassuring as she pulls you away from the edge of the trail where the shadows are at their deepest.

“I’m not necessarily afraid of the dark–!” Your declaration is immediately undermined by a distressed squeak as a deep groan rumbles through the trees closets to you.

“Do you think we’re getting close to the other students?” Your shoulders lift in a shaky shrug. “I wonder who’s Quirk could’ve caused that noise. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Come on, [Name], I’ll make sure no one scares you too much.” The two of you only make it a few more steps before you pause, snagging Momo’s arm like a dog tugging on its leash. Your eyes are trained curiously on the ground as it trembles underfoot. The tremors coincide with the sound of brittle snaps that burst through the still air, undercut by a heavy groan. Pieces click together in your brain like a puzzle and your head whips to face the wall of blackness you’d been regarding with such hesitance. In an instant, you forget your irrational fear. It’s erased by the most basic of instincts in your mind; survival. With little regards to her balance you shove Momo as far away from you as possible, using the momentum to throw yourself in the opposite direction. Seconds later a tree spills out of the darkness, toppling others in its descent.

“[Name]! Are you okay?” Momo shouts frantically, struggling to her feet as the aftershocks of the tree’s heavy impact die down. The hard-packed dirt path had done nothing to soften the impact and you pick a bloody piece of gravel out of your elbow before standing. The tree rises up past your head in width and it probably would’ve measured higher if not for the charred divot in its trunk. The damage stretches from one wall of darkness and back into the shadows on the other side. You strain your eyes in search of the end but can’t find the roots or crown.

“I’m fine! Are you alright?” You chance a touch to the bark, gauging whether or not you should attempt to scale it, and immediately pull your hand back as your singed by the blue embers still glowing bright in its trunk beneath the layer of charred bark.

“Momo, something’s wrong. This wasn’t part of the courage test. The only other emitter-type Quirk that has to do with fire is Todoroki and I’ve never seen him get his flames hot enough to make blue fire.” Just as you say that a shiver runs down your back, yet it’s comforting somehow. After a moment, the presence of Mandalay’s Quirk manifests in your head. It feels as though your conscience has mutated and split in two. Her words echo in your head, overlapping your own train of thought in a cluttered sort of harmony.

“Everyone! We’re being attacked by two villains!” Momo’s inhales sharply on the other side of the tree. “It’s possible that there are more! Everyone who can move, get back to camp immediately! Even if you come across an enemy, retreat and do not engage!”

“Momo, go! Follow the trail back to the camp. I’ll find my own way back.” It’s evident that you can’t just turn around and follow the path since Mandalay, Tiger, and Pixie-Bob were in the clearing the path leads to. If they’re fighting the villains it wouldn’t be wise to knowingly run in headfirst and risk distracting them, or, worse, grab the villains’ attention.

“I can’t leave you here! I won’t! I’ll think of something and help you get across.” You can already hear the cogs in her head turning as she runs through all the objects and materials she knows how to create in the hopes of finding a probable solution, but there’s just no time. Even if she can manage to think of something there’s no telling how wide this tree is. There’s a significant distance between the two of you based on her voice alone and Momo can only make so much material before she becomes little more than dead weight after overshooting the amount of lipids she can expend.

“Momo, there’s no time, just go. Help who you can, but, please, get out of here. I’ll be fine.” You pretend your voice didn’t wobble on the last word. “Don’t forget, I’m going to be a Hero, too!”

“As your Vice President, I’m ordering you to be careful. Please, stay safe, [Name].” The tightness in her voice is indicative of her guilt as she turns her back on a friend to save herself, but she doesn’t have much of a choice. As soon as you hear her footsteps running down the path you turn towards the pitch black hoard of trees that your roadblock emerged from. Your safest bet is to follow it to the stump and back. Fear thrums in your veins as you plunge into the open woods like a diver into frigid water, hand trailing just below the veins of blue that faintly light your way. The further you get from the path the harder it gets to breathe. What you’d thought was collateral damage from a Quirk emission was the flint that sparked a fire.

Blue-grey smoke reaches for you like spectral fingers, stinging your eyes and burning your lungs. You consider using your Quirk, but it would come at the risk of adding to the damage the villain caused. Because while the smoke of your flames acted as a purifier, replacing toxins in the air with pure oxygen, they were still flames and would burn the densely packed trees. As if to offer you a solution the maze of tree trunks gives way to a small clearing. Abandoning your plan of returning to the path you sprint for the opening in the trees, tripping over a nest of raised roots on your way out. Your hands take the brunt of the impact, sending a shock through your wrists, only to fall over completely as Mandalay’s voice invaded your thoughts once again. You roll onto your back, blowing a small ring of fire into the air so you can properly catch your breath.

“Everyone in Class A and Class B! In the name of Pro Hero, Eraserhead, you are granted permission to engage in combat!” The heat that had gathered during your tramp through the woods drains from your body like water down a faucet. For Aizawa-sensei to authorize everyone for combat there has to be something dire happening. You scramble to your feet in preparation for an impending fight but find only the mix of blue and purple smoke as your enemy. Just as you inhale to blow a larger cloud of flames, you notice a large shadow in your periphery. For a moment you mistake it’s almost inhuman shape as one of Pixie-Bob’s earth monsters, like the ones that attacked you upon arrival, but then it moves.

You dive behind a tree, risking a peek past the low-hanging leaves to be sure you’ve gone unnoticed. The creature makes an animalistic keening noise that’s muffled by a gag connected to the helmet that probably holding its exposed brain in place. Your heart stops in realization. It’s a Nomu. You recognize it’s exposed brain and excessive muscles from the USJ attack. Cold sweat drips down your spine as you connect the dots. These grotesque, humanoid monsters are like the League of Villains’ foot soldiers. You feel faint as you think of how many more there are and what just one of them could do when it’s roaming free. Perhaps it’s the smoke making you woozy, but you aren’t about to light a beacon to give away your position. If it took All Might more than one punch to defeat one of those things, you don’t stand a chance. It slowly lumbers away, but you stay frozen until you can no longer hear it crashing through the foliage. You breathe out a flaming sigh of relief and the cloud of fresh air helps to clear your head only for it to be bombarded by another message from Mandalay.

“We have discovered one of the villains’ targets. It is one of the students–‘Kaachan’! Kaachan should try to avoid combat and acting independently. Understood, Kaachan?”

“Bakugou.” His name falls from your lips in a whisper before you can stop it. Just the thought of him being forced to the sidelines for his own safety is laughable, but you suppose Mandalay doesn’t know that. You do, though, and you can’t help but worry for him and all your fellow students. Between the thickening smoke and purple gas it’s probably getting harder to fight without running out of breath and you’re about the only one that can offer any type of solution. Minding the direction the Nomu disappeared in, you run the other way, puffing our small bursts of fire to minimize the possibility that you accidentally set another tree on fire and add the the problem you’re trying to solve. It’s only after sprinting back into the darkness that’s momentarily lit up by your purifying fire breathing that you realize you’re running aimlessly.

There’s no way of telling which way camp is anymore, but the path went in a circle, so you plan to run and clear the air until you find it. It doesn’t take long to stumble upon it, quite literally as you almost step on a Class B student. There are three of them strewn across the ground, breathing shallowly as the smoke from the burning trees and gas from somewhere deeper in the forest contaminates their lungs. You recognize all of them, but can only vaguely recall their names. There are two boys and a girl. Two of them have collapsed in close proximity, but one of the boys has fallen on the other side of the path. You groan with exertion as you try to drag the remaining boy closer to the other two. Once they’re all in the same general area you blow a curtain of flames above them.

You take solstice in the way the air above their heads clears, but know it’ll be quickly replaced with toxic air the moment you stop. The length of pauses between your breaths shortens as you force as much air out of your lungs as possible as quickly as you can. The brunette boy is the first to return to a normal breathing pattern, his chest rising and falling like steady waves. Your chest, however, barely shifts as you breathe in. When you try to exhale a cough interrupts your stream of flames and the girl wheezes as smoke suddenly invaded her lungs again. Pushing aside your minute discomfort, you resume purifying the air, not realizing you’re retaining too much carbon monoxide from the smoke as you angle the flames away from yourself. Each burst of fire is getting incrementally smaller and your mind hazier, but you can see the girl is regaining her breath in your place, though the second boy is still breathing erratically. There isn’t much time to worry over that as your vision suddenly cuts out, like the flick of a light switch, before you could even register that it’d been tunneling. For a moment you sit in the strangely cold darkness, no longer feeling the warmth of your own flames. A sort of all consuming darkness with fingers like ice crawl up your body until you’re so numb that all you can feel is nothing.

It’s still cold when you wake and it feels like you’re encased a block of pitch black concrete. All you can see is thick darkness and your lungs heave with the effort to take in even the smallest wisps of air. You try to move in the disconcerting nothingness that encapsulates your entire being, but it’s met with heavy resistance. The frigid feeling from moments before is broken up by instances of complete numbness. You can barely feel that you have a body at all. It’s a collection of abstract shapes that seem to connect but you can’t move any of them. It’s like every cell of your body is suddenly made of lead.

All of a sudden, you feel something, weight being added to your chest. It’s warm and grounding and sends an odd buzz through your body. You try to reach out to hold onto it, but it slips away before you can grab it, leaving you alone in the darkness. After a moment, the weight returns, heavier this time and softer. Still your arms refuse to cooperate and the only thing centering you disappears once again. It must not have gone far because you suddenly hear a voice shout. It sound like they’re screaming into water. You wonder if that’s why everything is so heavy. Maybe you’ve sunk to the bottom of the ocean and the pressure is trying to crush you like an aluminum can. Idly, you wonder if they’re yelling at you to swim to them, to the surface where there’s light and air. I can’t, you what to tell them, it’s too heavy.

The buzzing weight returns to your chest, pressing against two different places. Wait, electricity and water don’t mix. The people yelling aren’t trying to save you. They’re trying to fry you alive before the pressure cracks you like an egg. Suddenly pieces of body are thrumming and you can feel it. Some of the pressure is relieved as you’re pulled towards the surface by the center of your chest. The soft weight is back and it feels more tangible, more comforting. Perhaps they are trying to save you. The buzzing returns tenfold and this time you feel the thrumming everywhere, even in your teeth. It’s mildly uncomfortable and surges through you until your back is pulled into an unintentional arch. Once it dissipates the phantom string pulling you upward is cut and you settle back against a hard surface. You aren’t cold anymore, but you are tired. There’s not even enough strength in you to grasp at what you now recognize as hands sitting heavy on your chest.

The next time you wake it’s to a monotonous beeping rather than disconcerting emptiness. There’s a collection of machines standing watch at your bedside, one connects to the clamp on your pointer finger and the other curls around your face to deliver oxygen to your nostrils. It’s obvious you’re in a hospital room, but you can’t remember why. You don’t feel particularly ill and the only sign that you were injured is the small bandage on your elbow which could’ve easily been the result of a small fall. You’re not left to wallow in confusion for long as a man in a white coat enters your room. He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, too engrossed in the papers on his clipboard. It’s not until he glances at the machines you’re hooked up to that he realizes you’re awake.

“Ah, hello, Ms. [Last Name], it’s good to see you awake.” He says, pulling up a chair to sit down next to your bed.

“Awake? How long have I been asleep?” Your voice grates at your vocal cords and you attempt to swallow the dry feeling. The doctor, you’re assuming he’s a doctor, produces a water bottle seemingly from no where and hands it to you. He watches you greedily guzzle down half of it before answering your question.

“You’ve only been asleep for two and a half days and frequently opened your eyes though you weren’t exactly lucid. Do you remember anything?” A shiver shoots down your spine at the memory of the black void and is easily chased away by the thought of the weight that had steadied you, unconsciously your hands press against your chest.

“I remember being cold and everything being completely black. But I could almost hear voices and I felt things. It was like buzzing and there were hands on my chest. I couldn’t hold them, though, I was too tired to move.”

“Anything before that?”

“A forest, and fire. Villains showed up at our training camp. The trees were on fire and there was smoke everywhere. I tried to help someone, but I can’t remember if I saved them.”

“You did. All three of them, in fact. They came to visit you the first day you were admitted and your class was just here to see you. I believe some of them may still be here somewhere. I’ll tell them you’re awake if I see them, but for now I should go alert your parents. And don’t worry, you’re perfectly fine. Other than high traces of carbon monoxide in your lungs and bloodstream that’s been filtered out, you had no lasting injuries. You’ll be free to go by the end of the day.” You sip your water pensively as he says all this. The high levels of carbon monoxide must’ve been from all the smoke. A small price to pay to save three of your fellow students. As the doctor rises to leave you notice an array of presents on the bedside table and a bouquet of balloons hidden behind the tall machines. Curious, you grab a stack of cards to read. There’s one from each student you saved, one that’s from your entire class, one from Class 1-B, one from a close friend of yours, and the last one from your parents. A soft smile brightens your face as you read everyone’s names and the little anecdotes they wrote for you. You’re contemplating the few missing signatures of Jirou, Hagakure, Bakugou, Midoriya, and Yaomomo when the door to your room clicks open again. This time it’s you that doesn’t look up until the person is seated next to your bed.

“Kaminari!” You set the cards aside to reach over the bed’s guardrail to hug him, but he’s hesitant to return the affection. You pull away awkwardly, not used to the lack of affection from one of your best friends. “What’s wrong?” It’s hard to gauge his reaction with the way his head is lowered and his bangs fall across his eyes. But when he raises his head, something in your chest seizes, then shatters as he looks at you with tears rising in his eyes.

“Denki, what’s wrong?” Your voice shoots up an octave, pulled taut in distress. “What happened?”

“You died, [Name].” His voice lacks its usual carefree inflection and sends his words slamming into you like a ton of bricks.

“What?” The heart monitor skips a beat.

“During the villain attack. You suffocated from inhaling too much smoke. You were dead when we found all of you, but the other three were still breathing. I–we thought you were gone for good. But....” he trails off, looking down at his trembling hands. Unknowingly, he’s laid the tracks for your train of thought to resume and you can remember the bits and pieces that were missing. They’re hazy, like trying to look through muddy water, but it’s enough. The voices you’d heard had been those of your teachers and classmates. The hands you’d felt were Kaminari’s. It was his Electrification Quirk that had brought you back from that cold darkness. It still feels like you’re missing something, like there was more to your death than just the emptiness of the in between, but the longer you try to reach for it the more elusive it becomes. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re here now.

“Don’t cry, Kaminari, there’s no reason to. A Hero shouldn’t cry over the people he’s saved. I’m okay and it’s all thanks to you.”

“But what if we hadn’t gotten to you in time? What if I couldn’t restart your heart? It would’ve been my fault.”

“No,” you grab hold of his shaking hands and press them against your heart, “the only person at fault would’ve been me. I overexerted myself. I overused my Quirk. The only person to blame is me. It’s thanks to you that I’m even alive. My heart beats for you, Denki, don’t ever think otherwise. You’re my Hero.” You feel the heat building behind your eyes, threatening to spill over as you watch your best friend cry for you. His tears are for you, but you don’t want them. You want his smiles, his failed attempts at suave pickup lines, even that dumb expression he makes when he fries his brain. You’d prefer anything over the anguish spilling from his golden eyes. Feeling your own tears finally fall, you release the guardrail to pull him fully against you. His head rest against your chest much the same way it had when he was listening for your heartbeat before. It seems to settle him and the sobs quiet to short sniffles.

“Am I interrupting something?” The question is accompanied by the sound of crinkling cellophane and you spare a glance over Kaminari’s head to see who you’re new visitor is.

“Oh, Kyoya, hi.” Kaminari stiffens in your arms at the introduction of another person and promptly pulls away from you and dries his eyes. For a moment he still looks distressed but easily slaps a big, empty smile on his face before addressing the boy approaching your bedside.

“Not at all. I’ve never met any of [Name]’s friends from outside of U.A., it’s nice to meet you! I’m Kaminari Denki.” Kyoya offers Kaminari a short bow before dropping the bouquet of flowers he brought into your lap. You examine them for a moment before smiling.

“Thank you. Everyone seems to have gotten me marigolds. I know they’re my favorite flower, but I have so many now. Actually, you’ve never been good with flowers, Kyo. Did you buy me chrysanthemums by accident?” You jest. Kyoya’s cheeks brighten with a hint of embarrassed blush. Next to him, Kaminari looks uncomfortable.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” the blonde finally decides, rising to offer his seat to Kyoya. “I’ll see you at school, [Name].”

“He seems nice.” Kyo comments once the door shuts behind him.

“He is. All of my classmates are. I’m glad–”

“I don’t think you should continue going to U.A.”

“Excuse me?” You’re less concerned by the fact that he interrupted you and more upset by the fact that he’d even suggest something so absurd.

“I said I think you should drop out of U.A.” He reiterates plainly.

“And go where? Shiketsu? Ketsubutsu? I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me to transfer anyway. The first semester is already over. Plus U.A. is the best Hero academy in the country! I can’t just throw my acceptance away.”

“But you can throw your life away?” Kyo deadpans. “You died. You were dead. All because your school can’t properly protect its students. This is the second time you’ve been involved in a Villain attack!”

“So you’re suggesting that instead of continuing to train and become a Hero I should just quit? That’s one less person to protect civilians, like yourself, from being hurt by Villains. Why would I stop? I could just as easily be killed in a Villain attack walking home from a normal school. You know my classmates Bakugou and Midoriya were involved in a serious villain attack before they even applied to U.A..”

“And now one of them is badly injured in a room down the hall and the other is missing, kidnapped by the League of Villains.” The heart monitor beeps erratically at the news. You remember Mandalay mentioning Bakugou was a target, but for him to have been captured... the thought never occurred to you.

“That’s even more of a reason to keeping fighting! So I can avenge the injuries Midoriya suffered and save Bakugou from those Villains. And I know a few real friends that would agree with me!”

“You’re all crazy to think you can take on so many Villains! You’re just kids!” Kyoya stands to tower over you, his dark expression silhouetted against the bright overhead lights. The sound of his chair toppling over does little to distract either of you.

“If we don’t protect people than who will? Are you tell me being a Hero is useless?” Your heart monitor is beating feverishly as his words work you into a near manic state. “I think you should leave, Kyoya. Don’t come see me again.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” He says manically. His eyes are clouded and unfocused. “No, I won’t let you. I’ll make you regret this until the day you die.”

“Well, in your eyes it won’t be too long until then!” You mock. In a fit of anger you throw the bouquet of chrysanthemums at his retreating back. They explode against the wall in a flurry of golden petals. The color reminds you of Denki.

A lot’s changed since that day. You’ve steadily built up a wall around yourself. A fortification in preparation for whatever Kyo is planning. He looked so terrifying when he was staring down at you with unbridled rage in his eyes. Somehow he managed to instill more fear in you than any Villain you’ve encountered. There’s just something unnerving about your enemy being someone so close to you. He knows your fears, your secrets, your insecurities. It wouldn’t be hard for him to exploit your every weakness and it’s scared you into a self-inflicted sort of exile. The only thing that gets you to leave your dorm anymore is classes and your exit is always timed so you’ll have someone to walk with you. Even though you fear being alone you’re too afraid to confide in anyone.

A knock on your door makes you squeak. You’d risked a quick scroll through your SNS knowing that you’ll run into Kyoya’s vague posts about betrayal and restitution that could be a passive aggressive jab at anyone, but you can’t help but feel that they’re threats aimed at you. Thouroughly rattled, you toss your phone aside and give permission for whoever’s behind the door to enter. A tuft of blonde hair slashed with a black lightning bolt highlight is followed by the rest of Kaminari’s head as he pokes it around your door. For a moment he just looks around, probably sating the curiosity most of your class has been harboring since their impromptu best room contest. As usual, you’d been curled up in solitude and pretended to not hear when the girls first knocked on your door.

“Hey,” Kaminari ventures, refocusing on you. “Can I come in?” You pull your knees closer to your chest in preparation for an attack you know isn’t coming before nodding your consent. “Uh, nice room.” He says awkwardly, walking around the space and taking in all your personal touches. He stops in front of your memory board hung over your desk. It’s one of the one things you insisted had to be brought with you from home. You could’ve abandoned your TV and favorite reading chair for that dumb board. It had been a labor of love painstakingly choosing each picture you wanted to put on it and arranging them to look aesthetically pleasing. Funny that you haven’t looked at it since you woke in a cold sweat after feeling eyes watching you. In your panicked state you attributed the gaze to a photo of you and Kyoya standing on either side of your parents that had been taken at an amusement park on your eleventh birthday. Your eyes were red from crying after going on your first roller coaster and Kyo’s shirt has a white blotch on it from being overzealous with his ice cream cone, though you can’t see it now. After that night you folded the picture in half, pretending your mother’s missing arm was just out of the camera’s view.

“I didn’t realize we took so many pictures together.” Kaminari muses after picking out his distinct features every few pictures. You blush behind your knees.

“Yeah. You’re actually my home screen.”

“Really?” He sounds amused, but your head is buried in your thighs and you’re too embarrassed to lift it. “Hey, don’t feel bad! It’s just funny because you’re my background, too. Look!” You peek over your legs to see that he wasn’t lying. Behind all his apps is a picture of you. You can’t remember when it was taken, but it looks to be during lunch judging from the chopsticks resting against your lips and the rice stuck to your cheek.

“You jerk! Why is it an unflattering picture?”

“What do you mean. No picture of you can be unflattering! You’re too cute for that.” The emotions that have been simmering just below the surface threaten to bubble over with that one comment. Your relationship with Denki has always walked the line between platonic and romantic, but you’re too scared to make the first move and he never expresses wanting anything outside of occasional flirting, so you’ve left things as they are. Before the silence can stray from comfortable to awkward you huff at him in disbelief.

“I was nice enough to pic a half decent picture of you.” Before you can hit the home button your eyes catch on to a text from Kyoya. You hadn’t bothered to block his number seeing as he hadn’t contacted you since that day at the hospital, per your wishes, but now you wish you had as the single word “tonight” glows up at you menacingly. You toss your phone away with a shout.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Get away from me.” You snap. If Kyoya is really coming to carry out his threat you doubt he’ll hold your classmates’ health as a high priority. Kaminari sputters as you push him towards the door.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” Instead of sounding upset he sounds worried. “You’ve been different ever since you got discharged. I thought you were okay. What changed?” You can’t take the desperate look in his eyes as he forces you to look at him. His eyes melt away the ice that’s seized your chest only for it to return tenfold as the school’s alarm system goes off in a maelstrom of sounds and flashing lights.

“He’s coming.” You cry, forcing your way past Kaminari and sprinting down to the lobby.

“[Name], stop!” Four pairs of eyes look to you as Kaminari yells your name.

“[Name], don’t worry. Maybe it’s just a bunch of reporters like last time.” Mina reasons, trying to reach for you. Hysteria mercilessly sinks it’s fangs into you and you lash out, smacking your friend’s hands away from you. Mina startles, not having expected your reaction.

“Get away from me!” Everyone is so close to you. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. They need to leave you alone.

“[Name], we have to remain calm. The pros will take care of the threat.” Iida tries to reason. You cover your ears. He’s wrong. They won’t. He’ll only stop if he has your life in his hands.

“Shut up! Get away from me!” Your control is slipping and you can feel each word that leaves your lips being accompanied by a burst of heated air. A scream erupts from your lips in the form of a plume of fire at the sound of the front doors being melted. He really is here to kill you. The only person you know with a Quirk that can melt anything is Kyoya.

“Don’t!” You scream as Todoroki attempts to close off the door with a wall of ice. A few seconds later a hole has been melted in it and Kyoya steps through with a deranged smile on his face.

“Hello, [Name].” You collapse under the weight of his eyes. They’re empty, like there’s no soul left inside. You can hear voices yelling at you to move, to fight, but you can’t. All you can do is cry for your life as he reaches a hand towards your heart. Your own hands are rendered immobile as tape loops around you and you’re dragged away from Kyoya before his hand can melt your shirt. Kyo himself seems to shimmer in your teary vision, but the sparkle is accompanied by a telltale crackle of electricity. Sero picks you up, completely ignoring the way you try to struggle out of his grip with your bound arms.

“Let me go!” You wail. “He’ll kill you all! He only wants me!”

“He’ll have to go through us first.” Kirishima insist, activating his Quirk in preparation for another attack. Kyoya is only momentarily inconvenienced by Kaminari’s small discharge, though his arm twitches sporadically as he points to you. Sero holds you closer to his chest as Momo and Mina step protectively in front of you.

“You messed with the wrong class, asshole.” Bakugou declares, shooting off a warning explosion.

“Stop it! Don’t fight him! Just let him have me!”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, dumbass, but that’s not happening. You’re going to be a Hero, too. Fucking act like it.” Bakugou scoffs, aiming an explosion at Kyoya. He falls with a groan, the right side of his shirt thoroughly charred by the attack. Before he can regain his footing, familiar cloths bind his wrists and a glittering, pink mist enters through the melted doorway. Kyo falls to the ground face first as he succumbs to Midnight’s Quirk. Aizawa-sensei waves away the last whips of sleep-inducing gas before addressing the class.

“Where’s everybody else and why is [Name] restrained.”

“I believe everyone else is still in their room.” Momo supplies. “And [Name] kept saying this Villain was here to kill her. We didn’t want her doing anything rash.” Kaminari shoulders past Mina to stand in front of you. He unravels Sero’s tape with a distant look in his eyes before taking you from his friend’s arms to hold you himself.

“Midnight, stay with the Villain until the authorities come. Iida, take a head count of everyone. Kaminari, carry [Name] back to her room.” Everyone starts moving according to his orders. Kaminari doesn’t look at you as he carries you back upstairs to your room. Aizawa-sensei follows behind him. Once in your room, Kaminari deposits you on your bed and sits down next to you while Aizawa-sensei takes a seat in your reading chair.

“What’s going on?” He asks plainly.

“I recognize that guy. He’s a friend of hers, or was. He came to visit her when she was in the hospital. When I went to see her she was fine, but after she started isolating herself. I asked around, but no one knew why. I guess she knew he was coming for her.” Kaminari answers.

“Is that true, [Name]? Did you know he was going to try to kill you.” You’re feeling overwhelmed and close to tears. You reach out blindly in search of something to ground yourself and Kaminari finds your hand.

“He threatened me and it made me feel nervous, but deep down I didn’t really think he’d do anything. Kyo was mad at me for still wanting to become a Hero even after what happened at training camp and said he’d kill me himself before I had a chance to be killed as a Hero. I thought he said it to make me so paranoid that I’d drop out and go back to normal school. I was close to that point, actually. But then I got a text from him that said ‘tonight’ and I knew that meant he was serious. I just didn’t want anybody to get hurt because of me. One life to save dozens is worth the price. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” By the end you’re nearly blubbering in tears, gripping Kaminari’s hand for dear life.

“I’m disappointed in you. You should’ve told someone even if it was only a suspicion. Your lives are important to us and we want to protect you until you can protect yourselves, but you have to tell us when things like this happen. You won’t be punished this time as I can see how the stress of being hospitalized and threatened can alter your thinking, but be more mindful of things like this if it ever happens again.” He doesn’t sound angry at you, more so concerned. “You’ll have to give your official statement to the police tomorrow morning, but for tonight try to get some rest. Kaminari, I’m giving you my permission to look after her.” After the door closes behind him with a dull click, Kaminari turns to look at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is thick with pain as he tries to understand why you kept something so big from him.

“How could I?”

“How couldn’t you? I’m supposed to be your protector. How can I protect you when I don’t even know you’re in danger?”

“My protector? Like my boyfriend?”

“If that’s what gets you to tell me things like this then yes.” You giggle despite yourself. “I’m serious.”

“No, I know, I’m just really nervous now.”

“Don’t be. I’m here to protect you. But you should probably get some sleep because you look like a raccoon. That guy really had you worked up didn’t he?” Kaminari asks as he goes to turn off the light. You suppress a distressed squeak at the complete darkness. Kaminari easily navigates his way back to your bed and lies down next to you, not touching but close enough to feel his warmth next to you.

“You’re scared aren’t you?” Kaminari asks.

“Yes.” You admit meekly. There’s a night light plugged in next to your bed, but you’re too embarrassed to switch it on. Next to you, Kaminari shifts his position until his head is resting against you chest with his arm slung across your waist.

“Better?” You hum happily, fatigue making your voice sound a bit drunk. “Good. I like listening to your heart beat. I want to hear it for a long time, so don’t go letting Villains plot against you anymore, okay?” You run a hand through his hair reassuringly.

“Okay, Denki.”

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 6: Lost Legacy

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Nothing I Can Think Of Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Bjarkehild(OFC) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, New Asgard, MAGIC, Touch is Habit Forming, Oops, Fuck That Dish in Particular, Thor Knows a Thing or Two About Earth

Summary: Holding hands with Loki can be a bit too much to handle.

You woke to a full scale invasion of your room. A group of women entered with Loki at their lead, carrying your breakfast, and a bathrobe nearly identical to the one he was wearing.

Oh, you’d just known it. You’d known you had been wearing his clothes. It made you uncomfortable just thinking about it. Not only had he sneaked into the room sometime yesterday morning while you were sleeping, to leave you food and clothes, but also, the wearing of his clothing indicated a level of intimacy that the two of you definitely did not have and that you couldn’t even contemplate wanting. And now all of these women were not only going to see you wearing his things, but they would also know that he could and did access the room anytime he wanted. What were they going to think? You had only been here for two days; you did not want to get a reputation for being anybody’s ‘kept woman’.

Loki set the food and robe down, and stripped the blanket from you, jovially commanding you to arise. At your squeak of protest, the oldest woman stuck her finger in his face, and though you couldn’t understand her, she was clearly berating him. It was a little shocking to see him being shoved out the door, scolded like a child, and even grinning like one.

But he had to have been a child at some time, hadn’t he? Maybe this woman had scolded him even then. She shut the door behind him.

“Ah, scalliwag that he be, let him not get thee in a tizzy, dear. Up, up! We must see to thee.”

“Er, yes ma’am.” Her tone brooked no argument. You rose, yawning, stretching. “What do you need me for?”

“We’re to provide thee with things a lady should have, but thee was brought without. We will be taking measurements for proper clothing, and providing what we may in the meantime. There must be little things as well, scissors for thy nails, a brush for thy teeth, a comb for thy hair. We shall see to them.  Ah, and this be Saldis.”

She brought one of the women forward, a young one with a bright expression and dark eyes.

“She will be thy caretaker for those things a man may not comprehend.”

Saldis held up a measuring tape. “We’re going to be making you a few things, and probably altering some items we already have. If you just wear the clothes you came with every day, the stitches will tear. They don’t seem to have been very well made.”

“Yeah well, in my position in life, cheap is the name of the game.” You said.

“Allow us to change that. Please hold up your arms.”

It took longer than you expected, but you’d never had formal measurements taken before, and only Saldis and the old woman-Roskva-spoke your language. You took care to inform them that your weight would likely be changing, as you were coming back to health after a long illness, and they agreed to add a few inches here and there. When they left, Saldis gave you a pad of paper, and told you to write anything you needed her to know on it.

“I’ve plenty to do around here, so I’ll only be able to check in a few times a day.” She said. “If you aren’t here, just leave me notes, and I’ll take care of whatever it is, okay? I hope I can make your stay here more pleasant.”

“Um, thanks.” Was all you had given her in return. As a member of the servant class yourself, you had no idea how to act around a maid. It felt weird and wrong to have one. You reminded yourself that she wasn’t yours, you were her side project, and that made you feel a little better about it.

Breakfast was cold, but you didn’t mind. The oatmeal had apples chopped into it, and didn’t have to be hot to be good. Cold coffee was also acceptable. The fish oil was gross at any temperature, but apparently a permanent part of the meal, so you swallowed it as quickly as you could, wondering if gods suffered from vitamin deficiencies. How did their bodies work? Did they pee? There were toilets, so clearly they did.

They were alive, like you were. But what did that mean? If these gods lived, and had bodies, and could walk among people, did that mean they had done so before? Legends had been told about them, hundreds, thousands of years ago, so they must have.

Thor and Loki looked no older than yourself. How long had they looked like that? How old could they possibly be? More importantly, possibly most important, were they the only ones? Was Bjarkehild a goddess? Was Saldis? Was the sweet young guardsman?

And what about legends from elsewhere in the world? Were there more gods? Were they all real, just on other planets, somewhere out in space?

You stared out the window as you ate, looking over the construction. Were there hundreds of little gods out there, right now, building a city for their people? Would this become a literal heaven on earth?

“Do you practice obliviousness, to perfect it so?” Loki asked from over your shoulder. You choked on cold coffee. “Surely you can’t be that deep in thought.”

You set the drink down carefully. “You sneak around on purpose; don’t act surprised if I don’t hear you when you don’t want me to!” You said, once you’d finished coughing. “But yeah, I was thinking of something.”

“Did the ladies trouble you?” He asked, but you shook your head.

“No, they were just fine. I’m not used to being waited on, but they didn’t bother me. L-your Highness, are there other gods? If you exist, they all have to exist. Don’t they?”

“Oh. Slightly larger question than I was expecting. What would it do to your little internal world, if I were to say yes? What if I said no? What would change?”

You frowned. That was a dodge for sure. “I don’t know.” You said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that. For now, we’re due the meet with Bjarkehild. She wants to observe what happens when we…” He searched for a good word. “…Link?”

“It’s way too early in the day for that.” You protested. “I’ll be useless until evening.”

“Insinuating that you are useful in the first place.” He jeered.

“Rude!” You complained, then finished your coffee in one last gulp.

                                                                                        *****

“From the looks of it, I would think that this originated from an outside source.” Bjarkehild announced. She had examined your marks very carefully, taking all kinds of measurements, asking questions that you didn’t know how to answer; questions about magic, about your ancestry, neither of which you were familiar with.  Questions Loki didn’t seem to like, especially about his own ancestry. Bjarkehild seemed to know something about him that he really didn’t want to talk about, for all that she worded it in a subtle manner.

“What makes you say that?” Loki asked, seeming relieved that she was no longer asking about ‘his forefathers’ or his ‘previous experiences with Midgardians’.

“They are exactly the same in every dimension, from width to depth, as if you had both grabbed the same burning brand. That’s why it looks so much bigger on her hand; your hand is much larger than hers, but the mark takes up the same amount of space on both of you. She tells me that she has no history of magic, and no previous knowledge of this kind of mark. You have assured me that you have not cast this spell, and that you had also never seen this mark before either. I don’t believe it’s possible to cast such a complex spell you have no knowledge of, even by accident.”

“A fair assessment. However, there is no one else on this planet who could do this. I am coming up blank for a source of power that could do this to me.”

“Perhaps they are not on this planet. It is still possible that you have been cursed. You are not without enemies, my lord.”

Loki grimaced. “You’re not wrong. Most of my very worst enemies are dead now, but a death curse is a very powerful thing.”

“That still doesn’t explain my part in this.” You pointed out. “I’ve never been anywhere but Earth; I never met any of his enemies. How could I possibly be involved in a death curse against him?”

“And besides, I do not think ‘May you be tied to the life of a human woman’ is the kind of curse any of them would have used.” Loki pointed out. “However, this world is very large, and very old. There are many sources and forms of magic that were developed and lost here; this could simply be one of those, coming out of dormancy.”

“It’s still so hard to believe that real magic once existed here.” You said.

“Oh, it still exists. There’s at least one school that has been continuously running for several thousand years.” Loki said. “That wizard you saw yesterday is one of them. Some forms of magic might return, some might be newly invented, and some might remain lost forever, but it was always here. We taught our own magic to your kind thousands of years ago, but others were already here from long before even us.”

“So this mark could be anything?” You asked, awed by the information.

“I don’t think so.” Bjarkehild said. “I believe it has to be tied to one of you, and I’m afraid it is probably you, my lord. This mark comes from a magical tradition that is directly descended from the magic our people taught to the ancestors of theirs. So I believe it is tied to you, but that it still came from a source outside of you. Your presence was very likely nothing more than a catalyst. Yours too, ____. We still don’t know what role you may play in this.” She sighed. “If only we knew your ancestry further back than your grandmother.”

“I wish I did too.” You said. “But gramma really didn’t get along with her family. She never talked about them, and none of them ever tried to contact us, so I don’t even know if any of them are still alive. She even changed her name.”

“Sometimes family does unforgiveable things.” Loki said softly. “Sometimes it all becomes such a mess that you really can’t ever go back.”

You shot him a curious look while Bjarkehild pretended not to have heard him.

“I would like you to connect so that I can see exactly what happens.” She said. “Are you comfortable with doing that?”

Loki shrugged.

“Not exactly.” You said. “But I won’t say no. It’s just really weird, that’s all.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” She said.

Loki held out his hand to you, expectantly, as if he’d done it a hundred times before. You didn’t want to bring it up, but this was a part of what made it weird for you. The intimacy, with him specifically. Maybe it would be different if he was somebody else, or if you’d actually had a date with anyone in the past few years. But men had been less important than work, and they had mostly gone for Tara anyway. And though Loki had been somewhat absolved in your eyes, you were still far from any kind of easy trust.

You hesitantly slipped your hand into his. He curled his fingers around yours, bringing your palms together. The link sparked instantly, runes glowing bright blue, spreading up your arms. Bjarkehild  began writing them down as quickly as she could.

“What does it feel like?” She asked, pointing at you.

“Like I’m being filled up too much.” You gasped. “Like there’s just too much in me, too much blood, or too much air, something like that. Like my skin is too small. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s uncomfortable. My whole body’s too tight. It’s in my eye, and it’s hard to see. Can’t concentrate. Buzzing’s too big, I can’t…I can’t!”

“Alright, let go.” She commanded, and Loki released you. You slumped against him, and he sniffed in disdain, but didn’t shove you off. Bjarkehild would probably yell at him if he did.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Just give her a moment.” Loki assured her. “The effect of it seems to muddle her brain, but she will recover shortly. She will probably require food. Mortal bodies have a limited energy reserve.”

“I see.” She called for someone you thought was a nurse, and sent her for a snack. “Now for you; what is this like for you?”

“Not altogether dissimilar to what it is for her.” He said. “She has no experience in manipulating magical energies, so it is much harder on her. But it does feel rather like a sponge being filled up. Like light finding its way into every little space and trying to leak out when there is no more room. I don’t find it all that unpleasant, but I’ve found that if I let it go on for too long, it can be overwhelming. The energy is…large, but not heavy? Rather like a fog bank or a strong wind. It is difficult to transmute or manipulate, but I believe that I can. It still feels somewhat familiar. I must have come into contact with similar energies before, but I still cannot identify it.”

The junior healer returned bearing a plate stacked up with buttered slices of that dark bread you were growing so fond of. You ate three without stopping, then sheepishly offered the plate to the others. Loki waved it away, and Bjarkehild declined with amusement.

“Are you ready to try again?” She asked.

“I guess so?” You didn’t know how much of this you could actually take, but with a sorcerer and the senior healer watching you, you were pretty sure nothing that bad would happen.

Loki casually took your hand again.

“Now try to push to power back down into your hands.” Bjarkehild instructed.

“I don’t know how to-“You started to say, when you felt Loki push, and the power slammed into you. It felt as if your head would come off your shoulders.

You were on the ground, though you didn’t recall falling. The plate-and the bread-was in little pieces all around you. Loki and Bjarkehild knelt beside you, Bjarkehild lifting you effortlessly in her arms-so strong, like all Asgardians, Loki checking your eyes, your face, looking for any sharp fragments of plate that might have pierced your skin.

“We’re going to call that enough for today.” Bjarkehild said, finding a bed to lay you down on.

“I thought something like this might happen, if she got overfilled.” Loki said, the words coming out fast. He was scratching at his palm. “I didn’t know she would be so…receptive. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I thought there would be some kind of blockage or resistance, some kind of natural defense to the flow of power.”

“Obviously, you didn’t mean to.” Bjarkehild assured him. “But now we know we have to act as if we’re dealing with a first day student. She has no defenses, no control, no experience at all. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that in the first place. How do you feel, dear?” She asked you. “Do you hurt at all?”

“I don’t know.” You said, barely able to speak above a whisper. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“You took in too much energy at once.” Loki explained. “Your body converted it in order to protect yourself, but not very well. I did not know that you couldn’t push back. I’m not used to working with such inexperienced people.”

Again, not an apology, but close.

“Never knew magic was real before.” You said. “Never had a chance to get experienced. I’m sorry. I think I dropped the plate.”

“You didn’t exactly drop it.” Bjarkehild said. “What did happen there?” She asked Loki.

“Well, when I pushed the power into her, a little of my own went with it. I saw her manifest the energy outside of herself, into the plate and bread.”

“And that made it explode?” Bjarkehild asked.

“It exploded?” You repeated.

He shook his head. “No. The power found all the little structural weaknesses, the tiny cracks, the bubbles, the imperfections. Then it filled them in and sort of…pushed them apart . No heat or fire, just a good, hard shove to the weak points. That was just not a very well made plate, it seems. But don’t worry about that; it was not your fault.”

“You should rest for now, at least until we’re sure there’s no damage.” Bjarkehild directed. “I’ll send Ulfrun back out for more bread. Tell us if you feel anything unusual.”

You wanted to say that everything was unusual, but you were already drifting off.

                                                                              *****

 “She has magical aptitude.” Loki said, once it was obvious you were asleep. “That opens up some possibilities.”

“That must be terribly rare among humans, for her to not know it.” Bjarkehild said.

“Not necessarily.” Thor said. “There are a lot more of them than there are of us. Things get lost.”

Bjarkehild jumped. “Your majesty?” The king followed behind Ulfrun, carrying a plate of dried stockfish.

“I heard your healer here speaking with the kitchen staff about exploding plates. I thought it sounded a bit interesting.”

Loki translated that quickly. I heard my brother might be getting into trouble again, so I came to check in on him. He fixed the junior healer with a dry stare. She did not meet his gaze. He knew her family, knew they did not really approve of him. Was she spreading rumors deliberately, or was she just a harmless gossip?

Thor set the plate down and took a seat, while Ulfrun hastily took her leave.

“The thing about humans, is that there’s over seven billion of them.” Thor said. “And they all used to at least believe in magic. It still exists here, but it’s a lot more rare that any of them gets the opportunity to learn. Magic may not be much more common among our people, but there are a great deal fewer of us, and that makes it so much easier to find out who can use it and who can’t. A human might go their entire life without finding out they have the ability. Generations might pass without a single sorcerer being trained. There may be a much larger number of magical humans than all our people put together, but the percentage compared to the rest is so low, that finding one is probably quite rare.”

“Perhaps that’s why this was possible in the first place.” Loki mused, gazing at his palm. “Latent magic that she never would have known she possessed, if not for one chance meeting. I wonder how many there really are?”

If humanity had not stopped training their mages, the Battle of New York might have gone very differently. Hel, he might not have gone any further than Stuttgart. Even a master could be overwhelmed by amateurs if there were enough of them, and even if only three percent of the population had magical potential, that was still several hundreds of thousands that could be mustered to defend the planet.  

“They are going to start figuring it out.” Thor said. “Humans are insatiably curious beings, trust me.  Once that bilgesnipe’s out of the bag, there will be no going back. So, what actually happened here? Your healer seemed rather frightened by our little mortals’ sudden ability to destroy dishes.”

“Just a small incident with her capacity to hold energy, that’s all.” Bjarkehild told him. “It discharged into the plate. She’s resting now. No sense in pushing her too far.”

You stirred in your sleep, shivering. Loki heard his name fall from your lips once, and he was standing by your side in the next moment. You weren’t awake, but you were shivering hard, and paler than you should have been. He drew the blanket up further around your shoulders, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Bjarkehild.” He called, though she and Thor were already there, already trying to help.

“Magical exhaustion.” Bjarkehild suggested. “Her body isn’t used to it. Plus, she’s more fragile than we are.”

So this was his fault. Grand. Would he ever stop accidentally inflicting suffering?

“_____, can you hear me?” He asked softly. “You called for me. Here I am.” It was the first time you had called him by name, and you weren’t even awake. He patted your cheek to see if you would wake.

You calmed at his touch, the shaking subsiding.

“Keep doing that.” Thor encouraged. Loki rolled his eyes.

“No, I think I’ll stop and just let her shake out of the bed. Of course I’m going to keep doing it!”

“All right, how are you doing this?” Bjarkehild asked. “Normally, a person suffering magical exhaustion just has to rest and deal with the side effects. What are you doing differently?”

“It has to do with the link we have through the mark.” Loki explained. “When I found her, we were both feeling rather rough, but she was much worse off. It was closeness, especially touch that gave us our health back. I do not know why, and I really don’t like it. I don’t need my continued existence linked directly to some weak little thing who can die so easily.”

You took that moment to snuggle into his hand. Bjarkehild almost managed to mask the sound she made, but Thor didn’t even try to hide his expression. Loki pressed his lips tightly together, daring either of them to say anything. He knew they had both labeled you as ‘cute’, like a small animal, and he wanted no part of it. He didn’t want the attachment to so transient a life. Besides, you weren’t cute. You had tried to break his nose!

“She seems to be responding well.” Bjarkehild pointed out.

“Only because she is asleep.” Loki said. “Otherwise she would be steeped in distrust over my touch, and wiser for it.”

“And you, my lord?” She asked, notebook ready. “Does this affect you in any way? Does it feel draining? Empowering? Calming?”

“I feel…better? Like when you walk into a room and something smells very nice, and it uplifts you? It’s rather like that.  Gentle. Subtle, but it makes me feel…just better. However, I cannot just trail her around behind me, holding her hand like a child all day.”

“I’m sure we can schedule you in some healthy hand-holding time.” Thor said, almost teasing, but Loki only glared. When he finally removed his hand, you made a little noise, but did not resume shivering.

“Well, it looks like she will be staying here for a little while. What else is on the itinerary today?” Loki asked, as if seeking an escape from the soft moment.

“More discussions with the environmental specialists.” Thor said. “Building regulations, what can and can’t be done on the land, habitat conservation, and so on.”

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go.” Loki agreed, and exited with his brother close behind, leaving Bjarkehild to go over her notes.

[eurusholmmes]

Prologue - Ethereal | Castiel

So, per @feathersinthesky suggestion, I have decided to post Ethereal on here as well given that links basically don’t work anymore. One chapter a day (I’m currently finishing Season 6) and 10+ notes for the next chapter. I’m gonna tag some mutuals who might wanna read again, just for the pain ;)

THIS IS NOT A X READER FIC - I MERELY PUT IT IN THE TAG TO BE SEEN AND WILL REMOVE IT ONCE IT IS 

tag: @dontshootmespence @thehoneybeecastielfollows @webcricket @littleredwriter 

1970

It had been a constant struggle to keep himself away from her. While order remained in Heaven under the rule of the Archangels, several Seraphim had been sent to walk the Earth to ensure the safety of the humans their Father had created. Gabriel had been adamant that Josiah, despite being a higher ranking angel, be one of them. He was one of the most intelligent and the most willing to get the difficult things done.

He wasn't supposed to be attracted to her. Not a human anyway.

She was tall and fair, standing at 5'10 with black hair that reminded him of the ocean; falling in deep waves that cascaded down her back and ended just above her waistline. Her eyes were akin to that of the newest emerald, shimmering brightly under the sunlight and always glowing with the happiness that life often accompanied.

It took Josiah a while to gain the confidence to approach her, but he hadn't regretted one moment of their time together since. She had been no older then 20 when he caught her attention on the cliffs of Oregon the summer of 1970, just before she was to start her sophomore year of college. He cursed his lustful thoughts when she came bounding up the bank, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as she stared at him, hands wrapped tightly around her hips.

"What's your name?" She questioned softly. Josiah inhaled deeply and parted his hair from his eyes, flashing a warm smile when she gasped at the colors of his eyes. They were a striking blue - one that reminded her of the ocean she'd grown up in, the color of the sky during the midsummer days. It was one she felt she could often get lost.

"My name is Josiah." He replied. "And what about you, darling?"

"Alexandria."

1975

"You know, Father would kill me if he found out I was an accomplice in this." Gabriel muttered, slapping the younger angel as he peered into the glass cases of engagement rings. "You rebelled, Josiah. You rebelled for a human. Do you have any idea what kind of a message that sends to the higher ups? Michael already wants to kill you!"

The blonde angel smiled as he pointed to a deep sapphire ring in the back of the case, urging the sales attendant to remove it for him to examine. "Heaven has no say in whom I choose to marry, Gabriel. And if it is the end of me to love this beautiful human, one who has taught me the true beauty of humanity..” Josiah's cerulean irises locked on Gabriel who merely snorted in response, tracing circles along the glass case. "Then it is an ending I will cherish."

"That is quite possibly the most poetic thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, and your name literally means Jehovah has healed. That's pretty poetic in itself."

The future grooms eyes narrowed in on a stunning diamond with two smaller sapphires fastened beside it. The band was silver, thin around the width and small enough to forever rest safely on the finger of his future bride.

"That one." He replied, eyeing the clerk behind the counter. The young woman nodded eagerly and gingerly pulled the ring from the case, opening the velvet box and placing it inside. "This is the ring that Alexandria will wear when I ask her to marry me." Gabriel grinned widely and slipped the clerk his emergency card, for when he had to spend time on Earth playing as a human.

"I'm super proud of you bud." He proclaimed, taking the box and tucking it into the pocket of his over sized leather jacket. "Now, in all seriousness here.. When I tell you not to get her pregnant, you have to listen to my advice. It's not just for her safety.. but also for yours."

Josiah tilted his head as the Archangel lead him back outside and into the busy streets of Portland, Oregon where the two of them would live for the next several weeks until the day of the wedding. As much as Alexandria wanted a large, traditional wedding on the beach, she had come to the realization that as long as she was in love with an angel.. traditional was no longer the norm.

"Why?"

"When a human and an angel do the horizontal tango," Gabriel began, swiveling his hips for good measure. "The kid that's created is called a Nephilim. They're an abomination in Heaven and most of them are hunted down before they even learn what living is really like. They're more powerful then us Archangels. So if you value your life and your gorgeous brides too... Do not allow a Nephilim to be born."

Fall 1978 - Lawrence

"Jos," Alexandria called out, grimacing as she slowly exited their deep cherry red 1970 Chevy Camaro in the driveway of their new home. Lawrence, Kansas was a small suburban town a few hours outside of Topeka. Not across the country from her parents, but close enough for the occasional Christmas and Thanksgiving visits. After Gabriels proclamation of a world with no Nephilim, when he had come to find out of her pregnancy, Josiah had immediately moved them to Lawrence given that it was where he was most familiar with. "I got a phone call from Mary Winchester this mornin'. She wants us to join her and John for dinner tonight."

"Alex.. I'm not sure how comfortable I feel with befriending a woman who was a hunter her entire life." Josiah confessed, ducking his head down to his chest in shame. Alexandria pressed her lips together in a thin line as she slowly stepped closer to her husband and outstretched her hand to rest his own on the growing swell of her stomach.

Gabriel was going to kill him.

"She's very sweet, Josiah. Her husband wasn't a hunter. John works as a mechanic in town to pay their bills before Mary has her baby in January. They're good people." She pleaded. "I don't want to spend the rest of our lives together confined to four walls and a roof. I want to meet people, explore.. I want a good life for our baby boy."

Josiah inhaled deeply and ran his hands through his hair, turning Alexandria around in his arms and pulling her back loosely to his chest. His calloused hands rested over his son as they gazed at the horizon together, the sky illuminated in hues of deep red and gold as the sun began to fade over the treeline.

"Did you make that casserole this morning before we went to the baby store in town?" Josiah whispered, grinning against the shell of her ear as Alexandria burst into fits of laughter. "I'm sure John would kill to try that fantastic cooking."

February 1st, 1979 - Reagan Carter

Josiah sat calmly beside his wife as she exhaled sharply through her nose, now deep into her seventh hour of labor with their son. Mary and John were both sitting outside with baby Dean in the waiting room for the much anticipated arrival of the first Carter baby. "Are you ready to let me take away your pain now, you stubborn woman?" He mused, his palm lit an intense gold.

Alexandria threw her head back against the pillow and grit her teeth behind closed lips. "This-This is what women do, Josiah! We bleed and we pull through our pain because at the end, we get to learn how to fall in love for a lifetime when we see that baby. So-" The raven haired woman gasped when her husbands palm rested against her forehead, sending a wave of warmth through her body and seemingly bringing her pain to a halt.

"Better?" He mused, grinning widely as she rolled her eyes at him. "I'll just tell the doctors you received your epidural from one of the nurses. I'd like my son to come out in one peace if at all possible, sweetheart." Josiah watched the tension seep from her body as her eyes, now a vibrant gold, focused on the ceiling. "The birth of a Nephilim is not easy. Your pain will return. I want you to survive this. To be able to tell the story that you did the impossible."

Less then five hours later, young Reagan Carter came into the world.

Less then two years later, Alexandria gave birth to another child before she and Josiah ultimately decided to no longer have children. While it took several years for the power to fully manifest through the Nephilim, it was with their second child that the power truly began to flow.

While Cleopatra Abigail Carter was a hurricane, there was no chaos in her wake.

And now you're at the start of the story.

You may think this is just your typical story of a heroine who started at the very bottom - the epitome of self doubt, a girl without a father, living in a world where she has no idea of how to begin to live. Where she would like to no longer be hunted, to be able to just give in to the loneliness ebbing away at the facade she's so desperate to keep.  

I'm getting too far ahead of myself. Why won't we continue from here? Keep in mind - this is not a happy story. It's one of irreparable loss, grief, anger, and further in... Of love.

------------------

"Castiel never does anything without cause. That's what drew me to him.. He is a true man of honor. That's all I've ever wanted."

--------------------

[quarterfromcanon]

Unexpected

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 12 - Surprise [3,003 words]

Heather was not in the mood for company. Thankfully, the usual Home Base crowd at that hour of night was not a chatty bunch. Most just caught her eye when they wanted a refill. At least it eliminated the need for small talk. Weekend time slots were already something Heather preferred to avoid, but filling in for Greg while he and Rebecca attended Jayma Chan’s wedding left her feeling especially averse to the social requirements of customer service. 

Heather was cleaning glasses when she heard the determined clack of heels approaching where she stood. She couldn’t really say who she’d expected when she turned around, but it certainly wasn’t Valencia Perez in a strapless pink gown.

“I want a drink.”

“People who come in here usually do.” Heather set a tumbler aside and draped the rag over her shoulder. “So, like, a cocktail? Martini? Mimosa?”

Valencia shook her head, which made her disheveled hair slip further from the grip of the metal clasp intended to hold the style in place. “Something straight out of the bottle.” 

“Okay, that’s a start. Vodka, brandy, whiskey --”

“Sure. That sounds fine.”

“Whiskey?” Heather verified. “Do you want scotch, Irish, bourbon, or rye? We don’t have Tennessee or Japanese.”

“Why are there so many choices?” Valencia impatiently smacked her hands against the bar. “I just need to get hammered. Surprise me.”

“I’ll get you bourbon.” Heather tucked her lower lip into her mouth, prematurely dreading the response she might get to the next thing she had to say. “How much?”

Valencia spread the thumb and forefinger of her left hand as far as they could go. “I’m thinking about this much. Maybe times two.”

“Whoa, there. You really don’t drink, do you?” 

“Not usually, no.”

Heather stretched across the bar and adjusted the measurement between Valencia’s fingertips with the pressure from her own, pushing lightly until they were one finger-width apart. “Let’s start with about... that much. See how it goes.”

Valencia let her hand drop. “That works.”

Heather prepared the order and returned a few seconds later. Valencia slid a bill forward and set her clutch purse beside the drink. “Keep the change.” She took the first sip and leaned back in surprise. “Interesting. Different from what I thought it would be. Is that nutmeg?”

Heather’s shoulders lifted. “It might have similar flavor notes. People don’t usually ask about that stuff. It’s called Angel’s Envy.”

Valencia shrugged disinterestedly and took another drink. 

“Cool. Enjoy.” Heather went back to the used dishes.

Valencia attempted to hike herself onto a stool, but the dress was too restrictive. She settled for a chair instead and kicked out her legs, crossing them at the ankle.

Not even five minutes later, Heather heard her voice again.

“Men suck.”

Heather rolled her eyes. She focused her attention on the present task and did not engage with the conversation starter. 

Valencia glowered at some nearby barflies who were studying her. “That means you, too. Turn around.”

Heather’s lips twitched at the exchange she heard but did not see. Despite her effort to ignore Valencia’s outbursts, Heather internally conceded that she was curious what Josh did now. Recent observations suggested that it likely had something to do with a proposal or, rather, a lack thereof. Though she had her suspicions, Heather had no intention of voicing them. She was on the outskirts of the group’s interpersonal drama, and she intended to keep it that way. 

“Can I get another?”

Heather dried off her hands and grabbed the bottle. She poured Valencia a second serving, double the measure of the first. While she did so, Heather kept her eyes averted to deter additional interaction. 

“I know you, don’t I?” Valencia asked. The inquiry sounded semi-rhetorical as if she knew full-well this was not their first encounter, and yet it was clear that she expected verbal acknowledgement. 

Goddamnit.

“Kind of,” Heather replied. “We met on that super dramatic party bus ride and then hung out at the beach? Also, I’m in here when you pick up your little sister, so, there’s that.”

“Right!” Valencia feigned a light bulb recognition. She pointed at her and nodded. “Greg’s date. Sporty. Lots of bracelets.”

“I mean, I’m wearing the same accessories right now so I don’t know if that really counts in your favor, but yeah. That was me.”

“Wait, did he throw you over for Rebecca?” Valencia tried to move into Heather’s line of sight as the latter went about her routine procedures. “I saw them tonight at the reception, on the other side of the room. I didn’t say hello, obviously. But did he?”

Heather busied herself with a stack of utensils.

Valencia gasped. “He did!” She angled against the bar and gripped the far side. “Hold on. You called her ‘neighbor’ before, didn’t you?” She popped onto her tiptoes, eyes wide. “Were you friends?”

Heather stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms, and finally looked at Valencia. “We still are. I wasn’t gonna let some CW-style love triangle change that.”

“How can you forgive her after what she’s done?” Valencia demanded incredulously. “She completely betrayed your trust and tried to steal Greg when she knew you two were together!”

Heather’s brow furrowed. The undercurrent of projection was evident, but she couldn’t exactly say that Valencia was incorrect either way. She sighed and tossed her towel beside the register. “I was upfront with her that it hurt my feelings when I first found out but, like, at the same time, she couldn’t really steal him from me if he didn’t wanna go, y’know?” Heather gave Valencia a meaningful look. “I had to deal with that. I had to accept that he didn’t have strong enough feelings for me to make him want to stick around.”

A rapid succession of emotions flickered across Valencia’s face. One instant, she appeared geared up for an argument. The next, she deflated and her shoulders sagged wearily.

“You’re right,” Valencia murmured. “That was the bigger problem.” She dropped back onto her feet and hiked the top of her dress more securely into place. Valencia drank and put it down with a rough thunk. “I called him on that tonight. He was never going to truly commit to our relationship.”

Heather edged away and purposely wiped down flat surfaces in the opposite direction from where Valencia stood. “Yeah, I feel like this isn’t about me, so I’m just gonna--”

Valencia rotated her glass between her hands and continued speaking, undeterred. “I don’t see how you’re supposed to fix a thing like that. If you’re giving him your perfect body, the perfect relationship, the perfect future right on the horizon -- what more could he want? What part of drinking gross tapioca balls with a backstabbing little lawyer from out-of-town fulfilled a need of his that wasn’t being met?”

“Maybe he needed someone who listened to him?” Heather suggested pointedly. “Someone who wasn’t gonna talk over him or say something judgy?”

Valencia drew up short and gaped at her. “Did he talk to you? Did he tell you that’s what was wrong with me?”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “What? No. I don’t really know the guy that well.”

Valencia shook her head in bewilderment. “It’s just that he said almost that exact thing right before we broke up. That I never listen to him.”

“Huh. What a weird coincidence.”

Valencia lifted her gaze to Heather’s face with shame. “Am I really that awful?”

Heather’s features softened. “There were some major communication issues between you two, but it wasn’t all coming from one side.” She drew closer to stand across from Valencia again. “Most of my information is secondhand, so I might not be the person to ask, but I always felt like you and Josh were not on the same wavelength, like, at all. You clearly had a life you were trying to build for yourself and Josh was like this buff, clueless puppy who kept running around the neighborhood. He was supposed to fit into your big picture, but he didn’t. Or didn’t want to.”

Valencia threw back the remainder of her second round. 

Heather’s mouth twisted at the corner. “Sorry. I kinda suck at sugarcoating. I was just giving you an outside perspective.”

“It’s okay.” Valencia waved the apology aside. “I’m the one who asked you. And you’re not wrong. It just...”

“It sucks,” Heather supplied.

Valencia’s laugh carried the hint of a sob. “Yes, it does. Fifteen years gone down the drain.” She reached reflexively for her glass but realized it was empty. 

The majority of the patrons had wandered toward the parking lot during the course of their conversation. Heather left the bar and tidied the vacated stations.

“Better fifteen years than the rest of your life.”

The words washed over Valencia and she dropped her head to rest on her arms. “I don’t know what life has left for me without this.”

Heather awkwardly patted the back of Valencia’s dress as she crossed behind her. “Hang in there... pal... You’ll get through it.”

“I guess so.” Valencia stared into the middle distance with bleak uncertainty. “But I have no clue where to begin.”

“Well, wherever you start, it can’t be with our alcohol,” Heather told her. She jerked her head in the direction of the clock. “We’re past last call.”

The only other customer, a man in a corner booth, tossed down a few dollars beside his empty bottle and departed. Valencia cast a look around the vacant room and landed on something fixed to the wall. 

“Do you have darts?”

Heather gathered the money the man left behind and wiped down his table. “I know I literally did that exact thing after my breakup, so it makes me a hypocrite, but you really don’t wanna be throwing pointy objects right now. Okay, actually, put it this way: you might, but our walls don’t want you to.”

‘I need to let out some of my anger,” Valencia protested. “Like you said, you just went through this; you get it.”

Heather considered her for a moment. She circled behind the bar, ducked out of sight, and stood once more with three darts in her fist. Heather set them down in front of Valencia. “Just while I’m closing things up, okay? Technically I’m supposed to be ushering you out the door by now.”

Valencia accepted the offer and positioned herself in line with the board. “Thank you.”

Heather made a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.

Valencia took aim and threw, but the dart left her hand too late on the curve and swerved right, narrowly missing Heather’s shoulder before it embedded into the wall. 

Heather stared at it for a fraction of a second and simply arched her eyebrows. “I can’t tell if this means you were way off or almost right on target.”

Valencia nearly smiled but protruded her lip in a fake pout instead. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“How many times do you get to try to impale me before I’m allowed to say something?”

“At least one more.”

Heather laughed and continued flipping chairs onto empty tables. 

Valencia’s second dart nicked the baseboard but was otherwise harmless. Her third lodged into a single scoring space near the top. She gave a triumphant cry, but the accompanying bounce of joy proved hazardous to her health. Her balance was briefly thrown off and she had to grab onto the edge of the bar to steady herself.

Heather hip-checked the register closed. “Is it starting to catch up to you?”

“I think maybe a little.” 

Heather upended one of the overturned chairs and scooted it directly behind Valencia. “Wait on this. I’ve gotta do a quick sweep -- the checking the bathrooms kind and the broom-across-the-floor kind -- and then we can figure out how to get you to your apartment.”

Valencia sat swaying in place while Heather rushed to wrap up the last duties. “At least I don’t live too far from here. It’s impossible to live far away from anything in a place this small.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not driving.”

“You have a ride service?” Valencia removed the decorative clasp and winced from the faint ache as her heavy hair was allowed to fall naturally beyond her shoulders.

“No, but we should.” Heather tucked her foot behind the dustpan to keep it from sliding. 

“So what am I supposed to do? Sleep this off in my car? That’s not safe either.”

“Leave it here. Have someone bring you by to pick it up in the morning.” Heather dumped the detritus into a waiting trash can. “I’ll swing wide and take you where you need to be.”

Valencia blinked and tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“So no one gets hurt. Duh.”

“But I’ve been bugging the crap out of you for the past hour.” Valencia rubbed her fingertips along the oval of metal in her palms. “You could just leave me here. Why help if you don’t have to?”

Heather briefly vanished to check the men’s restrooms. She reemerged and caught Valencia’s eye with her brows knitted together. “People don’t have to want something from you to treat you like a person who matters. I mean, there are totally dickheads out there who act that way, but like... Basic human decency shouldn’t be transactional.”

She disappeared through the door to the women’s stalls, leaving Valencia to mull over her statement. Neither spoke for the remainder of Heather’s shift. Valencia observed the blue moonlight dappled across the floor and scratched her heel against the back of her ankle.

“Ready?” 

Valencia looked up to find Heather holding out her forgotten clutch purse. She took the bag, put her hair clasp inside, and tucked it under her arm. “Yeah, I’m ready to call it a night.”

She stood and Heather put her chair on its designated table. “Same here.”

They left the building. Heather fished the keys out of her cargo pants. She locked the door, turned around, and held out an elbow. 

“Are you good to walk, or...?”

Valencia looked at her feet. Admittedly, it would be easier if she removed the heels and went barefoot, but there was no way that was happening. She tested one exhausted, wobbly step. The parking lot seemed so far from where they stood. Valencia sighed and took hold of Heather’s arm. “I’d better play it safe.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good call.” Heather proceeded with small strides. Her gaze repeatedly darted in Valencia’s direction, monitoring her steadiness. It took them at least thrice the time it would have ordinarily, advancing at such a faltering pace, but they made it to their destination without disaster. Heather pushed the button to unlock the vehicle and helped Valencia get situated. “You can just throw that notebook in the back.”

Valencia cleared the cushion as Heather suggested and settled comfortably. She reached for the seat belt and Heather climbed in beside her. “Why does the inside of your car look like you bought out a yard sale?”

Heather lifted her eyebrows, but her tone was unfazed. “You kinda have a habit of insulting people who are being nice to you.”

“Sorry.” Valencia’s expression became genuinely apologetic. “That was rude.”

Heather twitched her shoulders. “It’s just a thing you might wanna think about. Maybe figure out where that’s coming from.”

She draped an arm across the back of Valencia’s seat while she twisted. Heather reversed out of the parking spot and turned toward the exit. 

Valencia provided a quick set of directions to the apartment, and Heather gave a nod of confirmation that she knew how to reach the address. Valencia removed her hoop earrings, added them to the contents of her clutch, and used the purse as a rather uncomfortable pillow against her window.

Heather adjusted the dials on the radio to fill the silence. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and occasionally glanced over to check on Valencia, who fell into a fitful sleep before they’d even reached the end of the road.

A while later, Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a gentle shake. “You’re home.”

Valencia jolted awake and sat upright. She swiped a hand across her cheek. “Oh. Okay. I’ll, um --”

She started to unbuckle herself from the seat, but her volunteer chauffeur left the car. Heather walked to the passenger side and pulled the handle. “You said second floor, right? You’re gonna need a hand on the stairs.”

A possible refusal appeared to form in Valencia’s mouth, but the instinct to fend for herself faded from behind her eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

They linked arms, just as they had before, and made a clumsy but safe journey to Valencia’s front door. Valencia sifted through her belongings for the keys and shoved them into the lock.

“You should sleep on your side. Tuck some pillows so you don’t roll over,” Heather advised. “I’m not sure if you’ve had enough to get sick, but it’s an important precaution just in case, especially if you’re here alone.”

Valencia nodded and stepped through the doorway. “I will.”

Heather hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. “Good. Well, bye.”

Valencia’s grip tightened on her purse. She leaned one arm against the door frame. “Thank you for doing this for me. Seriously. I’m lucky you were there.”

Heather flashed a polite smile. “No problem.”

"I don’t know if it helps coming from me, but Greg’s an asshole.” Valencia caught hold of the door handle and brought it slowly to a close. “Bye.”

Heather’s breath puffed out in a weak laugh. “It does a little, yeah. I’ll see you... whenever.”

They lifted their hands in parting. Heather reached the stairwell just as Valencia’s door clicked shut. She wound down the passageway and crossed the parking lot to her car. When Heather slid behind the wheel again, she looked at the upper floor of the apartment building. She shook her head with a bemused chuckle and started the engine.

“What a frickin’ weird night.”

[alluran]

autumn leaves

klancetober day two | direct follow-up w/ even more romantic gestures to one we were in screaming color

“Keith, buddy. I know we’ve had our rough patches and you’re probably still out for revenge from the last prank, but does it all really warrant you bringing a literal bag of garbage into my apartment when I’m already sick?”

Keith set the grocery bag on the coffee table in front of Lance’s overzealous cold cocoon on the couch. “Be prepared to eat those words.”

“Sorry, Hunk’s got me on a strict soup and saltines regimen, nothing too acidic.”

He rolled his eyes as Lance struggled to sit up in the pile of blankets he had tangled himself into since the first sign of a fever. He bit the inside of his cheek when Lance finally got halfway to sitting all of the way up. “What was that two weeks ago about taking the boy out of the sub-tropical climate?”

“Okay it’s not my fault that I enjoy seasonal changes, but my body does not. You’re really out to kick a man when he’s already down, aren’t you?”

“Something like that.” Keith called over his shoulder as he left Lance to find his legs in the mess of blankets, He pulled out his phone to read over a text from Shiro and started to pull Sprite and soup from the fridge. It took some effort to hunt down the tapped supply of saltines in the cabinet, but he got everything and made his way back to Lance.

Who was spilled over the edge of the couch, one leg still hopelessly tangled in the blankets and the other sticking straight out in the air.

“How have you not died without supervision yet?”

Lance sniffed. “I’ll have you know this doesn’t happen every time.” Lance tracked Keith’s movements, setting the crackers and drink down on the table to put soup in the microwave. “But please, take your time. My immune system and upper body strength is just compromised and all of the blood is rushing painfully to my head.”

Keith crossed him arms and raised his eyebrow down at Lance. “I don’t know, I think your brain could use a little extra blood flow for a change.”

Lance groaned and slid more onto the floor before Keith finally took mercy on him and came to help him. Lance knew he ran warm, even warmer with the cold from hell wreaking havoc on his skin despite the care he took in it, but the first brush of Keith’s hand on his arm was incredible. He was a very tactile person. Keith had nice, strong hands. So sue him if he couldn’t think of anything better than the relief of cool, calloused fingers wrapped around his arm before they warmed up as Lance was righted. Having a cold felt isolating, not that he expected Hunk to still be down for cuddles and hugs when he was gross and contagious, but he was weak for something more than a measured shoulder pat or brief circle of fingers between his shoulder blades.

Which were good things, he wasn’t complaining.

He just happened to buzz with the want of someone beside him despite the coughing and the worrying amount of empty tissue boxes surrounding him.

Lance settled back into the couch and sighed when Keith’s hand didn’t immediately pull away but brushed down his arm.

Man, he was tired again already.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

Lance peeked one eye open at Keith. “Rest is literally what I need right now, Keef.”

“I promised Hunk I would make sure you ate something before you went back into another coma nap.”

“Hm, and what does this have to do with the gift of trash?”

The microwave beeped, cutting off Keith’s retort. Lance’s eyes snapped to the grocery bag on his coffee table with dirt or something in it. Keith probably brought him the plague without even realizing it. Well, it was nice while it lasted. If he died at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the god awful stuffy nose that made just existing suck. The second he didn’t have it, he was going to devote a whole four hours to appreciating cleared up sinuses.

Why had he been so ungrateful before this?

Breathing unhindered was great. He could sit or lay down in any position without his body suffocating itself. He wasn’t just restricted to the one position that allowed him to breathe but may have permanently molded his back into a lowercase r.

“Solid point, I’ll remember to be more grateful I don’t have all of that.” Keith gestured to Lance as he set Hunk’s soup in front of him. “But being dramatic about it is just going to make you more miserable, so..”

Oh, he’d said that out loud.

Freaking Benadryl.

Lance shook his head and reached for the bowl when he noticed Keith go down his hallway. “Uh, where ya going, bud?”

“You’re out of tissues.”

“Oh, we might have another box in the hallway closet? Whiiiiich you just passed?”

Keith ducked out of his line of sight, definitely sneaking into his bedroom. “Yep.”

“Hey now! Just because a man’s down, doesn’t mean you get to tear through his room. Get your mullet back here, you jerk.” Keith didn’t answer him. Lance knew he could definitely hear him. His body lurched with the thought of standing. So taking Keith down was out of the question. “I will come to your house and move all of your furniture a fraction of an inch so you stub every one of your toes if you do not get back out here now, Kogane.”

The sound of the hallway closet opening and shutting muffled Keith’s words. “I don’t think it has the impact you’re hoping for if you tell me about it beforehand.”

Keith appeared back in the living room, tossing an unopened box of tissues on the couch beside Lance and set the camera he gave him beside the mysterious bag of trash.

Panic rose in Lance’s chest because he knew for a fact that he had a gnarly pillow crease on the left side of his face that went from his ear, up his cheekbone, and over his eyebrow. He was in a t-shirt that had been washed and worn so many times that the collar never went back to normal, it hung low against his collarbone making it look more like it had been worn and not washed. His pores screamed at him because he had to cut his skin routine short for the sake of rest and not standing longer than ten minutes at a time. Add to that the two empty tissue boxes, overflowing waste basket of used tissues and saltine packages. It was a waking nightmare.

“W-what. Whatchya doing with my camera?” His voice climbed several octaves as Keith turned it on and adjusted the settings.

Once he was done, he set it in front of Lance and relief washed over him. At least if Keith decided that whatever he had planned paled in comparison for a revenge opportunity, then Lance had some chance to lean forward fast enough to fight Keith for it.

“You’ll see. Also, eat before the soup gets cold.” Keith sat down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, not pausing in his work as he untied the grocery bag and began to pull things out.

Cold medicine was seriously messing with Lance because he was in no way prepared for Keith to start pulling leaves out of the bag and lining them up on the coffee table like it made the best sense in the world. Like this was something people did. Ate soup and saltines while staring at leaves in various stages of decay. Total normal, wholesome American past time. 100%.

Lance lifted the spoon to his mouth and swallowed, the warmth uncurling some of the tension in his chest. “You’re gonna have to give me a hint here. I’m lost. And vaguely still concerned you’re going to throw trash at me.”

Keith sighed, looking back up at Lance through his eyelashes like Lance had asked the world’s dumbest question. “You’re too sick to go to the park and I didn’t know how long it would take you to get better.”

He said it so earnestly, Lance didn’t have the heart to question him further. He sat back and ate in silence, watching Keith focus back on his work as he carefully pulled more leaves out of the sack and lined them up on the table, occasionally switching one leaf with another in the line. A deep burgundy leaf, almost the size and width of Keith’s palm was at Keith’s right, followed by a vibrant red. The leaf looked like a Valentine with its shape resembling a heart. Keith rifled through the bag and considered a yellow and a green one, setting them both aside to rummage for an orange one.

Lance swallowed thickly as he tried to make no sudden movement or noise as he set the half eaten bowl of soup back on the coffee table and reached for the camera.

No way.

No. Way.

There was no way Keith couldn’t hear how fast and loud Lance was breathing through his mouth, but he kept working. Lance raised the camera to his eye, finding the top of Keith’s dark head in the viewfinder, his small ponytail curled toward his neck. He lowered the shot to catch the line of leaves, laid out in the start of an impressive gradient. Lance made sure none of his food or the tissue boxes interrupted the frame as he focused and hoped Keith wouldn’t get suspicious and look up too soon.

Lance bit his lip and clicked the shutter button, the noise and flash catching Keith’s attention a beat later.

“Lance.”

“Told you I’d get your picture.” He smiled, the brief irritation on Keith’s face falling away as he looked at Lance with a small tilt to his mouth.

There was a brief tickle at the back of his head, he thought he had seen the look before. He didn’t know what to make of it yet.

Hunk was tired when he got home, his brain complete goo after his shift at work. It took him a solid three tries to get the door unlocked and then, two more times to get the key out of the lock once it was opened. It really shouldn’t have almost brought him to tears, but there he was. Emotionally drained and ready to fight the front door.

It was a miracle Lance had slept through his very loud tussle, he was a light sleeper for the most part and since he struggled breathing it was a fight for Lance’s body to relax enough to allow him the kind of fitful rest he needed. A spark of panic rushed through him. Hunk softly shut the door and walked closer to the couch, studying the mountain of blankets currently hiding his best friend and waited.

Lance shuddered in his sleep and coughed.

“Okay, good. Good. Very good. You’re not dead.” Hunk scrubbed a hand over his face and kicked off his shoes. “Obviously you can’t breathe better yet, but not dead. That’s all I’m asking for here. Wha-” He turned to the table, ready to tackle the damage Lance did on the tissue boxes and a filmy soup bowl.

His brain came to a painful halt.

The information his eyeballs took in did not compute. He was tired and stressed, but he didn’t think it was bad enough be into full on, very vivid and convincing hallucination of a clean coffee table. Even Lance’s waste basket was empty and had a fresh bag in it. Hunk gingerly walked backwards toward the kitchen.

A reverse robber? Some perverse serial murder that was hiding in the hall closet that went out of their way to make everything look pleasant before the real nightmare? The ghost he definitely heard crinkle a candy wrapper behind him the other day when no one else was home???

He really couldn’t handle a poltergeist.

Sure they started out not as threatening and okayish but they never stayed that way. It was October, they had to be at Maximum Strength or something. They cleaned Lance’s soup bowl, even let it properly dry in the dish rack, and twisted the open saltine pack shut with one of their chip clips. Major props.

Hunk went back out to the living room, Lance still passed out and unaware of the panic settling in. They needed to thank the ghost and then get out. No waiting. No going to sleep with the TV on. No s-

Okay, definitely an evil poltergeist because there was literally a bag of trash sitting on the floor at the end of the couch Lance was laying on. It was probably leaking death spores into the air.

He carefully brushed his toe against the bag - maybe the spiders and scorpions were just hidden and waiting for him to get close before they would crawl out.

Nothing happened.

Hunk leaned over the bag and saw a scrap of white that sat on the top of the- were those leaves? He plucked the object off of the top and stared at it.

It was a solid minute later and he was still staring.

The picture answered some things, mostly there were only more questions. He understood it in parts - the top of Keith’s head angled over the coffee table, leaves laid out in a gradient, the flash that washed out his skin in comparison to his black t-shirt, his relaxed posture. Put together? Zero sense.

Hunk glanced over the picture at Lance. “What have you guys been up to?”

a/n: bless hunk, honestly.

and the candy wrapper thing happened to me today while I was at my mom’s doing laundry. this one got away from me a little a bit, but I had fun with it. I wanted to combine days one and two in a chapter so the story is now up on ao3! read it here.

[betweenstories]

CHAPTER 21

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you need to save the rest of that story for the hotel.”

I open my eyes and blink. Your lips brush my neck. Your voice is practically a growl. “If you say another word...” You nip my earlobe. “I can’t be held responsible for what I might do.”

Lights flash overhead, and far-flung planets dance across a darkened dome. Underneath me, my seat vibrates with deep bass acoustics. I’ve been so caught up in the story, I’ve lost track of where I am.

American Museum of Natural History...

Hayden Planetarium...

New York City.......with you—

Suddenly, I’m keenly aware of the smooth, taut skin pulsing hot against my palm. By reflex, I try to stroke, but you tighten your grip around my wrist. I freeze.

Pulling away from my ear, you press your forehead against mine. Everything about you feels tight. Even your whisper sounds strained.

“I need you to give me a minute.”

In the stillness between us, details from the story return in a rush. Where had all that come from? Heat rises to my cheeks. I’m shocked by my own imagination.

To you, I nod my agreement, relieved. I’d had no idea what to say next anyway. When I start to pull away, you place a warm palm on the back of my neck.

Since my hand’s still wrapped tight around you, I ask, “Should I—“

Before I finish the question, you quickly cut me off.

“Don’t .... “

You soften your tone. Your breaths come slow, measured.

“Just don’t say anything. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

I nod again and keep my lips tightly sealed. Time passes—eons according to the show overhead, until finally, you kiss my forehead and reach beneath your jacket to uncurl my fingers. Lifting my hand, you brush your lips between each of my knuckles, kiss the fleshy pad below my thumb. I shiver at the rough graze of your beard.

Once I’ve buttoned my dress and smoothed my hair, I shift in my seat to take you in. Your jaw is tight, your movements stiff. I see you wince as you button your fly.

Genuinely concerned, I ask, “Are you okay? I mean, are you in pain?”

Brows raised, you seem surprised by the question. After a silent beat, one corner of your lips curls upward.

“I’ve been stiff on and off—mostly on—for fourteen hours. Of course, I’m in pain.”

I quickly look down at my lap. This isn’t funny. When I glance at you again, you rub your palms down your thighs and blow out a breath.

“Truth be told, I’ve been hard for the better part of a week.” Your smile turns wry. “I’m getting used to it. It’s like being sixteen all over again.

I study my hands in my lap and try to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. No more teasing then.”

Still smiling, you curl an arm around my shoulders and prop an ankle over a bent knee. You stroke my bicep with your thumb. “Trust me, love. I’m not complaining. Besides, I know you can’t help it. Expecting you not to tease is like expecting a fish not to swim.

I knit my brows. “Thank you?”

CHAPTER 22

“I’ve literally had an erection since before the dawn of time.”

With your jacket draped over one arm as a shield, you shake your head as you stare up at the entry point of the 13.6 billion year universal timeline. I bite my bottom lip to hide a smile.

The Harriet and Robert Heilbrunn Cosmic Pathway is a 360 foot spiral ramp that connects the Rose Center’s first and second floors. As it winds around the exterior of the Hayden Sphere, it tells the story of the universe from birth to present day through a built-to-scale timeline. Each of the eight interactive platforms and thirteen equally spaced stations showcases the nature and size of the universe at different points in time.

When the theatre lights had come up after the show, we’d both been buttoned up and decent. Well, I’d been decent. You’d been—what had you called it? Semi-turgid.

With a long-suffering sigh, you’d stood, reached for my hand, and then we’d made our way onto the pathway.

I’d tried to be good, tried so hard not to flirt, but it was difficult. I couldn’t stop myself from being charmed by every little thing you did; and remarkably, it seemed you felt the same way. We had too much in common. There was too much chemistry. Simply put, we had too much fun.

When we’d stopped at the set of blank panels at the beginning of the timeline, I’d said, “Nerd cocky! I love it!”

You’d grasped my hips, pulled me tight against you, and whispered, “If you love ‘nerd cocky,’ I can deliver on half your fantasy.”

I’d tapped my lips and said, “Hm... now if I could just figure out how to satisfy the cocky part.”

Pretending insult, you’d tickled me until I’d escaped and made a run for the next station.

At another display, you’d studied a conversion scale marked on the floor and announced, “According to this, chart, every step I take is equivalent to seventy-five million years!”

When I’d estimated the distance between us (about a billion years) I’d asked if you’d wait for me.

Looking thoughtful, you’d said, “Nope. Got a better idea.”

At that, you’d locked your bent arms like Mr. Roboto and stiffly walked backward to where I’d stood. When you’d added rhythmic beep sound effects and said, “This is my impersonation of New York at 3am,” I’d smiled my goofiest grin.

At the station describing the birth of the Milky Way, you’d reached under my cloak and grazed your fingertips back and forth over my hardened nipples. When I’d said I was trying very hard to control my inner flirt, but you weren’t making it easy, you’d leaned in and purred, “Maybe I don’t want you in control? Maybe I want your hands on me right now?”

As if you’d flipped a switch, my body had instantly hummed with desire. Just as I’d turned to you, ready to accept imminent indecency charges, a family with young children had rounded the corner. I’d quickly scrambled away and focused all my attention on the toes of my boots.

Once the group had moved along, I’d returned to you and pretended to wipe sweat from my brow.

“Phew! That was a close call! Five more seconds and I would’ve been coaxing you toward that alcove other there.” I’d nodded toward the shadowy corner behind you. “I had a whole speech prepared on why you should celebrate the formation of the galaxy with a ceremonial blow job.”

Your brows had shot sky high as you’d slowly turned to stare at said alcove. When you’d finally turned back to face me, you’d scrubbed a hand over your mouth and declared,

“Well, celebration is important.”

Back in the present, you stare up beyond the Rose Center’s glass ceiling at a cloudless cornflower blue sky. I crouch to read the fine print at the dinosaur station. The sheer size of the tooth is amazing.

“It’s incredible these guys don’t show up until two feet from the end of the ramp.”

You turn your attention back to the display. “True. And what we consider “life” didn’t make an appearance until two-thirds of the way down. I really liked seeing the trilobite fossil, by the way.”

“Me too. When I visited here a few years ago, I didn’t have time to process everything while I was seeing it. I was here with a few friends and our daughters and everybody rushed me through every exhibit because they’d all wanted to go shop for knock-off Louis Vuitton.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, that night before I went to sleep, I spent a long time thinking about trilobites and the creatures that came before them. Talk about putting things in perspective. Our species has been around—what?—a couple million years? But the trilobites survived hundreds of millions. I wonder if they were the first creatures with eyes because they’d survived long enough to evolve them, or if they’d survived that long because they’d evolved eyes.” I shrug. “I guess it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

You appear contemplative. “It makes one wonder how long our species will survive.”

“I grin. “Well, we’ve got Elon Musk on our side now, so I think that doubles our longevity at least.” I frown. “But we’ve also got the Kardashians, so they may cancel each other out.”

You hold your hands out to each side, palms up as if weighing. “Musk versus a Kardashian? I’m not sure which one I’d put my money on.”

“I think it would depend on which Kardashian.”

You chuckle.

I thread my fingers with yours. “I really liked seeing the meteorite as well. It’s hard to imagine standing that close to one of the rarest things on the planet.”

You look at me and your eyes go soft. When you lean in, place a sweet kiss on my forehead, and say, “It’s not so hard for me,” I nearly melt on the spot.

And then, we take the final two steps to land in the present day. Though the trilobites had piqued my interest during the earlier visit; this last, tiny station had made the biggest impression by far. A single strand of hair is displayed between two sheets of glass, its width meant to represent the timeline encompassing all of human history.

When I’d viewed this before, I’d thought about how lucky I was to be alive during this blip of time in the history of the universe. I’d also thought about how much time I’d been wasting.

Staring up at the ramp, I think about 13.6 billion years. I think about the years that divide a century, the centuries that divide millennia. I think about all the divisions, all the middle spaces between every eon, era, and epoch. I think about the nature of in-between places. Wasn’t in-between just another word for change?

I’m still lost in thought when you surprise me by lifting me off my feet and hugging me tight. You spin me around until I’m laughing, breathless.

When you set me down, I place my hands on your shoulders for balance.

“What was that for?”

You spur my mind reading suspicions once again. “No reason. This is the best In-Between Day ever. That’s all.”

CHAPTER 23

As we swipe our Metro cards to enter the subway station under the museum, I marvel once again at the ease of big city transportation. When I’d first visited New York, I’d been a teenager. The running joke had been, if I couldn’t make it home from the local store, I’d get lost in the Big Apple never to be seen again. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth. The city planners had been brilliant. The streets were laid out in beautiful, sequential numbers. There was uptown, midtown, and downtown. It was clear, simple. With a pocket full of tokens, I could’ve hopped on a bus or the subway and gone anywhere I’d wanted at any time. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. Back then, the city wasn’t as clean or as safe as it is today. Hat tip to Rudy Giuliani.

As we wait on the train platform, a classical trio of two violins and a cello plays Mozart. The museum must pump some kind of scented oil through the air ducts, because the entire place smells of gardenias.

You inhale deep as you scan the mosaic tile. “This is the nicest subway station I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, right? The Taj Mahal of public transit.”

When I lean out to peer down the tracks, you tug the back of my scarf to pull me back.

“Careful, love. You don’t want to pull a jarley, do ya?”

I grin at you, lace my fingers, with yours, and swing our hands back and forth.

“You know, I haven’t teased you once in the better part of an hour. I should get a prize.”

You give me a look of censure.

“Okay. Maybe twice.”

You slowly shake your head.

“Fine.” I grin. “I’ve teased you three times, and that’s maximum.”

Your expression says we both know better.

“How’re things going down there, by the way?”

I give a chin jerk toward the jacket you hold in front of you.

Your mouth quirks.

“Let’s put it this way: No part of me is in ‘the relaxed state’ right now.”

Though my cheeks heat, I move in and press the length of my body close against you. I lean up to whisper in your ear.

“Mayhap your raphe needs special attention? It is In-between Day after all, and that’s definitely a middle line.”

Smoothing your hands down my back, you settle a firm grip on my bottom and pull me even closer.

“I assure you, attention to my raphe will not lead to a more relaxed state...” You brush your lips against mine. “... at least not immediately.”

With a quick nip at your chin, I turn and press my bottom against you. I bend to look down the tracks once more. Wrapping your arms around my waist, you pull me in and nuzzle the curve of my neck.

Closing my eyes, I reach a hand back and tunnel my fingers through the hair at your nape. I sway a little as I speak.

“Your warm breath against my neck is one of the finest things on the planet. Whenever I braid my hair to the side or tie a ribbon around a low ponytail, I imagine this exactly. Your lips on my bare skin, the scrape of your beard against my cheek.”

Your groan is a tickling buzz at my ear. By the time the train arrives, you’ve escalated from “semi” to 100% tumescent and I’m soaking wet.

Since several families with small children enter the subway car along with us, I sit across from you instead of beside you.

You raise a brow. I glance toward the little girl seated next to me, who I’d guestimate to be about four or five. You smile and nod your understanding. The girl stares up at me wide-eyed. I know this look. I see the little wheels turning. Silently, I pray she won’t say what she’s thinking out loud. For some reason, I don’t want you to hear it.

Just then, the little girl tilts her head and says, “You look like Elsa.”

Her mother (or possibly grandmother?) smiles apologetically and whispers in the girl’s ear to try and shush her. I accept there must be something to this observation since I hear this fairly often, but personally, I just don’t see it.

I smile as I lean down.

“You think so? I’ll tell you one thing, if I had Elsa’s powers, I’d make an Olaf straight away. How about you? What’s the first thing you’d do?”

When she smiles wide, I see she’s missing her two front teeth. I up my age guess to six.

“Olaf’s my favorite. I’d make him first too.”

We smile and sit in silence half a minute before she adds, “My Mama says Elsa’s the best princess ‘cause she don’t need no man.”

She puts her hands on her hips and weaves her neck back and forth as she says the last. The grandmother looks to see my reaction, glances at you, and again tries to shush the little girl.

You smile, clearly amused.

As the two stand to get off at the next stop, the girl waves goodbye. I think about my own grandmother. She’d firmly believed you had to wave until the person was “clean outta sight.” I remember watching her from the back window of my parents’ car. I’d waved until my arm had grown tired, while she’d stood at the end of her driveway and waved until we were, indeed, “clean outta sight.”

I smile at the little girl and wave until she disappears beyond the train’s sliding doors.

Since the car’s mostly full now, I move to sit on your lap. I twine my arms around your neck, and kiss your cheek.

You glance at your watch. “What time do we need to leave the hotel?”

“Let’s see. Doors open at six-thirty and the pre-show starts at eight. I’ve never heard of the opening band, so if you don’t mind missing a few minutes I don’t either. As long as we leave the hotel by seven-thirty, we should be fine.”

Tonight, one of my favorite singers would be playing the Garden. After resuming his European tour post-pandemic, Teddy Swims had become a huge international star. Except for the nosebleed seats, tonight’s concert had sold out within hours. I still didn’t know how you’d scored such primo tickets.

Since you’d decided on lunch, I jump in with plans for dinner.

“I know you’re still dealing with the time change, so I’ll get ready quick and head down to the bar if you want to take a power nap.” I pull out my phone. “I’ll have a crudités platter sent up to the room now, so you can have something to nibble on. I’ll call you at six-thirty to make sure you’re awake and order you something more substantial then. If you come down around seven, that should give you plenty of time to eat without being rushed. Sound like a plan?”

You nod. The first time the question of food had come up, I’d pondered aloud, “What if we made a pact never to debate food choices? Unless one of us has a specific meal preference, I say we take turns making decisions by default.”

Always easy to get along with, you’d agreed, though you’d seemed largely indifferent on the subject. That is, until I’d added, “Imagine if I devoted all that extra time and energy to honing my fellatio technique.”

“Where to eat” had never been a topic of debate since.