#I threw off a few muses but they might make a return / are always open for request

[goldenavenger02]

Prompt: the rest of the ninja finding out about Cole and Geo's relationship. Fluff.

It is a LITTLE angsty. Just a little. I hope you enjoy

When Cole arrived in the courtyard with no warning, Kai wasn’t sure he had ever run faster.

Well, he was sure that he had run faster in stressful situations, but he hadn’t hugged Cole in so long; he was just glad that it felt the same, it felt warm and strong and safe. 

He didn’t want to let go, it had been years since he had seen him but he also knew that the same was true of Lloyd and Zane so he found himself letting go just a few moments later to let everyone else get their fill of hugs in.

Even Wyldfyre, who acted like a feral being towards everyone new and old, was even interested in Cole’s arrival to the point of asking multiple questions about the place Nya had said that she found him, The Land of Lost Things.

Kai didn’t miss the solemn, almost sad look on his face as he spoke about where he had ended up after The Merge. A look he hadn’t seen in years, not since Shintaro.

But the look faded when the subject was changed to Lloyd explaining how the Mergequakes were stopped and everything returned to the happy, bubbly energy that had filled the monastery since Kai had returned.

And as Cole came into his room hours later and laid on the mostly clean floor, Kai was baffled by how everything felt so close to normal, to how it had been after they had defeated the Crystal King.

All that was missing was Jay lounging in the bean bag chair in the corner and playing some sort of Sonic game, only responding to every third sentence and being thoroughly confused when they laughed at his lack of context.

“Has Lloyd started acting as stuffy as Master Wu yet?”

“Nah. He tried to keep the whole monastery in order and broke a bunch of plates in the process.”

“Anger issues?”

“Nah, they fell out of the sink,” Cole’s laugh was infectious and filled Kai’s chest to the point where it hurt long after it faded into giggles that punctured his next sentence, “he’s doing his best, but he’s still Lloyd.”

“That’s good, I think,” Cole mused before sitting up and looking directly into Kai’s eyes, “do you still make edibles and hide them under your bed?”

“Even if I did,” Kai started, smiling as the famous incident of everyone taking his brownies that were just meant for when the long nights got too long and resulting in him simultaneously getting banned from the kitchen unless there was his mother’s or one of Zane’s cookbooks involved came to mind, “there’s that dragon, Riyu. He’ll eat them and either be high off of his ass or vomit on my bed.”

“He’s eaten your edibles before?”

“He’s eaten so many things that he shouldn’t and for some reason, my bed has to be where he gets rid of it,” Kai corrected before laying back down, “do you still have that bottle of fireball in your room?”

“That shit has to be rancid by now, it was opened before the Merge,” Cole shook his head, also laying back down and staring at the ceiling, “I suppose I could always go and get more tomorrow though.”

“We’re a bit old to hide edibles and alcohol in our rooms, I think. Lloyd’s even old enough to drink now.”

“Remind me to take the kid to a bar and make sure he’s not taking straight shots of vodka.”

“Noted.” Kai agreed, even if the idea of Lloyd drinking forced him to slip into the protective role he was so used to when it came to the green ninja.

“Besides, even if Lloyd’s old enough to drink, Sora, Arin and the feral one, they’re still kids. Not to mention the dragon who pukes in your bed.”

“Her name is Wyldfyre, and that was actually way different for her, since she’s usually trying to light things on fire or prove she’s the best. She was raised by a dragon, manners aren’t exactly her thing.”

“She sounds a lot like you.”

“I wasn’t raised by a dragon.”

“No, you were raised by yourself, which might be worse.”

Kai threw a pillow at Cole’s face; the pillow he threw back knocked him onto the floor tailbone first.

“Ouch.”

“You good?”

“Yep, just a sore ass,” Kai confirmed as he maneuvered onto his back and laid next to Cole, the sounds of their breathing filling the silence, “Nya told us when she got back, about the Finders.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, the Formling and the Hypnobri kids, and the Munce and the Skulkin who are our age,” Kai could have sworn that he saw a blush spread across Cole’s face at the mention of the Munce, “do you wanna tell me about them?”

“Fritz, the Formling, reminds me a lot of Lloyd when he was a kid. Adventurous, kind and pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong. Spitz is much more reserved and shy, but loves playing with Fritz and gets himself into trouble a lot because of it. Bonzal…well, I’ve known her for years, but she isn’t very forthcoming. She’s got a great sense of humor though, crochets a lot of blankets and also collects bones.”

“Why?”

“Whenever you ask, she just says they’re extremely useful; but, she wouldn’t hurt a fly so I’m not worried about it.”

“Okay,” Kai nodded while trying to get back on topic, but when he asked “what about the Munce?” he was able to guess why Cole’s cheeks flushed at the mention even before he started speaking.

“Geo. He’s the elemental master of fusion, he turns lost things into these large art sculptures. He’s good with the boys, he makes sure that they’re always taken care of, no matter what. He’s the only one who can get Bonzal to say more than a few sentences. He’s so caring, and funny and…he might be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

“He sounds great,” Kai agreed with a nod before asking, “so, why didn’t you bring them with you? Because the monastery is big-”

“It wasn’t a space issue. First Master, I wish it was a space issue,” Cole’s voice filling with tears made Kai’s heart pang with regret, “whenever they tried to leave, this fog would engulf them and lead them back. They had been forgotten for so long that they couldn’t leave. I only left because I thought I heard Master Wu…but it just led me here.”

Kai reached over and pulled Cole into a hug; he had needed the hug when he finally returned, but given how he tucked his head against his shoulder, he knew that it was Cole who needed a hug now.

They stayed like that until Cole finally spoke again, the sobs evident in his voice as he kept his face pressed against Kai’s shoulder.

“I…I miss them so much.”

“Hey,” Kai finally spoke and cupped a hand around Cole’s face to brush a few tears off of his cheeks, “we found Nya, we found Zane and we found you. We’ll get the others out of there and we’ll find Jay, PIXAL and Master Wu.”

“I know,” Cole agreed, taking in a shuddering breath while wiping his face on his sleeve, “it’s just really gonna suck until we do.”

[elisaphoenix13]

Midnight Tour

No matter how tired Quill was because of work, he always woke up whenever Scott rolled out of bed in the middle of the night. Maybe a part of him was still concerned that the other man had a nightmare about his time in captivity, but those had become rarer and rarer, and he was normally just getting up to go to the bathroom. Tonight was like any other night. Scott rolled out of bed, Quill woke briefly as the bed shifted, and then he rolled over and went back to sleep when he realized the disturbance was only his husband.

Even Flynn and Emir were unperturbed by their nightly bathroom breaks so they continued to sleep.

But then Quill was woken again, and before he could figure out what had disturbed him, he noticed that Scott's side of the bed was still empty. Not that weird. Emir might have attempted to find a new comfortable spot at the foot of the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Cassie stood next to his side of the bed.

"Wha's wrong?" Quill slurs tiredly. "Can't sleep?"

"I think Dad is sleep walking," Cassie says quietly. "He walked into my room and said something about…collars? Then he left."

Quill swears softly and throws his blankets off to follow Cassie out of the bedroom. Her assumption had been correct. Scott was found wandering down in the living room, relocating pillows into odd places like the fake house plant that Emir had some kind of one sided rivalry with, and then he started muttering to himself. Standing in the middle of the room.

Quill was barely able to make out "birds are spies" and while he wanted to laugh, he simply rubbed his face before patting Cassie's shoulder.

"I'll take care of him Sunshine. You get back to bed."

Cassie frowns. "Do you think it was one of his nightmares? I've heard stress makes people sleepwalk sometimes."

"I dunno. Maybe it's the project he's working on right now." Quill muses. "He's been practically pulling out his hair over it."

"Maybe both."

Quill chose not to answer her because that was a depressing thought. While Scott's nightmares were few and far between now, they did seem to rear their ugly head whenever he was overly stressed. Sleepwalking was new though. Scott talked in his sleep on occasion but moving around…

He shook the thought away and descended the stairs as Scott started to take the batteries out of one of the remotes. Quill had no idea what he was going to do with them, but he didn't want to end up dealing with batteries up the nose. Anything was possible at this point.

But Scott simply inspected them, then apparently deemed them unworthy and threw them over his shoulder where they clattered on the carpet with a dull thud. The remote was placed back on the coffee table and Scott turned his attention to the couch. Specifically one of the cushions. When he began to pull it off and unzip the cover, Quill walked over and gently shook Scott's shoulder. The man paused and stared at the cushion in his hands and then glanced up at Quill in confusion.

"...what happened?" Scott mumbles.

"You just decided to take a midnight tour," Quill answers. "Did you have that dream again?"

Scott scrunches his eyebrows in thought. "I…think so?" He admits. "It's already starting to slip away."

"Okay. Cassie said you walked into her room saying something about collars. You okay?"

"Yeah," Scott returns the couch cushion to its proper place and allows Quill to lead him back up to their room. Cassie had gone to bed. "It didn't stick."

The nightmare didn't follow Scott into the waking world, which was good news. The nightmare hadn't affected him like that for over a year now and so the younger man wasn't waking up in terror. The nightmare was already becoming a distant memory.

"Hey buddy, isn't it your job to look after Scott?" Quill says to Emir who barely cracks an eye open to look at him. If he squinted in the darkness of the room, Quill could make out Flynn's ears peeking over the tiger's side. No doubt snuggling against the beast's belly since the god had gotten up from bed.

"I'm fine," Scott reassures Quill as they crawl back into bed. "Confused about the couch cushion, but fine."

Quill snorts in amusement. "I don't know what you were doing with it either, but we might need to put some new batteries in the tv remote."

Scott groans and throws the duvet over his head, "I don't want to know."

"It was kind of funny. Might see if Friday or Victor have a recording." Quill teases before laying on his side and pulling Scott flush against him. The younger mumbles something in annoyance that Quill didn't quite catch, but he laughed all the same. "Go to sleep, Pidge. And no dreams about tea parties with Satan."

"Shut up."

The next day, Scott finally finished his newest project and sent the plans to Luis to handle, and Quill congratulated him with a kiss…and then held out his hand. Two batteries laid in his palm and Scott gave him a look of mild irritation. Watching Scott find the new adjustments he made to their floor was hilarious and of course Quill had to make an occasional teasing statement. Such as the pillow in the house plant.

You just wanted it to be comfortable, babe. Since Emir has something against it.

They found the dining room table facing a corner.

Mom was probably astral projecting and you gave him a timeout?

"So what's your clever input for the batteries?" Scott asks flatly as he takes them.

"Common sense actually. We've been smashing the buttons of the remote for a week now and you were probably just subconsciously changing the batteries." Quill shrugs. "Or at least taking them out. You got bored halfway through."

"Awesome."

Cassie laughs from the direction of the kitchen. "Dad! You put your pants in the freezer!"

Quill cackles. "He was just preparing for when I–"

"No! Shut up!" She screeches. "Ewwwww the image is ingrained in my mind!"

"You love me!" Quill calls out.

"Not right now I don't!"

"Quill, stop traumatizing her." Scott huffs. "You keep this up and she'll never make you food again."

"...good point. I don't think I could live without her macaroni salad." Quill admits. "Or her chili…or her baked cheesecake! I swear she pulls that from heaven or something!"

Scott snorts and grabs a napkin from the nearby holder and hands it to Quill. "You got a little drool there big guy."

[darkhorse-javert]

Digging out two of my OCs, WC Bellermy and his Batman Pit from Tangmere- at the end of the war.

A light tap rather than a defined knock gave him a clue, even before the door eased open of it's own accord and a dark clip of hair appeared around it.

"Thought you'd have turned in Sir. After last night." Pit started to draw back and close the door again. "didn't mean to disturb you

"Oh, come in Pit, it doesn't bother me." He raised his head from looking at the documents on the desk, then quickly signed one more signiture and set the pen down. Pit came in, and moved to be by the window in the plank wall, gazing out at the field

"Strange and quiet out there." The sargeant mused "No engines, very few people about," Pit glanced back, catching his eye, "Nothing like we've known it."

"No." And it's that which has been sitting on his shoulders, the strange and utter near silence in the air. You know almost all the squaudron are out celebrating, or still comotose, pilots and erks alike, but the sheer lack of presence is something else entirely

"Makes you think it might actually be over, after all these years." No more ops, no more Scramble calls over the phone. No more letters.

He gestured to the seat near the desk, 'the miscreant's chair' as he'd always thought of it, when he was on the other side of the desk "Sit down if you like Pit... join me in a whiskey?"

Pit walked over with an easy stride to the chair, but even as Bellermy turned away towards the drinks cabiniet he didn't miss his batman's sharp look towards the clock on the wall. Awake and asleep hours have gone crackers since yesterday afternoon, I don't think we should really be bothered at this moment in time. He collected the bottle and two glasses, good crystal ones that had come from - somewhere, from the cupboard, settled them on the desk, poared a good messure into each glass, and allowed himself to settle back down in the chair. He cradled the glass, looked over to Pit, who taking his lead, not presuming, preserving the thin veneer of rank between them, picked up his own, hovered it. Between the desk and his mouth

He toasted the older man, but actually words stuck in his throat. Your Health, Peace. 'Thank God we seem to have made it'... What to say?

Equally silently, Pit returned the toasting gesture, then taking a slow sip of the whiskey, savouring it through his mouth.

Bellermy swallowed his own, suddenly needing the slight sting of the alcohol to ground him“What will you do now, Pit, demob? Or are you staying?”

Pit smiled a little, “I'm here until they pension me off Sir, been in the blue, must be nearly twelve years. But I'll be glad to see Laura again” Those very perceptive eyes, which missed nothing “Your course to Civvy Street then, and Miss Pip?”

“Yes...” He says,trailing the word. Although it strikes me, James Pit that you know me far more, foibles and faults and all, than Pippa , for all we two have our general understanding about marriage “I suppose so- what I'll do out there, I'll see what the world lobs at me, I suppose.” he threw a shrug, but knew the man wouldn't be deceived by the flippancy of the action. But Pit, bless him, said nothing, merely took another slow sip of his whiskey, biding his time.

“Almost six years I've know you Sir,” Pit said after long heartbeats, “Given I was originally Bat for you alongside Mr Beech when you came on in the summer of '39. You'll be alright out there.”

Almost six years, yes, suppose it must be about that, six years and he's stuck with me through it all. Six years... I do wonder what's become of Leaf, Turner I know is good “Well after all of that, putting me to bed, marching me out of bed many a time – I rather think you can stop calling me Sir.”

Now Pit's eyebrows shot up “King's Regulations, respect due to officers.” He recited swiftly.

“I am an officer, and I say it's fine.” He watched the other man, swishing the whiskey in his own the glass. Pit, James, as he knows from the papers, but wouldn't use, not until the other man has taken the first step- that would be an abuse of power. He waited as Pit looked away, transfixed by the window, but then slowly turned back to him raising the glass higher.

“To the end of the War then - Robert.”

“Always Bobby to friends, James”

A small dip of the head, “Bobby.” Then Pit suddenly snorted with laughter, speaking almost to himself “That flight had a rich purse then, in 1940 - A tanner and a bob.”

Turner and I, I'd never thought of that, as my surname leant to a nickname on it's own.

A/N Imperial money; 'Bob' could be slang for a shilling i.e 'Ten bob', Tanner is a northern word for sixpence, as Kivrin pointed out, another possible reason for WC Turner's nickname.

Write a piece about a loyal companion

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

summary: everyone with piercings knows, you always come back for more; but this time you might have found a different reason to return again

pairing: piercer!xiao x gn!reader; feat. venti, heizou, scaramouche, kazuha, aether

warnings: piercings, tattoos, needles; xiao in *that* top yes that’s a warning; xiao with piercings and tattoos that is definitely a warning; this is purely self-indulgent and i couldn’t be any less sorry; i simp for xiao, so the reader does too; this is my xiao, everyone back off >///<

a/n: deep down i always knew i had to write this but @kazu-sun slapped me awake yesterday, scara and al-haitham just had to take a backseat; since this xiao is absolutely superior and occupies most of my brain space, i kind of want to turn this into a series or at least write more for this; also considering writing for all of the boys within this ‘universe’

modern au series || genshin impact masterlist

It was hard not to get excited with how your best friend, Venti, was dragging you along, his giggles making your own bubble over.

“Come on!! Hurry up!!” He giggled, pulling your arm further towards him. “Ohh, I can’t wait for you to meet the guys!!”

“Aren’t we here so I can get a piercing?” you mused. 

“That too,” Venti replied cheekily. “I’ve wanted to introduce you guys for ages now, let me have some fun.”

You had always had a particular weakness for your friend and were never able to be upset with him in the first place. The only problem was that he knew it too and had no shame using it to rope you into all sorts of trouble. 

So, when you told him you were contemplating getting another piercing, he was over the moon, hyping you up and already calling his friends to schedule an appointment at their studio. Somehow it seemed Venti was more excited than you and you didn’t find the heart to stump his enthusiasm. Besides, having someone who supported you so fully was really reassuring and stopped you from going back and forth on your decision as usual.

Said someone was currently giving you his brightest grin as he pushed open the glass door to a modern piercing and tattoo studio. With the chime of the bell, 4 heads snapped into your direction; 3 were looking up from their work in the lounge while a white haired man  poked his head into the hallway.

“Ah Venti, you’re finally here.” A long-haired blond was smiling at your friend from behind a counter, clicking away at a keyboard. “And you must be his best friend? Nice to meet you, Venti already told us loads about you.”

“Yeah, he basically didn’t shut up,” someone scoffed. It was a guy with dark blue hair cut in a style you didn’t think anyone else could pull off. Turning back to his work and only showing you the back of his head, you saw a sliver of ink peek from beneath his collar.

“Oh don’t be like that, Scaramouche,” an auburn-haired man sniggered. When he looked over to you it was hard not to be drawn in by his bright olive eyes, accentuated by a mole underneath each one. “I’m Heizou. The grump over there is Kunikuzushi but he goes by his artist name most of the time. Don’t mind him, he always gets like that when he’s working on something.”

“If everyone’s introducing themselves, I don’t want to miss out. My name’s Aether.” He beckoned you over, handing you a few papers. “You’re here for a new piercing, right? I just need you to fill out these. How are you feeling? Did you eat and drink enough?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sliding the forms back over the counter, you gave him a timid smile. “I can’t help but get a little nervous every time though.”

“That’s alright. You’re in good hands here, I promise.” Aether’s soft way of speaking helped ground you a little again. “Plus, you have a cool new piercing to look forward to, can’t blame you for getting excited.”

“Speaking of which,” Venti sing-songed as he threw an arm around you, “which one of you will have the honours of stabbing my bestie’s ear with a needle?~”

Elbowing him in the ribs, you murmured a low “You’re not helping, you know.”

Pointedly ignoring Heizou’s cheeky ‘I certainly wouldn’t mind’, Aether rolled up a newspaper and gave Venti a light-hearted twack on the head “Nobody’s getting stabbed in our studio, you idiot. But to answer your question, we scheduled them with Xiao.” Addressing you, he added “Xiao is our best piercer, he’s got lots of experience. You won’t feel a thing.”

“Oohhh~” your friend cooed. “Hehe, it’s true though, Xiao’s really good at it. He did most of my piercings too.”

At that you relaxed a little, although nerves were still thrumming through you. Seeing a new piercer for the first time always added more restlessness to your mind but you were willing to trust your friend’s appraisal and Aether sounded genuine as well. That was when a smooth, low voice cut through your thoughts.

“Yes, and you’re always one of my most annoying clients.” Whirling around, you came face to face with a young man, his black and teal hair tied into a messy ponytail, leaving only his bangs to frame his face, half of which was covered by a black mask. It only served to highlight the intense amber eyes scrutinising you from head to toe and back up. As he turned his face towards the blond behind the counter, the studio lights reflected off the multiple piercings decorating his ears. “And you, stop lying to our customers. It’s a piercing, of course it’s going to sting.”

While Xiao and Aether were bickering about ‘soothing a client’s nerves’, your heart rate skyrocketed and you were surprised the muscle still sat within your rib cage. This guy was undeniably the hottest man you had ever seen. And when he shrugged off his jacket to reveal an elaborate sleeve tattoo, it didn’t help your case. The view on the art was granted to you by the sleeveless, high-neck, tight-fitted black top perfectly showing off his defined muscles.

You were about to tell Aether you weren’t feeling so good today after all, surprised you hadn’t fainted yet. It probably wasn’t ideal that you could feel all your blood rushing to your head, heating your cheeks and ears. But then again… you couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Not that Venti would let you anyway.

“Whatever,” Xiao scoffed. Extending one hand towards you, the other went to take off his mask, revealing that the other half of his face was just as gorgeous as the rest. “I’m Xiao, as you’ve probably already heard from these idiots.”

“Nice to meet you.” As you shook his hand and told him your name, you missed the gleeful looks Aether, Venti and Heizou shared. Even Scaramouche raised an eyebrow before promptly going back to sketching. 

“Alright, are you ready to get started?” When you nodded, he tilted his chin to the rooms behind Aether. “Come with me, then.”

Tugging you into a side-hug as you walked past, Venti called after his teal-haired friend,  “Don’t be too rough with them, you hear me?”, earning him a few giggles from Heizou, an eye roll from both Aether and Scaramouche and a stare from Xiao which you were sure could’ve sent him straight to his grave then and there. Still very much alive though, Venti whispered to you, “I’m only joking, you can trust him, really.”

“Wait, didn’t you say you’d come with me?” You incredulously asked.

“Ah well,” Venti loudly proclaimed, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “since I am apparently so annoying, I believe it’s best to let Xiao work in peace. Besides, I have some catching up to do here.”

Following Xiao to the backrooms, the last thing you heard from the lounge was Heizou’s snide “Doesn’t that just mean you’ll be annoying us instead?”

Your piercer pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you tolerate that regularly?”

“That,” you pointed a finger at him, “is the million dollar question. But don’t you have to put up with all of them on a daily basis?”

“Unfortunately.” Despite his demeanour you could hear a certain fondness in his voice. He nodded towards something which starkly reminded you of an examination table as he pulled on black latex gloves. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I prepare everything.”

Taking off your jacket you did as you were told. After looking around the small room, your eyes settled on the most interesting thing in there. Xiao. Or more specifically the way his biceps and triceps worked underneath the ink of his tattoo, quickly averting your gaze and examining your nails when he stepped closer with a marker in hand.

“I’ll draw a little dot first to mark where the piercing is going to be. If you don’t like the location, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay? We’ll redraw it as often as needed to make sure you’re happy with it.” You noted he spoke much softer now, his tone not as gruff but still as melodic, making butterflies flap their tiny wings in your stomach.

It was only when he leaned in close that you realised just how difficult this was truly going to be. His slender fingers held your chin gently to angle your head to his liking as he fixed his bright eyes on your ear, brushing every possibly disturbing hair strand behind it. Was now the right time to notice his fluttering long lashes or the perfectly drawn eyeliner accentuating his features? You weren’t sure but you did nonetheless.

Pulling back too soon for your liking, his cologne lingered in the air as he twisted to hand you a mirror. As your fingers brushed, you could feel the heat of his skin even through the gloves he wore and it was making your head spin.

Moving your head around a little, you had to give Venti and Aether credit. They weren’t lying when they said Xiao was a true professional, not that you had expected anything else but how he managed to hit the exact spot you had envisioned on the first try was still beyond you.

Smiling up at him, you handed the mirror back. “It’s perfect.”

“Good to hear.” The corners of his mouth twitched up a little and you quickly found yourself becoming fond of the sight. “It’s on to the main event then. Still feeling alright?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with before I chicken out.”

He chuckled as he prepared the needle. “I won’t lie to you and say it’ll be completely painless, I mean you have a couple of piercings already, so you know. But I’ll do my best to make it as bearable as possible for you, okay?”

You only hummed as you prepared yourself for the sting. It wasn’t so much the actual needle as just your imagination making your stomach churn. As Xiao levelled his face with yours again, though, it was suddenly very easy to focus on something else. 

The feeling of his fingers on your chin, even through the waxy material, sent sparks racing across your body. This time, however, it was his breath fanning across the side of your face and neck which sent your mind into overdrive. Together with the proximity of the rest of him, it made for a dangerous combination, making your thoughts run into all sorts of directions.

Flinching as the jewellery was being pushed through, you were quickly brought back to reality though. 

“Sorry about that,” Xiao murmured.

“No, it’s fine. Just caught me by surprise, that's all.”

When he pulled back once more, he gave you a true -albeit small- smile and you thought you must be melting, easily ignoring the throbbing in your ear. “The good news is that you’re all done. You did so well.” Passing you the mirror one more time, Xiao tilted his head as if in contemplation before speaking decidedly. “Looks to me like I did my job right. It looks good on you.”

He was trying to kill you, no doubt about it.

As you regained your composure, Xiao put a hand on your shoulder and lightly pushed you back down on the table when you tried to stand. Handing you a glass of water, he said “Just stay seated for now. I’ll go finish up the paperwork while you calm down and then I’ll come get you.”

“Okay.” Even in your own ears, your voice sounded so small.

Just as promised, Xiao came back a couple minutes after he left you to your own devices. A few minutes in which you heavily debated asking him for a date or his number. If it was anyone else, you might have decided to shoot your shot. But… this was Venti’s friend. There was a possibility you’d inevitably have to see him again. Besides, he definitely seemed the type to be hit on a lot. So, you thought it better to do nothing.

“Aha, still in one piece I see~”

“Of course,” your piercer scoffed. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Now, now, Xiao, Venti is only teasing you. No need to rip his head off.” It was the white-haired man you had only seen briefly before. Otherwise you might have noticed the vibrant streak of crimson running through his locks. “So you’re Venti's friend? I’m Kazuha; looks like I’m the only one who didn’t get to meet you earlier.”

“Seems so.” Kazuha had an infectious sort of smile you couldn’t help but mirror. Two hands on your shoulders quickly spun you around and you blinked rapidly to focus on the blue-green eyes of your best friend.

“Let me see the new addition,” he exclaimed before grinning smugly. “I told you getting a new piercing was a good idea, it’s really pretty.”

“Personally, I think they do most of the heavy lifting in that department,” Heizou winked at you, “but the jewellery obviously enhances that.”

While chaos ensued within the studio over Heizou’s remark, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Xiao was quietly slipping the receipt over the counter, fiddling around with his hands and not quite meeting your eyes. After you handed him the money, he told you to come back in about four or five weeks to check in on the piercing and switch it for one with a shorter bar.

“If you have any trouble at all, feel free to come in and have someone look over it, lest it gets infected,” he sternly said. Then he placed a small plastic bag with a piercing inside in front of you. “Here, this is for you.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Maybe it was your imagination but just as a simmering heat flushed back into yours, you thought you saw a light blush settle over Xiao’s cheeks.

Despite not really wanting to leave yet, you said your goodbyes, gaze lingering a little longer on Xiao who held it. As you walked along the street you could feel Venti almost burst with anticipation next to you.

“Spit it out, idiot.”

“So, someone has the hots for a certain piercer,” he squealed excitedly. “Don’t even try to deny it, it’s sooo obvious.”

“Whatever, it’s not like anything is going to happen anyway,” you sighed, still lost in your little daydream.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Venti smugly replied as he grabbed the tiny package in your hand. “Accepting the risk of you giving another stellar impression of a tomato, allow me to point out… this.”

Turning the bag around, your eyes widened at the neatly written number followed by the only name you wanted to see sprawled underneath.

“Xiao, did you seriously just give away jewellery for free just because you have a little crush?!” Rolling up the newspaper again, Scaramouche used it to hit the aforementioned man over the head.

“Relax, it was only one piercing,” Kazuha said, tone placatory.

“He’s right. Besides,” Heizou chuckled, “can you blame the guy? Man, to think that we’d ever see the day… Xiao in love…”

Wordlessly, Xiao held out his hand towards Scaramouche. It was his turn with the newspaper.

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

tag list: @mccnstruck @teyvattales @silentmoths @ainescribe @meimeimeirin @dustofthedailylife

[lonely-lost-soul]

Fight For Me

(C!Technoblade x gn!possessive!Reader)

Request 11: could I maybe request some c!techno x gn!possessive!reader fluff that follows someone trying to threaten techno while completely brushing off the reader only for the reader to step in and feral threaten them back (perhaps some fighting ensues with reader coming out on top) and then techno is awestruck by his partner which is then where the fluff comes in

Requested By: @bowlofsoup

I hope you like it!

“Sweetheart can you do me a favor and pass me the blaze powder,” Technoblade asked from his hunched-over position at his brewing station. He was wearing more casual clothes, his glasses loose on his nose, hair pulled back into a messy bun. You sat next to him on one of the chests, legs swinging up and down, you were wearing one of Techno’s oversized shirts.

“Sure thing,” You hummed tossing open the chest and handing him a bottle of said powder, he reached forward to take the bottle from your hands and you kissed his lips before he could take the bottle. Technoblade purred happily, his eyes going half-lidded at the surprise kiss, you chuckled against his lips as he flushed pink.

“Cringe.”

“Nerd,” You shot back with a smile he rolled his eyes focusing back on his potions, “Why’re you making these again?” Your gaze shifted towards the window. It was snowing again, it was always snowing. You hated that you were getting sick of the constant cold you wondered what the weather was like back at L’manburg or L’manhole was a better term for the once-prosperous nation. Technoblade looked back up at you, his hand reached out to interlock with your own, which caught your attention snapping you out of your daydreaming and you smiled back at him.

“Someone wants to buy them off me, figure sees what they’d offer me for it, not like I’m worried about getting jumped or anything,” Technoblade smirked coyly at you, almost like he was awaiting your praise. You didn’t fall for it though, simply letting out a little hum in approval, he frowned and cleared his throat.

“Oh sorry. Oh baby you’re so brave and strong, no one can take you down.” You pressed your hands together swooning sarcastically, Technoblade frowned and put you into a headlock. You laughed loudly instead of fighting against him you snuggled in his hold, “You’d never hurt me.”

“Try me.”

“Is that a challenge?” You mused with a flutter of your eyelashes, Technoblade flushed a little and grumbled under his breath. He could feel the smugness radiating off your entire being, if you were anyone else he would’ve sent you through a wall.

“Just shut up and grab a bag for the potions. They’re almost done.”

“Yes sir.” You saluted hopping off the chest to grab your bag from the coat rack, it was a soft brown bag covered in patches. Holding the bag open you allowed Technoblade to place the potions inside of them, “we ready to go?”

“You grabbed your coat and had breakfast right?” He raised an eyebrow, it seemed to be your turn to flush and Technoblade frowned, “Right?” Technoblade’s eyes narrowed in your direction and he watched you tap your fingers together sheepishly. “You’re a disaster, you’d be dead without me. Eat,” Technoblade dragged you into the kitchen and pulled out a roll for you to munch on, “Jam?”

“Yes please.” You gave a firm nod as he grabbed the knife and spread it on the bread before handing it to you.

“Remember to eat, can’t have my Starlight starving themselves,” The way you turned red made the hybrid smirk coyly at you. “You mean too much to me to go out in such a lame way, there has to be at least a little bit of bloodshed. Maybe some dismemberment if you’re lucky.”

“Damn and to think I was flattered for half a minute.” Techno chuckled at your comment, a deep rumble in his chest, you couldn’t help but smile yourself. You bit off a piece of bread, teeth tearing through the food easily “Ready to go now?”

“Finish eating then we can go. There’s no rush.”

“Isn’t someone waiting for us?”

“Let them wait,” Technoblade shrugged, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you close. You melted into his warm body closing your eyes, just taking a moment to bask in your love for the Blood God, how did you get so lucky?

Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the same thing about you.

Eventually, you pulled away from him, much to his displeasure, and reluctantly said you both should head out. He huffed in protest and you pecked his lips, assuring him that the long journey would be worth it in the end. You both slide on your winter gear and headed towards Carl in the stables, you scratched the horse’s nose and he whinnied at the attention from his second favorite person. Technoblade tossed him an apple to which he munched on happily before applying his saddlebags to the sides of the horse, he hopped onto him and held a hand out to you. You took the hand with a wild smile swinging your leg over the side of Carl and wrapping your arms around Technoblade’s waist securely. He looked at you over his shoulder and pecked your forehead lightly, you cooed at him in response, and just like that the both of you were off. As you traversed the Tundra, your adoring boyfriend decided it would be a great time to quiz you on your fighting skills. He always did this, especially when he was nervous about something, you concluded a part of him was nervous the deal would go south and you’d end up hurt. You squeezed him a little and answered all his questions in hopes you’d ease his worries, it seemed to work as he relaxed against your chest. You would’ve played with his hair if it wasn’t tied up in a bun, so instead, you settled for giving him gentle kisses on the back of his neck.

He was a wreck by the time you got to the meeting spot, all red-faced and embarrassed. You did feel a little guilty but it was also very entertaining to watch him slide off the horse all frustrated with your antics. “You’re lucky we have somewhere to be,” he vaguely threatened and you hummed,

“What happened to ‘they can wait?’” His red eyes narrowed into slits and Carl stomped his foot, “oh you’re such a party pooper.” You complained as the horse nudged you forward towards the meeting spot. Technoblade huffed now turning his glare on Carl for interrupting your moment. He adjusted the sword at his hip and marched forward expecting you to follow, you did, but it’s the principle that irked you. Walking a little way down the wooded path you came across a man in a beanie leaning against a tree, he had small yellow wings and a scar going from his right eye down to the top of his lip. Your head snapped to Techno and you hissed, “You didn’t tell me it was Quackity! The mother fucker planned your execution!”

“Hush.” He waved you off, “money is money. If he can offer us something good we shouldn’t complain.”

“But-”

“Finally!” The man groaned stretching his arms above his head, his small wings fluttered as he pushed off the tree, “Took you long enough. Who’s your little friend?” He raised an eyebrow at your stature and you glared hotly at him, already wanting to tear his throat out.

“My partner.” Technoblade answered monotonously, “Is that important?”

“Romantically or like your bodyguard.” He snickered at the mental image of the Blood God hiring a bodyguard for himself.

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, Technoblade’s hand squeezed your shoulder trying to calm you down.

“I suppose not.” Quackity clapped his hands together, his two golden rings bouncing off one another making a soft clicking sound, “let’s get down to business than Mr. Blade. I want the potions you have, what exactly do you want in return?”

“What can you give me?” Technoblade raised an eyebrow, his hand never leaving the bag of potions at his side, Quackity tapped his chin in thought.

“Anything you desire. I came into a… a lot of money recently, a lot of people owe me a few favors. So I can truly give you anything,” Quackity smirked as you noticed Technoblade’s eye twitch, he didn’t like the sound of someone having so much power, and to be honest you didn’t either.

“Huh. well alright then.” He grunted drumming his fingers against the bag, “these favors people owe you, what exactly did you do for them?”

“Are you asking me to spill all my secrets? Techno you dog.” He purred out teasingly, “they made some bets with me and they lost simply as that.”

“What did they lose?” You asked and Quackity rolled his eyes,

“You’re a talker aren’t you?”

“Back off.” Technoblade snarled earning another eyebrow raise from the man, but you did briefly see fear flicker across his eyes. “You talk to them like that again deals off and I take another one of your teeth, understand me.”

“Understood, big guy. No hard feelings.” He held up his hands in defense his tiny wings ruffling a little bit showing off his nervousness, “Although your attitude just proves my point. You’re a brute and you’ll always be a brute.” Technoblade didn’t respond to the harassing but had a feeling you might as the pressure on your shoulder increased. Your jaw was set hard, as Quackity continued, “you truly are more monster than human.”

Oh, he did not just say that to Techno.

In one swift movement, you pulled Technoblade’s sword from its sheath at his side and drew it in front of you, pure anger flooding through your veins. Techno tried to grab the sword before you did something stupid but you were already charging at Quackity. He looked a little frightened as an ax appeared at his side, “Take it back.” You spit as metal clashed against metal, your eyes blazing with unadulterated rage, “Take it back right now. He’s so much more than that.” You swung the sword back which caused Quackity to stumble backward throwing off his rhythm,

“Bite me bitch.” Quackity snapped back attempting to regain his footing as he blocked another blow from you,

“Don’t tempt me birdie.” You sassed right back, which threw him off his game again not expecting you to come back with a retort and a nickname. You kicked him solidly in the chest and he fell flat on his ass the sword swung and the tip dug into his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped nervously,

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” He sputtered out as you narrowed his eyes, “look I’m sorry okay, okay! My mouth gets the best of me sometimes, I’ll admit that! I’m a humble guy!” You rolled your sharp (e/c) eyes at that statement, “Look, deal still on this time I’ll throw in two gold rings yeah?” He swallowed thickly “Also all the diamond I have on me and in my enderchest.”

Turning to glance at Techno for the first time he cleared his throat looking absolutely flushed. He shifted uncomfortably and marched over to the both of you a hand resting on your lower back. Technoblade glared down at the duck hybrid,

“We don’t want your rings. I want all the money you’ve won from your deals and a god apple.”

“I don’t have-”

“Then think of it as an I.O.U. birdy.” You pursed your lips feeling Technoblade squeeze your back, “Deal?” The tip of the sword dug a little deeper into his throat,

“FUCK! Yes, yes deal!” He squawked and you removed the sword, Technoblade immediately took it from your hands shooting you a look that screamed,

‘We are talking about this later.’

Technoblade tossed the contents of the bag at Quackity and he snatched up all the potions he could shoving them into his chest. Immediately handing you the diamonds he had on him, as Quackity scurried away Technoblade didn’t remove his hand from your back. Once his yellow wings disappeared into the treeline Technoblade spun you around and pressed a kiss to your lips. It immediately stole your breath away, as you stumbled back a few steps.

“That.” He kissed your jaw, “was the hottest,” he kissed your neck next, “thing we’ve seen in a while.” Technoblade purred pressing another passionate kiss to your lips, your hands desperately tried to pull out his hair from his bun to give it a hard yank. A louder purr rumbled from his chest as he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours,

“So the voices liked my badassery too?”

“Oh yeah,” his eyes fluttered a little his breathing hitching, “god they want me to just bite the shit out of you. Mark you all over. You can’t tease them like, they’re sensitive.” You cooed softly tracing his jawline with nimble fingers,

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to them once we get home.” His eyes shot up to meet your own lidded ones, with a loud whistle he called Carl over, he scooped you up in his arms causing you to laugh loudly.

You could safely say that was the fastest you and Techno had ever gotten home.

[krxkor]

Current Muse List 

Main Muses: 

Rapunzel (based on legends / Die Falsche Königin)

The prince is dead, her hands are red with blood, and her most deadly enemy - the one she calls mother - has returned. Danger follows this girl wherever she goes but Rapunzel is no longer a damsel in distress, but a force to be reckoned with. A dark twist on the fairytale with Rapunzel turning to the old gods for magic and power. Crossover verses for BBC’s Merlin and Tolkien’s legendarium upon request. 

[verses / mirror / plotting call / starter call / headcanons / relationships]

Königin Hulda (based on legends / Die Falsche Königin)

The villagers believe that whenever Hulda shakes out her pillows snow falls on the surrounding meadows. They call her Frau Holle and cherish her as a woman that rewards hardworking girls. Mortal souls must be more than cautious if they approach her though, for she has grown weary of immortality and once you follow her she might lead you into the mountain, where you have to endure until the seven years have passed and the warriors of old ride into battle once more. Based on German folklore and infused with urban legends this muse can easily be adapted to any verse which features old Norse mythology. Crossover verses for BBC’s Merlin, Arthurian Legends and Tolkien’s legendarium upon request. 

[verses / mirror / plotting call / starter call / headcanons / relationships]

Lancelot du’Lac (BBC Merlin canon divergent / based on legends)

Once a loyal knight to Arthur Pendragon Lancelot has known sacrifice and pain, but also hope and devotion. Evil whispers may have driven him out of Camelot and upon a path, he never wished for himself, but the knight remains loyal, brave, and true until the end. Based on BBC’s Merlin and influenced by Arthurian Legends this muse’s Main verse is set within Tolkien’s legendarium. However, any point in his storyline is open for interactions. Modern verse upon request. 

[verses / mirror / plotting call / starter call / headcanons / relationships]

Private Muses / open upon request:

Konstantin von Deseberg. ( based on legends / Die Falsche Königin  - only available upon request)

(Aiden Thomas Campbell - OC / private muse)

[thatslikely]

lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar. 

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates. 

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever. 

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.  

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge. 

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion. 

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.” 

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput. 

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes? 

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot? 

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

if your name is crossed out, that means I couldn't take you! check your visibility settings so I can @ you next time!

fill out this form to be added!

[joshstambourine]

A Seconds Glance

"Hi I have a request for either Josh or Jake 💛 can I get a story where they see a girl, either at school or they can already be famous in this, and is instantly enamored. I don't know if you've seen The Virgin Suicides, but if you have then something similar to when Trip sees Lux for the first time. I'm interested in how those two would go about getting a girl's attention when they have a crush.💕💕💕" - Anonymous

//Hi Doll! I can’t say I have seen that--- but I will try my best to write something that I feel matches the idea you had. 

I’m gonna be repeating this forever--- but again, I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this request out for you! I decided to go with Josh being in school for this one.//

Warnings: Cursing, awkward beans

Word Count: 1969

Synopsis: Josh had never really believed in love at first sight... but yet....

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

The first day of sophomore year. For most this was just the start of another school year; a sudden reminder that a new binder or fun pencil case is exciting for all of 10 minutes when it comes to actual classes and work. But for Josh… this year felt like it was filled with possibilities. It sounds like some sort of stupid thing you'd see on a motivational calendar, but it really truly did.

Josh hadn't imagined for a second that he actually would have a chance in making music his career; and yet, he had spent all summer with his band mates playing for different occasions and pubs. All the while they were working, working hard on writing songs that they could be proud to play for others.

All of that said, Josh was returning to high-school this year with a new found amount of confidence and excitement; it showed in every step Josh took. His one hand held loosely on to the arm of his backpack, walking in time with Jake.

"But what do you think? Would it look good on me?" Jake inquired, fingers lightly playing with the mid-length pieces of hair on his head.

"I mean… I don't know…" Josh lightly starts, glancing at his twin and begins to take a good long look at him.

Jake's eyes widened just a touch, his expression becoming one that said, 'Well…?'

"Uh… honestly I don't really know Jake. I've never seen you with anything else than this." Josh admits, then snickers a little, "Except for that one time when we decided it'd be fun to take those scissors and---"

"No, that's fine, I didn't need to think about that." Jake immediately stopped him, his hand going to take a full dive into his mess of dark brown hair. 

"Cmon, it was really funny though. Ma really lost her shit when she saw your head like that." Josh continued to muse, hands folding into his pockets with the utmost of ease. 

Jake shook his head in a mournful way, "I can say I will never go back to a buzz-cut again… not without a fight."

Josh's smile never faltered, it was his laughter that changed, softening into a bit of a sigh as they reached the double doors at the front of the school. With a swing of the doors they both were making their way down the hallway to their lockers.

"Meet by Mr.Shapiro's class before lunch?" Jake questioned, to which Josh nodded. No matter which school the twins went to the teachers seemed to know that the best course of action was to keep them separated. That said Josh and Jake always had separate homerooms at least, through most of their time in school.

"See ya in a bit." Josh waved, taking a few steps back before turning on his heels and heading to his own locker.

Josh's excitement to be back in class showed on his face more than he probably would have wanted. A few pencils in his hand along with a binder filled with blank paper and tucked away dividers.  

As soon as Josh stepped into the class room his eyes were met with many familiar faces. Some of these people he had been in school with since kindergarten; like Meg, a rather tall blunt faced girl with long kinky black hair. She simply threw a peace sign Josh's way as he stepped through the doors; he eagerly returned it, bringing a small smile to Meg's lips. 

With some brisk steps Josh moved to place himself at the back of the classroom, just behind Meg. He threw his things on his desk without much thought. Despite there being a good number of kids he knew... there seemed to be equally just as many new kids. 

Leaning on his desk Josh moved closer to Meg, "Where the hell did these guys come from?" 

Meg's brow lifted as she leaned back a little, "Know the high-school on the east side?" 

"The one where you can get crack for super cheap?" Josh inquired, 

Meg's head bobbed, "They closed it down, so now we get half the kids that went there." She explains with her head resting on her hand in a bored way. 

"Oh shit really? That's a lot of kids---" Josh was quick to respond, glancing around the room. 

"Oh yeah... way too many in my personal opinion --- not that anyone cares." Meg mutters, beginning to click her mechanical pencil. 

Josh's eyes were still taking in all the new faces as he started to respond, "Wow aren't we positive today." 

Meg sighed, "Eh.... I'm just not excited, Justin and I broke up over the summer and I'll have to see him in history." She began to explain, "Things are just really tense, yknow?" 

She waited a moment for him to give some comforting... but still idiotic response, however none came. It finally got Meg to turn and look at him, as she did she immediately noticed that Josh's eyes had widened just a touch, cheeks dusted a light pink. 

Meg followed the line of his eyes to a beautiful young woman. The expression he wore was more than enough to tell Meg that she should move. 

Josh was so busy just... taking the new girl in that he didn't even notice Meg slip to the free desk to the side of the one she was previously sat in. Josh just couldn't put his finger on it, there was something... something so breathtaking about her. Was it her eyes? Or maybe how her hair fell around her face? He couldn't be sure. What he was absolutely sure of was that he had never had a moment in his life where he could hear music just by looking at someone. 

"Hey... do you know if this desk is free?" A new voice shook Josh. It was her. She was standing at a desk to his left with a bit of an awkward air. 

He was just so shaken. What did she say again? Something about a desk? Josh's lips parted, "Uh--- I uh, what did you--?" 

"No that one isn't open, but the one just in front of my dude Josh is, right Josh?" Meg interrupted, pointing to the desk ahead of him. 

"Oh y-yeah, that one's open! Definitely 100% open! It couldn't be more open even if it tried!" Josh started spouting, he really wasn't even aware that his mouth had moved, and that was clear in the fact that it just kept moving when she had come to sit down. "Do you need any pencils at all?? I have like 20!" He continued, though his hand held one full sized pencil and one shorter than the average person's pinkie... both chewed on. "I mean not on me but--- who needs a pencil right?" 

The girl laughed a little awkwardly, her gaze moving from Josh to Meg and then to the desk. "No, no I'm okay thank you though." She slipped into the chair, keeping her gaze frontwards. 

Meg looks to Josh with a shocked look, 'What was that??' She mouthed, 

Josh responded with an absolutely mortified expression. He would never say he was the smoothest guy on the planet, but he had never been that awkward in his life. 

Meg shook her head before reaching out to tap the girl's shoulder, "I'm Meg!" She introduces, "And that goober is Josh." 

The girl lightly moved to glance over her shoulder at Josh in a shy way. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm (Y/N)." She hummed with a sweet smile. 

"That's a pretty name, isn't it Josh??" Meg quickly said, trying to get him to continue the conversation in a less awkward way.

Josh nodded very enthusiastically, "The prettiest name I've heard in a long time!" He said with a smile, 

(Y/N)'s cheeks began to hold a flush of their own. "Oh! Uh... th-thank you!" She sputtered out. 

'OH FUCK. She's so cute.' Josh thought to himself, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with a shaky swallow. 

Little did Josh know that (Y/N) was thinking something very similar. She might not make it as obvious as he was, but being so much closer now... being able to see the warmth in his brown eyes, seeing how his wavy brown hair came to cup his cheeks --- she couldn't help but continue to stare back at him. 

The only thing that could pull them both out of the little trance they had fallen into was the bell. Both of them quickly looked toward it, followed by a man's voice at the front of the class. 

"Alright everyone, take your seats!" 

(Y/N) was reluctant but she turned herself to look toward the front of the class. A little bit nervous, but mustering an ounce of courage she tore a piece of paper from her notebook quietly and began to scribble something down. 

Josh hardly got anything out of that language arts class, he was way too busy trying to figure out what excuse he could make to talk with (Y/N) again. He was just rattling through every little conversation starter he had ever heard in his life... but none of them felt like they would work. 

Before long the bell had rung overhead once more and everyone was shuffling to grab their things and head to all of their next classes. 

Biting his lip, Josh was determined to catch (Y/N) before she could head off to her own next class. Luckily for him she had a similar idea. Both turning to each other as they stepped out of the classroom, it was painfully quiet at first. It seemed as if they were trying to get their thoughts together really. 

Finally they spoke, 

"Hey would you---" "I was wondering if you'd---" 

At once. 

A small awkward laugh left their lips, "Please, go ahead I was going to say something dumb---" Josh quickly said moving to rub the back of his neck. 

(Y/N)'s lips parted as she let out and unsure chuckle, eyes moving downwards for a moment. "I was just going to ask if you would mind if I joined you for lunch? I just am new and don't really have any---" 

"Yes!" Josh quickly said, "Yes absolutely. You didn't even have to ask, you could have just showed up if you wanted to!" He quickly says to her. 

The speed he seemed to talk at entertained (Y/N) a heck of a lot. A smile creeping across her face, "Okay! Thank you!" She responded. 

"Do you know where the cafeteria is? I can show ya if you want??" Josh quickly continued, "I mean I'm sure you could find it on you're own, you seem very smart and capable. Most women are to be honest; I remember reading an article about how men need to---" 

"That would be really great actually." (Y/N) smiled in a gentle way. 'He's even more nervous than I am.' She thought to herself. 

"Oh-oh! Okay cool! Uh, do you know where Mr.Shapiro's class is?" He asks, 

(Y/N) seemed to think for a minute, "113... right? I have him for chemistry this afternoon I think." She mutters. 

Josh swiftly nods his head, "That's the one!! Meet me there okay?" He says. 

(Y/N) nodded back, understanding the little plan they now had. "I'll see you in a little bit then?" She lightly asks. 

"Yeah absolutely." Josh began to grin, suddenly beyond excited. Even as she began to walk off to her class all he could think about was how sure he was now that this year was going to be fantastic. 

That was until a warning bell played overhead, "Oh shit--" Josh jumped in shock, immediately beginning to run to his next class.

//That's all for now lovely! I do actually have an idea on how to continue this one if anyone would like! Pretty please let me know in the comments if that's something you guys would like 💜//

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

--

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!

[hannie-dul-set]

araw-araw [na jaemin]

(EVERY DAY)

part of “the puhon playlist” collection

SUMMARY | mahiwaga— someone or something that you’ll choose every single day no matter the circmstance. and for you, that was na jaemin. even if time decides to set you apart PAIRING | na jaemin x female! reader GENRE | childhood friends to lovers! au, college! au, romance, slow-ish burn, fluff, humor, tiny angst, biology major jaemin and art major mc HEHE WARNINGS | excessive swearing, insecurities, some sex jokes LMAO, i project a lot in this i’m sorry JSFJG WORD COUNT | 14.5k TAGLIST | @prettyjaems @lcvemark @shra-vasti @danishmiilk @probablygonnahurtsomebody @jccv @rebel-lious-alien @dalkomhanchocolateicecream @kthpurplesyou @fullsuhnshine​ @dejvns @nctzun @sweetjaemss @sehunniepot @wownajaemin @emoshishi @holywaterbetch @ukiyoneo @injunified @huangxx​ @jaehyunnie3​ @nct-writers​ @czennienet​ @neowritingsnet​ @kpopscape​

a/n: HERE IT IS.... MY PRIDE AND JOY JHSFJSD gahh okay i’m gonna keep my rambling to a minimum but this fic is very close and very dear to my heart and if it isn’t obvious that i’m in love with jaemin then this fic will make it obvious LMAO

also do yourself a favor and listen to ben&ben’s araw-araw on loop while reading this!! adds to the ~vibe~ hehe

Five-thirty-seven in the morning, grey clouds stretching throughout the sky as you peeked outside the window, falling right above oceans and buildings and people that you couldn’t even see. You sighed as you sank deeper into your chair, closing your eyes and adjusting your earbuds to clear your thoughts that were brought about by your sudden move.

You felt a nudge from beside you, coming from your mother (your dad was long knocked out since earlier), and so you politely pulled the earbuds away. “Excited to come back to Korea?” she asked. You simply responded with a smile and hum.

It wasn’t like you didn’t like the idea of returning— it was the prospect that it did not even feel like you were returning in the first place. Indifference was what you felt. After moving to Los Angeles when you were twelve because of your father’s job, you had to say goodbye to all your friends living in your hometown, all the traditions and customs that you were used to, and all the memories that you have built up in order to get used to a new environment. Seven years later when you thought you were just about to fit in with the west, your father comes out with the news of going back to Seoul again.

So it was difficult to manage a full smile.

You had a thought as you looked down through the window, recognizing a few of the landmarks that stood out: how strange it was to have somewhere that used to be home feel so foreign.

Just as you were about to put in your earbuds back in, your mother suddenly brightened, looking at you with a large smile on her face, eliciting your curious gaze.

“Oh! Do you still remember your old friend Jaemin?”

A smile tugged at your lips. How could you forget him?

Na Jaemin. Nana. Jaems. Your childhood best friend for six years until you were forcibly shipped all the way to LA. You still remembered how hesitant you were to tell him that you were moving because you didn’t want him to cry— only to have you crying and refusing to let go of him until your parent's pried you off of him at the airport. He assured you while wiping away your tears that you’d still get to see him one day.

Maybe that day would actually be one of these days.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, fiddling with the drawstrings of your jacket. “Why? I haven’t been in contact with him for years now.”

“His mom and I talked the other day and I told her that we’re moving back! And just earlier, she told me that Jaemin volunteered to pick us up from the airport so we won’t have to take a cab. Isn’t that great? You’d get to be reunited with your old friend again.”

“Ah,” you paused for a moment, in thought, just before pressing your lips together into a tight smile. “Yeah, it would be nice to see him again.”

That was what you said, but even until you left the plane, lugging your baggage across the cold floors of the airport with your music at full volume to drown out the noise, you were actually rather conflicted about meeting him again. A lot could happen within seven years, and therefore there was no assurance that things would still be the same. You weren’t sure if he’d still be the same sweet boy that was determined to fight the park swings after you fell and cried, if he’d still be the same kid that stopped talking to you for three days because you tricked him into eating a strawberry flavored lollipop. Maybe he’d still be, maybe he wouldn’t, but it was exactly that uncertainty that made you feel uneasy.

Still, there was still a hint of excitement, a string that tugged your heart away from all the uneasiness, just enough to bring a smile to your face at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N, let’s go?”

Your father called out to you and you didn’t even realize that you have actually stopped walking amidst your musings.

“Oh, yeah I—” you stumbled in between the ever moving airport crowd, looking down to see your shoelace had become undone, and so you let go of your suitcase. “You two go ahead, I’ll catch up in a sec!”

You ducked down, right beside the large, grey case to fix it, lips pursed in concentration. People passed by without minding you too much, but at one instance, just as you had finished retying your shoelace, your suitcase moved away from you with a shadow looming from above. Panic struck, and so you jolted up, instincts forcing your hand to move, quickly grabbing the handle. There was another hand resting on it. Your eyes moved up to meet with the culprit's.

Weirdly enough, he was just as shocked as you are.

Even weirder— he looked way, way too attractive to be a thief. Or maybe that was the modus these days? Still, you harshly dragged back the suitcase, ripping it away from his grasp with a glare. “What the fuck—”

At that moment, you recalled your mother’s words. Jaemin volunteered to pick us up from the airport. This guy looked a little too much like your old friend from your old neighborhood.

It felt like you were looking into the exact same large, dark eyes that used to be always accompanied by a pretty smile, now matched by a mouth hanging slightly agape from surprise. He even had the same dark hair that always messily fell over his eyes. There was a moment of pause in between the rush of bodies, the both of you in a frozen trance staring at each other until you had finally realized that motherfucker— this was Na Jaemin.

When did he get so hot?

“I—”

He flashed you a smile. The same damned smile. It brought you to the conclusion that seven years really didn’t do anything except make him far too attractive for his own good. All of a sudden you felt self-conscious about your own appearance as you gawked at him. God really liked to play favorites, huh?

You could see him say something, his lips moving just enough to represent a few words, but it was muffled thanks to the blaring music. Your confusion reflected clearly on your face contorting, and Jaemin only shook his head and laughed before reaching his hands to your face, bringing you to a momentary halt of haywire because what the actual fuck was he doing.

“You shouldn’t listen to music too loudly in public,” he said, pulling your earbuds out of your ears and gingerly placing them into your open palms with a smile. Holy fuck, his voice got so deep. “I’ve been calling out to you since earlier, but you couldn’t hear. Let’s go, your parents are waiting.”

Before you could even try to recollect yourself from the sudden crashing of events, Jaemin took your suitcase in your stead, leading you to his car.

If you still weren’t sure whether or not this was Na Jaemin from your past, you were now because although a bit watered down, he was just as excessively weird and sweet as he was ages ago. You found yourself feeling stupid for even doubting it in the first place. Of course, he was still the same; he even chirps your name in the same way as he always did before.

“There we go,” with a huff, the trunk came to a close. He threw your suitcase in there after seeing your mini struggle episode with far too little effort for your peace of mind. “You should just ask me next time. Okay, Y/N?”

“Thanks,” you gave him a small nod, flustered when he pinched your left cheek while making a questionable noise, and he opened the car door for you to enter.

Maybe it was you that had changed.

You were fairly quiet throughout the car ride while your parents and Jaemin decided to catch up after everything, only listening and giving your reactions whenever needed. You weren’t a morning person and your jetlag wasn’t doing you of any help either.

“You’re in your third year, right Jaemin?” your father asked, sitting at the front seat as your mother and you sat behind.

“Yep, yep,” he happily replied.

“Time really does fly fast, doesn’t it?” your mother joined in. “What uni do you go to, Jaemin?”

“Ah,” he sounded, eyes still directed on the road. “NCT U. It’s the closest at home, and I didn’t really wanna move out.”

“Oh, what a coincidence! Y/N isn’t that where you’re planning on going, too?”

“Really?” you could see Jaemin’s eyes brighten from the mirrors. “Y/N, do you want me to help you with your requirements? Have you enrolled already? I can give you a tour if you want!”

He’s really the same. You thought, smiling. “It’s fine, Jaemin. I already enrolled and took care of everything online.”

“But I should still tour you, though!” he retorted, the pout and whine evident in his voice. “The campus is really big so you might get lost. Ah, but aren’t universities in the States much bigger? I can also introduce you to some of my friends if you like.”

Jaemin went on for a while, telling your parents not to worry and promising that he’d take care of you throughout your college life here in Korea despite your protests that you could very much take care of your own self. Eventually, your mother asked about his major, and his animated expressions dimmed down into a slight bashfulness after answering that he was taking biology. You joined the conversation upon hearing that. “You said back then that you wanted to be a surgeon, right?”

With a shy smile, he nodded, and at that moment you felt a rush of awe for your childhood friend. Your parents seemed to have reacted the same way seeing as he was growing a little more embarrassed. It was amazing how he held on to the same dream he held since he was a kid— the amount of passion and dedication he must have for it. You on the other hand—

“What about you, Y/N?”

You jumped at the sudden subject switch. “Oh, I’m—” a pause in your statement. “I’m… taking an arts course.”

“Wow! As expected, Y/N is as cool as always,” he doted, which caused you to flush.

“It’s— it’s not really that amazing, it’s just the only thing I’m kinda good at so—”

“No, no, no. Y/N, you shouldn’t say that,” he scolded, clicking his tongue while his hands remained on the wheel. Your mother was beside you yet he was the one doing the mom nagging. “Who is that again? Bob Ross? Leonardo DiCaprio? You’re gonna be much much much better than them someday, I just know it! I have something called Nana vision, you know.”

You stifled a quiet laugh, not having the heart to correct him that it was not DiCaprio. “Does your Nana vision also see that we’re already almost at the complex?”

“Oh!”

At your words, Jaemin’s attention was now a hundred percent back on driving, profusely apologizing for getting distracted. You could see his ears slightly reddening from your seat which lasted until the end of the drive. Jaemin helped your family carry everything to your apartment on the eighth floor, even volunteering to help you unpack. Your mother firmly declined, however, insisting him to take a rest after all his help, but she did invite him and his parents over for dinner tomorrow. A little reunion of sorts.

“Six in the evening, right?”

“Yes. You should head back home now, Jaemin. Thank you for everything.”

He shot a bright smile before readying to march outside. “We’ll be here by five!”

She laughed at him, shaking her head, and proceeded to look for you inside the mess of the living room. You were about to disappear inside your room, luggage in hand to unpack, but she quickly dragged you back by the ear. “Go see him out the door!” she whisper-yelled, and so you did. Fortunately, he was stopped by your father before he got to leave, so you took this opportunity to smoothly stride beside him as he slipped past the door when he said goodbye. The door clicked to a close. He raised a brow at you.

“Mother’s orders,” you answered.

“So you wouldn’t have gone out if she didn’t tell you to?” he huffed, pouting. “And I was really happy to see you, too. I think I might have to take that back.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing, and eventually you made it to the end of the hallway. “Too late. You can’t take back your happiness. It’s good to see you again, Jaemin.”

The both of you stopped right in front of the elevator, and you waited for him to depart, but he didn’t. He had his arms crossed over his chest, accompanied by an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite tell if it was hurt, disappointment, or offense. Probably all three. Definitely all three.

“What? are you putting up a wall between us? Don’t I mean anything to you anymore?” he groused, nose scrunching. “What happened to Jaems? Nana? Y/N, you’re seriously hurting me over here.”

Laughing at the way he was sticking his frown right into your face to prove his point, you playfully shoved him off, pushing him into the elevator after all of his complaints even though he was the one moving his feet, anyway. You missed him, that much you could conclude, therefore you decided to stop his whining just before the elevator doors came to a close.

“See you tomorrow, Nana.”

You grinned, not missing the way his eyes lit up in between the small gap. You really did miss him, and you were lucky enough to have him as a small memory to remind you that this place was indeed home.

Maybe it wasn’t just Jaemin that you had missed. The entire family was just a smack in the face of early childhood nostalgia that you nearly cried (thank god you didn’t) when Mrs. Na buried you into a bone crushing hug the moment she saw you when you opened the door. You were really happy to be back— even when you weren’t exactly sure before.

“Mom, I think you’re suffocating, Y/N,” Jaemin pointed out as he left his shoes in front of your doorstep, walking inside with his father following behind him.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just couldn’t believe that this is you!” she coddled, and somewhere in between Jaemin found himself beside you. “I think I have pictures of you two when you were younger, hold on—”

Mrs. Na was pushed forward by her husband as she dug through her phone for a decade old Facebook posts of you and Jaemin (you hoped she wouldn’t remember you had an entire album). The older man ruffled your hair as he passed by with a fond smile, disappearing into the dining table where your parents were preparing and leaving you and Jaemin behind.

He was looking at you. Questionably so.

“What?”

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I didn’t get to hug you yesterday.”

Oh my god, you shook your head, grabbing the sleeve of his mint jacket and leading him to where your parents were to help. “You’ll have more opportunities, you loser. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Jaemin was speechless for a moment as he let you drag him along, but a happy smile broke through and he matched your steps halfway.

“Yeah,” he agreed. You weren’t going anywhere.

Dinner followed the usual sequence of events: reminiscing about the past, asking both parties what they have been up to, and of course talks about the future. During the meal, Jaemin asked when your classes were starting (next week), and he proposed his promised tour to be held this Tuesday— two days from now— because he didn’t have a lot of classes that day. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, neither did your parents, so you ended up agreeing.

Unfortunately for you, your mother pulled out the ancient photo album of the past right after dinner, and the stark contrast between yours and Jaemin’s reactions were also album worthy. By the end of it, you were sure that smoke was emitting from your ears because your good friend had an affinity with screaming over how cute you were, even going as far as stealing one of your baby pictures right before they decided to make their leave.

“Ah, ah,” he pulled the photo away the moment he sensed your attempt of theft. You two were standing right in front of the open door, his parents already having left ahead. “I’m keeping this. You look so cute here.”

“How am I so sure you won’t blackmail me with that!”

An offended gasp. “I would never,” he took out his phone, inserting your picture inside his colored phone case with you watching his every move. “It’s for me to see only, so you don’t need to worry.”

You looked at him. Then to the phone that he was holding up with a confident smile. You let out a sigh.

“Fine,” you begrudgingly relented, and he waddled over to you with a big smile on his face to envelop you into a hug. He smells nice, you thought, reciprocating the embrace. Wait, isn’t this my perfume? That would explain what he was doing inside your room earlier. You could only sigh inwardly let him keep on hugging you. He was whining about it earlier, after all.

It lasted long, maybe a bit too long because his dad came back to fetch him.

“Mhm, you can trust me with anything, Y/N,” Jaemin mumbled before finally pulling away, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he did. “Anyway, before I go— should we exchange phone numbers?”

Tuesday came by, and you were met with two realizations. Both of which made you feel very very small in comparison.

One, NCT U was really freaking big.

Two, Na Jaemin was really freaking popular.

Granted, he had only shown you around the STEM department, but with every turn that you took and every hallway that you passed through, there was least one person that stopped by to say hi to him. Even some of the teachers were close with him. You should have expected it considering he was literally nice, smart, handsome, and everything you could ever ask for, but it still made him feel just a tiny bit out of reach.

“Are you feeling tired?” he asked, breaking away from a conversation with a senior. He put a hand over your shoulder with concern that reflected in his eyes. “We can take a break around the benches if you want.”

“Yeah, sure. After you—”

“I’ll talk to you later, hyung. See you around.”

Jaemin waved off his older friend, Yuta, you had overheard, and proceeded to lead you to the aforementioned area on the ground floor before stopping by a vending machine to get some drinks. You pressed your lips together, feet shuffling as you waited behind him, and then you finally decided to speak. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, slotting in a few coins into the machine.

“You— you with your friend,” you fumbled, trying your best to speak your mind, but how were you supposed to say ‘cut your conversation short with your friend because of me’ without seeming like a total headass? You could have waited until they were finished.

With a soft smile, he passed a canned, carbonated drink into your hands— lemon, you read— and took one for himself. He didn’t answer your incomprehensible question and decided to walk across the field leading to a bench area, but you were sure he got what you were trying to say. He simply chose not to answer. Or did he? Hell, you didn’t even know anymore. Annoyed, you decided to gulp down the drink in one go to distract yourself, even when the bubbles stung your throat. Jaemin stared at you in horror.

“Were you that thirsty? You should have told—”

“Na Jaemin!”

In sync, your heads snapped towards the direction of the ear-ripping screech, which was quite coincidentally where you two were headed. There were two boys sitting on a bench, one more on the table with a guitar. You assumed that it was one of them that screamed out your friend’s name— probably the one that was making eye contact with him before dramatically turning away with a butchered sob.

“Na Jaemin! Traitor of the brotherhood! I remember when he would still come running the moment I call his name but now— forgotten for dust! He doesn’t care about us anymore, Renjun. He even has a new—”

“What are you on about this time, Haechan?”

Haechan’s evidently fake sobbing stopped, pushing away the boy that he had just been crying into moments prior. “Oh you’re here,” he deadpanned.

It was almost horrific how three pairs of eyes immediately zeroed in on you as you meekly hid behind Jaemin, causing the hairs at the back of your neck to stand as if you were about to die in a fucking horror movie. You could tell from that alone that despite having many friends, these guys were probably his closest— whether it was better or worse, you had no idea. All of a sudden you were dawned with the intimidating task of trying to get them to like you, which was already way too out of reach because the one with the guitar was practically ripping you to shreds with his eyes alone.

“Please stop trying to scare, Y/N. Jeno, you might actually make her cry, stop that.”

“Whoops,” Jeno stopped his death staring. “Hyuck initiated it.”

“Actually it was Renjun, but whatever,” before Renjun could even bite back after being falsely accused, Haechan had already blocked him off and had directed his attention towards you, legs crossed and a critical gaze. “Fuck formalities. Y/N, right? Who are you and why are you trying to steal—”

“Alright, no more scare tactics. Y/N, there are my friends, Jeno, Haechan— or Donghyuck, whichever you prefer, he doesn’t mind— and Renjun. They’re just trying to mess with you, don’t worry. Friends, this Y/N L/N, my childhood friend for like four, five years before she left Korea and moved to LA.”

The term childhood friend lit a spark within the three boys, but before they could do or say anything dangerous that would jeopardize your relationship, Jaemin the ever popular boy was called out by a group of girls. He excused himself to leave for a moment, but not before apologizing to you a million times over (“If you’re really sorry,” Renjun chided before he ran off. “Treat us and Miss Y/N to Kun’s, yeah?”). He agreed without even hearing him properly, and now you were left with his three friends that felt more like three sharks that circled around you. They were fucking out for blood.

“So,” the moment Jaemin disappeared from the parameter, Haechan pulled you to the bench in between him and Renjun with a devilish grin. “Childhood friend, huh?”

Your eyes snapped over to Renjun who was on your right to ask for a way out of this, but the guy was busy filming the entire thing on his phone. Why did Jaemin leave you behind? You had no chance of escaping. Haechan locked you down by swinging his arm around your neck just as you were about to stand. He signalled at his friend who was sitting on the table. “Jeno, drop the beat.”

There was a moment of miscommunication in between because instead of dropping the beat like Haechan asked, Jeno started strumming a sickeningly sweet tune on his guitar. Or maybe that was what he intended. Either way, Haechan was flexible enough to go along with it.

“You know what they say about childhood friends,” another strum. Haechan sang. Was this a fucking oration? “You either end up forgetting each other, hating each other, or you end up toge—”

“That is not—”

“Hush!” he silenced. Renjun was losing it at the side. So was Jeno, because the guitar tune was long replaced by fits of strangled laughter. “It is, clueless Y/N. It is. How many childhood friends have you met that stayed as childhood friends? None, I assume. I’m never wrong, you see.”

“Weren’t you and Mark childhood friends, too—”

“Shut the fuck up, Huang. This isn’t about me. Y/N, listen.”

Grabbing your shoulders, Haechan pulled you away from Renjun, the sudden movement nearly giving you a whiplash.

“From my expert calculations, you and Jaemin are undeniably going down route three, but the both of you are moving at an agonizingly slow pace, correct?” you stared at him, wide eyed, and he was staring right back. “Correct! Now, in order to speed things up a bit, all you have to do is follow Hyuck’s five step guide on How To Trap Your Childhood Friend Into—”

“Isn’t this the same guide that ruined your—”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

The two ended up quarrelling and you ended up being forgotten. You weren’t sure whether to be thankful or be offended. Jeno shot you a look of remorse on behalf of his friends, bringing you to the conclusion that this must have been a normal occurrence. Your eyes shot towards the sky, clouds covering the sun just enough so you wouldn’t be blinded, ears picking up the argument occuring that went back and forth on both of your sides. They’re a lively bunch, you breathed out, a subtle smile on your face.

Eventually Jaemin showed his face again, jogging over to your group and you greeted him with a beaming grin. “You guys seem to be getting along,” he said the moment he stopped before you.

“Oh, Romeo returns,” Renjun decided to stop picking a fight with Haechan. “Where’d you get dragged off to this time?”

There was silence, all four sets of eyes heavily sparked with curiosity as you waited for Jaemin’s response, but the boy was rather hesitant. “Well—” he fumbled, a faint baby pink blush powdering his cheeks. Sheepish, he continued. “Someone confessed to me.”

The first person that reacted was Jeno, who released a loud snort and scooted a little more forward. “Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” Jaemin indignantly refuted as he continued to be teased by the other two boys, the remaining uncharacteristically not joining in. At that very moment you could feel Haechan looking at you, a gaze that you couldn’t quite put a finger on but it was enough to shoot him a glare back.

“Who was it? Is she pretty?” you chose to ignore the annoying male beside you and decide to focus all of your interest and attention on Jaemin instead.

“Jiah,” he mindlessly answered, pushing Haechan to the side so he could sit next to you. “From nursing? I think?”

“Dude,” you turned your head to Renjun. “Kang Jiah? Holy shit, that’s crazy.”

Noticing the lost look in your eyes, Renjun proceeded to explain that not only was the alluded Kang Jiah arguably the prettiest in her department, she was at the top of her class too. You didn’t understand which part about that was crazy because for you, that was exactly the kind of person that Jaemin was destined to end up with. You wouldn’t be surprised if they do become a thing— well, there was only one way to find the answer to that.

“Well, what did you say? You said yes right?” you asked him, looking forward to his answer.

“Oh,” he shrugged. “I turned her down.”

What?

“Of course,” Renjun scoffed, shaking head with his arms crossed. “Only you would turn someone like Jiah down. At this rate you’ll end up dying an old hermit.”

“You have a crush on her or something?”

“Pff— no? I just think she’s pretty,”

“You’re not fooling anyone, dumbass. Come over here, I’m gonna squeeze it out of you—”

While the two quarrelled again in the middle of the field with Jeno being the one filming this time, you remained frozen in your seat, somewhat surprised. Huh, you blinked, wanting to ask him why he turned her down but frankly it was none of your business. You turned your head to face him. “Wow, I didn’t expect you to turn into such a heartbreaker, Jaems.”

He clicked his tongue, face scrunched into a bitter look of disapproval as reached out to mess up your hair. “Stop thinking weird thoughts,” he scolded. “Instead, why don’t I finally take you to the art building?”

Your eyes immediately lit up after the mention, and he stifled a laugh at your reaction, patting your head once more before sneaking off without the other three’s knowledge.

Jaemin’s tour of the whole campus actually deemed to be pretty useful because after three whole weeks of going to NCT U, you’d only gotten lost seven times— pretty remarkable if you do say so yourself. Within those three weeks, you had actually expected that your old childhood friend would leave you off on your own once you got used to everything, but no. He tried his best to meet you in between classes even though your buildings were nowhere near each other, and the times when he couldn’t, he’d never failed to call or text you. “I promised your parents!” he reasoned, but you weren’t sure if that promise included asking you if you’ve eaten breakfast every morning.

“Breakfast?”

You repeated into the phone as you and your recently made friend Soorim walked to your Visual Studies class. You’d met her during your first week and the both of you immediately hit off. It was nice to have someone else other than Jaemin and his friends, but of course you appreciated their company, too.

“I, uh, actually haven’t eaten— no wait! Before you nag me, I have a valid excuse, okay!” Soorim gave you a sidelong glance, curious and suspicious over your loud phone call so she tried to lean her ear closer to the device but you quickly evaded without even looking at her. “Listen, I was in a hurry to school! I actually planned on grabbing a bite on the way but I… forgot my wallet because again, I was in a hurry and— no, shut up, you don’t have the right to scold me for this, too! You literally left your report at home yesterday and I had to walk all the way back to save your butt so you’re no better, Mr. Na.”

Without even realizing, you were already in front of the doors to your classroom, and so you hurried a goodbye to Jaemin just before you and Soorim took your seats at the near back.

“Alright, I’m in the classroom now. See you later. Yes, I’ll eat after, yes, I promise to double check my wallet from now on. Bye.”

The moment you settled on your seat, setting your phone and backpack aside, Soorim swiveled her chair to face you, legs crossed, hands resting with poise on her thigh, and she batted her eyelashes expectantly. You ignored her, twisting open your water bottle because it was the only thing you had that could somewhat silence your crying stomach.

“So,” she started anyway. The bottle opening was hovering over your lips. You narrowed your eyes at her. What the fuck was she doing. “When are you introducing me to your boyfriend?”

You choked while drinking.

“Boy— what,” with a grimace, you ripped away the bottle from your face, slamming it down on the table. You looked at your friend in disgust. “If I had one I wouldn’t be hanging out with you.”

Soorim rolled her eyes, sneering at you. She held up her hand to the side of her face, all fingers closed except for her pinky and her thumb, shaking it a little. You sighed.

“He’s a friend.”

“The same friend that kept on calling you during our night out because he was worried?”

“Yes, well,” your sweat dropped. “He’s just like that, you know?”

“Sure,” she scrunched her nose, haphazardly throwing her giant notebook on the table. There was a brief moment of quiet that overtook because Soorim decided to stop egging on you as you waited for your professor, but that quiet only lasted for a while. She nudged you, and you looked up from your desk. “Oh, look who's coming.”

Huang Renjun sauntered in with an expression not fitting for a “good morning” greeting, so you chose to remain silent and simply stare at him in judgment as he settled right before you and Soorim, plastic bag in hand and binder in the other. What shat in his coffee this early in the morning?

“This is all your fault,” with a grunt, he dropped the bag filled with all sorts of food and snacks right in front of you, immediately pulling out a chair and sitting his ass onto it after. “My plans of turning up late are ruined because of you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, picking out a small container of strawberry milk from the bunch. How was this your fault? Furthermore, what exactly was all of this?

“Ooh, you making moves on Y/N, Huang?” Soorim, on the other hand, was digging into the rest of the goods, stealing a bun filled with red bean paste with a happy smile.

“Ew, as if.”

Renjun fake gagged, earning a look of offense from you which he completely ignored and disregarded. He took a box of pepero from the pile, shooting you a smug look before adding.

“It’s from Nana.”

(“You’re at school already? It’s very early. You’ve eaten breakfast, right?”

At a convenience store nearby the school, Jaemin and Renjun decided to eat their first meal there. Though, it appeared that the latter was the only one doing all the eating because his friend seemed to be far too preoccupied with his conversation on the phone to even notice that he took some of his sushi right in front of his face. Renjun silently chewed as he watched the colors on his friend’s face change at each sentence.

“Aish, it’s the most important meal of the day for a reason. How many times do I have to tell you—”

Another piece of sushi stolen. He wondered how far he could get away with it.

“Y/N, I—”

Jaemin let out a long sigh, causing Renjun to drop the food back onto the plate, retracting his chopsticks back to his own food— a bowl of ramen noodles that he had still yet to finish. He discreetly slurped it down as if he hadn’t been stealing since earlier. He was sure that Jaemin noticed though, but knowing his friend, he probably just let him. Renjun noticed the small pout on Jaemin, eliciting his curiosity.

“Okay,” he’s whining, Renjun concluded. “See you later.”

The moment Jaemin shut off his phone, Renjun expected him to say something, to air out why the fuck he was being all that this early in the morning, maybe even tell him what the call was about like a friend would, but no. Instead, Jaemin promptly stood up from his seat, disappeared into the limited selection of isles in the store, basket in hand, and started throwing a mountain full of food with a scrunched out, concentrated expression. Renjun had his mouth hanging open, brows knitted together, and wondering what in the ever loving fuck was going on with his friend as he stared at him pay for everything at the counter.

He sat back, eyeing Jaemin as he returned in front of him, who placed the full bag on top of the table as he took a seat.

“The hell?” a particular carton caught Renjun’s eye, and he immediately fished for it in primal disbelief. “Strawberry milk? You literally hate strawberries and milk separately yet you’re buying them combined? Are you sick?”

Jaemin did not answer. In fact, he dismissed the question completely with a smile, deciding to ask one of his own.

“It’s almost time for your first class, right? Visual Studies?”

At that point it hit him— the call, the food, the stupid behavior of his friend. It was completely obvious.

“Oh,” Renjun dropped the drink back onto the table. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking whipped.”)

“Shut up.”

After hearing Renjun’s story, you couldn’t look at all the multicolored snacks laid in front of you without heating up a million degrees anymore. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

“You’re just messing with me, shut up.”

Renjun scoffed. “Why would I even make up something so stupid? C’mon, Y/N. You know I’m way better than that.”

You couldn’t argue that this wasn’t something Jaemin would do. No, because this was exactly something sickly sweet Jaemin would do and your sad attempt of denial was simply because your heart might actually run away if you admit it to yourself. And as if to give you more assurance or to fluster you even further, your phone vibrated, causing you to jump in your seat. Before either of the two’s nosiness could take a peek, you quickly snatched your phone, leaning your chair all the way back to read the message.

[<nana3: never skip breakfast okok?!? u don’t have your wallet right? wait for me in front of the bio building later. let’s eat lunch together 🥰💚]

Dear lord Jesus, have mercy on your soul. Renjun took your squeak as a sign of victory.

“Wait a minute,” Soorim looked at you wide in a sudden moment of epiphany. “Nana as in Na Jaemin? The fucking Na Jaemin? Is he the friend you’ve been mentioning? The guy you were calling and bought all this? Holy fuck, Y/N—!”

Your body moved before you could think and you thanked god that your professor wasn’t here yet because you would have caught the entire class’ attention when you leaped forward to slap your hands over Soorim’s mouth.

Renjun’s excessive giggling brought you back to reality, pulling your hands off of her with a gasp and an apology. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck, why did you do that?”

“I don’t know, it felt like you were about to say something stupid!”

She gave a look, half done and half amazed at your willpower. You’d never been this fired up for anything. “Is it stupid to say that one of the hottest guys on campus is literally—”

“Stupid!” another slap on her mouth. Renjun was about to fall off his chair laughing. “You were going to say something stupid. Please don’t even think about finishing that.”

Lucky for you, your professor had finally come in. Unlucky for you, Soorim shot you the signature dirty stare which meant that you wouldn’t be let off that easily. How fun.

Class went on quiet and boring as usual— you’d never been one for technicalities, preferring heading straight into the creative process with nothing but inspiration coursing through your veins, so your professor’s voice was nothing but white noise running in the background as you busied yourself with your thoughts. Your eyes flickered to the floor, cheek resting on your palm, and you gazed down to the plastic back beside your backpack. Twirling your pencil between your fingers, you pulled out a scrap piece of paper, every move that you made triggered by nothing except the abstract flow of your mind.

There was only one person you were thinking of. The same person living inside your head the moment you stepped foot back into Korea, the same person that made you feel as if you were someone special out of all the eight billion people in the world, the same person that bought you three persons worth of food because he didn’t want you skipping breakfast, the same person that felt more like a dream than anything.

Mindlessly, you started sketching the face of your childhood friend, filling in all the details of his face that you could see whenever you closed your eyes, up until the bell rang that signalled the end of the class.

“Y/N! Your father and I are leaving, now!”

“There’s extra money on top of the fridge if you want to eat out.”

Saturday evening. Your parents decided to go out on a well-deserved date that night, leaving you alone inside your apartment. You saw them out the door, locking it up once they left, and as you pressed your back against the white washed wooden door, your eyes darted over to the clock hanging on your living room wall. Six-twenty-three. There were still a few hours until closing.

An art exhibition was to be held on the same evening, and this was the last day that the actual artist was going to be there. Free and you got to meet world renowned artist Ten Lee? You’d be insane not to go. Though, as you made your way into your room to change out of your raggedy old sweatpants and Jaemin’s (stolen) mint hoodie, you’d come to a realization that maybe the venue was too far for you to just walk. Your parents were using the car and it wasn’t like you could drive anyway. You could commute, but there was a better idea in your system.

Opening your phone, a smile involuntarily tugged at the corners of your mouth as you pressed the contact number that seemed to have never left your recents.

[you: nana! are you free rn? there’s an art exhibition out of town! i need a ride :p and you need some time off your studies too bcs i noticed youve been more tired than usual so good idea i think yes hehe]

As usual, he took no more than a minute to reply. But after lighting up when you saw his name flash on your screen, you bit down your bottom lip to prevent a frown from forming.

[<nana3: TT i’m attending a seminar for an org rn y/nie huhu i don’t know what time it’s ending so i’m not sure if i can make it 😫😭]

[you: it’s okay!! jhfdj sorry for disturbing u!! please listen well to the speaker hehe and tell me how it went]

[<nana3: i’m so sorry]

It was difficult to pinpoint how you exactly felt.

You chewed the inside of your mouth, staring at the phone screen. He shouldn’t be apologizing.

After shutting your closet door down to a close, you fell face down onto your bed, your phone thrown over to the side. Yes, you were disappointed, but it wasn’t what weighed you down; the actual reason feeling like a disgusting, throbbing feeling writhing underneath your skin after being suppressed for awhile now. It never left your system the moment you'd arrived, the moment he showed you what his life was like, making you realize the stark difference between you and him.

You couldn’t care less about the exhibition now. In fact, fuck that entire plan entirely. As you were loitering, fooling around, planning on going to pointless events that wouldn’t be of benefit to your future, Jaemin was there, making connections and decisions and taking a step further into life.

It made you wonder what exactly had you been doing these past seven years— what haven’t you been doing, what you should be doing. You were ashamed to admit it, but it plagued the back of your mind since you got here.

Jaemin was far too out of reach.

It made the wrench in your gut worse whenever he made an effort to not make you feel that way. He’d always include you whenever he’d be with his other friends, always made sure that you didn’t feel left out since you came here, whether it be by his little cute texts even though you were in the same room just to make you smile, or by giving you all of his attention despite the many people vying for his. God, you didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve to like him.

What did you deserve?

Just then, there was a knock on your front door, followed by a buzz from your phone.

[<nana3: open the door!]

And you did, scrambling out of your bed and nearly tripping over your feet as you ran just to swing it open. Jaemin stood before you with his hair tousled by the wind, a purple and orange varsity jacket covering his frame. He greeted you with brightened eyes.

“I thought you had—”

“I left early,” he smiled at you, walking inside. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? Hurry, I’ll wait here.”

You blinked at him as he passed you by to sit on your couch, unable to understand what led him to such a decision, staring as he stretched his arms over his head with a yaw. He shouldn’t have come here. “Jaemin, it’s just an exhibition, it’s not as important as your seminar.”

He raised a brow at you, stealing a pillow into his lap. “But you want to go, right?”

“Well…” you did want to go, even after your small episode earlier. “Yeah, but—”

“Then it’s more important.”

He smiled at you. You cursed at yourself for letting your heart dither.

“Besides, you actually think I’d let you go out alone this late at night?” Jaemin stood up from the sofa, resting his hand on top of your head with an affectionate gaze. “You should go change. Or maybe not. You look good in my clothes, anyway.”

It was cold outside, so Jaemin made sure that you were wearing enough layers so that you won’t get sick, forcing you back inside when he deemed that you weren’t covered enough.

“Jaem, I’m fucking sweating.”

You huffed as you lugged yourself to the front seat, but your padded winter coat was preventing you from making a smooth landing inside.

“Sweating is a good sign! That means you’re healthy,” noticing your struggle, Jaemin relented to leaving the coat at the back of the car, but keeping it there just in case. He got in after you, starting the car and turning on the radio for some background noise. “Reconnaissance Gallery Right? What’s the name of the show?”

“Mono,” you replied. “It’s by Ten Lee.”

“Oh! I remember you talking about him once,” he exclaimed. “We should hurry then.”

It was a generally quiet car ride, but the silence was welcomed. After asking where you wanted to eat dinner once you were done with the exhibit, Jaemin didn’t talk anymore. Your eyes followed the moving lights that were lit up all around the night scene, and from time to time they flickered over to admire the boy beside you who seemed to be far too engrossed with his driving. An unconscious smile grew, warmth fluttering inside. You were lucky enough to meet him again in this lifetime, even after being set apart for so long.

“Something wrong?”

He asked without looking. He must have noticed you staring.

“No,” you replied with a soft voice. “Just remembered how baby-faced you were back then.”

With a laugh, he shook his head, one hand stretched out to the steering wheel. “You’re one to talk. Alright, I think we’re here.”

You felt a rush the moment you went past the glass doors, met by a relatively large interior with walls painted either black or white and lined with numerous paintings that contrasted the wall they were hung on. With a large grin, you quickly tugged Jaemin’s arm deeper into the venue, your footsteps making hollow echoes inside the place. He was taken aback by your sudden action, heart racing when he felt your grip on him, never slowing down even when you stopped in front of one of the larger works in the exhibit. “Oh my gosh, I love this painting— wait let me take a picture.”

As you fumbled with your phone, Jaemin couldn’t help but stare at you as if you were a part of the exhibit itself. There were more people inside, yet he didn’t even notice them; paintings as pretty as the night sky, yet it was you that he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Your phone camera captured it with an audible click, and he took it as a signal to scramble and take his out too.

Click!

“The painting’s really pretty, right?”

He nodded at you. “Yeah,” it wasn’t the painting that he wanted to capture. He dug his phone back into his pocket after sneaking a brief glance at your excited grin behind the screen. It wasn’t every day that you smiled like this since you were usually reserved. He didn’t want to miss saving a memory. “You wanna walk around more?”

At his suggestion, you and Jaemin decided to move deeper into the exhibit. You knew he wasn’t that knowledgeable about art, but he still listened intently whenever you told him something about the strokes and composition of some of the works displayed. You hadn’t run into Ten Lee yet even after an hour of walking around and taking pictures, but you didn’t mind at all. Jaemin froze in front of a certain painting— the visage of what seemed to be a face formed together by different objects, drawn in a style similar to the rest with the black and white motif, graffiti-esque structure, and the overall whimsical and abstract feel to it. There was a smile on his face, you wondered what he was thinking about.

“One day, it’s gonna be your paintings that will be displayed here. You promise you won’t forget about me when that happens, okay?" he started, turning his attention to you. “You should also paint a portrait dedicated to me," he joked, nudging you a little.

You smiled at him. Jaemin noticed that this wasn’t your usual smile, but he chose to not say anything. “Okay,” you breathed out before looking down seconds before he could see your expression melt away. How was he thinking so highly of you when it was him who was too far to reach?

He was about to ask— he didn’t know what to ask— but he would say whatever just to erase whatever was bothering your peace of mind. But he wasn’t able to. In fact, just as he lifted a hand to rest over your shoulder as an act of comfort, your head shot up, turning to face the sudden eruption of a commotion that Jaemin had failed to notice in his worry for you.

“Holy crap,” you gasped. “Is that—”

Ten Lee, just a few feet away from you with cameras and crowd surrounding him. You wasted no time to run to him, grabbing Jaemin’s hand in a flash to drag him behind. His eyes softened upon seeing the excited bounce of your hair as you ran. At least your spirits were brought back up again.

Jaemin watched as you nervously fiddled with the hem of your jacket as you waited for an opening to talk to the famous artist, how you would stand on your toes to peek above the small crowd and stand back down again after feeling too shy. Eventually the crowd dissipated to only around four or five people. This was your chance. You looked at him Jaemin. He nudged you with his shoulder. ‘Go,’ he mouthed. You pressed your lips together before finally deciding to march up to the artist. He didn’t realize you have been holding his hands until you let go.

“A-ah, hi!”

He followed after you in case you were feeling too nervous, but he was relieved to see that Ten Lee was pretty down to earth and easy going for someone famous. He stayed a few steps behind you as he listened to the ongoing conversation.

“I can’t tell you enough how much I adore your works. Especially, Monarch! I took a picture of it earlier and it’s so much more captivating in person,” you said, watching as Ten signed your phone case. “Actually, I—I look up to you a lot as an artist. A few of my paintings were actually inspired by your style, but of course it— it would be an insult to compare.”

“You shouldn’t compare,” he scolded, adding in a little sermon about your art is yours and that it should stand alone as your own. He handed your phone back, a smile on his face. “Can I see?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. In a flustered rush, you quickly scrolled through your gallery folders to find the specific paintings you were referring to, and Jaemin, out of curiosity, hovered over your shoulders to see as well. As you passed through your works with your friend’s mouth hanging open in awe (he wanted to gush about them, but figured this wasn’t formally appropriate), his eyes caught a glimpse of an image that you quickly swiped past— far too glaring too miss because he was sure that it looked something like his face. It was a different kind of pride that he felt when he saw that.

Ten’s eyes flickered as he saw through your paintings, something formulating within even after you hid your phone. He looked at you, grabbing your hands without any warning which caused you to squeak. “Y/N, right?” you nodded, wide eyed. “You know, I’m hosting an online gallery within the upcoming weeks. It’s for young, aspiring artists like you to be recognized at a larger scale.”

Hold on, you tried to catch on to what he was saying. Was he—

“Are you interested?”

—serious? Was he actually serious? It looked like he was because when he let go of you, a business card suddenly materialized in your hands. Holy shit.

“Think about it, okay? Just email me your portfolio and everything. Who knows, what if you get recognized and scouted after this?”

He winked at you, shooting you a thumbs up. This had to be a dream. You were still trying to process the piece of fucking paper that you were holding and now all of a sudden Ten came in between you and Jaemin, swinging his arms around your neck and giving you a pat on the back

“Anyhow, thanks to the both of you for coming to my show. And Y/N—” he looked at you with a grin. “Looking forward to your more of your works.”

Ten disappeared off with two other people, their footsteps clacking against the cold, tiled floor. You stared at the card in your hands for a few moments— Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, it wrote— before snapping your eyes back to Jaemin who was wearing a far too large smile. “Oh my god.”

Jaemin wasted no time in drowning you into a hug, knocking the air out of your lungs when he nearly toppled you onto the ground.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft in comparison to the roughness of his actions, sweetly fluttering into your ears as he rocked you left and right with his squeezing embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

His words nearly broke you down to tears.

“This calls for a celebration, right?” he pulled away, hand automatically falling to hold onto yours as he led you to the gallery’s exit. “My treat! I know a place nearby, we should eat an entire feast!”

“Nana, you already treated me to lunch last time, I can’t just—”

“No, no no! I’m treating you, okay? This is your achievement so I should congratulate properly.”

There was no point arguing with him when he already had his mind set, but even during your drive to a nearby barbecue place, even when you were already halfway with the meal, you kept on insisting that you’d pay him back for all of this someday. He’d only laugh it off, telling you that he doesn’t mind as long as you’re enjoying yourself. You downed a shot of soju after hearing that, hoping that it would make you forget momentarily about how fast your heart was beating.

Somehow the clock eventually struck nine, and rather than going home, the both of you took an impulsive detour to a nearby public beach. The sounds of waves crashing against the solemn quiet of the night was heard as you neared the area, bringing you to a moment of peace.

Instead of going to the sandy shore, you two decided to take a spot on the beach cliff right above the rolling water. “Be careful,” Jaemin whispered from behind as he guided you along the rocky surface, heating up from the way he was so, so close with his hands steady on your back. You two sat side by side on the cliff, underneath the veil of stars, with the ocean right in front of you.

“Are your parents okay with you staying out this late?” he cocked his head to face you in a manner that was far too cute for you to suppress a giggle.

“Jaems, they’d probably allow me to disappear off to Italy as long as you’re with me.”

The both of you broke into laughter, but it was eventually replaced by the noises of the ocean. You breathed in the salty scent of the sea, folding your knees to your chest with your arms hugging them together. For a moment your eyes flickered over to Jaemin, and a chord was strung, tugging your heart towards him, but it was impossible for it to leap out of your chest so it only rattled against your ribcage desperately just like the waves. You stared at the way his dark hair melted into the night sky, the wind brushing it away, the way he had his legs stretched out freely over the rocks while you squeezed yourself as small as you could get, and lastly, the way he flashed over to look at the exact moment that you wanted him to.

If there was such a thing as a perfect instance where the stars of the night sky aligned, it would be this.

“You know,” you started, letting your arms fall to your sides as you looked over to the distance. “I envy you sometimes.”

Jaemin was taken aback by your confession.

“I also admire you,” you pressed your lips together tightly, forming it into a smile. “A lot. I admire you a lot. To the point that it made me feel like you’re living in a completely different world from me and that I wasn’t deserving of you.”

You’d finally mustered up the courage to tell him everything you’d pent up during your first month back here— it was better than just letting it fester into something worse, even if there was a risk of completely ruining your friendship. It was better than playing pretend.

“We’re both only a year apart but it seems like you have your life all tied together while I’m still barely able to walk on my own two feet. I wouldn’t even have been able to go to the exhibit if it weren’t for you,” you crossed your legs, a mirthless laugh slipping past your lips as the wind brushed against your cheeks .“I don’t… want to seem ungrateful for everything you’ve done or make you feel bad or anything, because Jaemin—”

You turned around, looking at him.

“If I had the choice to stay back then, I would have gladly chosen to spend those seven years together with you.”

Jaemin stared at you, speechless, unblinking. He had a gut feeling that there was something bothering you all this time, but he never had thought that it would be this.

“But the feeling of seeing you again after all this time is a feeling that I wouldn’t trade for the world either,” you hummed, looking down as you traced the creases of the rocky ground with your fingers, a shaky breath slipping past you. “If only… I wasn’t just so insecure then maybe everything would be perfect.”

For a moment there was nothing— only the lulling sounds of the sea that became quieter after you laid your heart out to the ground. The next moment, Jaemin spoke up.

“I got into an accident four years ago.”

You shot up in a single instant.

Jaemin laughed a little, bringing his hand to the crown of your head in assurance. “I had a herniated disc which got worse during a dance camp. It was definitely scary, how it seemed like I was in a standstill for two years while everyone else carried on with their lives,” he continued, letting his hand drop once more right beside yours. “It’s hard to get out of that hopeless mentality. It takes small steps, but once you do, things will eventually start looking up.”

He shot you a smile, eyes twinkling under the light of the moon. You couldn’t help but put your head down after hearing everything.

“I understand how and why you’re feeling that way, don’t worry I’m not upset. You don’t think I am, right?” he caught you sniffling, leaning forward to take a look at your face but you kept on turning away. “Y/N— Y/N, look at me, okay? I’ll be your personal cheerleader from now on, yeah? Up until you realize that you’re actually greater than you think you are.”

He was too good to you.

“I’m— I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you were having a tough time.”

You silently muttered, meekly sneaking a glance at him to see that he was actually smiling at you this entire time. He’d always been like this.

“It’s alright, you didn’t have a choice, right?” he assured. “And I’m all better now, as you can see. I can even jump off the cliff into the ocean without having a single scratch!”

Right, you managed a laugh from his silly proclamation. He lit up upon hearing you. Maybe you can try to be like that too.

“What’s important is that from now on.”

There had been a gap between the two of you that entire time, but Jaemin bridged it the moment his hand brushed against your skin, his pinky interlocking with yours against the coarse ground. You met his eyes. He shot you a smile. That same smile that you could never get enough of.

“You’ll be with me.”

“Jaemin, please put your shirt back on.”

When you walked back into the living room, easel and canvas in your arms, you did not expect to be met with your childhood friend-slash-boyfriend mid-strip. In fact you were far too in shock that you dropped everything to the floor at that exact moment, only managing to utter those previous words once you were busy picking them all back up and not looking at him. He quickly ran to help you.

“Oh, I thought this was—” he passed you a paintbrush, helping you stand back up once you’ve gotten everything. “Aren’t the models for your classes usually, like, naked?”

“You think I was gonna paint you nude?!”

“Well,” he mused, holding his shirt to his bare chest. “If you want— okay, sorry! Shirt on! Shirt on!”

You settled down the easel that you just threatened to launch at him near the window where the afternoon sunlight was leaking through. A few days prior, you had contacted Ten Lee regarding the online exhibit, asking when the deadline was because you wanted to include one more piece in your portfolio.

“Nana, can you sit over here?”

There was a stool situated a few feet in front of the easel and right beside the window. He did as you said, now fully dressed and sitting properly and well behaved. You marched up to him, moving around his limbs into a specific pose. Jaemin wore a subtle smile as you grabbed his arms to a certain position, his shoulders into a certain angle, and when your fingers landed on his jaw to adjust his head, he just couldn’t help but throw all your work out the window by pulling you towards him by the waist.

“What are you—” a kiss fell on your nose. Jaemin shot you a cheeky smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help it.”

You weren’t inclined to do anything else but forgive him, even if it meant refixing him into position, but somehow you managed. Running back behind the easel, you wore a satisfied smile upon seeing the composition, flicking your wrist to start the initial sketch. There was music running in the background. Jaemin sat still for thirty whole minutes.

“Can I move for a sec?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you answered. “I got the basic shapes down anyway.”

He let out an amazed gasp, lips forming into an ‘o’ shape. “So cool,” he said, and you let out a little laugh.

You were trying to focus, but in between a few strokes of your pencil, he wiggled his eyebrows when you looked at him again. You threw your head down to suppress a barrage of giggles. “Okay, this is— this is going nowhere. Can I just take a picture of you?”

Even taking a shot of him was difficult because he just wouldn’t sit still. He’d always do something to make you laugh or smile just when you were about to take a picture. You scolded him, telling him that all you needed was a few takes then the both of you can make a run for some popsicles at the nearby store. He straightened upon hearing, and you finally got to do the job.

“Do you have a title in mind for the piece?” he asked, just as you finished taking the last photo of his face up close.

You did have one. In fact, you’ve had it in mind for a while now.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling. “Mahiwaga.”

Haechan, for whatever suspicious reason, volunteered to treat you out to lunch today at a family restaurant near the uni. You did not know why, and he would not tell you why, but you could not pass up free food. You texted Soorim to follow just in case you needed mental support because as you sat across him, looking up from your phone while munching your fries to catch the terrifying stare he was giving you, you could tell that you needed at least one other person around.

[you: dude, i think hes actually planning on killing me please hurry up]

[soorim: omw babe]

[soorim: but ur paying for me right]

You sighed, telling her yes you already ordered her food, and she replied with an annoying heart that you refused to mark read. Just as you were about to shut off your phone, ready to hear whatever Haechan was brewing, another message was sent your way.

[<nana3: baby, i saw the exhibition!! 🤩 you know, you’re so amazing, you know?!?! nana is super super proud of you 🥺💚 and i’m sure your parents are, too!! i sent the link to all of my friends yesterday hehe. also i’ll call you immediately after my class, ok?? don’t forget to drink lots of water today 😚 byebye! 💚]

“Are you two fucking yet?”

Haechan’s question caused you to choke on your fries, dropping your phone to the table so you can reach for the glass of Sprite. You looked at him, appalled. “I’m sorry?”

“What are we talking about?”

Soorim had belatedly joined in the party, pushing you farther into the seat to make room for herself. Her eyes zeroed in on the table, choosing the giant burger to attack first. You scrunched your nose as you looked at her.

“We—”

“Whether Y/N and Jaemin have done the dirty yet,” Haechan interrupted. You looked at him in offense and horror. He reciprocated with a deadpan stare. “You have, haven’t you? I went to Jaemin’s house at four in the morning yesterday and—”

“Why were you at his house at four?!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You looked at him in disbelief, scoffing, and you looked over to Soorim with the words ‘can you believe this guy?’ ready to fire from your tongue. You could not say it. Not when Soorim looked absolutely compelled by Haechan’s bullshit allegations. She even stopped scarfing down her food. You made a mistake in calling her up here.

“What matters is that he looked absolutely fucked out absolutely naked, but not only that!” a scrunchie. He pulled out a scrunchie from his backpack. That was yours. Even had your hair on it. “This is yours isn’t it? I’ve caught you red handed, Y/N, now answer me—”

Haechan’s eyes were out to kill.

“You wrapped it, right? I’m too young to be called Uncle Hyuck so please tell me you did.”

“We are not—”

“That explains why you were walking all weird yesterday!” Soorim exclaimed. “Y/N, you know you could tell me these things, right? There is no—”

“We are not fucking!”

This wasn’t the best conversation to have at a family restaurant.

A waiter stopped serving the table next to you, it’s occupants (that included three kids and their parents) froze and looked at you in horror. An innocent passerby spilled his drink on his tray. You sharply inhaled, bowing your head apologetically. Thank god there weren’t any managers here— the three of you might have actually gotten kicked out.

With a cough, you collected yourself, giving both of your companions the stink eye for putting you in such a compromising position. “Can I not sleep at my boyfriend’s place without— without doing anything of that sort?” you huffed, ignoring the red hot heat creeping up your neck. “And as a matter of fact, I was walking weird because I fell down the while lugging plywood up the stairs, so shut the fuck up.”

The two of them let out a shriek at the same time.

“Boyfriend?! And what— you fell off the fucking stairs?!”

“Did you do as I told you?! Did you follow Hyuck’s five step guide on How To Trap Your—”

“Quiet!”

You shushed the both of them before the three of you actually got kicked out.

“Yes, boyfriend. Yes, I fell off the stairs. No, I did not follow Hyuck’s guide to whatever,” you spitefully took a sip from your drink. “You never even told me what the hell that was.”

As Haechan started to further explain his guide with Soorim enthusiastically taking everything in, you were caught by the buzzing of your phone. The screen lit up. Someone sent you an e-mail— the sender you did not recognize at all. You wiped your fingers with some tissues on the table before taking the device, clicking on the notification immediately after.

“Right. After you tell him that you’re— hey! Y/N, are you even listening?”

You shot up. Haechan noticed the distraught look in your eyes. His brows furrowed together.

“What’s wrong?”

The following weekend, you went out and treated Jaemin to dinner at a fancy Chinese restaurant despite his many complaints. He was about to pay for everything again, but this time you were faster in stealing the check. Afterward, you stopped by a nearby hardware store to buy another two pieces of plywood. You’ve been painting a lot more frequently lately, and you’ve been experimenting more on larger scale works. It was fortunate that Jaemin was there to help you bring the large sheets of wood this time.

“There we go.”

Jaemin settled the wood resting upright against your living room wall, right beside a few stained cans of paint underneath layers of newspaper. You thanked him, smiling, and he ruffled the hair on your head.

“You should ask me whenever you need to do some heavy work alright? We don’t want a rerun of last time,” you cringed upon recalling. That wasn’t a pretty fall. “How are your legs? Have the bruises healed?”

“Almost. You don’t have to worry,” you assured him. He sighed in relief.

Dinner and a shopping trip weren’t the only reasons you called him out tonight. You had actually been meaning to tell him something within the past three days. Your parents knew, Haechan and Soorim found out during lunch last time, Renjun and Jeno might have already found out thanks to their loudmouthed friend. All that’s left was Jaemin. It was his reaction that would help you make the decision.

But why was it so difficult to start talking?

“I’m gonna head out now,” he hummed, pulling you into his chest. You bit down your lip, contemplating, and maybe he noticed your unease and hesitation, as if he could hear your unsaid thoughts, because he lightly pulled away to look at your face and spoke. “What is it? Do you wanna tell me something?”

Of course, you thought to yourself. He’d probably know you’re hungry before your stomach could even rumble.

You gently pried away his hands from your arms, a hollow smile directed to him. Concern flashed through his eyes, but he held back his tongue, waiting for you to say your mind instead.

“Yeah…” you started. “I— I do have something to tell you.”

That was what you said, but as the clock ticked a couple dozen times in the background, you still had yet to tell him. It wasn’t easy to tell him. Because you were afraid that the moment you opened your mouth to squeeze out a single word, you might not make it to finish the entire sentence. If it were him, this might have been easy. But you were not, so it took a little more effort on your part to let the words go.

Maybe you shouldn’t have looked him in the eye, because the moment you did, your eyes stung from the threat of tears and so you jerked your head to the side.

But you weren’t able to evade, because Jaemin decided to follow you. You turned away again, looking towards the unplugged television, but it was once again replaced by Jaemin’s dark brown eyes. Your eyes stung, your lips pressed together, and at that moment you couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous actions throwing your head down in the midst of it, but your laughter got choked up by the sudden streaming of tears that you had come unprompted.

Jaemin panicked.

“Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong? What is it?” he ducked down to reach your face, cupping your cheeks with his large hands as you wiped away your tears. “It’s okay, you can tell me, baby. I’ll listen to everything, okay?”

It took you a while to regain your voice, but Jaemin patiently waited with words of consolation. You couldn’t understand how one person could have this much goodwill and kindness in them.

Eventually your sniffling died down, and so you finally willed yourself to speak. “I— I joined Ten’s exhibition, right? And— and there was a possibility that other artists or institutions might be interested in the participants, right?”

“Mhm,” he replied, stroking the back of your head as you tightly gripped the front of his shirt. “Go on.”

“I— I got scouted? You know PIOA? In Paris? They— they offered me a full scholarship if I…” you paused for a moment, biting the inside of your mouth. “If I transfer there for the remaining months until my last year.”

Jaemin took a while to absorb it, silence flooding along with your occasional sniffles.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Ah, ah, baby look at me, look at me,” he grabbed your shoulders, frowning when he made contact with your red stained eyes. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, heart heavy from seeing you like this. It pained him to see you this way. “Why are you crying? Don’t you want to go?”

A beat of silence. You swallowed, speaking in a small, shaky voice.

“Do you want me to go?”

Another beat of silence.

“Of course! Can you imagine that out of all the people that joined that exhibit, they chose you! Your talent and hard work shouldn’t go to waste,” Jaemin inhaled sharply in between his speech, managing a smile for you to see. “I’m really proud of you, Y/N. An opportunity like this doesn’t come that easily.”

“Jaemin.”

You softly sounded, letting your head fall into his chest. He held you close, as if you were leaving at that instant.

“You know I was so happy when we got in touch again, when I came back to Korea. I know I don’t have a lot going on for me, but I could easily forget all of that because I’m with you,” once more, you felt the tears start to rise up again, but you tried your hardest to swallow them down. “It hasn’t even been that long since we got reunited and now you’re… you’re just telling me to leave you again miles, miles away as if it’s nothing.”

“It’s not like that, Y/N. It’s hard for me too, you know,” he muttered into your hair with a slight whine, his chin resting over your head. “But it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again, right? We managed for seven years, what’s two or three more?”

When he heard you stifle a laugh, laughing despite your sniveling, he couldn’t help but laugh along too. Once more and perhaps the last that night, he pulled away so he could look at the smile on your face, eyes still red and watery, and he pressed a warm kiss on your forehead.

“You have nothing to worry about, baby. We can visit each other during breaks and—” he breathed out, lips curling into a smile. “I’ll call you every day.”

Right, you wiped away your remaining tears, huffing out a brief, airy chuckle.

You looked at him, hopeful, earnest.

“Every day?”

You asked.

“Every day.”

He answered.

You were never going to get used to airports. They always carried a bitter, cold air that signified a goodbye that you were far too familiar with. Today was no different.

“Don’t forget to drink your vitamins alright? It’s a new environment so you might need some time to get used to it. Oh! And—”

“Dude, you’re worse than her actual mom.”

Jaemin shot a smile to your mother at the mention, who was waiting for your group to finish from a distance with your father. Your mother was to stay with you in Paris for a week until you got everything settled down while the four boys, Soorim, and your father decided to send you off today. Though, unlike your usual experiences with leaving and returning, today was much louder, more rowdy. It was a nice change— you only wished that it would last longer.

“It’s okay, I appreciate the concern,” you laughed. “Do I have to report back to you everything before I go to bed?”

“Well, if you can,” Jaemin mused, locking his pinky finger with yours and swinging your hand into the air from side to side. “Kidding, kidding. I trust you’ll take care of yourself there.”

A chorus of gagging noises broke out when you pulled his shirt, burying your face into his chest, prompting him to smile and wrap his arms around you. You drowned them out, though, only focusing on how warm he was despite the cold brushing of the wind, how he held you with so much gentleness that one would think he was afraid that he might break you.

It was funny how free you felt when you were trapped inside his embrace.

“How many times do I have to say goodbye to you at the fucking airport?” you grumbled, tears welling up again and so you wiped them away with your sweater sleeve. “Wait, why aren’t you crying. Aren’t you even at the very least sad that I’m gonna leave?”

Jaemin chuckled, replacing your hand with his to brush away the stray tears.

“If I cry in front of you then you probably won’t even board the plane.”

You hated that he was right.

“I’ll do it after you leave,” he let out a laugh, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. At that moment, the pre-boarding announcement rang throughout the area's speakers, signalling that it was time for you and your mother to go. Grabbing your suitcase, you sent a grateful look to each one of them— your father, Jeno, Renjun, Donghyuck, Soorim, and—

Jaemin suddenly grabbed your suitcase handle before you could go, his hand right beside yours. You locked eyes with him, wide and surprised.

He landed a kiss right on your lips.

“Call me when you arrive, okay?”

You mindlessly nodded, still in the midst of recovering from shock. Your mother called out to you to start moving.

As you walked away, head still locked behind, you watched as the four screamed, cheered, and teased your boyfriend as they shook and pushed him around like a ragdoll, while he just kept on looking at you with a smile.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll record his crying face!”

Haechan screamed despite being several feet away already, and you stifled out a laugh.

You might have to say goodbye today, but time will come when you would meet again.

Across the cobblestone tiled sidewalk, people were walking about, the streets were filled with tourists and natives, the mid noon sun was just in reach. Summers had always been crowded in the city, and you were swimming in the middle of the crowd in a far too inappropriate attire, sweating as you spoke into the phone.

“Oh, yeah. I’m on my way to the gallery now— I had to stop by at a cafe first, though.”

“You seem busy.”

Jaemin’s voice echoed from your phone’s speakers. The streetlight turned red. You followed the crowd as you crossed the street.

“Yeah… It’s a lot of back and forth work, even on the last day of the show, but it’s all worth it,”you replied. “Did you know that people kept on asking me who my muse was for Mahiwaga? Ever the popular boy, even when you’re not here.”

It has been a year and a half since you first got to France. Things have been going well on your part with your budding art career— and so far you’ve guested in three exhibitions, but you have yet to have one solo. Even though you and Jaemin promised to see each other during breaks, it was practically impossible to align your time. He was busy with internships and his organizations this year and so were you. But one thing the both of you have faithfully maintained throughout the course of your time away was calling each other every day, even if it was just for a few minutes.

A cyclist sped past you. Jaemin’s voice was heard again. He laughed at your last remark, saying that he wasn’t that popular, but all of a sudden his voice turned into a more serious tone.

“Since you have a lot of work these days…”

Your brows furrowed, squinting as the light shone into your eyes. You clutched your sling bag, heels clattering as you passed by the cream, brown, and grey buildings.

“Should we call less often?”

You stopped in your tracks.

What?

“No— no, Jaems, what are you saying? Are you sick? Are you not feeling well?” you were almost late for the opening, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. What was he on about? Call less? Never had that crossed your mind even once. “I don’t even get to see you anymore, so if anything… we should call as often as we can.”

A few people passed from behind. His end of the line was silent. Your lips scrunched into a frown, confused.

“Jaemin?”

“That’s a relief.”

Before you could even ask him anything, the call ended.

“What the hell?” you huffed, staring at your phone screen in perplexity before you returned it to your pocket. Maybe he was feeling a lot more lonely than usual— that was unavoidable, but the both of you made it work. You should ask him what that was all about later. Now, you really needed to head to the gallery. With a sigh, you marched forward, stopping at an intersection where the large, eggshell white walls of the gallery stood across.

You stopped before the crosswalk, the lights green, and a few vehicles passed by, and your thoughts were once again clouded by Na Jaemin and why did he suddenly propose that. Was he getting sick of you? Was this his way of hinting a breakup? Your face contorted into a look of horror. No, you shook your head at the notion. He literally sent you a picture of a weird keychain last night  saying it reminded him of you. Another sigh. The light went red. You crossed the street.

Maybe it was because you were thinking too much of him, maybe you were missing him too much, but the moment you reached the middle of the crosswalk, your heart suddenly stopped, legs froze, eyes stuck to the sight right in front of you.

There he stood, right before the front stairs of the gallery with dozens of people disappearing and passing by. He spotted you, eyes lighting up, the corners of lips automatically quirking upwards. He sent you a small wave.

You ran.

“Hi— woah!”

Maybe you were causing a scene, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t find it in you to care when Na Jaemin was right fucking here. He chuckled when you suddenly ran into him, wrapping you in a tight hug that matched your own. “You know, I was afraid that you’d actually agree to limiting our calls,” he started, and you looked up, the light shining into your eyes. Jaemin’s smile was as bright as the sun. “I thought I would have to deport myself back to Korea.”

Your lips quivered, unable to hold it back. Yeah, you shook your head, a shaky laugh leaving your lips. It’s always been like this.

“Is this where you’re holding the exhibit? Wow, it’s a lot bigger than in pictures.”

There are points in your life where you’re met with a choice— to stay or leave, to smile or cry. Always him between something else. Twice. You’ve said goodbye to him twice choosing to leave. For a moment, it might seem that you’ve chosen the other. But that was never the case, because at the end of each day it was him you were thinking of, it was him that your lines end, it would always be—

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you crying?” he exclaimed, frowning as he wiped away your tears. “Ah, it’s such a happy day today, you shouldn’t be crying.”

“I missed you, you dummy.”

—Him. You’d always choose him. Na Jaemin. Jaems. Nana. Your childhood best friend. Your boyfriend—

He smiled at you, eyes shining, pressing a kiss on your forehead before taking you into his arms once more with a shaky breath. “I missed you too.”

—Your mahiwaga.

hannie-dul-set, 2020.

[mochegato]

A Kind of Wonderful

Tim stumbled up to the counter, his friend’s arm holding him back the only thing preventing him from crashing into it.  The black haired barista watched him with an amused smile.  “Can I help you two?” she asked looking between the two of them.

“The strongest coffee you have,” Tim begged.  “In the largest size you have.”

She smirked at him.  “How strong were you thinking?  That can be dangerous.”

He perked up slightly, the promise of strong coffee encouraging him out of his daze.  “I can handle it,” he assured her.

“He’ll love you forever if you can give him something that keeps him awake for the next week… without putting drugs in it,” his companion urged her.  “Espresso for me, please.”

She nodded at the companion with a smile and returned her focus to Tim.  “I might have a secret recipe I can use, but only for someone very special,” she disclosed in a secretive voice.

“I’m special,” Tim insisted, leaning in to match her tone.

“Oh, he’s definitely that,” his friend snorted.

The barista charged his card and moved to start their orders with a wink.  Tim watched her closely as she worked, which the barista definitely noted, if her posturing, smirk, and constant eye flicks to him were any indication.  After only a few minutes, she turned back to them with their drinks.  She barely acknowledged the friend’s thank you, focusing entirely on Tim to see if he liked her concoction.

Tim took a hesitant sip and his eyes immediately brightened.  He turned to the barista with a brilliant, grateful smile.  “Thank you Coffee Goddess.  This is amazing.”

“Coffee Goddess?” she asked with a shy smile.

“A deserved title after this.  How did you do it?” he pressed, leaning closer.

“Trade secret,” she grinned with a wink.  “Guess you’ll have to keep coming back to get more. By the way, that isn’t your name on the cup… or your number, though I’d love to have those…. If you’re not seeing anyone,” she added hesitantly, eyeing his companion.

“He isn’t,” his companion threw in.  The glare Tim sent was meant to emulate Batman’s.  It was meant to strike fear and inspire silence, but instead resulted in an indifferent shrug.

“Oh, okay.  Well, feel free to use them… if you want.”  She bit her lip as she moved to the next customer.

“Um… I’ll think about it.  Thank you again,” he raised the coffee cup up to her and waved nervously with his other hand.

Once safely out the door, Tim eyed his coffee suspiciously. “We can never go back there,” he grumbled into his cup.  “This is really good though… maybe I can send someone to get it for me instead,” he mused.

His friend side eyed him as they walked.  “What are you talking about?”

Tim looked at her with wide eyes.  “I can’t go back in there… she gave me her number.  She was… flirting.”

She laughed.  “And?  She’s cute. And you didn’t seem to mind.  You were watching her awfully intently there and there was an awful lot of leaning, by both of you.”

“Because I wanted to see if I could figure out what she was doing!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.  “This is great coffee, Marinette.  I don’t want to have to wait for open hours to get it.”

“You know, if you date her, you wouldn’t just see her during store hours.  She could make it for you whenever,” she pointed out.

“But then I’d have to date her.”  Tim wrinkled his nose at the thought.  “I don’t want to date her.  I just want the coffee.”

Marinette shook her head and kept walking straight ahead, refusing to look at him.  “It wouldn’t kill you to get out and go on a date once in a while.  It’s at least been since before you met me since you have.  She even took the first step for you.  You don’t have to agonize over whether or not she likes you.  She gave you her number.  She does. She’s cute, sweet, a coffee goddess apparently,” the description came out a bit more bitterly than she had intended. She quickly cleared her throat to get back on topic.  “And interested.  You should go for it.  Have some fun.”

“Yeah, not interested,” he scoffed, rushing to keep up with her.  “And I have plenty of fun.  I have fun with you.”

“Why not?  And you can have a different kind of fun with her.”

“I just don’t think it would work out,” he said awkwardly, refusing to look over at her as they walked.  “I like the fun we have.”

“You’re crazy.  She’s everything you look for in someone,” she insisted, giving him an exasperated look.

“Just drop it, Marinette,” he snapped.  He wasn’t happy with the conversation and he wasn’t even sure why, which was even more frustrating because he always knew what was going on.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, but she gave you her number.  You should use it,” she argued, turning back in the direction they were walking.

“I don’t want her number, I want yours,” he yelled exasperated, then froze.  He wanted her number?  He did? When did that happen?  That was unexpected.  He was not prepared for this conversation.  He needed to figure out what he meant by that before she demanded he explain it to her.  Maybe they could pretend it never happened.  What was the likelihood she would just let this go and not discuss it? He groaned internally, damned unlikely is what it was.  She was going to want to discuss this.  He would have to think of a way to distract her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have my number” she said, waving him off and continuing to walk.

He stared at her back as she walked away.  His mouth dropped open in shock.  What the hell?  How could she miss that?  Why would she want to ignore that?  “I meant I want to date you, not her,” he called after her.  Well, fuck.  This was not the conversation he meant to have.

She paused midstep ahead of him and turned around slowly, wide eyed and mouth parted in surprise.  “What?”  

She couldn’t really be that surprised could she?  She had to have known.  She had to have known how he felt, what their relationship was building up to.  He might be an oblivious idiot but she wasn’t.  They were together constantly… maybe not as much lately, but until the last month or so they’d been inseparable almost since they met.  They hung out together, they ate together, they plotted and researched together, they laughed together, and on occasion, napped together.

“When did that happen?  I mean… I… Since when?” she stuttered, the surprise in her eyes turning to confusion.

That was a fair question.  One he didn’t have the answer to.  When did he start feeling this way?  Maybe it was the distance over the past month that made him realize he wanted her, that he missed her when she wasn’t there.  That he needed her.  She brought him back from the edge.  She made his life brighter.  She made him smile when she was near him.  He missed her touch.  He missed feeling her.  He missed the way he felt when she was near.  He didn’t know when it started, he just knew it was.  “Now?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Sure, Tim.”  She turned around and kept walking.  

His brow furrowed involuntarily.  That was… unexpected.  He was prepared for horror.  He was prepared for annoyance.  A small part of him was even prepared for excitement.  What he wasn’t prepared for was avoidance.

“Hey!  What do you mean ‘Sure, Tim’?” He moved to get in front of her.  He sure as hell didn’t mean to start this conversation, but it had started.  They were having it.

“I mean whatever, Tim.  Funny.  Come on, we’re going to be late,” her voice was suddenly tired.

“I just confessed I like you and that’s all you have to say?” He could see the disbelief radiating from her.  She didn’t believe anything he was saying.  Why didn’t she believe him?  “I wasn’t joking.”

“Sure you weren’t.  You suddenly decided after another girl flirted with you that actually you wanted me flirting with you.  After not being remotely interested in me that way up until this exact moment.”

Well when she put it that way, it sounded stupid. But it was stupid.  He was stupid.  He hadn’t realized he liked her until now.  And someone else flirting with him was exactly what made him realize it. “Yes?”

She rolled her eyes and turned away to keep walking, her shoulders slumped slightly as she walked.  “I’m not doing this today.  I’m not in the mood to play pretend.”

“But you’re ready to pretend this never happened? That I never confessed?” he questioned, slightly more hostilely than he intended.

She turned back to face him, a dangerous look in her eyes. “I don’t have to pretend for that. But I am willing to pretend you didn’t just say something like that just to mess with me.”  She took a deep breath and fixed him with a hard stare.  “God, read the fucking room, Tim.  This isn’t funny and it never was,” she growled.

“I’m not just messing with you,” he was close to yelling.  Why was it so hard for her to believe he meant it?  “She was flirting with me and you were just… okay with it.  You were encouraging it and I didn’t like it.  I didn’t like that you didn’t care.  And yeah, I’m sorry.  I’m stupid because I didn’t realize.  I didn’t realize that’s how I felt.  I didn’t like that it wasn’t you flirting with me.  I wanted it to be you.”

“It was me,” she yelled back at him.  “It was me flirting with you.  For months.  You never reciprocated or even noticed.  Now? Now you’re interested?  After I finally stopped?  After I tried to move on and just support you like a normal friend would?”

Tim subconsciously rubbed his chin.  That explained why Jason had seemed so intent on landing his punches in their spars the last few weeks.  God, Jason figured it out before he did.  “You… you never said…”

“Fuck you.  I said,” she seethed, poking her finger into his chest.  “I said it in a million ways.  You can decipher that someone is planning an attack from the way a finger twitches and you couldn’t figure out I liked you when I was laying in your lap?  It was embarrassing.  It was pathetic.  And you never noticed.  And I have to believe the only reason for it is because you.  Didn’t.  Want. To.”

“No!  No that’s not… You said you were just comfortable there,” he objected, cringing as the words came out of his mouth.  God he was stupid.  

“I told you I needed you and you told me to ‘finish the sentence.  I’m not a mind reader, that’s Alfred.’” She continued in a mocking impersonation of his voice.

Oh God… he had said that.  He remembered that interaction perfectly.  He had thought she just needed to sleep.  She had been up on a design spree for more than a day and hadn’t been getting good sleep for the week before that either.  It never occurred to him… “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, it’s because I’m an idiot.”  

Marinette scoffed, which he supposed was a better reaction than yelling again.  “You’re a fucking genius, Timmy.  Literally a fucking genius.”

“But that’s… that’s not emotions.  I would never think… you could have anyone.  Literally anyone.  Why me?” His face was scrunched up in confusion and his voice desperate like none of this made sense to him and for the first time he couldn’t see what was happening or why.

“I…” she opened and closed her mouth a few times. “What?”  She blinked at him a few times.  “No.  I meant what I said.  I can’t do this right now.  Get over whatever tantrum this is you’re throwing and I’ll see you later.”  She stalked away, throwing her barely touched espresso in the trash as she walked, no longer having the stomach for it.  

He watched as she left, uncertain how to proceed now, how to save this, because now that he’d realized, now that he knew, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t.  Now that he finally knew what that feeling that came up every time he thought about her was, he couldn’t ignore it. And he couldn’t let it slip through his fingers just as he was realizing it.  She had put herself out there so many times, he would have to do the same if he wanted to show her how serious he was.  

He was going to have to do something huge to get her to understand this wasn’t just a passing fancy.  He loved her.  It developed so slowly, he almost missed it.  Not almost.  He had missed it.  But now that he thought about it, he did.  He loved her.  He loved everything about her.  He loved her passion.  He loved her compassion.  He loved her spark, her sass, her wit.  He loved her smile and the way her eyes shined when she spoke about the thinks she loved.  He loved her and he was going to win her back.

<><><><><> 

Marinette pushed back from her sewing machine, stretching her back out after her hours long design session she had forced herself into rather than thinking about her earlier interaction with Tim.  She wasn’t sure how she wanted to proceed from here but she wasn’t proud of the way she had reacted.  On the one hand, she still loved him and he just realized he loved her too… so what was the problem?  On the other hand, what the fuck was that timing!

She furrowed her brows at the sound of water hitting outside.  It hadn’t been raining when she’d started sewing.  And it hadn’t been in the forecast…  She walked over to her balcony to investigate and screeched at the unexpected sight of someone standing right outside her balcony door.  Her jaw dropped when she took a second, calmer look. Tim was standing on her balcony looking forlorn, his black hair plastered to his forehead and his hand reaching out to gently touch the door’s glass.

Her heart stuttered in her chest seeing him on her balcony.  How long had he been standing there!  It looked like it was pouring out.  Her body jerked with the realization.  He needed to come inside before he got sick!  She rushed to open the door for him, but paused a few feet from the door.  She quirked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.  That rain was awfully… centralized.  She looked down and shook her head, refusing to let him see her smile so quickly.  

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Fuck off, Kon,” she mumbled to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am,” she heard yelled from somewhere in the sky as the ‘rain’ immediately ended.  She waited a few seconds for Kon to get far enough away with whatever contraption he had created to cause the rain effect, before she opened the door for Tim.

She finally met his eyes with a soft gaze.  She puckered her lips to keep from smiling.  “Really?  Like some kind of Nicholas Sparks novel?” she said in mock exasperation.

Tim gave her a hesitant smile.  Teasing.  Teasing he could do.  Teasing was normal for them.  “Come on, give me some credit,” he scoffed.  “More John Hughes movie than anything else.”

She let out a breath of relief and cocked her hip.  “John Hughes, huh?”

“They’re good movies, Mari,” he nodded, his face set in mock seriousness.  He started to take a step into her apartment but stopped, slowly setting his foot back down where it had been.

Marinette shook her head and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into the apartment and close enough to her he could easily caress her face or run his hands through her hair or set his hands on her hips, all of which he desperately wanted to do.  “You’re a dork.”

“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement.  His voice was quiet, afraid to break the comfortable feeling they had created.  “I’m a dork and an idiot and undeserving and unworthy and sorry.  So very sorry.”

Marinette shook her head and looked down.  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered. When she looked back up, he saw the tears that had escaped and started rolling down her face.

He reached out to wipe away the tears, moving closer until they were almost flush against each other.  “But more than anything, I’m in love,” he cupped her face, letting his thumbs gently stroke her cheeks, “and praying I didn’t realize it too late. Please tell me I didn’t mess this up, Marinette, because I do.  I love you. I love your heart.  I love your determination.  I love your intelligence.  I love your kindness.  I love your creativity.  I love the way you make me feel when I’m with you.  I love the way you make me feel like I’m enough and want to be better at the same time.  I love you. But if I took too long, if you don’t want that anymore, I can… I’ll back off.  Whatever you want.”

Marinette stared at him for a few moments, her face went blank until more tears started falling.  Tim sucked in a sharp breath.  His heart started pounding in realization.  She had moved on.  She didn’t want this.  He leaned back to pull his hands away from her so she didn’t feel like he was forcing himself on her, but before his hands had even left her face she surged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her lips.

Suddenly she stopped and pulled away, looking at him with wide eyes.  “Sorry! Sorry.  I should have asked first.  That was just so beautiful… but I shouldn’t have…”  The rest of her sentence was swallowed up by his lips.  He moved his hands to cradle her head as he kissed her.  Her arms tightened around his neck when he moved his head slightly to deepen the kiss, pulling him even closer.

After a few minutes they pulled away incrementally, just enough to catch their breath.  Their eyes met and Marinette began giggling, overwhelmed by all the emotions she’d gone through that day.  Tim soon joined in, pulling her close again in a tight hug.  “Thank God,” he whispered into her hair.  “I was so scared.”

Marinette nodded into his chest.  “Me too.”  She pulled away and looked up at him with a sweet smile.  “Want to dry off and watch a movie?”

He looked at her hesitantly.  “Can I… can we…”  He took a breath to focus himself.  “I don’t want to stop holding you yet.”

Marinette grinned brightly.  “I think cuddling during the movie can be arranged.”  Tim grinned back and pulled her into another kiss. “That sounds wonderful,” he whispered into her lips.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela​ is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself. 

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence. 

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal. 

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left. 

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold. 

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.'  You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse. 

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back. 

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips. 

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope. 

'Not here,' he replied. 

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure. 

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter. 

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening. 

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years. 

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree. 

He frowned and nodded. 

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him. 

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.' 

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?' 

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.' 

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.' 

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.' 

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.  

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.' 

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.' 

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive. 

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?' 

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?' 

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.  

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…” 

��“Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door. 

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there. 

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?” 

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

 "Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze. 

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said. 

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry. 

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could. 

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light. 

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice. 

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head. 

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.  

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request. 

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied. 

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was. 

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second. 

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her. 

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered. 

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered. 

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful. 

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him. 

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted.  And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper. 

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers. 

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable. 

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer. 

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 6

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

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Chapter 6: Farewell Gifts

< | Previous Chapter

The morning sun had begun filling your room, sneaking through parted curtains to cover everything in a warm glow. You had been reluctant to stir, a sense of melancholy hanging around you. You knew exactly why that was. You would be leaving tomorrow morning. There was good and bad to it, you supposed. You were introduced to a taste of freedom and new possibilities that came with this marriage. Yet it still meant saying goodbye to everything you knew here.

You slowly turned over in your bed, moving out of it. Might as well start the day, though. Moping wouldn’t get too much accomplished. You padded over towards the window, peering out of it for a few moments. The sun covered the land beyond the castle in a pleasant glow. Nature carried on like nothing was going to happen, and you couldn’t help but huff. You needed to as well. Even as you looked to the horizon, wondering what it held for you. Hopefully a decent life.

You hardly thought too much as you grabbed a dress, sliding it over your body. You didn’t even know what today held for you, either. You would find out after breakfast, though. That’s usually how things went for you. Taking each day as it came. You slid on your shoes, fastening them tightly. Take today one step at a time. Tomorrow would come when it came. 

The door to your room creaked quietly as you opened it, being careful to shut it softly. It clicked as it slid into pace, and you rubbed your face. Food would undoubtedly help you get in a better mood. Having your mind busy while you were on an empty stomach was hardly a good idea.

“Good, you’re awake. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” A voice called out. You jumped, a startled yelp escaping your lips. You covered your mouth as you sought out the voice, glaring at the owner. Dream was lounging against a wall across from you, and you reached out to shove at him playfully.

“Are you trying to make my soul leave my body?!” A laugh escaped him, though it felt almost tense. Was he still bothered by dinner last night? You didn’t care to mess with it, though. He’d likely get over himself. He usually did.

“Maybe I am. Do I get to keep you here if I do?” He mused as they walked, heading towards the dining hall once again. Like it was a normal morning. You truly wished it was, honestly. Nonetheless, you sighed, head shaking.

“You know I can’t stay, Dream. As much as you want me to. This is a matter bigger than you or I. Besides! I think it’ll be good for me, don’t you think?” You beamed over at him. It seemed like it would do you good, truthfully. It was presenting you with at least one option you had never been offered here: Training. The opportunity to fight and defend yourself. You deserved that much at least, right?

“I think it’ll be dangerous. They’ve never had a good reputation, how do I know you’ll be safe?” He threw back in rebuttal, making you sigh heavily. Always fretted over your wellbeing.

“Techno said it’s not that bad, I have no reason to not believe him.” You settled into your normal spot at the table. Breakfast was much simpler than dinner. The food was already set out, waiting to be eaten. You didn’t waste time, reaching for a few various dishes to eat.

“I beg to differ,” Dream murmured as he also sat, grabbing stuff to eat as well. You rolled your eyes, not in the mood for whatever was with him. He just didn’t like Techno, for whatever reason. Always so protective of you. Though it was reassuring in a weird way.

“Whatever you say. What have you got planned for me today?” You queried instead, eager to change the subject away from your fiancé. You really didn’t want to deal with whatever problem there was with that subject.

“Going out to the markets in town. Make sure there isn’t anything that you need before leaving. Let the people in the capital see you one last time. It’ll probably eat most of your day, though,” He said. That was fine. It sounded like a good plan. You could do with a few things from the market. A few things to remind you of home.

You nodded for a couple of heartbeats, finishing the mouthful of food in your mouth before speaking. “That sounds fine to me. I wouldn’t mind picking up a couple of things to bring along. Oh! Techno! Good morning.” The pink-haired prince had walked into the dining hall when you were speaking to Dream. He settled across from you, glancing briefly to Dream before you.

“Good morning,” he finally returned, causing you to smile. Dream practically brooded beside you as your attention shifted away from him. You just elected to ignore it for the time being. He’d probably be just fine once the both of you were in the market. You were allowed to exchange some words with Techno before heading out for the day, at least.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked, reaching for your cup with a contented hum. He nodded in response, gaze moving to Dream. You warily eyed the pair of them, trying to read whatever silent stand off they seemed to be having. Was it over the whole training thing? Either way, it was ridiculous and you did not want to deal with whatever tension was between them.

Clearing your throat, you attempted conversation once more with a soft, “Did you finish your books?” Techno’s gaze quickly pivoted back to you, seeming to forget about Dream for a few minutes. Good. 

“Most of them. I couldn’t finish the last one before I needed to sleep,” He replied. You nodded in acknowledgment. That was impressive, though. It did make you wonder how much he slept. Not like you could tell. Not with that mask on his face.

“Well, you can finish that one today. Dream and I are going out to the market to pick up some things before I leave. I’ll probably spend time with my family after dinner,” You explained. You wiped at your hands, turning to look at Dream and offering him a smile. 

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk starting tomorrow,” Techno mused. There was something almost smug in his voice, and you could hear Dream huff beside you. What the hell had happened with them? You weren’t given much time to ponder, as Dream stood up and held a hand towards you.

“Ready?” He asked, and you nodded slightly. You eyed his hand for a few moments, debating on if you should take it. You ultimately did, allowing him to pull you up. You waved towards Techno, offering him a smile. Even as you were nearly hauled away by Dream, you could hear that huff of his that signified laughter. He met your wave with a shake of his head, returning the action all the same.

You were content, despite how quickly Dream was walking. The interactions with Techno were pleasant, and increasingly less awkward. You caught up with Dream, letting go of his hand as you did. “Alright, do you have any specific plans on where to visit?” You questioned, forcing him to slow down.

“Not exactly. I figure we can just walk through the market, see what catches your eye,” He mumbled. You nodded along, finding it fair enough. You didn’t entirely know what you were looking for. So, for that reason, browsing around didn't seem too bad of an idea.

The walk wasn't too long. Slowly the calm path towards the castle morphed into busy streets, teeming with life. The heart of the capital was alive with noise, vendors in their stalls calling to people in the streets. The smell of various foods wafted in the air around you as you walked, a certain type of happiness settling in your chest. It was easy to forget the melancholy that hung around the castle while you were here.

It wasn't too long of wandering before you were noticed. Vendors would excitedly call to you, trying to get you to buy some of their wares. You did always look, complimenting whatever they were selling half the time. From one stand, you purchased a trinket box, the metal heavy in your hands. The sun caught onto the ornate lid, causing the jewels set into it to sparkle. The sides were less flashy, but still well made, with roses carved into the side. It spoke to you, practically, reminding you warmly of the kingdom you were going to leave.

As you continued your trek, an older voice called to you with urgency, a soft, "Princess! Come, come!" An older man beckoned to you, age wearing down his face and hands. You didn't even need to think twice, walking towards him with Dream in tow. The man behind you was busying himself with a stuffed bun he had bought, seemingly content to just follow you. The old man smiled as you walked over, looking down to his wares.

Knives and daggers covered the majority of the surface, though there was an occasional sword or bundle of arrows. The handles had intricate designs carved into the leather, though the blades were no less sharp or decorated. "I hear you're going on a dangerous journey soon," The man's voice interrupted you. You moved your attention to his face, meeting his gaze calmly.

"It's really not as dangerous as everyone is making it seem," You explained, offering a smile. The man just laughed, shaking his head at you.

"Off, alone, with a man too afraid to show his face and hides behind the face of a beast. If he is comfortable wearing the face of a beast, surely he is one himself." There was an edge to his voice and you could only sigh. Gossip from servants traveled fast, and it seemed stories of Techno's appearance had already reached the capital. You didn't care too much, though his words were minutely unsettling.

"You need to protect yourself from him. I have the perfect thing for you- free of charge. We can't have you getting hurt in enemy territory." He explained, rustling around to pick up one of the daggers. You were tempted to protest the price, surely not wanting to take from him. It wasn't right. Even if he did offer. Yet you could tell he wouldn't accept a single coin you gave him.

He presented the dagger to you for inspection, which you did humor. It was a pretty dagger, a dark leather grip with flowers sitting amongst vines of thorns. The cross guard was simple, curved, with a flower sitting in the middle of either side. The pommel similarly matched, while the thorned vines crawled down onto the design in the metal. It felt perfect in your hands, and you could have sworn the man had made it just for you.

You looked up to him, his dark eyes twinkling with something you couldn't place. "It's beautiful, thank you," You murmured your thanks. Any thought of rejecting it had left you the moment the leather fell to your hand. He seemed delighted by this, reaching to take it back to put it in a sheath. The sheath was put into a belt before being handed off to you.

"Keep yourself safe, little one," he told you. You nodded, fingers running along the leathed of the belt. You didn't really wear belts, so it felt almost foreign in your grip.

"Here," Dream interrupted, picking up the belt. He didn't waste time in fastening it around your waist, the dagger comfortably sitting against your hip. It was positioned so that your dominant hand could grab the dagger easily, should you need it.

"I thought you didn't want me to have weapons," You grumbled. Dream was silent as he resumed his earlier position, walking with you once more. With each step, the dagger hit your hip. It was a foreign feeling, but not an unwelcome one. 

"I don't, but I don't trust Technoblade. A dagger is straightforward enough to use. Even you can't fuck it up." He sounded bitter at the mention of Techno, but seemed to divert it to light hearted teasing. You huffed, rolling your eyes.

"Maybe I'll try it on you first." You shoved him with your shoulder, unable to hide your laugh at his affronted gasp.

"You wouldn’t!" His exclamation was followed by a laugh, and you couldn’t help but smile. He was one of the things you would miss.

The sun climbed even higher into the sky as the pair of you walked, with you buying a few trinkets. You bought a few pieces of jewelry from various vendors, too fond of their work to part with it. Who knew when you would be given the chance to visit this market again. You and Dream had stopped by a small bakery to eat lunch, listening to the tales around you and watching the streets.

It was only when the sun was falling, and the daytime vendors began to pack up, that you started your way back. Dinner time would be soon. As the streets emptied, the activity dwindling down, you felt the melancholy creep back over you once more.

"I got you something," Dream finally interrupted, causing you to look up at him. Your eyebrows knitted for a moment, trying to remember when he had snuck off to get it. Or maybe he had brought it with him.

"You did?" You asked, pausing in the street.

"I got it earlier this week, but today seemed a good time to give it to you," He explained, rustling around for a few moments. He grasped a small bag, pulling it out and untying it. He didn't look directly at you as he pulled out the piece inside, instead focused solely on it.

It was a necklace- a very extravagant one at that. You don't think you'd ever had one like it. Multiple strands of beads connected three large jewels together, with charms comprised of smaller jewels in the shape of roses dangling from it intermittently. The light caught the yellow jewels, though red tinged the outside of them. It was always roses, wasn't it? It always had been.

In the very middle sat a metal plate, carved with the image of a picked rose with its thorns clipped. It was pretty. You couldn’t even imagine how much it cost. "Thank you, Dream. You didn’t have to get me something like this," You had started. He huffed in response, moving behind you to drape it around your neck.

"I know, but I wanted to. I hope whenever you wear it you think of me," he mumbled as he fastened it, the comfortable weight settling against your neck. You touched it, smiling softly.

"I will, Dream. Don't make me cry, though. There's too much left to do today." You knew you would be a mess by the end of the night. After all, this was your family you were leaving. It was going to sting just a little.

The walk back to the castle was relatively silent. Dream was thinking about something, but you didn't press. You weren't sure you could handle it right now. Once you had returned and eaten dinner, it was time to spend time with your family. Which, truthfully, you were glad to. Dream didn't protest on going home, though he did send a final accusatory glance at Techno as he left.

The prince didn't linger after dinner, simply bidding you a good night as he went to retire to his own rooms. You were fine with that, though. It let you put your whole concentration on your family as the four of you sat in one of the rooms. You all spoke fondly of everything you could think of. All of you were almost reluctant to say goodnight.

"I can't believe my baby is leaving tomorrow," Your mom finally broached the topic. You offered a sad smile, moving to hug her.

"I'll always write to you," you whispered, face nestled into her neck. She didn't say anything for a long while, just holding you there. You didn't complain, letting her do so. As she pulled back after she seemed ready, she reached for the blanket that had been sat in her lap.

"This was my great grandmother's, and has been passed down to the eldest daughter of everyone in our family. It's your turn to take it," She murmured, handing it to you. The weave was heavy, the red fabric carefully twined with golden accents. You could tell it was old, but you were extremely glad to have it.

"Thank you, I'll cherish it. Should I have any daughters, I'll give it to them as well." It was unknown if you would have children. It depended on how the marriage required itself to be upheld. Your gaze turned to your dad next.

"You always were getting into trouble and going on adventures. Don't get into too much trouble over there, okay?" He murmured affectionately, offering you a hug. This one wasn't nearly as long as your mother's, but that was fine. He wasn't as attached as your mother, nor as affectionate, so the hug meant the world to you.

You had nodded, not trusting your words right now. This was the worst part. Leaving. The goodbyes. Even harder was turning to George, who stared at you with an almost sad smile. "I'm going to miss you. Who else am I going to walk through the gardens with now?" He asked, causing you to give a watery laugh. You imagined he would make do.

"You always did love the gardens, so here's a piece of home. Only some light reading." He extended a hand, holding a thick book out to you. The leather cover was embossed with various flowers, and you smiled. It was a flower guide. Flowers were important to your kingdom, and though you were fond of them you never bothered to learn them. Now it was time, you supposed.

"I'll miss you, George. Try not to have too much fun without me," Your voice cracked as you spoke. He nodded, arms curling tightly around you within seconds. You sniffled, hiding against his shoulder and clinging to him. His hugs were always the best, not having them readily available to you would hurt. You didn't like it.

"Just promise me you'll write and take care of yourself." You could only nod as his voice reverberated through you. You didn't want to let go, but the seconds bled into minutes and sleep was calling you. Even as reluctant as you were, you did let go.

"I'll write to everyone. As often as I can," You said. You choked a little, refusing to say goodbye. Even as you walked with George to your room, you couldn't bring yourself to say the word. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Next Chapter | >

[slasherbaby]

How You Love Me [read on ao3 or under the cut]

You’re not a doll for him to dress and decorate, or a body for him to cut into and dissect. No, you’re not like the rest. You’re his beloved. His pretty thing, his lover. His favorite. You were his, completely and fully, with every inch of your body and soul. At least what was left of your soul, it all belonged to him.

Pairing: Asa Emory x gender neutral reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, noncon, violence, self-harm, brainwashing/stockholm syndrome, this is super dark please heed the warnings

Length: 2456 words

Rating: Explicit

When he comes into your room, you don’t have to be quiet. If you’re awake, you walk up to him. You greet him. He pulls you in and purrs when you put your hands against his chest. It does things to you, things you can’t explain or reason with. Things that you never felt before him.

Sure, there were other men. You know there were other men, even if you can’t remember their faces. If it wasn’t for the vanity in your room, you probably wouldn’t be able to remember your own face either.

You used to think that you weren’t anything special. That your face was just another face, blending into the crowd but never inspiring poetry or lust or sculpture. You were no muse, you were just a person.

He changed your mind about that. Now you know that you’re special. You’re his, after all. And he doesn’t keep the mediocre.

You’re not a doll for him to dress and decorate, or a body for him to cut into and dissect. No, you’re not like the rest. You’re his beloved. His pretty thing, his lover. His favorite. You were his, completely and fully, with every inch of your body and soul. At least what was left of your soul, it all belonged to him.

In return for your obedience, he takes care of you. He brings you food and water, keeps you safe and comfortable in your room. You have a large bed with clean pillows, sheets, and comforters. You have a vanity table and a bookshelf, stocked with various products, jewelry, and books he’s brought you. You have a dresser with clothes in it, and on top of that dresser, a record player. You even have your own bathroom connecting to your room, with a claw foot bathtub that you’re allowed to use freely.

Sometimes he brings you jewelry, fine clothes, shoes far too expensive for you to ever have been able to afford before him. He likes to dress you in them, have you spin around for him, showing off. Sometimes he just likes to hold you, one of his hands holding the rich fabric that drapes around your waist while the other stays at your mouth, two of his fingers pressing down on your tongue and threatening to breach your throat.

Kindness, you think, is sometimes worse than punishment. It leaves you lonely when he goes, and it makes you rip the hair from your head when he doesn’t visit your rooms. You scratched your face bloody waiting for him, and he made you wait for a week. Food and water arrived while you were sleeping, so after the third day, you stopped sleeping. The food and water stopped arriving. It went on like this for another couple of days, but you lost track of how long it really was.

You must have passed out, because when you came to, he was there. Standing above you. You could tell that he was disappointed, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. He was there, and you weren’t alone. You threw yourself at him, clinging onto his legs like a sobbing child, wetting his pant leg with your tears. He curled his gloved hand into your hair, stroking it softly as you wept. That one touch was worth all the pain he inflicted afterwards.

He liked your face, it was his to use and love. And you mangled it. He punished you ruthlessly, unrelenting. You smiled through your screams, grateful for the touch.

He rubbed lotion onto your skin after he finished. Cleaned up the blood. Disinfected your wounds and put you to bed, swaddling you up in blankets. He even stayed as you fell asleep, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes as you drifted off.

A week later, he brought you a friend. They looked to be a few years older than you, but they were similar as well. You could have been siblings. It was a kindness, you told yourself. He didn’t want you to be lonely when he wasn’t there. And you were never one to deny kindness, even if you didn’t want a friend. All you wanted was him.

They were dirty and hungry, terrified and covered in blood. So you took them by the hand and led them to your bathroom. Sat them in the tub and washed away the blood and grime and dried tears. You helped them brush their teeth and gently removed the gore from their hair.

You dressed them in silk pajamas and sat them on the bed, crawling up next to them and sitting with your legs crossed. You told them that you were his lover, and despite the coils of green that wrapped tight around your heart, you told them that they might be as well. Why else would he have brought them here, to stay with you?

But they only laughed. Not a joyful laugh, but a mocking one. They laughed until they were hysterical, tears spilling from their bloodshot eyes. They told you he couldn’t love, that what he did to you, it wasn’t love. A creature like him didn’t have the organs to care- a creature like him didn’t have a heart. He, they said, didn’t have a heart. He only had the parts to hurt and use and take. The things he did to you, they weren’t love. It was power. It was control. It was wrong. But it wasn’t love.

You disagreed, frantic in your own right, your stomach churning as your voice got higher and higher, shaking your head and demanding that he did love you, he loved you more than anyone had ever loved before! He cared for you! You jumped from the bed and threw out your hands, displaying your room in all its splendor. You told them that he loved you so much that he kept you protected and safe, giving you all you could ever want. You threw open your dresser and showed off your beautiful dresses and suits and shawls, the jewelry and furs and shoes, all the luxuries he’s bathed you in. What was this, you demanded, if not love?

They were quiet for a while, as you stared at your dresser and panted, close to hyperventilating. Your mind spun, eyebrows stitched together in the middle and eyes full of tears. When they spoke next, their voice was softer than it had been before, and they were standing right beside you.

They asked you what he made you do to earn such pretty things. They asked you if he hurt you. You wanted to scoff. Did they not know who they were talking about? Of course he hurt you, but only when you deserved it, just like the rest of his collection.

They asked you if he hurt you in ways he didn’t hurt the others. If he hurt you in the bed he gave you. They asked you how long you’d been a captive.

You hardly made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

You’d never asked anything of him before, but next time he came to you, you asked him if he would give them another room. You didn’t want to share him, and if he wanted to have someone else, it wouldn’t be in the same room he loved you in. They didn’t understand. They wouldn’t love him like you loved him.

Maybe deep down, you knew what would happen to them if you denied his gift. Or maybe it was a test. Maybe he would have killed them either way. Or maybe he wanted to bind you to him in a way that was more permanent than love. Maybe he wanted to bind you in blood.

Sometimes when you close your eyes, you can still hear their screams.

The next time he came to see you, you were asleep. He didn’t wake you up, you woke on your own accord. The first thing your eyes saw was him, standing right by the door. You couldn’t tell if he just arrived, or if he was just about to leave.

The thought of having slept through one of his visits was too much for you to handle, and you burst into tears.

You wanted to ask him why he brought that person to your rooms. You wanted to ask if you weren’t good enough anymore, if he needed someone else to fill the spaces you couldn’t satisfy. You wanted him to hold you, to comfort you, to kiss you and fuck you and show you how much he wanted you. You wanted him to prove to you that no one could ever compare, that you were the only one he loved. The only one he could ever love.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say a word, or move an inch. He only watched as you got off the bed, landing on your hands and knees, and crawled towards him.

“Love,” you babbled to him as he stared down at you, “isn’t anybody’s fault.” Love was a gift. And you loved him. You sounded like you were begging as you told him, your hands clasped around the ankle of his boot.

You loved him, you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

You begged and sobbed and pleaded, but the only words that would come out were devotions of your heart to his.

He stroked your hair and you wept even harder. Eventually you fell asleep, your head pressed against his calf. He took you to bed and tucked you in, but the motion woke you up. You began to hyperventilate again, reaching out for him with desperation, but before a word could slip from your lips, he was joining you in bed. Holding you against him, inhaling the scent of your clean skin and tears.

In the morning, you woke up in his arms. You could have died right there, and you briefly thought that you did. Heaven, it seemed, was when you were with him. Heaven was him, in all his glory. And you wanted nothing more than to worship.

You don’t know if he slept, his eyes were always open and watching. But he was purring, his hands idly stroking your skin as you laid together. He was hard, you could feel it pressing against you.

Yes, you thought as you ground your hips back into his. Yes, yes yes.

You were already naked, so it was easy to reach behind and unzip his trousers, pushing them down a bit to give you what you wanted.

Let me show you how much I love you, you thought as you spread yourself and guided him inside.

You were only just starting to get wet, so the stretch was painful but bearable. If anything, you wanted the pain. He never fucked you hard when you weren’t loose and wet for him and he never forced himself onto you if you weren’t ready to take his cock. He never tore you or made you bleed, at least not between your legs.

“I love you,” you tell him as he takes hold of your hips, pulling you back until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. His length is far more than impressive, the head of his cock finding a home right against your cervix, and he’s thick enough to make your teeth chatter.

He shushes you when you try to move, wanting friction for the growing heat in your belly. You stay still like a good pet, even when your forehead breaks out in beads of sweat and your sex throbs, neglected and desperate for relief. You clench and flutter around him as you get closer, despite him not moving an inch, and he stays rock hard inside of you.

When you feel his tongue lap at the back of your neck, you come so hard you see stars, your hips forced to stay completely still as he purrs and grunts behind you.

He keeps you like this for hours, never once fucking you like you so desperately want, just feeling your skin and body, smelling your hair and licking your skin. You beg for him to take you with tears in your eyes, begging that he uses you, begging for the chance to be good for him. But he only purrs louder.

Eventually you fall asleep, and when you wake up, he’s on top of you. There’s no mask to hide his features as he looks down at you, his mouth parted into an open grin and he fucks you good and hard. You’re so wet that every push and pull squelches, making your cheeks heat up in seconds. He groans and leans down when he sees the blush, licking stripes up the side of your face.

He forces your lips open with his fingers and leans down, licking the inside of your mouth like a starving man, his eyes always open as he watches your every reaction. It’s enough to make you come again, arching your back as you stare into the black abyss of his pupils, and take everything he has to give you.

He sinks his teeth down into your neck when he comes, cock spurting ropes deep inside you, so much that it feels like your belly’s been pumped full of him. He only stays inside you for a moment before pulling out. Before you can whimper at the loss, he grabs you by your hair and forces you to turn onto your stomach, the side of your face pressed into the pillows.

His fingers find your entrance, wet from your slick as well as his come, and he uses both of his index and middle fingers to stretch you open in a sudden, terrible movement that leaves you screaming into the pillow.

It’s not so much the pain that hurts, but the vulnerability that comes with it. You feel too open, too wide, too exposed even though it’s just the two of you in the room. With a sudden rush of clarity, you realize that if he wanted to, he could rip you apart.

But he doesn’t. He only keeps you open long enough to stuff his softening cock back into your hole, before removing his fingers and bringing his hands to press against your lower spine until you’re prone on the bed.

He lies on top of you, purring and rocking his hips, occasionally biting down against your soft skin, leaving bloody marks that he laps at afterwards.

When he starts to get hard again, you grin. Your eyes are wide open, staring at the pretty vanity table next to your dresser, as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in. Yes, you think. This is how you love me.

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

slightly early cuz I can’t seem to post anything during the day lately due to being distracted.  A bit of Baldur’s Gate 3 about my Drow bard Zynatheri’s extremely weird and checkered past.  Tagging @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest should you want to post something!

...

Wyll gave Zyn an odd look.  “Sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Fishing out her knife after she was sure he didn’t need any more healing, she crouched down to slice through the vine holding down his left leg as he worked the other one free.  “Oh, sure.  Spent over a decade in a male body.  Maybe closer to fifteen, not sure.  You got out?”

Wyll jerked his leg free, and then grabbed her offered arm to jump over the vines before they could grab him again.  “Looks like.  Thanks for the timely assistance there.”

“Well, if I left you here I’d be slightly more likely to die,” Zyn said, returning her knife to its sheath with a little flip.  Only a bit of showing off.  “Come on.  We’ve got to get a wiggle on if we’re going to make it to the inn.  A proper inn, finally.  Might be able to make a bit of coin if I’m lucky.  Oh gods, and a bath?”

“No, no, no.  You’re not going to go and change the subject so easily,” Wyll protested, taking three jogging steps to catch back up.  

Zyn stifled a sigh, rolling her eyes as she made her way back to the rest of the group.  She turned her back to them, spinning around to face Wyll and walk backwards.  “I could tell you the story but you’re not going to believe it anyways, so why bother?” She turned back around with a flip of her braid and a flick of her hand.

“What did you lie to Wyll about this time?” Shadowheart inquired, the glow in her hands fading as she stepped back from Astarion.  

Zyn threw up her hands, aggrieved.  “I’m saying I’m not lying!  Not lying!  The complete opposite of the thing I generally do!  It was just a passing fucking comment.”

“Woah, woah, I’m only curious.  No need to get your hackles up,” Wyll said amiably.  “And even if I happened to slightly disbelieve you, always willing to suspend it to enjoy a bit of bardic hyperbole, eh?”

“It’s not even-”  Zyn sighed.  Well, as far as prying went, this was a story she didn’t mind telling.  “I was at a soiree held by my patron at the time.  She had particular tastes, and so did most of her associates, so it was that kind of soiree.”

“I hate that I’ve been around you long enough that I know what that means,” Shadowheart sighed, grabbing her pack off the ground.  She slung it on, and picked up her mace from the ground, shaking a bit of viscera off of it.

“And I hate that I wasn’t invited,” Astarion quipped, still looking annoyed as he examined the claw marks in his sleeve.

Zyn ignored his aside with a faint smirk.

“During the group festivities, a wizard asked if I was open to being polymorphed.  I was drunk, so I said yes.  So then I had a dick, which when you think about it is the most boring thing he could have done.  I passed out at some point and when I woke up he was gone, and it was a masque so I never caught his name, and my patron and I had a falling out, and she refused to pay for another polymorph,” she finished, vaguely winded.  

The memory was old, and so too were the emotions associated, but she was vaguely offended for her old self.  “Anyways, it took me over fifteen years to have enough money to fix it because one, I wasn’t in any particular hurry to be female, and two, every time I had the money I’d spend it on something else.”

“I can’t believe you actually had a patron,” Astarion said.  “Was it charity?”

He shoved his sleeve at her, and she sighed and reached for her component pouch.  What a spoiled baby.  It was just a few little tears.  “Yeah, sure, she found me in a crate outside the butcher.  Someone wrote ‘Free Bard to a Bad Home’ on the front.”

“Yes...that does seem accurate.”

“Not the kind of adventure I think I’d enjoy,” Wyll mused.  “Though I suppose after a while you’d get used to it.  Still.  Reckon I’d rather not feel out of place in my own body like that.”

“I’ve never been very attached to being a woman,”  Zyn said absently, casting a quick mending on Astarion’s sleeve with a small sing-song hum.  As the fabric knit itself back together, she lifted her gaze back to Wyll.  “I’d do it again if it was both easy to do and undo, but it’s not.  Wizards.  They’ll do it for free at an orgy, but charge you out the arse any other time.  Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Truly a struggle for the ages,” Wyll said sympathetically.  Abruptly he stopped, head tilting as he gave a slow, audible sniff.  Turning away, he glanced up at the sky, faintly visible through the trees.  “Is that…smoke?”

Oh no.

“Please don’t tell me that’s in the direction of…”

“The inn.  ‘Fraid so.”

Zyn closed her eyes tightly, taking in a long, cleansing breath.  It didn’t work, as it was, indeed, scented with smoke.  “Fuck.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 III

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers. (This chapter: oral)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You await the king’s next move.

Note: One day off. Managed to get this done!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

When at last you managed to look away from the likeness of the imperious king, you tried to sit. You found it hard to stay still however and instead, paced the expanse of the chamber. You stopped at the tall windows to look out onto the palace lawns, a glimpse of the city visible beyond the walls. Would you ever see the other side of them again?

You looked down at yourself as you swept away from the glass panes. The gaudy gown made you grimace and you went back to your restless strides. You rung your hands and made yourself stop, fidgeted with the thin fabric that swished around your legs, and squinted closely at the few pieces of miscellany scattered on tables; a few pens, a ring, and a bound book.

The sound of boots came muffled from the corridor and you turned as the doors shifted. The guard without pushed inward and stood back as the king swept past him. You stopped behind the sofa and watched Loki as he didn’t seem aware of your presence. A boy, about fifteen or so, followed at his heels and barely evaded the snap of the doors as they shut.

You bowed and waited for his acknowledgement. You received none as you kept your head down and followed him with strained eyes as he crossed to the set of doors painted with winding snakes. The young boy opened them and the king disappeared beyond them, though they remained ajar.

You waited, hands folded, chin lowered, and listened. The soft rustle of clothing, the ruffle of activity unseen. It was a time before the king bid away his servant.

“Go.” His voice slithered through the silence, “Fetch my dinner, boy.”

You held your breath as the adolescent emerged and swiftly crossed to the other doors. He left you there and another deathly hush rose around you, laced with anticipation and impatience. You heard soft footsteps approach the open doorway and halt upon the threshold.

“Little mouse,” the king said cloyingly, “You might stand up straight now.”

You bit down and raised your head. Your eyes met his as he smirked across at you. He wore a deep green robe embroidered with golden serpents, tied loosely at his waist to allow a glimpse of his pale torso. His silk pants were loose as finely stitched slippers poked out from beneath the hems. His crown did not top his locks as they hung loosely along his shoulders.

“Why, you do look much recovered,” he purred as he casually pushed away form the doorframe, “Better, even.” He did not come close, merely went to the table and pulled out a chair to perch. He slung a leg over the other as he bent an elbow on the tabletop. “I was, most irritatingly, called away to council.”

You were quiet. You stayed on the other side of the couch as if it were a barricade from his lingering gaze.

“Come closer,” he beckoned with two fingers, “I should like a proper look at… the gown.”

You hesitated. Your flesh, though healing, was still tender along your back. You went to him with careful steps and stopped a foot away from him. He looked you up and down. He reached out and his fingers closed around your wrist and he drew you between his legs as he uncrossed them.

His fingertips flew quickly to the beading along your bodice and he traced the curve of your side. He hummed as he peered up at you, your chest obscuring you slightly.

“Hmmm, I think I preferred you naked and chained,” he snickered. “Do you feel me still? Is the lesson still seared into your flesh, little mouse?”

Your lip curled and you swallowed. You nodded.

“Speak, when you are addressed by your king.” He demanded.

“Yes, your majesty,” you uttered, “The marks remain.”

He bunched your skirts in his hands and bared your thighs. He tickled your skin and pushed firmly to knead the muscle.

“Alas, I did send for my supper and I would not the boy happen upon my little games,” his thumb grazed the crease of your pelvis, “He is innocent and easily frightened.”

You stood, tolerant of his touch, as you felt a peculiar tingle inside. Disgust laced with something more; something you wanted to deny. His hands dropped reluctantly and he shifted in his seat.

“You will sit and eat. I understand you did little of that during your internment,” he said sharply, “I suspect it is the reason you had to be dragged out of there. That I did need to charge my staff with reviving you.”

“Must be the reason,” you muttered as you sat in the other chair across from him. You caught the gleam in his eye. “Your majesty.”

“Throughout your tenure here, thus far, I’ve a chance to learn more of the errant trespasser,” he preened, “Your uncle, Bo, he is a crafter and a merchant. You were charged with shaping clay pots for his shelf. Your little friend, Gilla, she is a baker’s daughter. I did not care much for her though.”

“Gilla…” you repeated quietly. “You…”

“I did not harm her. I only asked her some questions.” 

The door opened suddenly and he sat up. The boy was accompanied by two other servants who set out wine, glasses, and plates. The flurry of activity departed as quickly as it had arrived and you were left alone once more with the king.

“She’s a talkative one but she does not say much of substance,” he mused as he took his fork, “But I still learned much.”

“Oh?” You twirled your fork anxiously.

“Nothing more than I couldn’t surmise on my own,” he shrugged, “I’ve come to realise your obstinacy.” He mused, “And let me say, that will not hold and I do look forward to testing it.”

You frowned and he bit into a morsel of pork. He chewed and swallowed emphatically.

“Oh, that look,” he pointed at you with his fork, “It assured me I am right.”

🐍

Your stomach was both happy and sore from the meal. It had been long since you had eaten much more than broth and hard bread, if anything at all. While the food was delicious, the circumstance was less than. You found it less than hospitable to be under the gaze of the king. Though he was not so intent, his eyes returned often enough to make you worry. You were wise enough to know that when the meal was over, there would be no pretense left, though you could not guess exactly at what he meant to do.

The young boy, who he called Hal, cleared the table and left another bottle of wine in his stead. Loki poured another glass for himself and glanced at the one you’d barely touched.

“I’d suggest you drink but truly it makes no difference to me,” he winked as he took a gulp of his own. “But you do seem rather… antsy.”

You said nothing and took the glass. You drank deeply and nearly spluttered. You drained the cup and placed it back on the table.

“I do not enjoy your ploys, your majesty, I would prefer you be to the point,” you said, “I am not naïve and the idea would be entirely unknown to you.”

“Ploys? To the point? I haven’t an idea of what you mean, little mouse.”

You drew your brows together and blinked. “If you long to see me squirm, I already am.”

“Oh, I do see it but I will not be done with you so quickly,” he threw back the last of his glass and set it beside your own, “Come.”

He took your head and led you to the door of his bedchamber. You had the urge to stop before you could enter but let him guide you. The black drapings of his bed, the silver sheets, and the lush pillows assured you of your fate. You knew what would come but you could not fathom the extent of his cruelty.

It was said that it hurt the first time for maidens. You suspected the pain would be worse with him. He didn’t make anything easy. He always added to any discomfort. He pleasured in it.

“Squirming, shaking, or shivering, mouse?” he wondered as he neared the bed and you trailed behind him. He tugged you onward. “Is it fear? It must be for there is no draft.”

“Stop, stop, please,” you said breathily, “Do not draw this out any further.”

He tilted his head as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed. He released you and untied his robe and lifted himself to drag the tails from under him. He tossed it away and sprawled across the mattress with a sigh. He sidled over and bent an arm behind his head. You tried to ignore the bulge in his silk pants as he rubbed the space beside him.

“I had the impression that you already slept for quite a time but… I suppose the dungeon still takes a toll,” he remarked, “Lay down, little mouse. You might put out the light before you do.”

You looked around and went to the lamp on the round table in the corner. You blew it out and the silver slats of moonlight lit your path back to the bed. You slid your slippers off before you touched the woven blanket. You lifted a knee onto the mattress and the king gripped your wrist again. He pulled you down against him in a single motion.

“I am rather tired. My day did stretch on,” he said as he nestled you against him. His other hand went down and rested over his crotch. He rubbed himself and groaned. “A good night’s sleep would do us both well.”

He retracted his hand and pulled your arm across his torso. The taut muscles of his stomach were warm against your skin and sent a tickle along your spin.

“The nights of late summer do tend to grow chilly,” he reached over and played with the embroidery of your bodice. “And I find myself restless.”

He let out a long breath and the tension left his body. You laid in silence, eyes wide as you waited for him to do something. Anything. A rumble went through his chest and made you flinch. He chuckled.

“In due time, little mouse,” he promised, “Our games are not over yet.”

🐍

You didn’t recall dozing but you awoke gently to stirring beside you. The king slipped his arm from beneath you carefully. You were surprised by his caution. The bed moved slightly as he shimmied to the other side and stood. He moved in the dark as you remained as you were.

He rounded the bed and paused. He slid his hand along your thigh, your skirts tangled in your legs. He drew away and you listened to him retreat to the bath chamber. There was the subtle swish of water and dainty activity beyond. You wanted to fall back asleep and escape the odd reality.

Then you heard more. A low groan that soon grew to laboured breaths. It went on for several minutes. You crushed your head into the pillow as you tried not to listen. A stifled grunt ended the illicit rhythm. Another sigh.

He didn’t emerge for a few more minutes. He went into the receiving chamber and you heard the other set of doors creak. Shortly, you heard the thin voice of the boy, Hal, and the king returned to let the boy dress him. You watched him by his shadow in the early morning light.

“Go to Birger and fetch the rest of the girl’s wardrobe,” he bid, “I expect that all will be put away before my return. Bring her some food when she wakes and ask Birger to help you, should you require it.” The king strode to the door and stopped again, “And make sure the guards remain on watch. She is more trouble than she seems.”

You laid still until you were certain they were gone, though Hal remained in the receiving chamber. You wouldn’t fall back asleep. You were too on edge. So you stared up at the ceiling and brushed your arm over the spot where Loki had slept beside you. 

It hadn’t been at all what you expected. It was like you were holding your breath, waiting for the tension to snap the branch beneath you. Waiting for Loki to be just who you knew him to be. The king who had lashed you in the dungeon, the arrogant prince who demanded and got all that he wanted.

When you dared to rise and poked your head out into the next chamber, the boy hopped up from where he sat before the hearth. You were careful not to take long steps as the skirt threatened to bare more than you wanted. 

“You don’t have to,” you waved him down, “I can tend to myself.”

“I must bring your morning meal,” he insisted. “As the king wishes.”

“The king,” you mulled as you took a seat at the table, “Is he kind to you?”

He narrowed his eyes and thought, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose he is crueler to others so yes.”

“That is hardly kindness,” you said.

“I’ve had worse masters,” Hal replied. “And less rich.”

You nodded and ran your fingernail along the tabletop. “Well then…” You tapped the wood, “Go on then.”

The boy left and you let out your breath. You hung your head and rubbed your eyes. You listened to the morning birds and the breeze in the leaves. You knew the calm would give way soon to a great storm.

🐍

After you picked at a hard-boiled egg and some rashers, Hal returned with Birgir. They carried a large chest between them and set it down heavily before a painted armoire in the bedchamber. You watched as they hung the silks, satins, and brocades. Slippers were placed along the lower shelves and a few cloaks slung alongside the numerous gowns.

Birger bid you change your outfit and you placated him if only to rid yourself of his disapproval. You dressed in a burgundy dress with a similar cut as the first. None offered much more coverage, often less, and you scowled at the thought of donning them. You tucked your feet into a pair of slippers and washed your face of the make-up that remained from the previous day.

You were once more alone and left to languish in the king’s empty chambers. You thought of the dungeon. At least that was not a farce. At least the dank, dripping depths did not try to disguise your sentence.

You pulled the curtains back from the glass doors in the bedchamber. A balcony stood without as the sun peaked. You slowly turned the curved handle and pulled them open. You stepped out tentatively and looked around. You inhaled the scent of the wind and pollen. You hadn’t been outside in so long that you were overcome with nostalgia, with longing and dread. 

Would you ever know what it was to run across the grass again? To watch the rivers flow and dream of following them?

You went to the rail and looked down at the trimmed lawns and their pristine hedges and the beds of colourful buds. Birds danced along the rims of the fountain and other critters dove in and out of the maze of greenery. You leaned your elbows on the marble rail and stared down. It was far; far enough to kill.

You looked at the balcony, at the slates of the railing, at any foothold that might be found along the wall. You bent further over as you tried to spy those below and if they were close enough to land. Your thoughts ventured to escape, as risky as it might be, and you were want to laugh at your foolishness.

You felt something in your skirts, then a firm grip on your ankles. Suddenly you were tipped over the edge and you cried out as you were certain you would plummet to your death. You grabbed onto the marble slats as you we held dangling over the rail and you looked up at your accoster.

The king guffawed at your fear as you clung to the side of the balcony and slowly pulled your feet back over to the other side. His hand slid up your leg and ass and he grabbed the back of your bodice as he drew you up straight. He caught your hand before you could slap him.

“Now, now,” his hand crushed yours, “Did we not already learn this lesson?”

“You could’ve killed me!” You whined.

“I could’ve. And still could,” he smirked as he trapped you against the rail. “There is much I could do to you.”

You stared at him in disgust as he pressed his body to yours. His hand went to your chin and he framed your face with his long fingers.

“I could bend you back over this bannister and let my kingdom hear what it is I want to do to you,” he sneered. “Gods, the thought has me harder than last eve.”

He dragged his thumb over to your lips and poked inside your mouth. You resisted for a moment, until it hurt, and he pressed down on your tongue.

“If you were to be on your knees, no one should see you,” he said, “They wouldn’t know why it was you kneel before me…”

You swallowed as your stomach filled with bile. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and took a step back.

“So on your knees for your king,” he pushed apart the tails of his overcoat and lifted the bottom of his tunic as he unlaced his trousers, “I’ve been rather patient and it is not a habit I know well.”

You stared in aghast as he rubbed himself through his trousers and winced. His eyes flicked back to you and his face darkened.

“I said ‘on your knees’,” he barked, “Little mouse, you must really start obeying me or I shall have to repeat that lesson.”

You slowly bent your leg and rigidly got down to your knees. He pushed open the front of his trousers and stepped close. You stared at the ground as he pulled himself free and stroked his length. He grabbed your chin again and forced your head up. You tried not to look at his member bobbing in your vision.

“Open that trite little mouth. I will make better use of it than your bitter words,” he squeezed and you gasped at the sharp twinge it sent through your skull.

You opened your mouth and he pressed his tip to your lips. He rested it there and rubbed it back and forth teasingly. You closed your eyes and he slapped your cheek lightly with his fingers.

“No, no, keep those eyes open,” he demanded, “They look so nice staring up at me.” He slid slowly inside your mouth, “So frightened. I daresay, you look, almost, innocent.”

He pushed further in until he was at your throat. You gagged and he went deeper with a snicker. He gripped your head with one head as he thrust to his limit and your eyes welled as you struggled to breathe around him. You’d never done anything with a man more than a playful peck on the lips. You never spent very much time thinking of more.

He eased you back and you took a deep gulp of air before he invaded your throat again. The sickly noise of your spit and his member was repulsive. His eyes held yours as he moved his hips slowly and you latched onto his belt to keep from slipping.

“Little mouse, I only hope your mouth is an omen of what else you have to offer,” he purred as he rocked his pelvis, “A delight…”

Each thrust felt deeper than the last, harder, faster. His groans rose in the warm air as he was encouraged by his own voice. He grew louder as your eyes threatened to roll back and his face contorted in his pleasure. He kept a hand on your jaw and the other on the back of your head as he used your mouth.

You were dizzy as his intrusion felt as if it would never end. He threw his head back and you dared to close your eyes as your mouth turned salty. His voice rose louder and louder and filled your head. He dipped down your throat and his motion staggered. He gripped you tightly and moaned as he emptied himself down your throat.

He grunted with his few final jerks and pulled out sharply. He released you just as quickly and you fell to the side as he backed away and panted. You coughed his seed up onto the stone as he watched you. You could feel his shadow as he neared and you looked up as he cradled his glistening member.

“You’ve made such a mess, little mouse,” he reproached, “I shall forgive it this time, but the next, you won’t muddy my floors so.”

You choked as you sat back on your heels and stared at him with wet eyes. Your throat ached horribly and your head still spun.

“Go on, clean me up, darling,” he looked down at his cock in his hand. “I suspect I am late already.”

You shoved your repulsion down and neared him on your knees. He angled his tip back to your lips and you took him again in your mouth. You pressed your tongue to his member and slowly pulled back as you lapped up the last of his cum. He guided you up and down a few times and relented once more. 

He parted from you again, content, and tucked himself away in his trousers. As he laced himself up, he cleared his throat.

“Well, little mouse, I will say, I’ve done little for my patience,” he chuckled, “I do suggest you might have some wine before I return again… it is said to dull the pain.” He neatened his tunic and overcoat and ran his fingers through his hair. “And I promise, there will be a lot of pain.