#I'm crossing my fingers that it has fallen off somewhere where it can still be rescued from

[damnprecious]

I just noticed that my Aragorn keychain has fallen off at some point

Aragorn is Aragone :(

[ss-skyearn]

Senses

PAIRING : Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader

WORD COUNT : 6.5k

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS/CONTENT : past Seungmin x reader, mentioned cheating (not Hyunjin or reader), brief episode of anxiety.

SMUT WARNINGS : grinding, brief handjob, attempted fingering, biting, spitting, sweat licking (*insert that one taste fancam where he's dripping buckets*), dirty talk, breast play, switch!Hyunjin, switch!reader, exhibitionism, mirror kink (?), slight non-toxic sexual possessiveness, creampie, overstimulation (m. receiving), unprotected intercourse (do not try at home), desperate sex.

A/N : A rewrite of one of my very first pieces so definitely not my best work, but I'm getting back into the groove of writing after a break from it, so have this while I work on a bigger project I'll hopefully be able to announce soon enough. Enjoy, lovelies. ♡

Upon hearing that, he'd turn you around, coming behind, pressing his chest to your back. He'd take your hands in his own large ones, and stretch them outwards.

"Look up, love. Close your eyes, look up and feel."

You'd scoff, "Really, Hyunjin? The titanic pose? Thought you were a creative arts major."

He'd bend down, just a tad, enough that the next words he breathed out were coherent enough to reverberate in your head long after he was done saying them, "They call me the hopeless romantic for a reason."

Rain. Melancholy.

These words have always been synonymous to you. One notwithstanding without the other. Always hand in hand.

The forbidden mutually dependent pair.

It's one of those times, when the sky gods decided to quench the earth's thirst for rainwater.

You find yourself sitting behind the steering wheel, hands white knuckled with the sheer force with which you hold it, your motor neurons running a mile a minute.

Thinking of him.

You stare out the windscreen, noting the raindrops that trickle down, swirling and making mindless patterns. The pitter patter sounds bounce off it, echoing in your empty Sedan, refracting through every solid surface present, wanting to get out, but failing.

Miserably so.

Their condition isn't much different from your own, you suppose.

Trying to break free, frantic in your motions, colliding through this barrier and that, only to effectively be trapped. In your own being.

It still induces anxiety of the unadulterated kind within you.

The thought of him.

Your olfactory senses work overtime, looking for even faint traces, the solace that it's still somewhere. Somewhere far away, but there nonetheless.

The scent of him.

Your fingertips brush against the leather wheel cover, that even after being smoothed down to perfection, remains rough to your touch. Nothing compares to what you once felt, what you felt only once.

The feel of him.

Your tongue twirls around and hits your palate, staying there and caressing, finding, feeling, remembering.

The taste of him.

As calming and grounding as the resounding of the raindrops is, your ears stand on alert, detectable sound range reduced to micro-hertz, trying to pick up even the faintest of melodies. But none of them compare to the one that remains your favourite.

The sound of him.

The trees sway about, leaves dangling in the strong wind. Some fall off, carried to places foreign, twirling about in the small tornadoes created by the gush of breeze. But it just doesn't compare to what your orbs once witnessed.

The sight of him.

Your eyes try to make sense of the criss cross motifs that are littered across your windows, focusing on the partially dried out trail left behind by the raindrops long forgotten, having fallen onto the ground, as if their existence was to serve that mere purpose.

But, within your heart, you can find no remorse. For it has been filled to the brim ever since you've refused to let it go.

The memory of him.

A loud thunder jolts you awake from the downward spiral you find yourself in more often than not.

Almost always when it rains.

Looking around, you realise that the roads that were jam packed, just now, you swear, are completely empty.

In your panicked and half dazed state, the memory still lingering, you pull the car straight to the fourth gear and step on the race.

The engine roars, wheels turn but the car doesn't move an inch.

While you're trying to make sense of just what the hell is happening, your line of sight lands straight onto the clutch.

A trail of smoke slowly seeps out from just underneath it, the smell of burnt metal suddenly hitting you.

Well, fuck.

You look around trying to gauge where it is that you are. To your pleasurable horror, you have no idea where in the world this place is.

You've been in this city for a good three months, but never have you stumbled upon this particular nook. Looking around, you note that after the traffic has been cleared, the place is unnervingly empty. Save for the few cars parked on the other side of the walkway, you don't spot a single soul.

Seems like you might have blacked out far longer than you estimated.

The sombre music playing through your phone comes to an abrupt halt. You glance down, only to find the useless piece of metal glowing and shutting off, the apple logo mocking you.

Well, fuck— two times over.

It is fairly late, but back in your hometown, that was the central hub of nightlife, nights were always bustling with people. More so than the daytime.

The only sign of life you can make out is the dingy convenience store in the distance, branded by a neon sign missing a few letters. With the remaining letters flickering, it makes for the perfect picture of a fucking haunted house.

But beggars can't be choosers. Ironic, really.

Climbing out, you close your car door shut.

Thud.

Probably with much more force than necessary.

You march up to the convenience store, peering into it through the dusty windows, trying to see if anyone else is inside, gauging the general vibe, as such. For all you know, it might actually be more dangerous inside than it is out here.

But fortunately, or unfortunately, you aren't sure, you spot a couple giggling and sharing a piece of croissant. It looks stale at best, dried crumbs barely holding onto the crust, making for a sad excuse of a pastry.

You know you're projecting. The poor pastry never did anything to you, to the memories crawling all over your brain, but you need an outlet.

Better an inanimate object than the couple who make you consider homicide.

Trying to contain your sudden murderous turmoil, you creek open the door and enter in. The inside of the store isn't nearly as crusty as the outside, something you're grateful for.

Not trusting yourself to glance at the couple, who you assume are busy with each other's mouths, if the smacking noises are something to go by, you make a beeline for the shelves.

Skimming through the various items sprawled on them, you aren't sure what you want. Hell, you aren't even sure if you want it.

You rummage about the store, staring at products but never really looking, your senses still on high alert and acutely aware of the rain that still rages outside with full force.

It was his favourite time of the year. Whenever it rained, he would pull you from under any shade you tried to shield yourself with, only to place you right under the downpour.

"Hyunjin!" you'd shout.

"Just let go, love. Live a little," he would say through a giggle.

"How is getting drenched living!?"

Upon hearing that, he'd turn you around, coming behind, pressing his chest to your back. He'd take your hands in his own large ones, and stretch them outwards.

"Look up, love. Close your eyes, look up and feel."

You'd scoff, "Really, Hyunjin? The titanic pose? Thought you were a creative arts major."

He'd bend down, just a tad, enough so that the next words that he breathed out were coherent enough to reverberate in your head long after he was done saying them,

"They call me the hopeless romantic for a reason."

Wetness suddenly makes itself known. You lift up the heel of your palm and roughly wipe off the tears that fall down your cheeks. But they keep coming, one after the other, trailing patterns on your skin, much like the raindrops did on your car window.

By the time you've calmed down, you look around to notice that the couple has left, their half eaten croissant laying on the counter.

Guess they had urgent matters at hand.

You're still trying to figure out your next game plan, about how you're going to get home, when your eyes land on the ramen section. The new flavour everyone's been raving about sits in the middle and as if on cue, your stomach rumbles. You realise you're suddenly very hungry.

The crying was worth something at least.

Taking one of the cups, you move toward the dining section of the store. Making quick work of cooking the noodles, you take a seat by the counter, physically seating yourself as far away from that darn half eaten croissant as you can.

In your hungry enthusiasm, you promptly choke on the spice level your dehydrated state was not ready for, and make a run for the milk section. Just as you're about to reach for your saviour, you collide with something— someone.

"Hey, are you okay?"

You look up and your anger at the couple, the hunger, the burn of your tongue, everything is forgotten. For the person who stands in front of you is no stranger.

It's him.

And he's touching you.

After making sure you're stabilised, he withdraws his hands from your arms and looks up, worry written all over his face.

You see as recognition dawns on him, as his eyes do a double take to make sure he isn't making this up, as his lips part to make way for a silent but evident gasp.

"It's you," he breathes out.

You put both your hands behind your back and clutch them together, mostly because you don't know what to do with them, and partly because it's you trying to appear nonchalant, even with the way your heart is thumping away.

"And it's you."

You know how silly you sound but that's just the charm of Hwang Hyunjin. He makes you silly.

He sweeps his hands through his hair, and as your eyes follow the motion, you take note of his hair for the first time.

"You changed your hair colour."

"Huh?" His hand falls off his hair.

It's your best attempt at a filler statement. Your way of saying that, no, I wasn't thinking— crying over you, over us.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

He moves back to the stove, and begins stirring his ramen a little awkwardly, failing to appear unbothered. His body language tells you he's uncomfortable, that he's very carefully planning out his next moves.

"Well, I was just having my break." He says. You're not sure why he's telling you this in lieu of a greeting, a formality, anything really, but all things considered, this might be his own attempt at a filler statement.

"Well then, enjoy."

Just as you're about to walk off, you hear a gentle voice,

"Leave after you eat. Please."

His voice sounds a lot like himself now. Clearer. More sure of itself.

Just like you remember.

And that shatters your heart further, for you can remember what that voice said to you in passing instances, in hushed whispers between all the chaos, in moments of vulnerability under the sheets.

You turn around and simply look at him, finally allowing yourself to really look.

In the two years that you haven't seen him, he's changed a lot, you note.

His hair is much longer, blonde and slightly wavy, face slimmer, cheeks hollowed out, jawline more defined. Lips pink and plumper than you remember ever appreciating, for a moment you let your mind wonder, think about if they would still feel the same against yours.

"I mean, your ramen.." he trails off and that's when you notice you had just been staring at him. That also makes you realise how apparent you have made that you don't want to exist in the same space as him.

"Um, I can eat it in my car. No worries."

"It's raining out. They'll get cold. Just eat here. I'll go to the back room or something."

A beat.

"If you want me to," he adds quickly, voice once again taking on the same note it had when his eyes first landed on you.

You want to hear that gentle tone once again.

"Eat with me," you blurt out.

He looks at you with a baffled look, and then, slowly but surely, you see a smile stretch its way on his pretty face and you feel fit to cry all over again.

"Alright, then. Go start. They're getting soggy."

You make your way over to where your cup lies, but hunger suddenly evades you. You stare blankly at the noodles drowning in the red soup and it just reminds you of your heart drowning in your sorrow.

Sorrow for the man who is making his way over to you, the man who is handing you—

Chocolate milk?

"You forgot to get it," he chuckles.

You're simultaneously flustered, and awed that he's still so attentive. Even after all that time.

He sits down next to you, and with the warmth radiating off him, you get a waft of his scent.

"Is that sandalwood?"

"In the, the.. ramen?"

You holler with laughter, "Why would there be sandalwood in ramen?"

"I don't know, you tell me!" he says, his shoulders rising up, face scrunched in exaggerated playfulness.

Ah, the dramatics. Glad they haven't changed.

"No, I meant your cologne. It's different now."

You say before you can stop yourself, only to immediately regret it.

The light atmosphere that was created, with struggle, if you were to pick apart a little, is gone as quickly as it came, and his eyes take on an austere look.

"Yeah. You liked it."

You tilt your head.

"You used to compliment me on how nice I always smelled and over time, I came to associate that scent with you."

I have an idea of where this is going and I don't like it.

"It reminded me of you. So I had to change it."

The way he says he had to change it, tightens the knot in your heart.

You clear your throat and stuff your face, to not say something you'll regret, again.

And choke, again.

You reach out for the milk, but he snatches it away, standing up and coming behind you,

"Don't drink when you're coughing, it'll worsen it. Look up for me."

You do, and he begins rubbing your back, counting out for you,

"One, two, three, in. Four, five, out. There. That's it. Breathe."

Even after he's done guiding you through it and you've caught your breath, he stays there, with his hand on your back.

"Um, thanks."

That seems to do the trick, as he quickly retracts his hand and slides back onto the bench beside you, a little further away than he was before.

You resist the urge to slide and make that distance the same again.

Maybe even less.

"So, convenience store, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you always work late night shifts?"

"Not really. I work whenever one of the part timers isn't able to make it."

The wording; 'one of the part timers', makes you think—

"Yeah, I own the place."

But what about—

"I'm mastering in creative arts, still. This is just a side thing."

Oh, that makes sense.

"I know," he continues.

"Wait, how do you know what I'm think—"

He laughs out loud, "Man, I love how you don't have a filter, even now. I still can read you from your face alone."

You huff, and go back to your ramen again.

It's the one constant in this entire situation that you can turn to.

Only to fucking burn my mouth.

This time when you wince and yelp, Hyunjin doesn't come to help you. No, that motherfucker laughs.

You slap his shoulder and just like that, the light hearted atmosphere has returned.

The elephant in the room remains unaddressed but as you continue to eat your food, the spice doesn't quite hit as much, and your heart doesn't quite hurt as much.

After you're done, you glance out the window. It's still pouring cats and dogs and you have no idea what to do.

You look over, only to find him already staring at you, giving you one of those looks.

You know what's coming. But that doesn't make you any less unwilling to answer when the bomb finally drops,

"So, how are things?"

"What things?"

Ignorance. Totally not a dick move.

But you'll do just about anything to delay the inevitable. To not address what you know he wants you to.

"With seungmin."

But he's not here to play, it seems.

"Non existent?" You shrug, not meeting his gaze.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the puzzled look on his face, "What do you mean? What happened?"

You scoff, "His ex happened, that's what."

He's even more confused now. Looking up at him, you wonder if he doesn't believe that his once-friend would do such a thing or if he's just naive enough to not understand what you're implying.

Something seems to click, and his relaxed stance is gone in a flash.

"So, you mean to say," he almost growls, voice sending shivers down your spine, "He did all that only to cheat on you?"

You're not sure what he means by all that but you don't have the time to ask.

His jaw ticks, eyes burning with intensity when he suddenly stands up and promptly starts pacing the aisle.

His hands come up to tug at his locks, those silky blonde locks you have yet to learn the feel of, if ever, and you can make faint phrases from his incoherent murmuring.

"—happening right now—"

"had the nerve—"

"—no way."

You watch him for a while, but soon his pacing gives your head cause to spin and you walk over to him.

You trudge up to his still pacing form, approaching him like you would a feral puppy, for he's certainly acting like one, and gingerly tap on his shoulder.

Seemingly not having noticed you advancing toward him, he startles, and turns to look at you.

And it's then that you notice. Eyes filled with the beginnings of what look an awful lot like tears, his water line is but a moment away from flooding.

"Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"What for?"

"At the exhibit—"

The exhibit? Surely, he's not—

"— when I said it didn't mean anything to me—"

Oh, hell no.

You step back, all attempts to calm him down forgotten, self preservation instincts kicking in.

"Stop."

Your voice is stern, laced with what seems to be venom, and you suppose it might as well be, for you value your self worth far more than the prospect of coming off standoffish.

"Please love, listen—"

Love.

That's what he'd call you. Only to fuck it all up soon after.

You don't want a replay of what happened, a rerun of the horror you were put through. Your heart can only take so much, after all.

"No hyunjin, I'm not doing this with you right now."

You stumble back. Quite literally stumble.

Your head is spinning, the gut wrenching feeling that you wished, prayed, hoped, begged to not return is back.

The memories of all those days return. In full force.

You had cried. Cried until your eyes dried out, until they didn't have anything to give. Until the washbasin tap ran out of water and was no longer able to conceal your sobs. Until your eyes burnt enough to droop. Until sleep tucked you in its icy tentacles. It won't leave you alone.

The thought of him.

All the delicacies in the world and you couldn't taste anything. All the calming fragrances, but you couldn't smell anything. All the beauty that was worth beholding, but you couldn't perceive anything. All the divine melodies, but you couldn't discern anything. All the warm bodies, but you could find comfort in none.

It wouldn't leave you alone.

The taste of him. The scent of him. The sight of him. The sound of him. The feel of him.

You had been deprived of it. And living without it all that time is a fate you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy.

"Hey, love.. "

You don't really know what's going on around you. You can hear his voice, the gentle rumble, but don't really understand anything. It's all white noise, blending in with the buzzing that's growing louder every second.

You feel something warm on your jaw. It feels nice. You grasp at it, holding tightly,

"Stay. Stay," is all you say through hiccups. You don't know what this feeling is, but you don't want it to go. It's grounding, warm, a stark contrast to your shivering body.

As soon as you cling onto his hands with your ice cold ones, Hyunjin is on high alert, winding his arms around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly close.

"Breathe, love, breathe. I'm here. Shhh."

It's taking everything in him not to break at what he's witnessing. You're almost at the brink of a panic attack, trembling, shaking, sobbing. But he has to stay strong. For you.

"Hey, hey, listen. Look at me. Look at me, love."

The voice is still distant. You try to move your eyes, to make sense of the situation, to no avail. Your shivering isn't subsiding.

Then suddenly, you feel the same warmth that was on your jaw, on your lips. Something soft, tender, and sweet.

You're barely moving your lips but this time when your tongue twirls around and hits your palate, not only does it remember, it also feels.

The taste of him.

And suddenly you can feel your senses coming back to you. Your head isn't hurting, your ears aren't buzzing, your eyes aren't unsure, the fragrances aren't mingled together.

For the first time in months, everything is clear.

Taste. Sight. Scent. Feel. Sound.

It's all clear.

Because it's all him.

When he breaks the kiss, you notice his cheeks are stained.

You thumb away his tears, whispering,

"Don't cry."

"You're one to talk," he sniffles.

"You're not doing it again, are you?"

You've come down enough to let out a timid voice, bringing down all the walls you've built around yourself.

One last time. Just one last.

He buries his face in your neck, and you're sure you hear a choked sob, "Never again, love. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

He turns the both of you over, seating himself on the bench, pulling you to his lap sideways.

"I never wanted to do it. But I had to."

You don't trust your voice enough to try to speak, so you can only urge him on with a silent look, hoping he'd catch on.

Of course, he does.

"Before our.. night together, Seungmin had told me he had feelings for you. He told me he knew I did too and asked me to stay away. Something about him liking you first," the annoyance written all over his face couldn't be more apparent, "I don't know why, but I accepted. I overestimated my restraint. I jumped in with you the first chance I got and trust me, love, I don't regret a moment of it. But when I saw Seungmin right after, I knew I had fucked up. I tried to talk to him, but he just wouldn't listen—"

"Is that why you guys fell apart back then?"

He gives you a pained smile, a draw of lips that's much more a dejection than an actual smile.

"He made me feel like I had wronged him. He made me feel so bad about everything. I truly believed I was in the wrong. That I was wrong to let myself indulge in you, wrong in enjoying it. And so I pushed you away. I thought- I thought he was better for you anyway—"

"And none of you thought about asking me? What I wanted?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, love. I was too busy berating myself to see anything else." He leans forward and the next words are muffled in your neck, "I promise I'll be better. I promise. I'll put you first, always. Please. Please, I'm sorry."

Your breath hitches and you do not have the strength, nor the will, if you're honest, to stop what your tongue spills next,

"If I give you one last chance, can we go back?"

"That's all I ask," he breathes, the later part of his sentence right in your mouth.

This time when he kisses you, you are an active participant. Now that you can taste him, you're going to savour him. Both of your tongues dance together, the small sounds of moisture almost as loud as the raging storm outside, all because having been deprived of his sound for so long, it's all your ears can hear.

Your hips have a will of their own as they roll against his crotch and to your delight, find him already on the way to being ready for you.

"Need you," you mumble against his lips, "once more," without stopping the languid rolls of your groin against his.

"You can have me whenever."

The promise has your confidence soaring, and in that exact moment of conviction, you hook your fingers in his track pants and boxers, pulling them down in one fell swoop. He's fully hard by now and even prettier than you remember.

You take him in your hand, not pumping, not stroking, just feeling him and his wetness that is trickling down the shaft by now.

You know he must be impatient, must be having a hard time controlling himself, but he lets you inspect him, lets you run your thumb along his member, swiping and gathering his precum.

When you look up at him, his eyes are glazed over, half hidden under drooped eyelids. Looking right into them, you bring your thumb to your mouth and suck it clean. He lets out a puff of air, but no sound accompanies.

You want to hear him. Now that you can, you want to relish in the sound of him.

You moan with your thumb still in your mouth and it has the desired effect in the form of a groan from those pretty lips.

You lean forward, "You taste so good, Hyun. Here," You stick your tongue out for him, thinking he'd suck on it.

How dumb; to think he'd do something so tame.

Nothing could've prepared you for the way he sticks his own tongue out, dragging it against yours in one fat lick, and pulls away, with a myriad of spit strings connecting your wet, hot appendages.

Enjoying the look of awed surprise on your face, he takes advantage of it, and flips your skirt up, pulling your underwear to one side.

Running his fingers along your slit, another groan makes itself known. He starts pushing two fingers in.

That's when you hold his wrist, stopping him from penetrating you any further.

His eyes shoot up at you and before he can panic about what he did wrong, you frantically murmur, "No time for this," and lift your hips, coming to sit on your knees.

"But are you—"

"More than ready. All okay," you don't feel the need to string together proper grammatically correct sentences. So long as the meaning is conveyed.

"W-wait what abo—"

"Birth control."

"How do you know—"

"You're not the only one who can read me like an open book," you smirk, grabbing his now throbbing length, holding it upright and begin the delicious sink.

You don't really have a distinct memory of what it felt like all those years ago, but even so, you don't recall it being this good.

As your hips meet his, with him completely sheathed in, he falls forward, his face dropping in the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he whines. Actually whines.

"Oh God, please.. "

Hips flush against his, you smile and rake your fingertips through those silky blonde locks you've been eyeing the whole while you've been here. You take it all in. The feel of him.

"You good, Hyun?"

"Just- just, missed this, love this.. "

"What's this?" You can't help but ask. You swear you're not teasing, just curious.

"Love your pussy," and when he lifts his head up, for the second time that night, you see the tears pricking his eyes, "love you. I love you."

Overcome with emotion, you lunge for him, mouths meeting in a frantic clash of teeth and tongue and it's all you can do to keep your sanity intact.

Slowly, you begin to move your hips in circles, feeling every inch he has to offer, and does he have a lot of them, pulliing groan after groan from him, until his voice is echoing in the stand alone empty convenience store, in this distant cranny of the city that remains still half unknown to you, probably reaching out and echoing in the empty rainy night streets, but in this moment, you can hardly bring yourself to care.

"Fuck, best pussy I've ever had," he grunts in between kisses and it's then that you realise, you aren't entirely ready for this form of him.

Back in the day, obscene statements and vulgar language were your speciality. But such filth spilling from those pretty lips is, you realise, fucking lethal.

As you continue your slow grind on him, he finds enough will to sit back up,and reattaches his mouth to you.

His hands play with the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath and slowly trailing upwards, until they reach your breasts, cupping and kneading.

He groans again even though you're the one being stimulated, "Wanted to do this ever since you walked in with that fucking wet top clinging onto you."

A harsh tug of your nipples has you moaning, and your slow rut turns to full fledged bounces.

He continues to fondle you, his face scrunched up. You know the bounces aren't doing much for him, but he's trying to let you have your fun.

A single drop of sweat trickles from his forehead, down across his cheek and his neck. You're not in control of your own actions as you lean forward and press your tongue flat against the small droplet at the base of his neck and lick up the trail it had left behind.

"Oh god, love, when did you turn so naughty?"

His voice is strained and you just know it's only a matter of time before he loses it and takes control.

You're counting on it.

You bring your hand to the front of his face and fork out your fingers, digging them into his hairline and pushing, effectively shoving all his hair back, forehead on display. You lean forward and drag your tongue against his sweaty skin again and that's all it takes for his self control to snap.

"That's it. Off."

You get off him. Standing up frantically, he goes behind you, and winding both his arms around your waist, lifts you up. Reaching the table, where your ramen bowls are now keeping the poor croissant company, he deposits you on your knees atop the table, your front to the large window, back to him.

He grabs your hips and lifts you up slightly so that you're no longer sitting on your heels, and pushes you forward with his large palm against the small of your back, pert ass jutting out slightly, giving him enough room to enter.

The position is something new, and entirely too creative, you'll give him that— with you bracing your weight on your palms, knees on either side of them, slightly crouched forward, ass hanging in air.

Seems promising.

Yet you fail to fathom to just what extent it's going to wreck you, for when he starts pushing back in, your jaw falls slack, a wanton moan tumbling out before you have the chance to stop it.

He pulls out. Barely an inch and thrusts forward with so much force, you worry about hitting your head on the goddamn window.

"Oh, fuck—"

That only seems to motivate him further as he repeats the motion again, practically pounding you with calculated ruts.

Each time he rams into you, it's with a perfectly measured intensity to have you surrendering yourself to the onslaught of pleasure.

It's then that you notice a faint reflection of your connected bodies on the rain tinted window. Transfixed, you stare at him through it, at yourself, watch how his brows are furrowed in concentration, eyes not leaving the area where he enters you.

It doesn't take long for him to follow your line of sight and when he sees just what exactly is driving you insane, he grins. Almost diabolically.

"Does seeing yourself in the reflection excite you, love? Or is it the idea that anyone could walk by and see you taking it from the back that has you creaming around me like this?"

Oh god, you don't think you can deal with this.

"What do you— ah— mean? I'm n-not—"

One deliberate harsh thrust and your cunt makes the most lewd squelching noise, in complete contradiction to any excuse you might have tried to make.

This was of course intentional, as a chuckle resounds in the empty store, "No? Your pussy begs to differ."

And with that he pulls out, lifting you by the waist once again, and walks around the table to land you right in front of the window, your back to him.

He pulls only your hips backwards, bending you to the perfect angle and in one swift motion, is back inside you again.

"Watch all you want," he smirks and goes right back to jackhammering into your hole.

You land your hands onto the panel and with it so close to your face, the glass turns foggy.

His hands once again find your tits, groping, and mushing them together. You notice him staring at them through the reflection, greedy eyes enjoying the view of the deep cleavage he's created.

Just to mess with him, you open your mouth and let a dollop of spit fall down right into the cleavage, trailing down the valley, which is now non-existent, with the way he's pushing them together, between your breasts.

He groans, "Fuck, love, you definitely got a lot dirtier in the time we were apart. Seungmin teach you this?"

You grimace, not sure why he had to bring it up now of all times, even if it was partially the truth, "Can you not talk about other guys when you're balls deep inside me?"

"Why not? Like you said, it's me who's balls deep in you. If anything, I love how we can just talk about him when it's me fucking you this good."

You've never seen this side of him before. There's a strange possessiveness to his tone, one that lets you know this isn't just dirty talk.

"I always wanna fuck you, always wanna be in your cunt. Will you let me, love?"

You're turned on beyond belief. He's managed to continue to spew filth and fuck you into tomorrow, keeping up a fast and hard tempo all at the same time.

"Will you, hm?" He prompts when you don't answer.

"Let me have you to myself. Please?"

The all too familiar bubbling in your lower belly is all you can focus on, but through the haze of it all, you manage to mumble an "always."

He falls forward at that, bringing his hand around you, jutting is index and middle finger apart in a V sign, and slots them on either side of your clit. It's then that the real pleasure begins. He moves both the fingers back and forth alternatively, one moving backward when the other moves forward, occasionally bringing them together to effectively pinch your clitoris.

He remembers. He remembers just how you like it.

It's not the movement in itself, but the realisation that he remembers that snaps the coil that has been building, and with no further warning, you are coming all around him.

You wail, body thrashing about with how hard your orgasm hits you, eyes seeing white spots all over your field of view.

He slows down his thrust to rhythmic grinds, fingers taking on a gentle rub of circles on your overworked clit, trying to prolong your pleasure as much as he can.

You have partially come down, walls still fluttering around him, when he speaks with urgency,

"W-where do you want me?"

"Inside," it's not even a matter to mull over. You'd be a fool to not be painted by his pigment, to not want his essence to create the most beautiful masterpiece. One that remains sheathed inside you, for the world to never witness. Only yours to feel, to possess.

He suddenly sinks his teeth into your neck, biting down hard. You yelp and reflexively clench around him and that's all it takes for him to lose himself, hot liquid gushing and filling you up to the brim, dripping out and down, and he's still going, giving more of him to you.

When he's finally milked himself for all he's worth, he slumps forward, still buried in you to the hilt. This makes your body, previously bent, straighten and your tits press against the cool window.

You gasp from the sudden chill, and he whispers,

"Sorry love. Here," and reaches both his hands out to slip in between the glass and your breasts, scooping them fully, his hand now pressed to the cold casement.

You laugh, "Don't pretend you're doing this for me. After what just happened, I'm fully aware of your tit fixation."

He laughs too but doesn't deny it.

As he stills and catches his breath, you push your hips back against his now softening cock.

You can't help it. It's completely involuntary.

He hisses in overstimulation, but makes no move to stop you.

"Does it hurt?" You enquire, not stopping your movements, for if he says no, you'll have to anyway. Savour it while it lasts, your greedy mind tells you.

But what he says is not what you were expecting.

"Nothing hurts when you do it, love."

He whimpers, but doesn't attempt to halt you, still.

"You could run me over with a truck and I'd thank you."

Rolling your eyes at this antics, you stifle out a laugh. "Count me in."

Turning you around, he looks at you in mock offence, hand held over his chest, "You wound me, love."

You laugh even harder at that.

Gosh, did you miss this dramatic ass.

An endeared smile makes its way onto his face. He pulls you into his embrace again. And as his sandalwood fragrance tingles your senses alight, you drown right into it. The scent of him.

You could get used to this new scent on him, his skin, make new memories, forgoing the ones that scarred your soul.

"But really, I'm grateful. Thank you, for coming back to me."

"Just don't break my heart again."

He pulls back, just an inch, sorrow taking over his features, "I swear I never meant—"

You silence him with a finger to his lips, which he kisses on reflex.

"I know. No more apologies. Just promise me. That you'll stay this time."

He kisses your finger again with a nod.

"That you'll love me back this time."

Another kiss.

"That you'll never assume that anyone or anything makes me happier than you. "

Another.

Removing your finger from those plush lips, you move further towards him, if that, at all, is even possible.

You cup his face in your hold, "That you'll always fuck me like you did today."

A smirk tugs at his lips, cheeky demeanour taking over.

But his face suddenly softens, "You were my first, all those years ago. And I intend for you to be my last."

That has your insides positively melting, but under his gaze, you know of no way to react, except to smack him on the chest, and yelp, "You're so fucking corny today!"

And the smirk makes a comeback, as he leans down, and whispers right in your ear,

"They call me the hopeless romantic for a reason."

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[qqueenofhades]

ok fix-it time hilary you can do this i believe in you

prompt is a classic one--Aziraphale runs after Crowley after the "i forgive you" "don't bother" exchange OR the kiss does magically work like Crowley hoped

no i am not using english grammar and spelling today my feelings are too strong

Aha. Well, I wrote this fic yesterday, but it... might not entirely qualify as fix-it. My bad. To make it up, I offer you this: technically not either of the suggested scenarios, but still something to salve the pain, set at the end of Season 3 or thereabouts.

The late afternoon light is still and weighty: golden, heavy, purposeful, the sort of light that takes up space, that polishes floorboards and sets dust motes drifting, settles on the backs of furniture and the pages of books like a sleeping cat. The sort of light that fills the room almost tangibly, that stripes the bed and spills off it to the floor like too much olive oil poured into an amphora, back in the hot white heat of the Holy Land. Since he is, of course, a being of pure light, Aziraphale can feel it in his sinews, in the core of his soul, but it almost seems... wrong. Not the light itself, but that he's still allowed to touch it. He doesn't know if he's Fallen or not, or if such trite distinctions even matter. He only knows this. Them. Now.

Aware that it is incumbent upon him to start the conversation, he clears his throat and looks at Crowley, sprawled out on the bed with a fair show of his old insouciance, but Aziraphale can sense the fragility behind the flippant smile. Crowley's black-clad legs are jauntily crossed, his shoes kicked off, his hair a particularly vibrant red against the little-used, age-yellowed lace of the pillow cover; this bed, after all, doesn't get much use in the traditional sense. Aziraphale's preferred human vice is food, not sleep, though he knows Crowley is very good at it and might have to teach him a thing or two about that, about rest. He craves it, but he doesn't know where to begin. That seems applicable to any number of things right now, but he has to start somewhere, he supposes. He just doesn't know.

"Er," Aziraphale says at last, to Crowley's increasingly-strained expectant expression. "My dear, I... I am..."

He bites his tongue. He's rarely been in this position before, knowing that he's the one who needs desperately to ask for forgiveness -- real forgiveness -- and not at all certain that it will actually be granted. It's always seemed so slick, so easy, something to toss off as easily and unthinkingly as the humans say bless you when someone sneezes, and carrying about the same spiritual or emotional depth. Aziraphale feels mortifyingly ashamed of it, of himself. He shuffles his feet, twisting the hem of his waistcoat between his fingers. At last, to the carpet, he says, "I'm so very, very sorry. I've been an absolutely dreadful ninny, and I don't... I don't know if you can forgive me, but..."

"Angel." Crowley's voice is rough. "Bloody look at me, would you?"

Half-fearing to be dissolved by infernal hellfire on the spot, but knowing that he deserves it, Aziraphale looks up.

It's hard to read Crowley's expression, even more than usual. The glasses are off, but his slitted amber eyes are opaque, careful, wary, not quite sure what this is or what's going to come of it. The dead-silent moments that follow, as he weighs up his options, are among the very worst of Aziraphale's entire unending life. Then Crowley fractionally shifts his weight, opening up a spot on the bed next to him, a silent invitation. He doesn't say anything. Using their words tends to backfire tremendously, even if they need to get used to it. He just looks. He just waits.

After all this time, after everything, Aziraphale finally doesn't hesitate. In fact, he almost trips over himself as he blunders across the floor, falls onto the squeaking old mattress, and clambers into Crowley's arms. Crowley wraps them both around him with fierce, ferocious, furious strength, pulling Aziraphale down next to him, Aziraphale's softer, rounder corporal form fitting neatly into the hard lines and lean angles of Crowley's. Aziraphale rests his head on the bare triangle of throat where Crowley's shirt is unbuttoned, burrows his face into the sharp cleanness of Crowley's collarbone, and becomes belatedly, embarrassingly aware that he's crying. It seems beneath the dignity of a (possibly-ex?) Principality, but he doesn't think he can stop. He just wants to lie here and clutch onto Crowley for literally dear life, to mourn for all the time they've missed, for the simple, unbearable, shocking, agonizing, perfectly exquisite pleasure of holding his love close. "I'm so sorry," he says again, struggling not to let his voice crack too extravagantly. "Dreadful ninny. Absolutely dreadful."

"You were doing what you thought was right. What you needed to do to stop the Apocalypse, just... differently." Crowley's voice turns distant, his fingers absently stroking Aziraphale's hair. It feels strange and shocking and quite, quite lovely. "Can't really tell you off for that, can I? After all, I'm a demon. What do I know about doing good?"

"Hush," Aziraphale says, primly and a little watery. "Now you know that's not true."

Crowley lifts his head and regards Aziraphale for a long moment. He doesn't answer, just thinks about it. "All right," he allows, at deliberate length. "Maybe a little. I'm still very mad at you, though."

"I do understand." Aziraphale nestles again, and Crowley doesn't stop him. "But perhaps, even if I have no real right to ask it, you can... you might... one day think about... f-forgiving me?"

His voice trembles and squeaks. It takes all the courage in him, even more than when he stood up to the full hosts of Heaven and told them no, no more, not ever again, but he looks Crowley in the eye. He tries not to look too expectant, or too arrogant. He waits.

Crowley, for his part, looks mildly flabbergasted. He makes one of those incoherent nnngh noises that he resorts to whenever he finds himself at a loss for words, and shakes his head. "Idiot," he says, very softly. "Of course I bloody forgive you. Of course. Now if you -- "

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. That's because Aziraphale likewise screws up every drop of courage, takes hold of Crowley's collar, and lowers his head, terrified that he's about to muck it up. But Crowley just looks at him like he's luminous, like the light is still in him and he is the light itself, and tips his head just that bit, in order to settle their lips together.

The kiss is long and slow, soft and sweet. Crowley's hand flutters up to rest in the wild white tufts of Aziraphale's hair, and Aziraphale -- somewhat in terrified awe at his own daring -- nibbles experimentally on Crowley's lip. He's quite bad at it, but neither of them care, or can think about anything else, or do anything but heave short sharp breaths, half-laughs, muffled sobs. When they finally pull apart, Aziraphale says anxiously, "I hope it wasn't very awful?"

"Oh." Crowley's eyes are half-lidded, and in the sunlight, he too looks as if he is burning like a beacon, brighter than his favorite stars. The affection in his voice is greater than the wings of heaven or the reaches of hell, the heights of the sky or the depths of the sea, and his smile outshines them all. "Absolutely terrible."

[selineram3421]

Petit Lapin Blanc

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor and Human Child Reader

:Platonic:

Warning! ⚠

⚠ humans being weird ⚠

~

You were watching the white rabbit on the t.v. It was hopping around in circles. Then someone called out to you.

Looking over, you see a red man.

"Could you tell me how you got here?", the man before you asked, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

How I got here? You think, trying to remember but come up with nothing.

A pout appeared on your face.

"I-I don't remember. I don't-", you hiccup and start to cry.

"Come now, there's no use in crying!", the red man says and pats the top of your head. "Are you hungry? Hm?", he asks cupping your face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

His claws brush against your hair as he does so.

You notice that he's still smiling. Not at all angry that about you crying.

"I'm not hungry.", you sniff, holding your rabbit tighter.

"Let's get you somewhere safer, yes? There's a lot of strange folk here.", he says and stands up.

Tall. You think, having to look all the way up to keep eye contact.

"Would you like to come with me? If not that's fine too.", he says and holds a hand out to you.

You look at his hand and then back at him.

"I'm not supposed to follow strangers.", you tell him.

"Oh, you're quite right! I'll introduce myself.", he says, standing straight and fixing his coat. "I am Alastor! A Radio Host, specifically from around the 1920s."

"That's a long time ago.", you comment.

"Yes, but not too long ago.", he smiles kindly. "May I know you? You're quite the stranger now."

"Hmm..", you hum with a smile, putting a finger to your chin and pretending to think about it.

He notices your change of mood and his smile widens.

"Ok.", you say and give him a nickname. "I can't give you a real one, because you seem like a fae, mister."

"Me? A fae? Hahahaha!", he laughs.

Heads of nearby demons turn but some don't look for long. There's a few still watching.

"I'm not fae but close enough little one.", he chuckles, wiping a fake tear away. "Now that we are acquainted, would you like to come stroll with me? I'll see if I can help you out of this rabbit hole you've fallen into.", he holds his hand out to you again.

"No tricks?", you ask, lifting a hand up.

"No tricks, cross my heart.", he says and makes an X mark over his chest.

You squint at him. The man shows the hand behind his back. No fingers crossed.

Taking a hold of his hand, you decide to follow him for now. Both of you begin to walk together.

"Where am I by the way?", you ask.

"Somewhere you are not meant to be.", he says. "Worry not! I'll try to help you find your way back home."

If I'm supposed to be at home, how did I end up here? You thought and looked to your stuffed rabbit friend. Maybe home wasn't safe and I left.

You couldn't be too sure with not remembering, but for now you would follow the cheshire cat-like man.

He seemed like the safest option for now.

"I wonder.", Alastor said.

"Wonder what?", you ask, looking up at him.

"What is your favorite color?", he asks and looks over to you.

"Not this.", you say, pulling at your clothes. "I don't like these clothes either. Its not comfortable."

"Then let's get you new ones. Comfort is just as important as style.", he says.

"You do have a point.", you say with a nod. "Where can I find comfortable new clothes?"

Alastor stops and lifts you up. Letting you sit on his hip.

"There! Now you'll be able to see where we are going.", he says and points to a direction to the left. "We'll go that way. I have a friend who has a shop that sells all sorts of things."

"Really? Like what?", you ask interested.

"Let's see.", the man in red says and begins walking again. "She sells clothes, jewelry, china, handkerchiefs, letter openers.", he lists off.

"China?", you say confused.

"Like tea sets. Cups, plates, bowls.", he clarifies.

"So fancy cups and bowls?", you say.

"Yes, fancy cups and bowls.", he nods.

Looking at the man, you see that he has two fluffy looking things on his head. Also two small antlers.

"Mister Alastor, are you sure you're not fae?", you ask. "A faun?"

"No, I am not little one. Close but I am not fae.", he says again. "I'll tell you later, promise. And just Alastor is fine dear."

All you do is hum and pet your toy rabbit, resting your head on his shoulder. Looking up, you see a red sky.

I wonder of there's a fire somewhere. You thought drowsily, feeling yourself starting to sleep. I'll sleep for a little bit. I'm safe now.

With that, you let darkness take a hold of you.

.

Foster homes were something that you had to get used to.

The first few were terrible.

One had a weird man that made holes in the walls. Another had a woman who was mean to everyone, and the one before you got to the most recent had a couple that didn't like each other anymore.

The new one you were in now had an older couple.

You had just arrived to your new temporary home. The social worker opened the car door for you and helped get your bag out. The only thing you had to carry was your white rabbit.

Standing before the two, you took in their appearance. The man wore a dark suit and the woman wore fancy pastel clothes, like she was going to church.

"Hello little one!", the woman greeted you with a smile.

You didn't like that kind of smile. It was the one people used to seem harmless, hiding all the bad things they've done.

"Go on, say hello.", the young social worker, Sally said, nudging your shoulder. "Sorry, they're quite shy.", she smiled apologetically to the older couple.

"Oh its no problem.", the woman said waving her hand. "We don't mind."

The man just watched quietly.

"Let's go inside, yes?", Sally said, adjusting your bag and her briefcase. "I want to make sure everything is safe for the child and I'll be on my way."

"Of course!", the woman said and guided you both inside.

The man was the last to enter the home, closing the door.

A ticking sound had caught your attention. Looking around, you don't see a clock.

"We made sure to put away anything that seemed too dangerous.", the woman said while walking both of you to the living room.

The house was old and pretty.

You noted that everything was styled the same. It had a big living room with fancy furniture, a old fireplace, and pictures in detailed gold looking frames.

The two women were talking about paper work that needed signing, now sitting on the couch. It was boring to listen to and all you wanted to do was explore.

"Can I look around?", you ask, hoping to find where the ticking was coming from.

A quick scowl took over the older woman's face as she turned to look at you. Hiding it with a smile when the social worker looked at her.

"Oh, I don't think-", Sally began.

"I'll take them.", the man suddenly spoke up.

You jumped up a bit, forgetting he was behind you and turned to look at him.

"If that's alright?", he said.

"I can't let them leave my sight-", Sally frowned.

"Oh, just give them cookies or biscuits Hank.", the older woman said. "Its just across the hall and into the kitchen. Look, you can even see the table from here.", she pointed.

Sure enough, the kitchen table was visible with a jar sitting on top of it.

"I suppose..", Sally said and sighed. "Alright."

The man, Hank, steps out of the doorway. Gesturing for you to go and get cookies.

You looked at him with a slight glare, not sure if you could trust him, but you do go into the kitchen.

"Now, where do I sign?"

You can hear the older woman ask, the two begin talking again as you make your way over to the table.

Hank also enters the kitchen and gets the jar, opening it for you. Peaking in, you see cookies with white frosting drizzle.

"Sugar cookies.", is all Hank says before putting the jar back on the table and leaving the room.

You pull out a nearby chair and climb on it, sitting on your legs as you take a cookie.

Maybe this home will be better than the other one's. You think and take a bite of the cookie.

~

Smol with tall lol.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@stolas-thebirb @c4rved-pumpk1n @ducky-died-inside

Next ➡ Part 2

🐇 ChL | ML for Alastor🎙

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Unwilling | {KokuZan}

Theme: Angst

Note: I purposefully chose to write this as angsty as I could. I'm sorry in advance-

TW: implications of suicide! Mentions of sex :> like... the word haha- Angst obv! Vague spoilers-

How I wrote this is kinda skipping around a bunch and I wrote it differntly than I used to so sorry it's kinda rushed too... 

It might not make sense if you've not finished the manga :> (more somewhere around the middle, I mean? cuz i'm vague abt details halfway through LMAO)

(part two here)

Kokushibo looked at Muzan with an inquiring look. "Muzan..?" he said tentatively. 

Muzan sighed, as if annoyed he had been called. "Yes?" He looked at Kokushibo from his perch on his chair. "What is it you want?"

"Can I, um, kiss you?" the Uppermoon asked. He wasn't sure what to say. He just wanted some sort of affection from his boyfriend who seemed to hesitant to give him any.

Muzan crossed his arms. "Kiss me? No. I'm not in the mood for wasting my time right now."

Kokushibo nodded and averted his eyes. He'd expected that. It was the same answer he got nearly every time. 

"It's too much of a bother," Muzan said, rolling his eyes. "Now, go to where Nakime is."

Kokushibo obeyed and moved to leave.

~~~

Muzan stood above all of the Uppermoons on a platform, something he'd had Nakime make specifically higher up to appear more menacing 'than he already was.'

"All of you are useless!" he said, his voice echoing in the hollow of the room. "You cannot seem to follow orders correctly! So far, no Hashira has been killed in the past, what? ten years? Pathetic. None of you have found any sort of trace of the blue spider lily, and besides that! You cannot catch a mere child. No sign of the runaway demon, no sign of any of you making progress at all! Disgusting. Have the Upperranks fallen? The Lowermoons were already horrible, but will all of you acting as such, maybe you six should be qualified as Lowermoons." He gave them a condemning look. "You're failing as Uppermoons. If you do not do something soon, if you do not prove yourselves worthy of the title I've given to you, I'm stripping all of you of your ranks."

There was a defeaning silence in the room and even Nakime knew better than to make a sound as Muzan glared down upon the Uppermoons. 

The threats were probably—hopefully—empty ones as they had been for some years now, but they were still terrifying all the same. Who knew if this would be the time he decided they were no longer just to scare them? 

He raised an eyebrow at their silence. "Very well then, off to your missions now. I hope none of you disappoint me," he said, shooting a look at Nakime.

In an instant there was a strum of an instrument and every Uppermoon found them back to where they'd been a couple minutes before. 

Kokushibo, having just had been in Muzan's office, was there again now. Muzan stood in front of him, the stern look still playing on his face.

The Uppermoon blinked then said, "Uhm, Master..."

"What is it?" Muzan snapped, irritated.

"I'm sorry that I've—we've all—not been doing enough to fullfill your wishes, I promise to work harder and I'll-" Kokushibo started.

Muzan interrupted him with an impatient look. "Does it look like I give a fuck? Apologies aren't going to change anything and promises won't either, so don't fucking act as if I'll 'forgive you' for some stupid words." He rolled his eyes and glanced up at Kokushibo. "It's your own fault for being useless and weak. Go fix it yourself than pleading forgiveness."

"But... Muza-" 

"No. Go do your missions or I'll put Douma up as Upper 1," he said, clearly a lie but also quite plainly a way to say I don't give a fuck about you right now.

Kokushibo sighed and turned away, trudging out the door.

~~~

Muzan glanced at the clock. 4am. Fuck. 

Well he wouldn't be going outside anytime soon.

He sighed. Where was Kokushibo? 

He drummed his fingers on his desk mindlessly, bored out of his mind. He sort of wanted to be with Kokushibo right now, just to... be with him. 

But there was no way he would go ask. No fucking way. 

Muzan dropped his head down onto the desk, annoyed with himself. Why'd he even care about Kokushibo?

The clocked ticked by painfully slowly and Muzan found himself pacing around.

Eventually, he got bored and went around to Nakime. 

"Nakime." he said quietly, his voice echoing in the empty room.

"Yes?" 

"Take me to one of the households I've presented myself in as a human."

"Alright." She brought her hand down to her biwa and plucked one of the strings.

Muzan blinked and found himself in front of a door. 

"Papa!!" a little girl said, running up to him and hugging him. 

He quickly changed his eyes to normal looking ones and gave her a smile. "Hello, I'm back from work," he said. "Why are you up so early? It's only 6..."

She grinned up at him. "Because I can!"

He sighed. "Alright..."

A woman came in and greeted him. "She woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep," she explained apologetically.

"Oh, alright, well, you should go off to bed," he said, looking down at the child in a disapproving way.

"Awh.. but-"

"Go to sleep! You need sleep!!" 

She huffed but nodded and ran off.

The woman laughed. "Welcome back, dear."

He nodded. "Hm... If she sleeps, do you think we could have some time alone?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said, smiling at him. "Why?"

"I thought we could maybe do something together," he said, his tone suggesting more than he said. Suppose, he thought, she could fullfill some of his want for Kokushibo. She wouldn't be the Uppermoon but she'd be something to fill in his time? 

~~~

"He went where..?" Kokushibo asked slowly, his gaze dropping from Nakime to the floor. Why would Muzan go to a human family...

Nakime sighed. "Kokushibo-sama, Muzan-sama went out with the woman from the family of humans he'd created in Asakusa." She looked down at him from her platform above. "Apologies. Should I take you there?" 

He shook his head slowly. "No, no I think... take me to his office, please?"

"Alright..."

~~~

(drama✨)

Kokushibo tapped his foot impatiently on the floor as he waited.

Finally, after a couple hours, Muzan arrived. He looked disheveled and his clothes looked unusually unkept. As he walked in, he was fixing them, when his eyes landed on Kokushibo.

"Kokushibo?" he said, confused.

At the same moment, the Uppermoon said, "Muzan. We must talk."

"What about?" Muzan didn't care about reading Kokushibo's mind at the moment. His own mind was already filled with the sounds the woman had made some time before. Honestly, he didn't like her but if it would do anything to make him feel less... clingy, then so be it. Well, it was kind of useless now since Kokushibo was back and now he wanted to just throw himself into the Uppermoon's arms...

"Are you cheating on me?" 

The demon lord blinked, pulling his mind from his thoughts. "What now?"

"Are you cheating on me," Kokushibo repeated, his voice stern but his tone almost... hurt.

"Why would you..." Kokushibo's thoughts filled Muzan's mind and he realized that he knew of the woman. "No! I'm not." 

"Are you sure of that? You never seemed to care about me, you never do anything with me, you don't let me do anything for you, and then you go out and have sex with another person! And a woman, no less!! Do I not satisfy your needs because I am a man?" Kokushibo asked irritably. 

There was silence in the room for a beat before Muzan said, "Well, of course I don't like you!! You're... boring!" What a fucking lame insult. He didn't even mean it. But of course, he wasn't about to say what he felt... that's not how it worked, right?? Anyways, who even wanted to pour out their feelings? "I don't care about all this affectionate shit you want."

It was Kokushibo's turn to process this. "So... you really don't care?"

"No!!" He was so persistant, why did he even like Muzan? 

"Then..." Kokushibo swallowed, his mind racing. Muzan didn't like him... "Then I want to break up."

"What?" Muzan looked genuinely shocked at this. "Why?"

"You literally just said you don't like me!! And you just cheated on me!" Kokushibo crossed his arms. "I'm breaking up with you." Then he turned and marched out, leaving Muzan in shock.

Why... How had this happened? Muzan leaned on his desk for support. He hadn't been cheating!! He'd just been... No, he supposed it appeared as if had been. Why hadn't he noticed...? (bc he's a dumbass)

~~~

Kokushibo flopped onto the bed he never used, feeling horrible. 

Why had he done that?

No, more so, why had Muzan cheated on him?

He... Kokushibo loved him! He'd done everything in his power to make sure Muzan was feeling alright in the relationship, feeling good. But he'd failed. And now they'd broken up. Because of Kokushibo.

Fuck.

He was a fucking idiot, what had he done wrong?? Where in their relationship had he fucked up...?

~~~

Muzan buried his head in his arms, leaning onto the desk. That didn't happen. Please let it not have happened.

But, of course it had. Of course it had.

Muzan had fucked up the whole relationship, and now, for some reason, Kokushibo had thought he never cared and then he'd fucking broken up with him!!

No fucking wonder all his relationships were fake. 

Muzan groaned. He was a shitty boyfriend. 

Not Kokushibo, Muzan was.

Kokushibo had been a wonderful one. A loveable one.

And guess who dumped that all away?

Muzan.

He lifted his head and hit it hard onto the table. Fuck.

~~~

He thought he would get used to it. The not dating Kokushibo 'it,' to be more specific. But it was hard. Kokushibo had been... everything to Muzan. And now he was nothing. 

It had been months now and yet, the only thing Muzan could think of was his boyfriend. No, his ex. Right. They weren't dating anymore.

Why couldn't he just grasp that?

~~~

A girl. A demon girl. She had conquered the sun.

Muzan should've felt happy but he really... really, he didn't. He couldn't. But he would get the fucking girl and take her blood.

Maybe if he became truly immortal he could find a way to get Kokushibo back.

~~~

Kokushibo felt useless. 

Like, he couldn't... couldn't live knowing Muzan had never liked him. He'd just been... some toy to the demon king, then? Probably.

And so he did his best to ignore him, avoid him.

He would never forgive Muzan. No, he could never. 

~~~

Perfect. The perfect solution!! 

Muzan would get the demon girl and then when all the demons could resist the sunlight... then, he would use that occasion to ask Kokushibo back. Because it would be a good time for the demons as well. 

~~~

Fuck it, the demon slayers were doing better than Muzan had expected... But, no matter. They would win. Muzan would win. He had to, otherwise how would he ask out Kokushibo?

~~~

Shit. Half of the Uppermoons were dead. Where was Kokushibo.

Muzan closed his eyes and located Kokushibo, fighting three Hashira and one demon slayer.

The Uppermoon was... struggling.

Ah... the strongest Hashira was there too.

No matter... the strongest Uppermoon was no match for him.

~~~

No. No. No, what, how?!

Kokushibo... Kokushibo had died.

How. How the fuck.

Muzan fought furiously against the Hashira that just kept coming and coming. The demon slayers, so persistent. 

Why. Why had they taken Kokushibo from him?!

~~

Fucking hell... 

Muzan saw the sun facing towards him, disintigrating him. He was dying. Fuck it, he was dying.

And then there was nothing.

He looked around. Was he still alive?

No...

He was going to hell now, no?

He was dead.

And there was Kokushibo.

"Kokushibo!" Muzan shouted, his voice echoing in this emptiness. 

Kokushibo looked at him, disdain filling his features in a second. "Muzan," he said quietly.

"Kokushibo, will you forgive me? I..." Muzan's voice trailed off.

"Forgive you?" Kokushibo laughed, a fake one, a cold, horrid sound. "Never. I will never forgive you, Muzan Kibutsuji. You ruined my life. I should've never become a demon." 

Muzan gaped at him. "What..?" 

Kokushibo gave him a disgusted look and faded away.

"No! Kokushibo! I'm sorry!" 

It was too late.

He would never be forgiven.

~~~

Muzan wasn't aware that people who went to hell were given second chances. But apparently they were.

He found himself as a child growing up. He felt sort of empty, as if missing something though.

As he grew into his teens, he started remembering more of his past. Little by little. 

He found he longed for a relationship, but whenever he dated someone he felt only remorse for something—someone—he didn't know what. Or who.

He had a girlfriend now. Again.

She was sweet and nice to him but he found that he wasn't particularily attracted to her. Sure, she was pretty and all, but... he was unsure.

"Kie!" he said, her hand clasping around his arm. "You're going to break my back!"

She laughed. "Carry me!! I'm not that heavy!"

"You aree!!" he whined.

She gave him a playfully injured look. "What?!" 

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he said, pulling her along the sidewalk.

Muzan stopped abruptly, almost bumping into a boy who looked to be around his age. Kie did bump into him. 

"Ow-" Muzan said, turning and stopping her from falling.

"Sorry- Oh, hello!" Kie said, smiling.

The boy nodded. "Hey."

Muzan turned back and nearly fell down. "Kokushibo?!" he said, shock filling his tone.

"You know him?" his girlfriend asked, confused.

Kokushibo nodded slowly. Then quickly shook his head. "No, nope, you must've mistakened me. My name is Michikatsu, sorry, bye!!" he said, looking almost scared. He shot a glare at Muzan then sped off in the opposite direction.

"That was odd," Kie said.

"Yeah, uhm, odd," Muzan agreed, nodding. He watched as Kokushibo ran off. Kokushibo... he could speak to him now. 

~~~

"Fuck, where the hell is he?" Michikatsu grumbled, walking down the street.

"Kokushibo." 

The voice pulled Michikatsu out of his thoughts and he looked up. Dread filled him instantly. Muzan.

"Yes?" he said quietly. There was no escape, was there? He couldn't leave as he was looking for Yoriichi.

"Kokushibo, you remember, don't you?" Muzan asked hopefully.

"I do. Why?" he said, realizing a second too late he should've pretended not to. 

"Kokushibo, I'm sorry, please!! Please can we... can we try again?" Muzan pleaded. 

"No."

"What?"

"No, no we cannot. You say you remember, then you must remember that you've cheated on me and that you don't even care," Michikatsu said, crossing his arms. 

"But... I care now!!" 

"Sure. Lies." He glared at him, anger filling his voice. "I could never care for you anyways." That was a lie too. He did care. But he didn't want to get into a one-sided relationship. Muzan was probably just doing this for show. 

"Oh." 

And that was all Muzan said because then, Yoriichi walked over.

"Michi!! I was looking for you everywhere," he whined.

Michikatsu turned around gratefully. "Yoriichi!! Finally! I was trying to find you too," he said, laughing.

Muzan blinked. Oh. Yoriichi.

Yoriichi noticed Muzan, then, and his eyes narrowed. "Michi, is he bothering you?" 

Michikatsu considered denying it but then nodded. "Yes, he's, uhm, trying to date me."

"Get away from my brother," Yoriichi snapped. "We don't need your gay ass around us." He pulled Michikatsu's arm. "Let's go."

"Yeah, let's go," Michikatsu said, half relieved and half disappointed. For what? He knew not. 

"Wait-!" Muzan tried, but the Tsugikuni's had already sped off.

An angry voice came from behind him. "Are you cheating on me?" Kie asked, crossing her arms. 

"What?" Muzan turned, desperation suddenly filling him. Those words... not again. 

"You're trying to date someone else? Are you really gay? Wow. The most bullshit I've heard in my life. You're literally dating a girl and then go off and find guy and try to date him?" Her voice grew louder with each word, fury rising in her throat. "I can't believe you!! I'm breaking up with you! I really thought I could trust you."

Muzan was speechless which Kie took as confirmation. She glared at him and then stalked off.

That...

Muzan blinked. 

Fuck.

~~~

Yoriichi was making rice and Michikatsu stood watching him, his mind elsewhere.

Should he really have gone off and done what he had done? Or should he have let Muzan have a chance... Really, he wanted to have. He wanted to hold Muzan in his arms and believe that he meant the apologies.

But he also couldn't believe them. As much as he wanted to. Which was ironic, he knew, but it was... something he truly felt. And he hated himself for it.

"Michi? You alright?" Yoriichi asked, waving a spoon in front of his face.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking," Michikatsu said, smiling.

"Alright, well, the food is done!" 

Michikatsu picked up the plate that Yoriichi had made for him and sat at the table.

Had he really done the right thing? Or was he just unwilling to chance Muzan's supposed lies...?

~~~

Maybe he should've just let Kokushibo go.

Two rejections from the man he loved.

Well, fuck it.

Muzan found himself at a cliff then, not even knowing where he was. Had he walked this far? He'd been so consumed in his thoughts that...

No, maybe he'd gone here on purpose. To end himself. He clearly belonged in hell, and only in hell.

It wasn't like anyone cared.

Muzan looked down, noting how far the cliff dropped down.

Perfect. The impact would be just enough to kill him. 

He smiled at it, a sort of bitter smile.

"I tried," he whispered, leaning forward and closing his eyes.

{Word count: 2900}

WELP

i finished this with a stupid headache and rushed writing BUT IT'S OKAY I THINk

I THINK IT WAS WRITING A.L.R.I.G.H.T. (that's me trying to convince myself it's not shitty for a rushed in one hour sort of writing)

Kie is totally not Tanjiro's mother :3

[joeltheresa]

pls if you do write for Wendy know you'll win every ounce of love I have to give I'm dying out here

I mean, since you asked so nicely <3

Creased Shirts

Pairing: Dr Wendy Carr x (f)!reader

WC: ~1000

Warnings/TWs: Implied sex, (f)!reader because she's very obviously a lesbian BUT I haven't used any gendered language for reader. One night stand-ish.

Notes: Super quick little thing. I've been feeling kind of off with my writing lately, so apologies for that. Not proofread or edited.

Summary: You wake alone after a night together with the most put together lesbian you've ever met.

It’s still dark when you open your eyes. 

The warm body besides you, the one you fell asleep next to, is gone. Your fingers search for it, tap the sheets until you reach the edge of the bed, and pull your hand back to your side. 

Not only is it dark, but it’s freezing. It must be what woke you, because even underneath the covers and a soft, plaid blanket, you’re shivering.

The idea that the owner of the apartment must’ve draped a blanket over you before she opened the window to keep you warm… your insides suddenly feel very funny. 

Doctor Wendy Carr. 

You met last night. It was warm, then. Hot, even. Your top stuck to your back the way clothes always do when summer nights are too warm and humid. The radio had been blaring out Bee Gees and Queen and your hips had been swaying in time to the beat. The man you danced with was an old army vet that had seen both Vietnam and central Europe and was old enough to be your father. 

He came every Friday evening like clockwork. Sometimes he sat in the bar with a cold one, head together with the younger vets. Other times, when his hip didn’t hurt too bad, he joined you on the floor. He always kept his hands at a respectful distance from your bottom and only ever flirted the way queer men do. 

When he needed to sit down (goddamn this hip, sweets), you sat down next to her. She didn’t necessarily look out of place, every sort came through here, but her shoulders were square and the way she stirred her cocktail was almost jerky. She had discarded her suit jacket, but the white button up underneath was still neatly pressed and her ankles were crossed.

Like a lady, you heard your grandma say, somewhere in the back of your head, and your lips tugged up in a half smile.

“You come here a lot?”

Her head snapped up and your eyes met for a moment, and some of the tension seemed to leave her.

“No”, she admitted. Then: “But you do.”

It wasn’t a question. 

-

Three hours later, she tugged the covers over you. The sheets were damp with sweat and the room smelled like need, like sex, like love. You had fallen asleep before she returned from the shower.

You find a discarded shirt and tug it on, and find her standing by an open window in the living room.

Wendy only wears the same shirt she had earlier tonight. It’s creased, unlike earlier, and only two of the buttons have been closed. She leans heavily against her right leg, and it almost feels lazy when she sucks in a deep breath of the cigarette.

Your cigarettes. 

“I thought you didn’t smoke”, you say and come to stand next to her. There’s only a moment’s hesitation before you wind an arm around her middle and press your chest to her back, top of your nose finding the crook of her neck. Her hair is still wet and the scent of her perfume lingers, something sweet and heavy you can’t quite place. Her soap must be lavender.

“I don’t”, she replies, but you can hear the smile in her voice. She holds out the smoke for you to take a puff, then has another drag for herself.

“I can see that.”

Silence falls.

Her body feels like a personal heater, where you’re pressed to her. It’s only when you brush against her wet hair that you’re reminded of how cold it is, and both your arms and bare legs have prickled from the chill by the time she puts the cigarette out. She has placed a plate on the window sill, something that shifts in brown or yellow. It’s impossible to tell in the dark.

Despite the freezing night, she keeps the window open for a moment longer. The gentle murmur of a car can be heard in the distance, and voices come from the street below. You believe you can hear the chirp of an early bird, and her breathing is as soothing as a lullaby.

“I have never done this before”, she admits, finally. When the words leave her, it’s as if the remainders of tension from the bar does, as well, and she leans against your body.

You exhale and her hair tickles your nose.

“What? A woman?”

She laughs, and it’s one of those chuckling laughs that almost sound as if they hurt, as if it’s coming from the very pit of her stomach and forces its way out before she can even try to hinder it. It’s impossible not to smile, to feel her happiness in your very soul.

“No”, she replies, when she has managed to catch her breath again. “I’ve never brought someone home, for the night.”

Now, that is difficult to imagine. The way her soft lips felt against your skin, the way her fingers mapped out your  body, the way she found spots to massage you didn’t even know existed.

You move to press your lips to her throat, linger by her pulse to feel it against your lips.

“Doesn’t have to be for the night.”

She laughs again and twists around, until she can wrap both arms around your neck. You bury your face between her collarbones and suck in another breath of that perfume, until it leaves your head swimming with nothing but her.

“I have work!”

You reluctantly pull away to glance around the room, until you find what you’re looking for. The soft tick-tack had lulled you to sleep earlier.

4:26. 

“Already?”

“Already”, she confirms. This time, she tears herself away from you and you straighten. When her eyes dip down to have a quick look at your lips, you don’t hesitate for a second.

She tastes of cold mint. Her lips are just as soft now as they were earlier. “If you stay”, she says, when she pulls away from the kiss and presses her forehead to yours. “Do me a favor and change the sheets. Shower. And brush your teeth.”

[emeralddaydream]

𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝙸𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙾𝚏?

Kit x GN!Reader

Rating: General

Word Count: 2848

Warnings: None, just lots of fluff✨

Requested by Anon: Mayhaps prompt 84 (“No, Mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!”) with Kit Walker, but instead he's talking to Jude, Thomas, and Julia. Kit had been dating you for a while and he accidentally had let it slip that he loves you to his family (they all tease him about it constantly). You were planning on visiting later (so everyone could go to the park together or do some other adorable activity) and Kit just knows that someone is going to tell you, and he is trying desperately to avoid that

A/N: Okay, firstly, anon, thank you so much for your lovely message. I haven't been too kind to myself lately (workin' on it), so I really appreciate you being so understanding💜

I kind of went off the rails with this one, and it doesn't actually include the prompt sentence, and the prompt itself is a lil different, but same basic idea, I think... I really hope you like it!!

Also, Jude is healthy bc I refuse to make this angsty.

The title comes from 'I Think I Love You' by The Partridge Family, and on that note, I'm also dedicating this to one of my favorite humans. She's not really into AHS, but David Cassidy is her mans, so Sierra, this one's for you!! Thank you for always being a wonderful friend💜💕

“Jude, I need your help.”

In general, Kit Walker considers himself to be a pretty easy-going guy; usually, there isn't much that gets to him. But today’s different. There’s something that he’s simultaneously ecstatic about and dreading.

Today's the day you’ll be meeting his family for the first time.

“With?” Jude’s smirking amusedly where she sits across from him at the kitchen table sorting dish ware and arranging it carefully in the picnic basket in front of her. Kit glances at the clock on the wall and sighs; he's got just over an hour before he, Jude and the kids are supposed to meet you at the park, and he couldn’t be much more anxious about it if he tried... Not for nothing, though.

“I just wanna make sure today goes well.” He finishes wrapping the sandwich in his hand, placing it in the basket to join the plates.

“And you don’t think it will?” Jude raises an eyebrow; she may be a particularly perceptive woman, but it isn't very difficult to see that there's something Kit isn't saying.

His mind drifts for a moment to the other night, when he and Jude sat in the living room, chatting quietly after the kids had gone to sleep. She’d asked about you, and before Kit knew it, he was spilling his guts to her, finally speaking the words he’s been unable to say to you. It’d felt amazing to finally get them out... until he noticed Julia peaking around the door frame, brown eyes trained on he and Jude She scurried off, giggling quietly down the hall, and when he asked her about it the next day, it was clear to Kit that his daughter had heard the entire conversation. And it didn’t need to be said that she had told Thomas; the two of them have never kept anything from each other in their lives…

“I hope it does.” Kit replies after several moments of silence. He’s not at all concerned about whether or not you’ll get along with his family. There’s no doubt in his mind that Jude will be taken, and the kids are going to adore you. “I just need help makin’ sure they don’t say anything.” He glances toward the two small figures in the next room where they lie on the floor, markers in hand as they draw colorful pictures and fill out puzzles from the day-old newspaper Jude had provided to keep them occupied.

“About?” Jude's smirk grows into a playful grin. She’s having fun with this; a little too much, in Kit’s opinion. He scowls and she laughs quietly.

“About... y’know?”

“About how you love them?” Jude’s voice carries into the next room a bit too loudly for Kit’s liking, and his eyes go wide. He places a finger to his lips, eyes darting to the children to make sure they’re still distracted; so far, so good.

“Yes.”

“Well, when are you going to tell her? You’re not getting any younger, y’know.” Kit's unable to stop the smile that breaks across his face.

“Soon. I just… need to find the right moment.”

“There’s no such thing as the right moment, Walker," she chortles, rolling a bundle of silverware into a napkin. “But…I’ll do my best.” Kit smiles gratefully, but she shakes her head continuing. “But they’re kids. Kids'll say whatever they want to.” Knowing she's right, Kit groans, running a hand through his hair before feeling around in the pocket of his jeans for his pack of cigarettes.

He's in for an interesting day.

——

The worn wood of the bench feels rough under your fingers as you tap against it anxiously. You take a quick peak to your right again, in search of the vehicle you’re waiting for. It’s a big day. In just- you glance down at your watch for the fifth time – two and a half minutes, your boyfriend is supposed to arrive with his family.

It terrifies you.

It’s not that you have any issues with kids. You love them. Becoming a parent has always been a part of the plan for you. However, you don’t have much experience with them and, this is the first time you’ve ever been with someone with children of their own. It’s... intimidating.

Kit, however, has been nothing but reassuring. A small smile crosses your face, thinking of the last thing he’d said to you when he'd called last night. Don’t worry, babe. They’re gonna love you.

God, you hope he’s right.

Kit’s told you so much about his kids over the last several months the two of you have been together, and you can tell by the warmth in his voice, by the way his eyes light up when he tells you something funny one of them did, that they are his world. As they should be. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

There's absolutely no doubt in your mind that you've fallen head over heels for this man... That’s what's so frightening; you don’t want to screw anything up. For anyone's sake.

You’re in the middle of reciting some of the things Kit had told you about the kids- ‘Julia’s really into football right now, a little chatterbox, and Thomas loves readin’, but he’s pretty shy’- when you hear tires making their way along the narrow dirt road. Turning your head again, your stomach flips when you see the familiar station wagon- much fuller with people than normal- pull into the small parking lot. You smile, raising your hand in a wave when Kit sees you, and swallow hard.

The driver’s door quickly opens, and Kit makes his way over, basket in hand. The passenger, Jude, stays behind to help the kids out of their seats.

“Hey, you.” Kit murmurs, a smile on his face as he leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Hi.” With a shaky breath, you take your bottom lip between your teeth when he pulls back. With a sympathetic smile, Kit takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“They’re gonna love you,” he reminds, and you huff a laugh. Julia begins speaking excitedly as she hops out of the car; you can’t make out what she’s saying, but she sounds enthusiastic, so you’re taking that as a good sign.

“If you say so.” You grip his hand more tightly and he chuckles as the two of you make your way toward the sound of the animated voice.

Now or never.

“Y/N!” You jump at the sound, completely taken off guard- even more so when something barrels into you, wrapping around your waist. You look down to see the small girl- the one that you recognize from the many pictures Kit has shown you -beaming up at you. Kit laughs, scooping her up into his arms as Jude moves to stand in front of the three of you. Thomas hangs onto her hand, hiding behind her dress.

“Y/N, this is Jude, Thomas, and you’ve already met Julia.” He shakes his head, tickling his daughter’s ribs until she’s leaning into him, in a fit of giggles.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all,” you say, hoping the smile on your face doesn’t come across as uneasy.

“We could say the same to you. This one,”- she gestures to Kit- “is talking about you constantly.” You smile widely at this, eyes moving to Kit to find his cheeks turning rosy.

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh!” Julia chimes in, Thomas slowly nodding his agreement.

“Oh, you.” You nudge Kit’s arm gently, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between the children. Jude lets out a trill of laughter then, taking Julia’s hand in hers.

“Why don’t we find somewhere to sit? I’m sure we’re all getting hungry.” The kids agree enthusiastically, taking off in a sprint toward a nearby gazebo where several tables sit. “Hey, slow it down, you two!” Jude calls, following them.

You turn to Kit, who brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss there; there’s something about his expression that you can’t quite place, but he seems happy, so you’re happy. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, letting your hands fall and dangle together as the two of you slowly make your way to the table where the children sit, awaiting their lunch. Julia laughs beckoning the two of you over, and there’s a shy little smile on Thomas’ face. Your nerves are slowly fading, and you let out a breathy sigh, smiling up at him.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

--

The meal is fantastic, and by the time you’re wiping your mouth on your napkin and placing it down on the empty plate in front of you, you can hardly remember why you were so panicky about this meeting in the first place. The food is delicious, Jude accepting your compliments on her potato salad graciously. The two of to you discuss your job, her asking about the intricacies of what you do. Not in a prying way, though; she seems genuinely interested.

It’s not long before the kids take to you, either. Julia already has, it seems, as she insists on sitting across from you while you eat. She tells lots of stories; everything from the science project she and Kit have been working on for school, to the time that Jude took her and Thomas to the zoo.; you find out that hippos are her favorite animal. “Isn’t it so cute when they wiggle their ears??” she asks.

Thomas takes a bit more coaxing, but not much; not when you decide to ask him what his favorite book is. His eyes light up and he brings up several, speaking excitedly about a chapter from the one he's currently in the middle of.

“Daddy, can we play now?” Julia asks, setting her fork down; she bounces around like she’s ready to jump out of her seat, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Sure,” Kit chuckles, placing his empty glass of iced tea on the table. I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick, but go onnahead.” He stands, patting your shoulder. Shooting what he hopes is a discreet glance Jude's way, he moves toward the small bathroom stalls a few yards away.

Jude laughs, a soft smile on her face, watching as Julia moves to cling to your arm. “Alright, Thomas, it. looks like it’s you and me. What do you wanna do first?” She takes the small boy’s hand, and he leads them in the direction of the sandbox.

Julia glances around, and when she sees that everyone’s out of earshot, she leans into you, bringing a hand to her mouth to ask, “Y/N, can I tell you a secret?”

Her over-exaggerated whisper and enthusiasm make you giggle, and you nod. “Sure.”

She climbs into the seat beside you, leaning in closer to speak into your ear. “My daddy loves you.”

You’re quiet for several seconds, having absolutely no idea how to respond. You look down at her, eventually stuttering out, “O-oh… really? How do you know that?” You're half expecting a nonsensical answer, but when she opens her mouth, the young girl is serious.

“I heard him and Nana talking about it the a couple'a nights ago when I got out of bed for a drink of water.” She grins up at you. “…But I can just tell.”

“H-how can you tell?”

She shrugs. "He smiles when he talks about you." Her answer is so simple, so pure, and it holds so much meaning; you're sure there's a dopey grin growing on your face right now.

“Well, your dad’s pretty great. And I think you’re pretty great, Julia.” Her smile grows impossibly wider as she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug. You hold her tiny frame and are on cloud nine when you spot Kit closing the door to the restroom behind him; when he sees the two of you still sitting there, he makes his way over.

Kit chuckles to himself, overcome with joy when he walks out of the bathroom to see you holding Julia in an embrace, smiles on both of your faces. He walks slowly toward you, silently praying that his daughter hasn’t said anything she shouldn’t have. So much for Jude’s help… Should'a known better. He glances at his friend, sitting on the edge of the sandbox with his son. Jude looks up, smirking, and he rolls his eyes at her.

Nevertheless, he’s decided. It has to be now.

“What’re you two doin’ over here?” He places a warm hand on your arm as he stands behind you, appraising his daughter. “Jules, I thought you wanted to play? You’ve been sayin’ how excited you were for the jungle gym all week.” Julia’s small legs swing back and forth as she watches her father, with a shrug.

“I wanted to talk to Y/N first.”

“Well, we can keep talking while we play, then,” you decide, standing quickly, but Kit grabs your hand, stilling you.

“Actually, I wanna talk to you about somethin’ real quick.” His voice is low in your ear, and he watches his daughter tensely.

“Oh, o-okay.” Your eyes move to Julia and you smile. “Why don’t you go down the slide a few times, and I’ll be over there in a minute?”

“Okay!” The little girl jumps from her spot, sprinting toward concrete of the playground.

“Be careful!” Kit shouts after her. With a chuckle, he takes his previous seat and pats the one beside him. You smile happily, leaning your head on his shoulder when you move next to him.

“They’re really great, Kit. All of them.”

Kit smiles proudly, watching as Jude helps Thomas make some sort of sculpture in the sand. “They are,” he agrees with a nod. “Jude likes you. The kids really like you.”

“I’m so glad.” You sigh in relief, turning to meet his gaze. “I was so worried they’d all hate me.”

“How could they?” he asks, leaning in to place a sweet peck to your lips. You smile against his mouth, your own tingling as he pulls back. You can’t help but glimpse toward playground to see if the kids have noticed. They’re still preoccupied, but Jude’s noticed; she sends you a wink and your cheeks grow warm. Seeing the exchange, Kit scowls playfully, waving a hand at her. She laughs, turning back to the sandy masterpiece Thomas is working diligently on.

“So,” Kit begins... Deep breath. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you about.”

“Okay.” Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. “What’s up?” …Could it be?

“It’s something I’ve wanted to say for a while, actually. He’s looking at his hands as he says this, biting down on his bottom lip when his gaze finally meets yours. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone in… a long time. Not since...” He trails off, but you know he’s thinking of the kid’s mothers, so you nod in understanding. “Honestly it’s a little scary, but I think I- I mean, I know I-“ He cuts himself off, and takes a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “Christ. I dunno why this is so hard, I just…” He sighs deeply.

“…Kit?”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you, too.”

“You… you love m- wait, what?” His eyes grow wide, and he groans after a moment, knowing exactly who the culprit is. “Julia told you?” You can't help but laugh quietly, nodding your confirmation. “I shoulda known. My little blabbermouth.” A wistful smile grows on his face, and the amount of adoration you feel for this man in this moment is staggering.

“So… it’s true, then?” you ask, taking one of his hands in both of yours.

He nods, smiling as he leans in to press his forehead to yours. “I love you, Y/N. I do.” His voice is hardly above a whisper, but it feels like a shout; a declaration. Your returning smile is bright, certainly one of the best Kit’s ever seen- one he’s sure he’ll remember for the rest of his life -and when you wrap your arms around his neck, his own widens further, the muscles in his face beginning to ache, but he couldn't care less.

“I love you, Kit Walker. So much.” You move in for a kiss of your own; it’s short, but full of more meaning than any you’ve ever had.

Pulling back, you pat his knee gently. You stand from your seat, offering a hand out to him. “C’mon. Earlier, I promised Julia I’d watch her on the monkey bars.” Kit laughs, taking your hand and slinging an arm around your waist once he’s standing. You make your way to where the girl is currently whizzing down the largest slide in the park, squealing with laughter. Glancing at the sandbox, you see Jude eyeing you, a knowing smirk on her face; you blush, but smile back.

Right here, right now, moving toward the laughter of Kit’s loving family, there isn’t a sliver of doubt in your mind that this is meant to be.

This is where you belong.

taglist: @therenlover, @tatestripedsweater, @kitwalker02, @ladyfogg, @mossybank, @undeadcortez, @sallyscigarettes, @xmaximoffic, @samsassinparvismagna, @liandav, @kitwalkerangel, @elaineygrace, @milly-louise @americxn (please feel free to fill out this form to be added/removed for future fics)

[maplecornia]

chapter 34

𝔞/𝔫: this chapter will be in 3rd person POV

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.45K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear | @mangminnie | @pixiekooo | @cana

When was the moment he realized things were broken?

Driving down the dark streets, his hand clenches on the wheel of the car. Memories of past smiles, foreign whispers of love, someone's hand holding his while he couldn't feel more alone...

Maybe he always knew.

Maybe he just didn't want to admit it to himself.

Pausing in front of a stop sign, he looks over as his phone buzzes, a message popping up on the screen. He doesn't bother looking at it, he knows it's not going to say what he wants it to say.

Watching the blinking lights at an empty street, he considers running it. There's nobody else around. No one would even notice. Even if he somehow did get in an accident would it matter? At this point is there anyone left who cares? Once the light changes green, the thoughts disappear as though they had never existed in the first place.

Jimin, you knew this would happen eventually.

You made this game.

"Yen, what's your secret?"

How is she able to smile so brightly? He sees the darkness in her eyes, he sees the way she disappears into herself, he sees the struggle inside her as she fights to be happy every day.

So why? How is she so strong?

Why can't I be that strong?

Jimin thought he would be able to forget everything. He thought it wouldn't matter. All he wanted was someone to be beside him. All he wanted was to not feel alone. He didn't think that having someone beside him, knowing that they didn't love him, knowing that they were using him for everything else but love...

He didn't think it would make him feel cold, almost isolated.

And yet, he still doesn't want to let go.

When his phone buzzes once more, he looks over at the passenger seat, not paying attention to the road. He doesn't notice as he comes across another intersection. He doesn't notice the crosswalk, nor the woman who is crossing. He’s too focused on the name that flashes on his screen. Debating in his strangled min whether or not to answer.

When he reaches her, just a few feet away, may it be fate or destiny he turns away from the phone just in time to see the woman. Adrenaline pumping violently through his body, his eyes widen as she turns, hearing the roar of the engine and the screech of the tires. Instinct taking over his body, Jimin slams his foot on the brake, the car managing to squeal to a stop, just a few inches away from the frozen woman. In the few moments it takes for him to register her face, he's able to discern one thing.

Bright luminescent green eyes.

In the silence that follows, Jimin breathes heavily, looking over his wheel almost hesitantly. He doesn't know if he hit her, all he's aware of is that she can no longer be seen through the windshield. Fear erupting in his nerves in waves, he frantically unbuckles with shaking fingers, opening the door and dashing to the front of the car. The buzzing phone now forgotten.

He pauses for a moment taking in the scene.

The good news is that he didn't hit her.

The bad news is Jimin quite possibly terrorized her beyond reality.

She’s fallen to the ground, bags of groceries scattered around her, her eyes wide and her entire body shaking. Her hands wrap around the gravel on the ground as she shivers, her lips moving as tears start to appear at her eyes, but no sound can be heard. Jimin notices the scratches her knees have endured from the fall, the way dark smudges of pavement have mixed with the tears on her cheeks, and the small drops of blood dripping from her hands so brutally ripping through the pieces of gravel and dirt.

Sighing, he kneels beside her, trying to gather her attention. It proves to be quite difficult considering the way her eyes are locked on the headlights of the car just a few inches away from her. She shivers as she contemplates how she could have died just a few moments ago and finds the thought far too horrifying to comprehend. Fear paralyzing her like a virus, Jimin has to take her by the shoulders to gather her attention.

And there they are again. Brilliant green eyes, golden flecks scattered within her irises. They meet his deep cinnamon ones, a spark reflected between the two of them. A spark only the heavens could have seen.

"Are you okay?"

Once Jimin speaks, in a soft hushed tone, the woman breaks out of her reverie. Her eyes well up in unspoken terror, and she starts to shake even more violently at the sight of someone next to her comforting her.

Why is it when we are at our most vulnerable, we find ourselves breaking when there is someone there to hold us?

Noticing her shivers, he removes his jacket and places it across her shoulders, trying desperately not to falter at the sight of panic in her eyes.

"It's okay, I'm here."

.

.

.

"Yes, I know I'm late but I'll be there soon."

Needless to say, Jimin finally figured out how to answer his phone.

He paces a few feet away from where he left the shivering woman, his heart clenching and unclenching in distress. When did it become such a chore to talk to her? When did he start regretting every moment spent with her?

Half listening to the pressed voice on the other line, he glances at the woman who pulls his coat tighter around her body, her face pale and eyes darting around in frantic panic. At the sight, his heart tightens in pain and he struggles to shove down his guilt.

It doesn't help matters when he hears the words on the other side of the line.

"What?"

As though he were stuck in a lucid dream he tries not to let the disappointment eat at him. It's not a big deal that she ate without him, after all, he was running quite late...

Why does it bother him so much?

Why does the thought make him feel alone?

Oh, I don't know Jimin, maybe it's the fact that she used you.

Again.

Your money, your love, your dedication, your time.

It was all a waste after all.

"No, it's fine. We'll see each other another time."

Jimin clenches his jaw at the sound of a male voice addressing her on the other line. Suspiciously close, dangerously close. Jimin doesn't bother asking who it is. He already knows the real reason. Taking a deep breath, he tries his hardest not to give in to the tears.

God, you're pathetic aren't you?

"Okay. I have to go now, but I'll see you soon."

No, you won't.

"I lo--"

The line cuts off before he can finish his sentence, and Jimin would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised. He holds the phone up for another moment as though waiting for a phantom to whisper the words he so longs to hear. Biting his bottom lip when it's clear they won't come, he pockets his phone and turns back to the woman on the bench.

Would she treat him the same?

If she were in this situation, what would she do?

Jimin knows these are desperate, ridiculous questions to ponder, but he can't help himself. He's too lost, too broken to wonder anything else. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he walks towards her, settling onto the bench seat beside her. He knows she overheard the conversation, he knows that every time he looked at her she glanced away as though being caught in a trap.

At this moment, however, he finds it very hard to care.

"Was that my fault?"

At the question, Jimin smiles almost bitterly.

"No, it was mine." He leans his head back, sighing as he stares at the dark sky. "I should've expected it."

At the nearly dejected statement, the woman can't help but look at him with concern. She recognizes the look in his eyes. The dark swirling pit of nothing. She's seen it reflected in her own. She hesitates before speaking once more.

"If you need somewhere to be, I'll be fine." Jimin looks her way incredulously, at the glance, she smiles nervously finding it hard to meet his eyes. "I can wait for a bus on my own--"

When she glances back his way, she doesn't expect him to be so close.

His face nearly inches away from hers, she could almost swear that her heart stopped for a fraction of a second from the shock. It's not a normal occurrence to have a nearly perfect man inches away from you.

But then again, what part of this situation is normal in her eyes anyway?

Oh God, all I wanted was to get some groceries.

Jimin stares at her with an unreadable gaze, his piercing eyes staring deep into hers. Perhaps it's an attempt to see into her soul, to find some part of her character reflected within him. There has to be a reason she looks so familiar, some form of explanation for why he feels as though he's known her all his life.

Why is it so comfortable to be around her?

"What is your name?"

The woman looks up at him with wide eyes, the iridescent green nearly blinding Jimin of all reason.

"Jocelynn."

Sliding his hand on the back of the bench as he leans closer to her, she avoids his eyes. Inwardly she prays that he doesn't hear her heartbeat increasing every second he is close to her.

"Jocelynn." At the sound of her name on his tongue, her stomach turns in on itself. Looking back at him she is surprised to find that his gaze has never strayed from hers. "You know that when it's this late, it's not smart to be on your own right?"

His voice is deep and husky, drawn to a near whisper that is hardly distinctive but manages to move every possible emotion present in her heart. Raising an eyebrow, Jocelynn tilts her head slightly.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You were alone."

If she expected him to be flustered, she couldn't have been more wrong. Instead, his eyes darken once more and he smiles half to himself.

"Maybe I don't want to be alone."

Another second, maybe Jimin would have leaned further. Another second and maybe he would have placed his lips on hers. Another second and perhaps he would have been able to forget just how empty he was, as long as he was holding another in his arms.

But when he sees the sad conjecture hidden within her eyes, he can't bring himself to use her in that way. For some unknown reason, he finds that he can't hurt her even if it means he'll feel whole.

Coming to his senses, he pulls away. The same space that was between them a few moments ago, opening once more. He leans forward resting his arms on his legs, his hands clenched tightly together, his heart playing games with his mind.

She's just a stranger, someone he met by some strange coincidence of the skies.

And yet, he can't bear to see that look in her eyes.

"You never told me your name."

Jimin turns to Jocelynn, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"You don't know me?" he murmurs, obviously surprised, and probably wondering if she's lying. Jocelynn in turn rolls her eyes at the assumption that anyone would be oblivious to who he was, and Jimin can't help but feel amused.

"So what if I do? It's polite to introduce yourself to strangers you nearly run over." Jocelynn responds, her eyes glinting mischievously and Jimin can't help it.

He laughs.

Jocelynn smiles at the sight, almost proud that she was able to leech that out of him. After a moment, Jimin turns to her and extends his hand her way.

"My name is Jimin." When she doesn’t take it right away, he raises his eyebrow at her. In turn, she rolls her eyes before intertwining her hand with his and shaking it. Jimin can't help but think that her hand is soft, comforting, almost made to fit with his. Inwardly, he chastises himself for thinking that way.

When will he remember that fate and destiny don't exist?

Hasn't he been taught that enough?

"It's nice to meet you Jimin."

When she says his name, it's almost as though some invisible bind around his heart has been released. He's able to breathe for the first time, he's able to forget everything he's been harboring deep inside. Almost as though a simple utterance of his name on her tongue has set him free.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date." Jocelynn apologizes before pulling away, and Jimin considers scrambling to hold her hand tightly within his own. In order to refrain himself, he scratches the back of his neck as he shakes his head.

"It's not your fault, don't worry." He reassures her, and she bows her head, smiling to herself. Sighing, Jimin looks back up at the stars, finding it fascinating the way they can shine so bright from so far away. "If I'm being honest it was probably ruined before I met you."

"Do you mind saying why?" At the thought of showing her that vulnerable side of himself, he can feel the darkness start to taint the inner corners of his heart.

Why is it so frightening to reveal one's weakness?

Smiling almost bitterly, he avoids her eyes as he answers her.

"Have you ever had a relationship where you know you're being used, but you stay in it because you're afraid of being alone?"

Jocelynn flinches at the description, being reminded of a time way back where she had exactly that. Painful memories she had thought she had since buried ever since he was removed from her life. Moments she thought she had left behind the moment she promised she would move on.

"That's my relationship." Jimin continues, Jocelynn listening quietly beside him. "I mean it started nice enough. The usual honeymoon phase. She was sweet and funny. To top it off she was just drop-dead gorgeous, I thought I hit the gold mine. The luckiest guy in the world."

Though he doesn't look her way and she doesn't make a move to comfort him, somehow her presence beside him makes things easier for him. He doesn't feel as though someone is violating his memories, he doesn't feel as though she were a stranger. On the contrary, he feels as though this were a normal thing, as though he had been confiding in her all his life.

"Until I saw that she was only happy when she was taking from me. She used me for money, sex, love..."

It was all a lie.

Even now, Jimin can't bear to utter the words, instead they hang over his head. Unspoken but the reality hitting him like a grenade.

"Yeah, she was sweet all right. Like poison."

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head at himself. He never knew self-deprecation could hurt this much. Slowly building up each day until he threatens to break.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I don't even know you."

It's strange, he can't even confide in his friends. He doesn't even feel as though he's able to talk to Tae like he used to, why is it so easy for him to talk to Jocelynn? A person whom he met on a chance encounter, someone whom he didn't even know the name of until just a couple of seconds ago. They are little more than strangers, so how is this so easy?

At the question, Jocelynn smiles to herself, remembering something she had heard once before. From a mere child, and yet it was a child who was the first person to teach her she was never truly alone.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to those you don't know. They don't have room to judge, they don't know what you did wrong or where you messed up. You may never see them again, so what harm is there in talking to them? That way you don't have to deal with the baggage following you around."

Jimin looks at her with surprise and finds that her gaze is far away. Those green eyes that are so calm and serene are now filled with unspoken tears and sparkling gems of pain.

"I'm not going to say some crappy thing like 'why don't you just leave' or 'she's toxic just drop her' because I know how hard that really is." She takes a deep breath to steady her nerves before continuing. "However, I know what it's like to be used and endure pain because you don't want to be alone. So I will say something to help you make up your mind."

When she meets his delicate tawny eyes with her tender green ones, he finds himself struck speechless. She looks at him almost as though she were afraid he'd break. As though he needed a shield to protect him at all costs and she would be willing to be that shield.

Since when was it Jimin who needed protecting?

"You deserve better."

"What?"

Jimin seems shocked, almost baffled at the notion. Jocelynn smiles almost bitterly to herself. Is that what she looked like when she was told the same thing? Was it so hard to believe that someone like her could deserve to be happy?

"No matter what you may tell yourself, you deserve love. You deserve to be loved. No matter what you think you may have done or how scared you are of being alone, you deserve to have someone reciprocate the love you give to them." Jocelynn holds her hands tightly together as she speaks, an attempt to refrain herself from reaching over and taking his within hers. Though she longs to give him some sort of comfort, she has to keep her distance. "From the way you're describing it...this relationship doesn't sound like it's love."

The silence that blossoms between them is one not easily broken. It's a silence filled with unspoken emotions, late realizations, and hard-won ignorance crumbling. When Jimin looks at her, he admires the way her face shines in the moonlight, her hair that tumbles down around her shoulders, the way she exuberates calm serenity that never thought he'd find.

Almost as if she were an angel sent for him.

When the bus pulls up in front of the two of them, Jimin finds that he doesn't want her to be a stranger. He doesn't want her to leave. He wants her to be around him, he wants her to know his burden. And above all...

He doesn't want to hide anymore.

"Just...think about it okay?" Jocelynn stands, sliding the jacket Jimin gave her not but a few moments ago off her shoulders and offering it up to him. "Here."

He sits there for a stunned moment, staring up at her and the jacket. Within his mind, he makes a quick decision, one that he sincerely hopes he doesn't regret.

Standing, he pushes the coat back to her and smiles.

"Keep it." He murmurs as her emerald eyes widen, a soft rosy hue threatening to erupt on her cheeks. Smiling to herself, she nods, holding the jacket close to her chest, before stepping back toward the bus.

"Thank you." She whispers back, turning on her heel and boarding the bus.

Leaving Jimin alone.

As the doors close, and the familiar hiss exuberates from the vehicle as it pulls away, Jimin stands there. He watches Jocelynn walk down the aisle, before settling into a seat beside a window. She presses her cheek against the cool glass before turning back to the jacket she holds in her hands. Jimin sees as she smiles to herself before holding it close to her heart, her face buried deep within the fabric.

He doesn't notice the grin on his face as he witnesses the pink blush on her cheeks, and the wide smile on her face as she pulls away. Her eyes sparkle with a joy he's only seen on TV screens, and in the back of his mind, he wonders if it's possible to keep that smile to himself. He wonders if she'd be willing to stay by him forever.

Then the bus is gone, she's gone, and he's left in the dust of forgotten memories and broken tears.

"No..." He murmurs, a smile playing at the memory of her green eyes.

"Thank you."

note: NEW CHARACTER ALERT!!! This character has a lot of background to do with Yen, which will be revealed later. I really like this chapter and enjoyed writing in a different POV for different characters. I think this is a nice view into Jimin's side of the story and hopefully we can expand on it soon. Anyways! Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed!

chapter 35 here

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[wondernimbus]

a drop in the ocean — sirius black

pairing: sirius black x female!reader

summary: sirius teaches reader that love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

warnings: cheating, swearing

a/n: this was inspired by the song “a drop in the ocean” by ron pope! this is a little different from what i'm used to since the overall theme is a lot more ??? mature ?? i guess ?? i kind of stepped out of my comfort zone with this but i hope you guys like it :')

It's bizarre how much pain can change you.

You become this entirely different person. You look the same on the surface, but somewhere deep inside you, you're someone else. You're stronger. Everything that has happened to you—all the tears you've shed, the people who have hurt you, the pain you've endured—all of them shapes you into something more. Something better.

And one day, you will wake up, look back at everything that you have endured, and you will smile. And it will feel like the puzzle pieces of the world have fallen back into place again—and maybe it's been that way for a long time. Maybe you've come so far in terms of healing and you're only just now starting to notice.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N] wakes up one summer morning, when the sun is warm and promise of a new day looms above her head. She swings her legs over her bed, pads over to the window in the corner of the room where sunshine filters through, draws the curtains open. Here she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and just—

Remembers.

And this time, it doesn't hurt anymore.

—

Sirius Black was a charmer.

He wasn't just handsome; he was attractive. He knew exactly how to get people to swoon over him without laying it on too thick. He'd send a quick glance over anyone's way—one that made them feel as though they were the only person on earth he could see—and that person would fall.

They'd want him, fooling themselves into the belief that they were different. That they were special in a way that none of Sirius Black's previous flings were.

They'd end up with their hearts broken, of course. Shattered to bits and left at their feet for them to clean up on their own, because Sirius just couldn't bother.

It would happen within a month or two. Some much less.

But [Y/N] lasted the longest.

She was in Ravenclaw, and had caught Sirius's eye in her sixth year. She wishes she could say that she was different—that she hadn't fallen for him the moment he'd gone up to her in the Great Hall and steered her away from her friends, asking for her name—but she wasn't. She'd taken one look at Sirius's eyes, seen what seemed like genuine sincerity in them, and felt her sixteen-year-old heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest against her will.

Sirius Black liked her.

It took a month before he asked her out. Made it, as some would say, "official". A part of [Y/N] knew that it wouldn't last long, but she would enjoy this—enjoy him—while she still had him. She'd never felt this way for anyone before, and despite her brain telling her that Sirius Black was trouble, her heart said otherwise.

A month together turned into two. And three, and then four, five, and suddenly the rest of Hogwarts was wondering when Sirius planned to break things off with her.

[Y/N] wondered it, too. But Sirius still looked at her the same way he had done all those months ago when he'd asked for her name, like she was everything in the world he'd been hoping for—like she was different. Like he actually held real feelings for her and not just the kind you try out one second and then get bored of the next.

She wanted to believe that look in his eyes, but she'd heard the rumors. and on top of that there were her friends' warnings, telling her that Sirius was no good for her and that he would break her heart one way or the other.

One day, while they sat at the balcony of Ravenclaw tower during one of the many times she'd snuck Sirius into the common room, she glanced at him.

They were sitting on the floor facing each other, legs crossed underneath them. Sirius's hands were in her own; her fingers played with the rings decorating his, turning them over and over.

"I like this one," she murmured, her touch lingering on the silver one on his middle finger. It was elegant, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin, simple and with what looked like a crest emblazoned on the middle. She looked up at him and found him looking at her—gaze intense and yet somehow also gentle, like he was memorizing every last detail of her face and committing them to memory. Softly, she asked, "Does it mean anything?"

Sirius made a small sound of confirmation, eyes leaving hers to look down at the ring, watching as her fingers grazed over it. "Yeah," he said quietly, blinking, lashes dusting pale cheeks before he was looking up at her again. It took a while for the rest of his words to get out of his mouth; he looked as though he was in deep thought, watching her with something unreadable dancing just behind his eyes.

And then Sirius was clearing his throat, shifting on where he sat. When he spoke next, his voice was oddly soft. Sincere. (And again [Y/N] found herself wondering: are you pretending?)

Because it was during moments like these that made her think that what Sirius felt for her was real.

"It's from, uh," he cleared his throat again, and [Y/N] didn't fail to notice the sudden rigidness of his shoulders. His gaze was skittering away, looking instead at the scenery below them instead of at her. "It's from James's family. The Potters. I.. ran away from my family, see, about a year ago."

As [Y/N] listened to him speak, watched as his eyes grew hard and he swallowed with difficulty, she realized—this was something important to him. He wouldn't lie about this just to get closer to her; he was laying part of himself bare to her that very few people had ever seen.

"They took me in," Sirius said quietly, still not quite looking at her. "When I had nowhere else to go, they let me stay over at their place. And that same Christmas, they gave me this ring to.. welcome me to their family, I guess." Emotion tugged his lips upwards at the corners. "I'm grateful for them," he told her, nodding a little to himself, and then he was looking up at her, meeting her eyes.

He was relieved to see that there wasn't any sympathy in them. just—and Sirius found it suddenly very hard to breathe—love. Pure, unadulterated love.

"You deserve to be happy," she told him, tone just as soft as the gentle smile on her lips. She pressed her palm into his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his own and squeezing. He squeezed back, still staring at her, and wondered if his lungs had forgotten to stop breathing.

[Y/N] leaned in, lips feather-light in how they ghosted over his cheek, and then she was pulling away, and Sirius's heart was doing something weird inside his chest. "I'm happy you're in a better place now."

Sirius couldn't breathe.

He surged forward, capturing his lips in her own, and at that moment both of them knew this was different; it felt different, more than just a press of the lips, more than just a kiss. Sirius pried her lips apart with his own, taking his sweet, gentle time, and it shot sparks across his body like he'd never felt before. They kissed slow like melted honey, tender and thorough and just a little overwhelming, and Sirius was dizzy with it—he felt like he was drowning.

He was drowning, but he loved every second of it.

—

A few months turned into a year, then two, and before anyone knew it, they were graduating. And still, as they left the gates of Hogwarts to venture out into the world waiting for them, Sirius and [Y/N] were still together. It went against everyone's expectations—and truthfully, [Y/N]'s own—but it made her happy, being with him. and she could only hope that she made him just as happy as he did to her.

They moved into a flat of their own in the outskirts of London. It wasn't anything grand, but it was cozy and clean and it only took a few months for the building to become something of a home to both of them.

[Y/N] loved every moment she spent with Sirius. All their shared smiles, their little, subtle moments of intimacy, the fleeting kisses, waking up in the morning with him by her side—everything.

She loved him so much that it hurt.

Three years into their relationship, as she lay in bed with Sirius, their entire bedroom dark and quiet save for both of their rhythmic breathing, she told him.

"I love you," she whispered into the skin of his shoulder. His arm was draped lazily around her, and she was curled up at his side—and everything about it was painfully familiar. The way his chest rose and fell. The way he stroked at her hair. How he shifted down just the tiniest bit to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

She loved Sirius so much that she didn't even realize—or maybe didn't care—that he never said it back.

—

Maybe it was something that was just ingrained into him. There could have been a million other reasons that all pointed to it not being her fault, but still, for the longest time, she believed that it was.

Sirius was seeing someone else, and he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding it.

One of her friends had told her that they'd seen Sirius in Diagon Alley with another woman at his side. [Y/N] had been angry, but not at Sirius—no, she'd lashed out at her friend, calling her a liar, saying that Sirius would never do something like that.

It's bizarre, the things you do for love. how much you hurt yourself in the process.

Only a week later, she found a letter tucked into the pocket of one of Sirius's coats. It was addressed to a name she did not recognize, and written underneath it were sweet, sweet words that [Y/N] could remember Sirius telling her once or twice before.

you make it hard for me to breathe

everything about you drives me absolutely mad

meet me tomorrow night at the leaky cauldron and

[Y/N] stopped reading. Her hands were shaking too badly; the letter fell from her hands and onto the floor. There was bile rising in the back of her throat.

Her knees went weak underneath her. She leaned on the bed for support—the same bed they'd laid in just this morning, the same bed he'd murmured the very same things written in that blasted letter—

"Oh, God." She let out a ragged, broken sound, hands clutching at her own chest as though it would help ease the pain. She couldn't breathe. "Fuck. Fuck."

[Y/N]  didn't know why, but when Sirius came back home that night, claiming that he'd gone over to James and Lily to say hi, she didn't bring up the letter right away.

"How's Lily?" she asked, not looking up from where she sat on the couch, instead pretending that she was invested in a copy of the Witch Weekly magazine in her hands.

"She's doing fabulous," grinned Sirius, shrugging off his coat as he made his way over to her. "Her belly bump's getting a lot more noticeable. James is seconds away from absolutely losing it. He's always frantic—I swear he thinks the baby's going to pop out out of bloody nowhere."

[Y/N]'s senses weren't working properly. She hummed something inaudible in response. A single, painful thought was wafting around her head—a question that she now knew the answer to perfectly well.

Sirius strode over to her, draping his coat over the arm of the couch before moving around the coffee table to sit next to her. He was smiling. "But how was your day, love?" he said, and then he was leaning over, reaching out with one hand to tilt the side of her head towards him—

You're pretending. Always pretending. As soon as he made contact with her skin, she was flinching away, and Sirius knew that something was wrong.

"Is everything alright, doll?" he asked, brows furrowing into a frown of concern. His hand hovered somewhere next to her face, still, fingertips just barely ghosting her cheek.

Before Sirius knew it, [Y/N] was standing up and flinging the daily prophet onto the coffee table. There was something swimming in her eyes that he couldn't quite pinpoint, but he felt something stirring in his gut—something like realization.

Something like guilt.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "Doll," he said softly, and to him, it sounded like damnation.

And then [Y/N] said something that made his intestines feel like they were twisting into knots—"I know," [Y/N] said, without looking at Sirius. "I know everything."

Sirius blinked.

His grip on her wrist faltered, hand falling into his lap. There was a moment of thick, heavy silence. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by several degrees; Sirius felt cold sweat trickle down the side of temple. The space around him suddenly didn't seem to have enough oxygen.

And yet he let out a choked laugh, if only to quell the storm within his heart. "I don't," he began. His voice was unstable. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She was making her way to the door, but her movements were hesitant, like she didn't quite want to go—or rather, she was unsure where to go. She paused halfway to it, hands curling into fists at her sides.

"Just stop," she said. Resignation etched her voice. She leaned a hand on the wall, back still turned to him as she muttered to herself, sounding as though she'd lived entire countless lifetimes and had had enough, "Stop with the lies, Sirius. I'm done."

Sirius's limbs were getting up of their own accord, approaching her where she stood. But even he knew that he wasn't allowed to have her anymore, not at this moment—not at any moment, not ever—so he halted a few feet away from her, hand reaching out as though he wanted to touch her, gather into his arms and pretend like none of this had ever happened.

That he hadn't done anything wrong. But he did, and now he was paying for it.

When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion and there was undeniable pain in her eyes; “I'm only going to say this once,” she said, the lump in her throat audible. She turned around, meeting his gaze, anyone could tell that she was trying to sound strong—trying to sound like all of this didn't hurt her as much as it really did—but all of her walls were crumbling down on her, and it didn't sound like she'd be able to pick herself back up.

She swallowed with difficulty, blinking rapidly as though to fend off tears. “This is the last time you will ever lie to me again."

She looked up at him. Sirius's breath hitched in his throat. “I’m done,” she spat. “I’m done pretending like I’m okay with all of your crap. I’m fucking done.”

Sirius opened his mouth. There were a hundred explanations resting on the tip of his tongue, but all of them sounded like excuses, and he knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

And Sirius was the last person she wants to see.

He watched, with gut-wrenching guilt swimming in the pit of his stomach, as she wiped aggressively at her tears with the back of her hand and sent him a look of the utmost loathing—but Sirius saw right through it. He saw her pain.

Pain he had caused. Pain he knows he still caused.

“I hope you’re fucking happy,” she choked out, meaning to sound angry, but all Sirius heard was pain.

As she slammed the door shut on her way out, Sirius wondered to himself, as his knees buckled and he leaned on the couch for support, if [Y/N] would ever be the same again.

He'd made a mistake; a terrible one. And there was no going back from it now.

—

She did.

That is—she healed. It took her time, of course. Quite a lot of it.

Years passed by in a hazy blur. There were people who grew close to her, people who promised her the same things that she believed in so long ago. That she would be loved by them unconditionally if she just let her walls down and gave herself a chance to try and trust someone again.

It was difficult. She'd loved Sirius as though he were everything in the world that mattered—she had offered him all of her despite knowing that every moment he spent with her was a lie. every kiss, every promise; lies. All of them.

And yet she'd loved him, and when you love someone, you don't care about anything else but them. You don't listen when all of your friends tell you that he isn't good for you, and you don't care when he climbs out of bed in the morning, not quite meeting your gaze when he tells you he's going to visit a friend.

If you love someone, you don't care about all of that.

Or at least you tell yourself that, until you realize that you do. You do care.

[Y/N] realized it far later.

It was that that gave her the strength to walk away from him, despite her heart telling him that it's okay—why should it matter if he doesn't love you back? As long as you love him, it's okay.

It wasn't.

God, it really, really wasn't.

So [Y/N] lived on, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. And it's funny, how pain changes you. At first you think you're never going to be the same again—that you will be heartbroken forever, wallowing in your own self-pity—but the more time passes, the stronger you get. You don't feel it right away.

But one day, many, many years later, when her heart has healed, and she wakes up and realizes that she is loved by people around her and by herself, the way Sirius Black had never done—she realizes:

She is strong. So much stronger than the person she was before.

For the first time in a very long time, when his name wafts back into her head again, she doesn't feel pain.

Instead, the corners of her lips tug up into a small smile.

Here, in front of the window, with the warm sunlight painted across her face, her lashes flutter open.

I'm done pretending.

And now, there is no more pain in her eyes. 

There hasn't been for a long time now.

general taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt @lumielikesbooks​ @teheharrypotter​

[jjmaybanksblog]

Good Old Days - JJ Maybank

Gif credit @toesure !

Summary: you and JJ meet once again after a harsh break up.

Word count: 1,982

Warnings: cheating, angst underage drinking, implied sex at the end. I do NOT condone the action of going back to someone who cheated.

You sat alone in a booth at a local restaurant, diagonal from where your friend Nicole sat with an unfamiliar boy. You had offered to 'be a look out' for the girl when she brought up how her friends had helped her get a blind date. Nicole had the fear that she might embarrass herself or something might go south, so you decided to lend a helping hand to calm her down.

You subtly flicked your eyes up and down from the menu to your friend as a waitress came up to you. "What can I get you hun?" 

"Just a vanilla milkshake and fries please." The lady nodded and took the menu from your hands. You reached inside of your bag and pulled out your notebook. Finding a pen, you began to mindlessly draw little doodles of whatever came to mind. 

You were actually enjoying the peace and quiet until the front door bell chimed. Before you could react, JJ Maybank took the spot right across from you. "Can I help you?" You scoffed, closing the notebook. 

"Nope. I'm helping my friend out and it looks like you happen to be doing the same thing for your friend too." JJ said, looking behind his shoulder to see his friend give him a thumbs up. You rolled her eyes, defensively crossing your arms.

"Okay, well how about you move to the other booth where you can 'help' by yourself." JJ dramatically put his hand to his heart, "does Y/F/N Y/L/N not want to spend time with me?" "The last time I was near you it didn't end well." You hissed. JJ immediately got quiet as the waitress came up to deliver your order.

"Oh! Would you like anything dear? On the house for the couple!" The waitress smiled, "oh no we're not-" "actually I would love a hamburger and a chocolate milkshake please!" JJ grinned. "Coming right up." 

"Seriously JJ why can't you just sit somewhere else?" You asked as you dipped a fry into the milkshake. JJ furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you take a bite. "What? It's good." You defended.

"See I could, but Steve made me promise to help him out. And now I get to talk to you which is exactly what I want to be doing on my Friday night." Sarcasm dropped from his voice as you bite your tongue.

"Well you can leave. You never were good at keeping promises anyway." You seethed, taking the cherry out of the milkshake and popping into your mouth. JJ became quiet once more as the sudden flashback hit him.

Flashback:

2 years. 2 years was all it took for something so positive and bright, to turn into something dead. 2 years was all it took for JJ Maybank to own, and then break your heart. 

You two had been dating for a full two years, both of you guys admitting you were in love. Making promises that you two couldn't keep. One of them being, 'I'll always love you.' 

JJ broke that the minute his lips touched some tourons at an end of the year school party. You had lost sight of your boyfriend in the middle of the party after telling him you were going to the bathroom. It took you 10 minutes to find him with the unknown girl. 

"Have you seen- oh." Your words slipped your mind as you saw a boy and girl break away from a kiss. Only to reveal that face that made your heart break. "I better... I better g-go." You stumbled over your words, your legs moving as fast as they could out of that house and far away from JJ.

You didn't know what to do, what to think, how to act, what to say, everything just became numb. Like someone had just ripped your heart from your chest, and dangled it in front of your face as if it were mocking you. So you just ran, and ran all the way to your house. Dried tears stained your face as you were panting, on the verge of passing out. 

Your mind felt fuzzy, as if it were an old TV and an antenna was knocked loose, like all you heard was static and a ringing. You shook your head frantically as you paced in the living room. A rapid knock echoed in the silent room as you let out a sob. You slowly walked to the door, your hand shaking as it hesitantly reached out.

You twisted the handle and pulled the door open to reveal a frantic JJ. "Y/N please let me-" "Don't even fucking start JJ." You said, cautiously backing away from the door. JJ walked into the house as he tried to grab hold of your wrists. 

You pulled your wrists back from JJ's grip as you began to have trouble breathing. "You fucking kissed some random girl. Who knows what the fuck would've happened if I didn't walk into that room." You mumbled to yourself as your head began to ache.

"Y/N you know I wouldn't do that!" "When you're in a relationship you don't fucking kiss somebody else! I didn't think you'd do that yet here we are!" You raised your voice as you paced again.

"Open your fucking eyes, it's so obvious I'm in love with you!" JJ yelled back, causing you to flinch, his breath smelled of alcohol. Your eyes suddenly fell to the ground, afraid to look at him without breaking down.

"You need to leave," your voice wavered, "you need to leave and not come back. You can't look at me. You can't speak my name. You can't have anything to do with me, Maybank. We're fucking done." You breathed out, feeling as though you had a boulder crushing your body.

"Y/N. I made you a promise that I'd love you, please let me keep going with that promise." JJ begged, his eyes burning harshly with tears. "You broke your promise, you can't come back from that."

JJ let out a sigh as his head slumped down, forcing his legs to walk out the front door, and out of your life.

Memory over.

"Look, this isn't a guilt trip: I just genuinely want to know if you dislike me so I can stop bothering you." JJ said, fidgeting with his fingers. You sighed as you swirled the straw around the milkshake. "I don't dislike you as a human, I fucking despise what you did to me." You admitted.

"I've changed Y/N. I haven't been with any other girl, I haven't spoken with that other girl since then. Please just give me a break. I've been busy trying so fucking hard. I'm doing the best I can. Please, please don't ask more of me." JJ frowned, his leg now anxiously tapping.

You let out a scoff, but you couldn't lie to yourself. You missed being with JJ, you missed him so damn much, but you didn't want to admit it. Your eyes flickered to your friend who was standing up and giving Steve a kiss on the cheek. 

Their date was over, but you and JJ sat firmly in the booth. "Let me just drive you home like the good days, just hear me out." JJ begged. You cracked your knuckles, a habit you gained after the break up. "Fine. But so help me Maybank if you fuck it up you will never, I repeat ever come speak to me again." JJ let out a breath of relief and thanked you.

You couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of luck when he offered, glad that you chose to walk to the diner. You two sat in silence for a bit of the ride before JJ turned on the radio. 'Wonderwall' by Oasis played through the sound system, memories of this song hitting you in the face like a brick.

JJ began to obnoxiously shout the lyrics like he would when you guys went on drives together. He would roll the windows down, blast the volume and just let it all out.  At first you were annoyed with the boy, but as soon as he nudged you with his elbow you began shouting the lyrics as well. At that moment, things felt normal. Like nothing bad happened between them, and that scared you shitless.

When the song ended, JJ turned down the volume and began to speak, "you know, I never took your school photo out of my wallet. It's still there. And every night after... we broke up, I would just look at it and cry. Because I drank and I ended up losing the best thing I ever got in life. And believe me I know drinking is no excuse for what I did. I lost the one person that understood me more than my other friends, than myself. And I fucked it all up. And I know I can't take back what I did. Saying sorry won't change the hurt I made you feel. But I want you to know I'm truly trying my best to be a different person than who I was before." His voice was shaking as he found it hard to look at the road.

"I can try to forgive you Maybank, but that night has been burned into my memory. And it's gonna take a lot of time before I can forget it." You mumbled, looking out the window watching the trees zoom by.

"I'd wait 100 years if it meant that you would talk to me again." JJ muttered as he pulled into your driveway. "Do you.. want to come in? And like, catch up?" You wanted to punch yourself in the face for your offer, but again you couldn't deny how much you missed him.

JJ was shocked at your words, his mouth slightly open as he nodded his head. You walked into your house and to your luck, nobody was home.

You guys sat in your room, silence filling the air once again. You walked over to a picture frame on the desk and picked it up. The picture was of JJ after he had fallen asleep with his head in your llap. "Remember this night?" You asked as he looked over your shoulder.

"Yeah. I came over to make cupcakes for John B's birthday but we ended up just throwing flour and eggs at each other." JJ laughed loudly, remembering how he would find flour in his hair and ears for days after. "Then we sat on the couch and you laid your head in my lap. I played with your hair until you fell asleep and you snored so loud." You smiled at the memory.

"God I fucked up." He whispered. "Yeah. Yeah you did. When you sat across from me in the booth I wanted to flip my shit. I wanted to go off on you and say something like, 'oh fuck off you piece of shit. You think I care about you? That I give a damn about your feelings? Fuck off.' I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me." You confessed. 

"Damn Y/N. I- I don't even know what to say." JJ said as you faced him. You couldn't help but stare at his lips, the lips you craved so desperately. You hated yourself for this. You hated yourself for making this move, but you leaned in anyway and kissed him. You were taken back at your actions, but your knees nearly buckled at his touch.

JJ gently held the side of your face as he pulled back. "I don't want to hurt you." He said, his words echoing in your head. "I'm desperate. And I'm pretty sure you are too. This is a one time thing until you gain my trust back. But for now, just shut up and have sex with me."

[emeraldeyes23]

Fictober/Fantober 2020 - Day 7 - Sick Day

"Eiji!" When Ash had heard something break in the kitchen, he had run over within seconds, only to find Eiji lying on the kitchen floor, unconscious. It had scared the hell out of him. He had checked for any sign of injury because of the broken glass shards lying everywhere but had found none. Instead, he had realized that he was burning up. So, he had carried him to their bedroom and had put him into bed again. Since he had been shivering and he couldn't find a blanket, he had put him into one of his warm hoodies. It looked ridiculous because they were much too big for him, but he couldn't help but smile for a moment. Eiji seemed so cozy and cute. "A- Ash?", he croaked out. Eiji's voice sounded hoarse and nearly failed him. "Yes, it's me. Goddammit, Eiji, don't scare me like that!", Ash shouted a bit too loudly, glaring at him furiously. Despite his anger, Eiji never looked scared. Instead, he smiled weakly at him, having noted the fear in his voice. Even Ash had heard his voice trembling at the end. At this point, Eiji knew only too well that his outbursts were a sign that he was genuinely worried about him. He just wasn't capable of showing his real emotions. Most of his life, he had only learned to suppress his feelings, to bury them deep inside of him. In his cruel life, feelings were a weakness that made you vulnerable and killed you in the end. He had tried to show more of his emotions towards Eiji, but it wasn't easy for him... Still confused, Eiji slowly opened his eyes again, looking at him. Ash had placed a cold cloth on his forehead to stop the fever from getting worse. Then, he had sat at his bedside and had watched over him carefully, making sure he didn't get worse. Ash put a hand across his face and sighed in frustration. He should have noticed that Eiji wasn't feeling well. Judging by the high fever, Eiji had probably hidden his discomfort and cold from him for some time. Damn idiot. Eiji looked pale as a sheet and looked so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. The way he groaned in pain while rubbing at his temples, he probably had a massive headache. Cold sweat was visible on his forehead, and little droplets were running down his face. When he took his hand, he noticed they were sweaty as well, and he was still shivering despite the warm room temperature. Ash cleaned his sweaty face again and put another cold cloth on his forehead. He could see how Eiji relaxed, so it was helping him to feel a bit better. Ash wanted to touch his cheek to comfort him but hesitated, stopping in mid-air. He frowned, wondering if he was allowed to touch Eiji in a situation where he wasn't feeling well. Maybe he would hurt or scare him... Eiji had taught him that his hands could not only kill and hurt people but also comfort and heal people. At the beginning, he hadn't believed him, but he had eventually noticed how his touch made Eiji relax and how he always leaned into his touch. He had never learned kind gestures, so he had started copying the ones Eiji used on him. Still, he often hesitated, still afraid to hurt Eiji. Eiji smiled knowingly at him, lifted his hand and intertwined their fingers. It was Eiji's way of showing him that his touch would never hurt him. Ash tried again, touching his cheek while his features relaxed again. "How are you feeling?" "I'm f- ", Eiji began, trying to sit up but instantly regretted it, grimacing in pain before rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe it. Ash just shook his head in disbelief and pushed him back into the cushions, gently but firmly. "Don't you dare lie to me!", Ash harshly interrupted him at once, his green eyes tightening. Anger rushed through him while he glared dangerously at him. Then, he took a deep breath to calm himself. His voice softened again, and sadness overcame him when he realized that Eiji always took good care of him but now that the tables were turned, he didn't know what he was supposed to do to comfort Eiji. It always looked so easy when Eiji did it. Even so, he desperately wanted to be there for Eiji.

He'd do anything for him.

"Just let me take care of you for once, ok? I know I'm seriously bad at it, but I want to comfort and help you, too." He sat there with slumped shoulders, his eyes looking down at him but not meeting his gaze. He felt so useless in this situation; how could someone like him ever comfort Eiji?

Eiji suddenly took his hand in his and smiled faintly at him, making him look up in surprise.

"I'm sorry, Ash. I should have told you sooner. I just didn't want to trouble you with that. I felt so pathetic and weak. I didn't want to be a burden to you. You have so much going on right now, with Arthur and your fight against Dino. My cold is not even worth mentioning in comparison.", he tried to explain it to him while pure warmth was reflected in his eyes.

Eiji's words immediately made him feel better. His warm smile always healed his heart and removed any dark thoughts that had crossed his mind within seconds. He moved closer to him and gently ruffled his hair.

"Eiji, please stop saying that. You're never a burden or trouble to me. You're the best thing ever happening to me. I'm so glad I've met you. You gave me new hope and showed me that there are good people in this world who care about me. That life can also be beautiful.", he admitted honestly. He couldn't remember when he had confessed his feelings to anyone so openly before. Usually, it wasn't necessary since Eiji just took one look at him and knew what he was thinking. It was scary at times, yet he secretly loved it that they shared such a close bond.

Eiji smiled weakly at him, yawning. "But - "

"Eiji, be honest. When was the last time you slept for more than a few hours? You always wait for me to come home no matter how late it is. Even so, you still get up early every day, making breakfast for everyone. It's no wonder you're exhausted.", Ash reminded him sternly.

"I... That's not... I can't sleep unless I know you're safe." Then his eyes darkened slightly before he turned away from him, avoiding his gaze.

"I just feel useless if I don't do anything. Like a freeloader. I can't fight by your side, but I can at least take care of your gang and the apartment."

"Please take care of yourself first.", Ash scolded him lightly.

Eiji nodded quietly. He seemed utterly exhausted and couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

"Eiji, don't sleep yet. Take your medication first." He helped him sit up a bit before handing him two pills and a glass of water. "Painkillers.", he explained. "For your fever and your headache. "You'll feel better."

Eiji took them and drank the water. After Ash had helped him lay down again, Eiji closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep. Ash bent down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead as Eiji had done so many times to comfort him after a nightmare.

After a while, Ash lay down next to Eiji and began reading a book while watching the sleeping figure next to him. He had apparently fallen asleep next to him because he was woken up by a low mumbling sound next to him. Still dazed, he moved in that direction to make sure Eiji was safe.

However, when he moved, he heard a soft complaint next to him and followed the sound with his gaze. While he had been asleep, Eiji had shifted so that his head rested on his chest now while his arm was flung around him, as if protecting him, his hand grabbing his upper arm. He was sleeping so peacefully that Ash didn't dare to move again.

Eiji had noticed him moving because he pulled him closer and mumbled something.

"Ash... Don't leave..."

Ash stared at Eiji in surprise, then slowly ran a hand through his brown hair. He saw Eiji relax again before a small smile appeared on his face. Eiji has once explained to him that he was afraid that he'd leave without telling him and would be suffering all alone somewhere.

"Idiot.", muttered Ash but couldn't help but smile in return.

"No matter where I go, I'll always find my way back to you in the end."

[magicmanias]

A Crown of Silver Flowers

Request: “You mentioned requests being open. Here is one. Thranduil. From friends to lovers: 7 “I know, but I want more“  Please 😊” @sweetfairy1

7. “I know, but I want more.”

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: Thranduil seeks one last chance with you before he is too late.

(Occurs before the events of the Hobbit.)

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers cliché

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Loth means flower in Sindarin. I FINISHED IT!

Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit // MASTERLIST

There she was beside him, poised and tall on her Fresian stallion. Loose strands of hair dangled under a garland of poppies that sat on her head blowing calmly in the steady afternoon breeze. She looked like a queen and Thranduil imagined a reality where it could be true. He wondered if she'd prefer a crown of silver or flowers. 

“Thranduil?”

“Yes, Ioth?” Thranduil watched her more intently. She avoided his gaze, instead directing her attention to the view before them, though she barely noticed it. Her fingers absent-mindedly rooted through her stallion's tangled mane. Thranduil's elk shifted, bringing her back down to earth.

“Would you… Would you ever be angry with me?”

“Angry? I can't fathom an occasion where I would be angry with you,” he answered. She continued to comb through the horse's locks with her fingers. Thranduil watched her hands stroke nervously through the stallion's mane. He knit his brow. Her hands shook. “What is wrong, loth?”

“I'm… My father—he… he has informed me that he was found a suitable match for me.” Thranduil stiffened. He what? “The captain of the guard in Lithlorien. I am to leave Mirkwood by next morning.”

“You're leaving?“ Thranduil unmounted the elk. He couldn't look her in the eye. How could she be leaving? “When is…”

“The… wedding is in two weeks time.” She  followed suit and trailed hopelessly behind the young king.

“Do you love him?” Thranduil turned to see her reaction. He was met with wide, teary eyes and a quivering lip.

“Love him?”

“Yes, do you love him?”

“I… I haven't even met him yet.” She looked down to hide her face. Thranduil knew she was crying. He cupped her cheek and swept a thumb to wipe away a tear. Y/N leaned into it and wept more. She didn't love him. “I don't want to go. I'll miss you so much.”

“Stay.” Thranduil tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. She looked at his icy eyes. She'd never seen the king so… desperate before. 

She wiped her eyes and back away from him. “I can't. My father—”

“I don't care what your father says. I am your king, so… I command you to stay.”

The elleth laughed. “Thranduil, my king, I will miss you and your outrageous abuse of power.”

“I would commit treasons across Middle Earth for you,” Thranduil admitted. “Just stay.”

“Oh, that would never end well. What will the people think? A maiden elleth choosing her king before her fiance? It would be rather scandalous.”

“Then we shall run away,” he chuckled. “To another land, far from here.”

“I think that would elicit even more rumors, my king,” she giggled.

The king's voice went quiet, dropping down an octave. “I mean it, Loth. I never want to be apart from you.”

She frowned and took the ellon's hand from her cheek. Once again, she faced the view before her. Perhaps she didn't want to see Thranduil's face when she asked, “Will you come? To the wedding?”

“I… don't think I can.”

There was no need to ask why. There was somewhere deep inside of Y/N that knew the answer. So she didn't ask. She couldn't. If he answered, everything would be ruined. And despite how much she ached to hear her king say those three words to her… it would ruin everything.

“I love you.”

2 Weeks Later

He was… adequate, you supposed. There was nothing wrong with him. Handsome, honorable, fearless, a renowned soldier, and more titles than you could bother to remember. Your father was no obstacle--in fact, he might have adored your fiance more than you tolerated him. When you were given news of your engagement to the ellon, you could not lie and say that you were unimpressed. Your father made him sound like quite the suitor. But the moment he stepped off his white horse and approached you with that cookie cutter smile, the butterflies in your stomach seemed to fall into a deep pit. There really wasn’t anything wrong with him. And yet, every night since then, you couldn't sleep because your head was filled with endless thoughts of running away.

Thranduil had never been so reckless in his life. Battered soldiers lay stiff around him, bruised and near broken at the king’s ill-directed wrath. He heaved and his muscles ached, but he craved to continue. Anger still seeped from his very being, but it seemed all the soldiers were down at his feet or cowering away. He sheathed his sword and stormed away from the scene, leaving the bruised soldiers to pick up after themselves.

He hated her. He hated her like he’d never hated anyone ever in his immortal life. It was a burning, fiery, passionate hatred that made his skin crawl in fury. He wished a lot of things about her. He wished he never set eyes on that infernal elleth. He wished he could scream at her. He wished he could tell her every little horrible emotion he felt toward her. He wished he could take her in his arms and squeeze so tight that she couldn’t breathe. He wished he could be close enough to her to smell her hair. He wished he could touch her skin. He wished to feel her lips upon his. He wished to tell her that he loved her and to hear that she felt the same. He hated her. He hated she didn’t feel the same. He hated that she loved him in a way that was most painful to him. He hated that she was marrying a perfectly suitable ellon that would give her the life he couldn’t. He hated her. 

Without her, Thranduil couldn’t breathe, but he might as well give up trying to. Eternal life would be meaningless without her. She was his eternity. Eru, how did it come to this?

You stared at the garnet ring on your finger, mocking you with the future it represented. You contemplated tearing it off and flinging it across the room, but every time you slipped it off just slightly, you knew you’d get up only to find it and place back where it belonged. You sighed and shifted the band around your finger. You much preferred silver over red.

Thranduil stepped into the steaming water of the bath and sunk in. He hoped the water would magically erase his memories of the elleth haunting his every waking moment, but there she was, dancing in his dreams the moment he closed his eyes. Why couldn’t she love him? He tried to hold onto the figment of you dancing with him, but just as all his tainted memories of you transitioned to his nightmare, this one did as well.

2 Weeks Ago

“I wish you hadn't said that.”

“But it's true, Loth. I love you.”

“You're my friend.”

“I know, but I want more,” he said desperately. Thranduil tried to grab her hand but she pulled it away in fear. “I love you, Y/N.“ 

“I don’t love you, your majesty!“ you screamed back, tears streaming down your cheeks. Thranduil stepped back, rigid and frozen, except for his shattering heart. You wiped your tears quickly, failing to hide them and whimpered. Thranduil’s anger completely disappeared and dismay flooded all his senses. He stepped forward slightly, even more desperate to cling onto you and pretend those words never left your lips. 

“Loth…”

“Leave me alone!” She ran away from the heat-broken king. Thranduil could only watch her grow smaller and smaller from his view until she disappeared altogether.

You laid in your bed and stared at the high ceiling. The ring was still wrapped around your hand as you nervously played with it. Tomorrow would pass and your fate would be sealed with an elf you never loved. You allowed your mind to wander aimlessly, hoping to drift to something pleasant to distract you from thoughts of your future husband. Suddenly, you remembered the friend you had been avoiding for so long. 

Your silver haired king. 

Your heart tugged at the thought of Thranduil. And memories of the last time you saw him ambushed your tired mind. “I don't love you, your majesty!“ You hadn’t meant it.  

“Oh Eru.” How could you say those things to him? He probably hated you now, but you didn’t blame him. You hated yourself. The man that was once your closest friend hated you and you would never be able to tell him that you felt the same way he did. Well, the way he used to at least.

You loved him. You’d always loved him. He may have fallen in love with you decades ago, but you’d loved him for centuries. For all that time, you had grown accustomed to a fate of unrequited love, so when he said those things to you… you didn’t know what to do. Being in love with the silver king was a reverie, a fantasy that occupied your dreams at night, but when you awoke, you forced yourself to act like he was no more than your king and your friend. After centuries of pretending you didn’t love him, you had become good at it and the thought that he could love you never even crossed your conscious mind. 

It was late, but Thranduil found himself unable to sleep, plagued with thoughts of her. Everything about her crossed his tired mind. Her hair that was never fully neat. The way she carried herself when walking down a path, even when she thought no one was looking. The smile that crept on her lips when it wasn't proper. The sound of her sweet voice when she sang to him in the evenings. The glow that encircled her in the morning. Why was she getting married? He'd really thought she loved him. 

Why were you getting married? It made your father so happy and your mother couldn't hold more pride toward her daughter, but why were you doing this? You hadn't even liked the ellon you were marrying, let alone loved him. You were glad it was so late. You were too tired to cry. At least your eyes wouldn't be puffy during the wedding. The dark circles under your eyes would be another problem though. At least Thranduil wouldn't see you like this. Why were you getting married?

Thranduil didn't care if you loved him. He needed to see his friend. She couldn't marry someone she'd only met. Maybe she didn't love him, but he would do everything in his power to prevent her from a life of unhappiness with another ellon. The king marched out of his chambers, ignoring the confused servants in his way. “Alefen, retrieve my stag.”

“But, your majesty—”

“This is urgent. I must leave as soon as possible.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

You had to see him. You couldn't marry that ellon. You loved Thranduil. He may hate you now, but he'd been your friend for so long. Perhaps you could at least save that. 

You sprinted  out of your room, still in your nightgown, and raced to the stables. Your horse jumped at the sudden sound of your footsteps and shot his gaze up at you. 

“Hello,” you whispered gently to the stallion, stroking his black nose. “I know you must be anxious to go out.”

The black steed whinnied in agreement and stomped his hooves into the dirt. 

“I'm going to need you to ride like the wind,” you said, still stroking his soft fur. “We're going home.”

Thranduil rode into the forest on the large stag, hearing nothing but the footsteps of the stag and his racing heart. Lithlorien was a day's ride away, but by then Y/N would already be married. Thranduil shook the thought out of his head. He was determined to get there.

“Fly faster,” he told the elk. “Please, as fast as you can.”

Y/N had been riding for an hour. Her stallion ever-loyal had managed to keep a consistent pace, just as desperate to be home as she was. The forest was just coming into view, compelling the horse to pump it's legs even faster.

“Woah, Stygian, my love, slow. You will kill yourself at this pace,” you cooed, pulling gently on his mane. The stallion grunted, but continued to gallop too speed. You winced pulling harder, demanding the horse to slow, but he would not. “Stygian, you must— Ah!”

The stallion stopped still in his tracks and distracted, you did not grip onto him properly, sending you flying into the air. You braced for the hard impact, but you landed much quicker than you anticipated and on much softer group than you expected. Slowly, you opened your eyes and were met with icy blue ones.

“Ah!” You tried to scramble away in fear, but in your struggle you fell once more, this time on actual ground. “Ow!”

Wait, something about those eyes… They were familiar. Icy blue… 

“Loth?” a familiar voice called out. 

You sat up and looked at the king above you. Your pained face stretched into a smile as you witnessed the silver haired ellon leave the back of the elk and offer a hand to you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, taking his hand and pulling yourself up. 

“I could ask you the same, Loth,” he said warmly. He quickly let go of your hand, to your disappointment. You watched silently as he went and brought your spooked horse back over to you.

“I-I came back. I couldn't marry him,” you admitted, your voice echoing in the forest. Thranduil remained silent, silently pleading for you to continue. “I…Thranduil, I… hope you don't hate me.” Perhaps you weren't tired enough, because tears managed to well in your eyes and fall.

“Hate you?” Thranduil repeated. His heart broke at the sight of you. You looked so tired and sad, oh, but you were beautiful all the same. He remembered the anger he felt toward you only just that morning and the weeks prior. No, he didn't hate you. He never did. He was just so tormented. But he couldn't hate you. “No, I don't hate you, Loth.”

“Y-You don't?” you blubber, still crying. You tried in vain to wipe your tears away. “But-But—”

Thranduil moved your hand from your face and wiped your tears from your cheeks and replaced them with his hand, rubbing a thumb in your skin. 

“I could never hate you, loth.” He smiled bitterly. “You may not love me, but I will always love you.”

“I love you.”

Thranduil shook his head. “You do not need to spare me my feelings, loth.”

“Its true,” you insisted. “I’ve loved you for so long, Thranduil. I love you… I'm sor—”

Before you could apologize, hands wrapped around your waist and lips enveloped your own. Your hands made their way up Thranduil's chest and rested on his face. You melted into the kiss and he pulled you closer. You noses rubbed together and you pushed ever closed to him.

Stygian whinnied loudly, bringing you out of the kiss. You laughed and Thranduil merely smiled. He grabbed your hands and kissed them. 

“Marry me,” he said gently, focusing on your hands, small in his large grasp.

“What?” you gasped. 

“I love you. I want to make you my queen, loth.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I want to make you mine.”

“I am yours, my love.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you whispered, pressing another kiss to his lips.

He was the one to break the second kiss, enveloping you in his arms. He placed his head on yours and stroked your back. “Would you like a crown of silver or flowers?”

“Both.”

He chuckled. “It shall be done, my queen.”

“Thranduil?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “Will you only call me Loth?”

“Do you not like ‘my queen’?”

“Others can call me that if they wish, but I like it when you call me Loth,” you said.

“If that's what you plead, my Loth.” 

[getitinbusan]

Eat • Sleep • Game

A little angst, a little fluff, a lot of smut if you reblog for a part two.

Dedicated to everyone missing the Toronto Show today, see you soon ☹️💜

It had been exactly 1 year and 45 days since you'd fallen head over heels in love with Jungkook. You know this because it was your second day of work at the game store when he came rushing through its door. 

He had broken his game controller and needed one ASAP before his Overwatch team kicked him off. It was a brief first meeting but he'd come in at least once a week since then.

Inviting you to join his team, your friend circle expanded and his roommate Jimin had become your closest confidant. Unlike Jungkook, it had only taken Jimin a few weeks to realize how hard you were crushing on his friend.

Jimin was rummaging through the fridge while balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. Nodding in Jungkook's direction he kept talking.

"You should definitely wear something really sexy…. I'll ask. JK, Y/N wants to know if you're coming out tonight?" 

Setting his Banana Milk down a smile crept up to his eyes. He'd been crushing on you forever and had finally decided maybe he should make a move.

You'd be there, wearing something sexy AND you were asking about him?

"Yeah, I'll come," he tried to sound casual about it. 

Jimin didn't have to relay the message, you were listening eagerly to hear his answer from the other end.

"He's really coming?

You sighed, "That just means I'm going to walk around pining for him all night. God I love him Jimin"

He laughed at your desperation, "It's going to happen sooner or later, believe me it is mutual." 

Jungkook had gone back to his game but intentionally left the headset off one ear. Listening in, he was trying to piece together your side of the conversation. What? What was mutual?

"I thought that a year ago, how does he not know Jimin? How can I make it any easier? Do I need to just outright say it to him?"  

He put on a seductive voice, "I've wanted to fuck you for the past year and if you make me wait a second longer I'm going to die." 

Jungkook listened on, was Jimin really hitting on you like that? He never discussed his feelings for you with him but he thought it was obvious. His cheeks grew red and heated as the thought of you and Jimin together boiled in his blood. 

"Alright I'll see you soon, come up and we'll have drinks before we go." 

Hanging up he turned to Jungkook, "I'm grabbing a shower, I have a feeling tonight's going to get crazy."

Knocking on the apartment door you let out a huge breath, "here goes nothing."

You'd spent the day talking yourself into finally telling him how you felt.

Jimin opened the door, "Shit Y/N, look at you!" he playfully copped a feel of your ass. 

"Hey Guk!"

Now or never, you walked behind him and put your hand on his shoulder. "How's the game?"

He was distracted, your breasts were right behind his head as you leaned in to watch him play. Your fingers dug in massaging his muscles. His cock was getting hard thinking about how good your grip would feel around it. 

"Watch behind you!"

Brought back to reality you'd snapped him out of his fantasy.

"It's a shame you're going to have to quit, we should leave soon." 

Jimin came out of the kitchen and handed you a beer, "I'm getting you so drunk tonight."

He set one down in front of Jungkook, "Pre game my friend."

"About that...I think I'll just stay home..I'm kind of on a winning streak." 

You pulled your hand away from him in disappointment, all hope lost. Jimin could see you were visibly upset.

"Let's go to my room Y/N, we wouldn't want to distract Jungkook from his game. 

"What the fuck is his problem all of the sudden?"

He pouted at you and kissed your forehead, "His loss sweetheart." 

The Uber showed up about four drinks in. Jimin was already out the door when you turned to look at Jungkook. His gaze was fixed on you but he quickly turned back to the screen as not to be caught.

"Are you sure you don't want to come...I was kind of looking forward to hanging out with you?" 

He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek, "I'm sure Jimin will show you a good time." 

Pulling the door tight behind you Jimin grabbed your hand, "Fuck him, let's go." 

The club was packed. It was too loud, too hot and Jimin had abandoned you long ago to find a conquest.

The drink in your hand was empty but the lineup to get another was three deep. Your will to have fun had been left back at the apartment so here you stood, miserable. 

Declaring the night a total waste you walked around looking for Jimin. 

You tapped his shoulder until he stopped his makeout session, "I think I'm just going to leave Jimin." 

"Why aren't you in the corner getting fingered by some hot guy?" 

"It must be because I'm so pathetic that nobodies even attempted to talk to me tonight."

You tried to hold back your tears, no crying in the club right?

"Go," you motioned to the dance floor. "Have fun, she's waiting for you."

"I'm not letting you go home, not like this."

He hugged you tightly, "Take my key and go over there and tell him how you feel."

"Jimin, I'm tired of putting myself out there for rejection." 

"Baby, this crush has been going on far too long, you need to find out for sure. You are way too amazing to not have a boyfriend."

You kissed his cheek, "okay I'm going to do it."

His imagination was going wild. He couldn't concentrate on his game and his teammates just kept yelling at him.

He was sure you'd be grinding all over each other, Jimin's stupid puffy lips getting to kiss you.

All the girls went for Jimin, he was just so confident. He decided a couple of loops around the city on his bike and a Ramen stop would help. 

Unlocking the door you expected to see him gaming in the living room but the apartment was quiet. 

Moving up the hall you knocked lightly at his door, "Kookie, can I talk to you?" 

Opening the door a crack you peeked in, empty. Of course he went out, you'd finally mustered your courage to tell him and he was probably eating Ramen somewhere. 

Fuck it, it was happening tonight. He'd have to come home sooner or later and you'd be here waiting in his bed when he did.

It was late, he didn't feel any better.

Putting on a movie he shut off all the lights and sprawled out on the couch. He wasn't going to be able to sleep until he knew if you were coming home with his roommate. 

He must have dozed, the sound of muffled giggles waking him up.

"Shhh, we need to keep it down," kissing, loud kissing more giggles.

"Let's go to my room."

He looked at the clock, 4am. Fuck there was no way he could sleep now. He lit up his monitor and grabbed his headphones. 

You stretched out on the bed taking a minute to remember where you were. One smell of the pillow and it all came back. Of course he didn't come home, fate was never on your side. 

You opened the door quietly not  wanting to wake Jimin. Tiptoeing through the apartment the light from his screen caught your eye, he'd really just been out here playing?

You walked over to stand beside him, was it too late to tell him? 

"Hey," you startled him, "Don't you even go to bed anymore?" 

He clenched his jaw, "I've been having a really good game." 

Here goes…"Jungkook, there's more to life than video games. Sometimes it's nice to enjoy someone's company…"

He shot you a cold look, "I know I could hear you two enjoying each other all night."

His accusation floored you, "And so what if we did?? What the hell do you care Jungkook?"

He went back to his game and you slammed the door. 

"What the fuck was that?" Jimin came out of his room in his boxers.

Jungkook stood to get a drink. 

"Your loud fucking girlfriend leaving." He pushed him out of the way and Jimin laughed. 

"You're jealous? Fuck you're dumber than I thought."

Steering him up the hallway he pointed to the girl passed out in his room.  Flinging Jungkook's bedroom door open he pointed out the messed up sheets.

"Did you sleep here last night?"

Puzzled, he fell silent.

"She was in here waiting for you..all night. Maybe if you weren't so balls deep in overwatch you'd get laid once in a while."

The knock was so light you almost missed it. Track pants, t-shirt, messy bun and bare feet you padded across the room to answer it.  

Looking through the peephole Jungkook stood on the other side. 

You opened the door without a word or smile. "Can I come in?"

You opened it wide and walked away. 

Plopping down on your bean bag chair you picked up your game controller and proceeded to ignore him. 

"Can I play?" 

You shrugged and threw the other controller at him. 

He sat on the floor next to you and set himself up. "Can we talk about last night?" 

"Sure what part? The part where you brushed our plans off or the part where you accused me of fucking Jimin?" 

Taking aim you fired…

"Y/N, What the fuck? We're on the same team."

He grunted in frustration, "The part where you slept in my bed." 

You turned and shot him again.

"Sorry, I just needed a place to crash."

You moved on with your mission.

Recouping he found you in his cross hairs and pulled the trigger.

"Can we just stop playing games?" 

You threw your controller down.

"Fine what the fuck do you want me to say? That I like you? That it fucking hurts to know you prefer to interact with me through a god damn screen?" 

He reached over and shut off the console.

"Move over."

"Jungkook, there is hardly room for two."

He pressed his body onto yours laying you back on the pliant chair. Staring into your eyes before pressing his lips to yours he smiled, "I like you too." 

"This is never going to work you know, we're both way too stubborn." He cut you off with another kiss. 

"I don't know, I think we make a pretty good team, at least when you're not shooting me."

You wrapped your legs around him tightly feeling him hard against you.

"Video games are kind of our thing, what else are we going to do for fun?" 

"Hang on tight." He stood with you still wrapped around him.

"We're going to try a new thing. Where's your bedroom?

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​ @jamies-kpop-reactions​

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Note: This is the final ‘official’ part of 4 O’Clock! It’s kinda sweet how this story has wrapped up on SuperM’s one year anniversary! I can guarantee that you will see some of these characters again! I will likely revisit Lei and Taemin through drabbles; any questions or requests about them would be very much appreciated!

Epilogue: Part 2

6. Daydream

"I love you," Taemin whispers against my neck, tightening his grip around my waist and pulling me flush with him.

My room— our room— has been dark and quiet for almost an hour now, so he likely assumes that I have fallen asleep. I think I might have been sleeping, but Taemin’s voice is a blinding light that disrupts even the deepest darkness. I can't sleep while it shines, and I will never want to try. Without opening my eyes, I strain to make out every word muffled by my skin, warmed by his touch.

"My Lei, never forget that I love you. Never forget the road that leads to me. Never—"

He gasps, and I fear for a moment that he is crying. Before I can roll over to wipe his tears, he holds me closer and continues speaking in an unwavering voice. "If you see me in a time when our paths do not seem destined to cross, never forget that we will end every day together. Even when we are apart, we're looking at the same sky, counting the same stars, and reaching for the same moon."

My heart is caught somewhere in my throat, making it hard to breathe. What can I possibly say? Nothing.

There is nothing to say, so I lace my fingers through Taemin's to remind him that our paths have crossed and they will never separate; we have proven our love under the same sky; and I will never let go of his hand.

. . .

When I awaken, Taemin is sitting at the edge of the bed, tugging a white t-shirt— the one I wore yesterday, I think— over his chest. After wiping the sleep fogging my eyes, I squint to see that he is already wearing sweatpants and a pair of shoes. He is going somewhere before the sun has broken through the curtains or even through the clouds.

I'm too tired to mask the disappointment from my voice, too tired to control or question the tears welling in my eyes as I ask, "Where are you going, Taeminnie?"

My voice makes Taemin jump. Laughing at his overreaction, he bends to kiss my sleep swollen lips. "I tried not to wake you, baby. I meet Jongin at the studio to practice every morning." His voice is softer than ever; his gaze is gentler than ever; my heart beats harder than ever, and I know why.

This morning is the beginning of our forever together; the forever in which I have surrendered to him completely; the forever in which there is no part of me untouched or unchanged by our love.

As he pushes my hair out of my eyes, Taemin doesn't realize that I am falling for him again. He must not feel that I melt into him with every glance. He continues, "Then, this afternoon, I'm going shopping with Mom. The decor in that room across the hall is a little too gloomy for me."

"Do you have to go right now?" My voice sounds tiny, childish, and very much unlike mine. Weirdly, though, I don't feel embarrassed. I don't feel vulnerable or exposed. "Can't we— can't we stay in bed all day like we wanted to on my debut anniversary? Can't you stay with me a little longer?"

Because my eyelids have fluttered shut, and I am adrift in that beautiful place between asleep and awake, I don't see Taemin's reaction to my plea. I hear it; I hear the faint creaking of mattress springs as he lowers himself back by my side. I feel it; I feel the cold winter morning air raising goosebumps on my skin as he lifts the quilt; I feel his warmth as he tucks us in and carefully lays his weight atop me.

I pull him closer and tuck my face into the crook of his neck, seeking to fit with him perfectly. His skin muffles my question: "Will Jongin be upset?"

"No, baby." Taemin trails his fingertips from the tops of my shoulders to my wrists to lace his fingers through mine. "He won't be upset. He'll understand that we want to be together. He knows how much I love you. He knows that I'll do anything you ask."

"Anything?" I wish he could see how I smile around the word.

Taemin releases one of my hands to comb his fingers through my hair. "Anything, my Lei."

My heart swells and thunders. The subtle vibrations of his voice give life to the butterflies in my stomach. As if he doesn't know, I admit, "I'll do anything you ask too."

I daydream about his smile as he says, "Anything?"

"Anything, my Taemin."

"Then kiss me, please," Taemin pleads, tugging slightly on my hair to convince me to look at him. "Kiss me until you fall back to sleep."

"I can't fall asleep kissing you!" I whine, hooking my free hand around his waist, pulling him closer and closer still.

Closing my eyes, I remember it in perfect detail: the first time he laid beside me in that hotel room. It's almost like a dream, now. It's funny, beautiful, romantic, and a little bit tragic that dreams and memories can blur together.

Back then, he said, "We can sleep together if you want. What do you think, Lei? Do you think you could sleep like this?"

What was it that I didn't get to say? I'll say it now if I can remember.

"I could not sleep like this. Can't you feel how fast my heart is beating?" My eyes open to look at him. His eyes are smiling. Almost always smiling. "You'll kill me."

Taemin chuckles and argues in a whisper, "No, I won't. And no, I can't quite feel how fast your heart is beating." He connects both of his hands behind my upper back and lays his ear over my heart. "Be quiet now. Let me listen."

We are so close, but we have been closer. I love this. I love life like this. Me and my Taemin blending and blurring and melting together.

"Taemin," I breathe, fighting to keep my eyes closed. "You're waking me up."

Taemin lifts his head and strains to kiss my temple. "Well, baby, I've been wide awake for as long as I can remember. If you're asleep and I'm awake, how will we meet in the middle?"

If this is a riddle, I do not know the answer. I’ve never been good at thinking in riddles. I just know that we meet in the middle every time, and I always forget to count the steps.

7. My Best Friend

“I think I liked Taemin better when he was just your bias,” Lucas huffs while I am trying to enjoy my current favorite SHINee song (“Why So Serious?”).

My favorite SHINee song changes about every other week, and I have this (and every other) music video memorized better than my own choreography, but I don’t appreciate the rude interruption.

Without sitting up, mostly because Lucas’s comforter is almost as cloud-soft as Taemin’s had been in the SuperM house, I swat at Lucas’s shoulder exposed through a sleeveless shirt. His arm is as hard as a rock, so my hand throbs after striking him.

“First of all, that’s mean!” I glare as I blow on my aching knuckles. “What was the point of dragging me into your room to watch music videos if you’re gonna talk shit about my bias-turned-boyfriend the whole time?”

This is my first time watching SHINee since falling in love with Taemin because a.) I didn’t have time to watch very much of anything on tour and b.) I couldn’t comfortably fangirl right in front of Taemin once he insisted on holding me through the night. My heart has always pounded at the sight of him, but it’s different now.

Now, when I hear his voice, my stomach flutters with every memory we have made together. Now, a love-colored blush stains my cheeks every time the camera focuses on him, and I almost instinctively look away. Now, I can’t wait for him to walk off the screen and into my arms so I can melt into him a little more. Now, more than ever, the concepts of soulmate and idol have blurred to create this perfect picture of him: my Taemin.

Now, to be frank, Lucas’s uncharacteristically sour attitude is dampening my smile.

Rubbing at his shoulder, Lucas retorts, “You know I’ve never watched SHINee for Taemin! I like looking at Minho!”

Although my eyes roll, I can’t help but laugh. Lucas’s undying love for his own face manifests in a most peculiar idolization of Minho. I can’t bring myself to criticize him, though. Objectively, Minho is shockingly handsome— even more so in person (or so I’ve gathered from the one time I met him).

“Second of all,” I wheeze as Lucas’s weight leans into me yet again, “for the millionth time, get off of me!”

Using both hands and both feet, I pin Lucas against the wall. His arms and legs flail; he looks like a cockroach.

“Alright!” Lucas screams, so I release him.

I flinch away from him as a reflex. If Mom were home, she would fly up the stairs to defend Lucas at his faintest whimper. Then, I would be in trouble— grounded at 21 years old— all because Mom babies Lucas too much.

Lucas shovels a handful of popcorn into his cheeks until they puff out like a chipmunk’s. His voice is muffled when he grumbles, “You don’t tell Lucas to get off of you.”

“That’s it!” I reach for the remote at the foot of the bed, pause the video, and round on Lucas. “What’s your sudden problem with Taemin? I know you’re not jealous because I let him cuddle with me, so don’t try to pull any funny business. I know you’re upset that he drank your last beer—”

Lucas’s face goes red with rage at the reminder of Taemin’s dinner-time offense. “He didn’t even finish it!”

I shake my head at his pettiness. Maybe I’m missing something because I’ve never liked beer. “But you know Mom’s gonna buy more for you! You know she probably already has a new shipment on the way!”

Lucas’s frown deepens, and I try to continue in a softer voice. Lucas has always been so patient with me; repaying that patience now is the least I can do. “I get that Taemin’s moving in is a big change. It’s going to take some time for all of us to get used to. And believe me— I know it’s annoying that he helps himself to whatever he wants—”

“You got that right,” Lucas mumbles through pouting lips.

“— but that’s no excuse to be mean to him,” I say quietly. “Do you think I want to hear you talk negatively about him? Because if you do—”

My voice breaks as Lucas sits upright to rub at his eyes. Dread, originating as a sharp pang in my gut, washes over me. “Are you— are you crying?”

“It’s not about the beer.” He hugs his knees to his chest, shaking his head. “It’s not about the beer, Lei.”

Guilt is not a strong enough word to describe whatever emotion threatens to tear me apart. Nothing— nothing is worse than when Lucas is sad. Nothing is worse than knowing that somehow, accidentally, in chasing my own happiness, I have hurt my best friend, my brother.

“Well, Lucas,” I mirror his pout as I pat his arm comfortingly, “what is it about?”

His lips tremble before he cries, “I don’t wanna talk about it!” and collapses face-first into a pillow.

If I wasn’t so concerned— if I wasn’t so baffled by his sudden outburst of emotions (as I always am)— I would almost want to laugh at his theatrics. As it is, I tug the black cap from his head and toss it onto the floor so I can card a hand through his hair. This is something Mom used to do when I was upset as a child. The only difference is that she would make me rest my head in her lap; the only difference is that Mom would braid through my hair, and Lucas’s hair is too short to braid.

“We have to talk about it, Lucas.” I tell him what I have learned: “We have to keep our feelings out in the light, otherwise they will metastasize.”

When that doesn’t inspire him to open up, I take the first step forward. Another thing I have learned: taking the first step isn’t that hard when you’re moving toward somebody you love. “I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about Taemin moving in. This is your home too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask about your feelings before he—”

“Dude, Lei.” Lucas rolls onto his back to show me his wrinkled forehead. “Don’t apologize for your happy ending! I’ll be okay! I’ll get past this! It’s just—”

His toothy smile dims as he admits, “I thought I was used to knowing that I’m not the main guy in your life anymore. I thought I accepted it, and I guess I have, kinda. I always knew that you would find Prince Charming and that he wasn’t me. I just— I thought I would always be your best friend.”

“You are my best friend!” I laugh because the idea that anyone could ever take Lucas’s place— even someone that I love as much as Taemin— is the most ridiculous thing I have ever considered. “You’ll always be my best friend! Who else am I gonna tell on the frequent occasion that Taemin tap dances on my last nerve? Who else am I gonna watch SHINee videos with? Who else am I gonna eat popcorn in bed with?”

“You could watch SHINee videos with Taemin,” Lucas claims, picking at a loose thread on his blanket. “You could eat popcorn in bed with Taemin.”

I shake my head so vigorously that I get a bit dizzy. “No, I couldn’t. Taemin talks constantly. You know I can’t stand it when anybody interrupts an Onew descant!”

While Lucas laughs, I add, “And I’m never letting Taemin eat in bed with me; he’s the messiest eater alive!” Rolling my eyes, smiling faintly at this most recent memory, I say, “Right after he moved in, he was eating one of those gooey McDonald’s cookies in my bed, and he got chocolate everywhere.”

Lucas gasps, coming alive with this tiny morsel of gossip. “He got chocolate on the quilt Grandma made for you, sewing love in every stitch?”

Taemin hadn’t actually gotten chocolate anywhere except his fingers, but I was all too willing to privately slander him if that would make Lucas feel better. Grimacing dramatically, I nod my head, and Lucas groans in disgust.

“Well, as annoying as he might be,” Lucas sniffles, “Taemin is the one, you know.”

I gasp not because I haven’t already realized that; I gasp because Lucas has always been opposed to the idea of one great love. He believes that we are shaped by every relationship— romantic, friendly, familial— and that we were not made for a sole soulmate, but he insists, “It’s true! One day, probably soon, you’re gonna get married, and—”

Were it not for the sad dimples forming in his chin, I would fear that Lucas is on the brink of more baby talk. “And you’re gonna be happier than we ever imagined anyone could be! And you know that whenever you’re happy, I’m happy, but—”

Tears glisten in Lucas’s eyes, so they glisten in mine too.

“I’ll feel a teeny tiny bit sad because then Taemin will be Mom’s real son, and I’ll just be a fake son!”

I should have realized that this would somehow lead back to Mom.

“You’re not a fake son.” Even though Mom’s obvious love for Lucas should require no evidence, I offer, “Do you wanna hear something Mom told Heechul one of those times he tried to convince her to kick you out?”

Lucas nods his head.

I force myself not to roll my eyes or shake my head or express any degree of annoyance as I relate, “She said, ‘Lei is my child by blood, but Lucas is my child by choice. I can’t imagine how dull this house would be without him, and I don’t want to, so—’” As Lucas cracks a smile, I burst into laughing— “‘so shut the hell up, Heechul!’”

To ensure that Lucas’s smile doesn’t fade, I say, “Taemin is one of Mom’s kids now because I’ve fallen in love with him, but you—” I poke him in the ribs, just below his armpits, right where I know he is most ticklish, and delight in his laughter that has painted all of my happiest days— “you have always been Mom’s favorite because you’re the brightest sunspot in the universe! You’ll always be her favorite, so—”

While I am blinking, Lucas tackles me onto his bed and spills the bowl of popcorn onto the blanket. It’s hard to breathe under his weight; he’s much heavier than he looks, and I wasn’t prepared to defend myself.

Although repeating this request— this command— is a waste of limited breath, the words tumble out of my mouth anyway, “Get off, Lucas!”

Of course, he doesn’t obey. He never obeys. He rolls me onto my back so I can watch his face contort with maniacal laughter, so he can watch the panic flashing in my eyes with the realization that I have started a tickle war.

My eyes tighten closed, and I hold my breath in anticipation of a touch that never happens.

From the doorway, Taemin clears his throat.

That sound sends Lucas flying off of me with the explanation, “We were just watching SHINee videos! We were just about to watch ‘Sherlock’ because— I doubt she has told you this— Lei has a thing for your long hair. I mean, she kind of has a thing for you with all of your different hairstyles. She told me that when ‘Replay’ came out, she thought you were the cutest boy in the world with your bowl cut, and—”

“Alright!” I pick a piece of popcorn from the bed and launch it at Lucas’s big head. “He gets it! Is nothing sacred with you, Lucas?”

“I see,” Taemin says, fighting the teasing smile determined to curl his lips. Focusing on the large frame in his hands, Taemin forces his face into a scowl. “Lei, have you talked to your fashion icon lately?”

Considering his recently expressed tension with Key, it’s obvious who Taemin is talking about, but I play dumb anyway. “Which one, Taeminnie?” I look up at him with wide eyes before sweeping Lucas’s popcorn back into its bowl. “I talk to Amber almost every day, and Taeyeon—”

Taemin interrupts with the rolling of his eyes. “Key! I’m talking about Key!” He whirls the frame around to reveal a particularly sensual poster of Key wearing some scantily clad leather outfit.

When I lean forward and squint, trying to make out which era this outfit is from, Taemin’s eyes widen. He turns the poster around and hugs the image against his body. “Stop looking at him like that!”

Lucas tries (and fails) to contain his laughter when I stand from the bed and walk to Taemin, arguing, “I’m not looking at Key like anything! I’m just trying to remember where I’ve seen that outfit before.” Closing my eyes and rubbing at my temples— that always helps me to concentrate— “I’m thinking that it was at that Tokyo Dome concert in 2014, but—”

Taemin breaks my concentration by shrieking, “You’ve seen this? In real life? With your own two eyes?”

“I was there, so yeah.” Taemin’s disapproving stare compels me to explain, “I wasn’t there to see Key in leather or anything, Taemin. I just happened to be doing promotions in Japan while you were performing there, and I begged Mom to let me go to the concert.”

Taemin’s brow furrows as he does math in his head. “2014— that means you were about fifteen years old! Fifteen is way too young to be looking at this filth!”

“Oh yeah” I laugh, “and your outfit for the ‘Danger’ stage was very appropriate, Taemin, very suitable for young viewers.”

As Taemin’s face flushes red with embarrassment, maybe feeling aware of our age difference as I am for the first time, I say, “Don’t worry. Mom covered my eyes, so—”

“We’ve seen it since, though,” Lucas divulges through a mouthful of popcorn. He never knows what to keep to himself. “Don’t let Lei’s fake modesty fool you! We watch that Tokyo Dome Concert DVD every other month, and I’ve never seen Lei cover her eyes during any of the stages, especially not ‘Danger.’”

While I glare at Lucas over my shoulder, Taemin laughs. “Whatever. That’s not the point. This—” He lifts the poster— “came in the mail today, addressed to me. And I haven’t told Key that we were dating, let alone that I moved in with you..”

“He’s been onto us for a while,” I say to deflect responsibility for having leaked the information to Key. “While we were on tour, he asked me about your ribbon bracelet because Amber recognized it and asked him to investigate.”

“Key and Amber,” Taemin shakes his head. “There was a note attached to this. I left it downstairs. It said something like, ‘Here’s your house warming gift! You can never have enough fashion icons — Key and Amber.’”

Although Taemin seems flustered by the attention, as I lay back on Lucas’s bed, Lucas and I erupt into raucous laughter. “That’s hilarious!” we wheeze, clutching our sides.

“It’s not that funny,” Taemin mutters, “and Key is crazy if he thinks I’m hanging this filth in my remodeled closet!”

Crawling to my side, Lucas shouts, “I’ll take it if you don’t want it!”

I narrow my eyes and argue, “Your closet isn’t big enough to hang a poster in! And Key isn’t your fashion icon; he’s mine! So if anyone deserves the poster—”

“Call me crazy,” Taemin says before setting the poster against the wall and lowering himself onto Lucas’s bed, where he crawls onto my back and whispers in my ear, taking my voice and breath away, “but I don’t really want my girlfriend to look at such a scandalous image every day.”

I say, “You’re crazy,” under my breath, growing red under Taemin’s weight and Lucas’s suggestive gaze.

“Well,” Lucas grunts as he reaches for the remote that fell on the floor during the short-lived tickle war, “now I can’t get that ‘Danger’ stage out of my head!”

My mouth opens to beg Lucas not to play that— especially not with Taemin in the room, especially not with Taemin clinging to me and dropping light kisses on my cheeks— but I bite into my tongue. This, bonding over SHINee, is a good thing. This, watching music videos together as a developing family unit, counts as living in the light.

8. Present

Taemin sings "Danger" around the house, I initially think, to tease me. He likes to see the cherry red color burning my cheeks at the memory of his performance; he told me so while we watched it with Lucas. Soon, however, I realize that Taemin's incessant singing could have been— should have been— taken as a warning. 

One day, he returns home from his daily practice with Jongin wearing a smile bright enough to distract me from my task of reading my story to Lucas, Mom, and Donghae in the living room. This is how Donghae decided to celebrate his return to the house: by listening attentively to my reflection on the last several months. 

Although I know that I will soon read these words to Taemin— although I know that he has heard them in my voice in past lives, and he has read them on his own maybe in the moonlight— I am not ready to read them to him now. I am not ready to tell him my recollections of that camping trip where he asked for my ribbon and I gave it, hoping only (desperately, with breathtaking intensity) to receive his genuine smile. The one that reaches his eyes. The one that I have received every day since then. 

Closing the book so suddenly that Lucas, Mom, and Donghae flinch, I beckon Taemin from his place in the doorway. "Taeminnie! Why are you smiling so brightly?" 

"I'm so happy!" He cheers as he shuffles in, lugging two tall packages. His eyes break from mine to smile at Mom. "The posters are here!" 

Mom, who has been melting into Donghae's embrace on the couch, straightens to sit on the edge of her seat. "Yay!" Her fists pump into the air, making her look very much like Lucas. "Open them here, please. I want to see!"

Mom's unrestrained excitement in no way prepares us for what we are about to say. Clueless, Donghae, Lucas, and I mirror her energy as Taemin lowers himself onto the arm of my chair, very nearly sitting in my lap. 

"Here, baby." The kiss Taemin presses to my cheek elicits a gasp from Donghae. Despite Mom's explicit warning that my boyfriend has moved in and— no— there is nothing he can say to change that, despite my interest in Taemin professed in what I have so far read of my story, Donghae must not realize that Taemin and I are together until we are right before his eyes. 

Taemin sets one package before me. "This one is for you!" 

It's awkward to unbox something under everyone's gaze, especially when Lucas grumbles from his place on the floor at Mom's feet, "I want a present too!" 

It's mortifying once I see what the present is: a full-body poster of one of Taemin's shots from the Ace photo shoot. 

It isn't as if this is my first time seeing this picture where he boldly stares into the camera, standing shirtless. It isn't as if I haven't seen and touched the muscles in his chest and abdomen— which are much bigger now, by the way. It's just— my face burns as I see him such a vulnerable, tempting, beautiful position without warning and in front of my family. 

I mutter, "Taemin," under my breath, intending to scold him. 

This issue is that my voice comes out as a fragmented whine that further humiliates me into speechlessness. The issue is that I can't meet my real Taemin's smiling eyes, and I can't quite break free from the poster Taemin's captivating stare, and I am on fire, and—

Mom and Lucas bark, "Let us see!" and I have to comply. 

Fixing my gaze down on my lap, I turn the poster around and remind myself to just breathe as Donghae (again) gasps, Lucas whistles, and Mom says, like some kind of art critic, "The contrast shows up a lot better than I expected." 

When my voice fails, Donghae asks in a wavering tone, likely afraid to speak too forcefully and risk eviction, "You approve of this?"

Shameless, perpetually unaware or inconsiderate of cues to be quiet, Taemin asks, "What's wrong with it?" He leans forward, brow furrowing, to study his image. "I'm really proud of this picture. It's not as pretty as the poster I got of Lei—"

My face flushes, and Donghae gawks at Taemin. "You got a poster of Lei?" 

Nodding eagerly, oblivious or immune to the daggers flying at him from Donghae's eyes, Taemin reveals the poster of me to the room. "Isn't she beautiful?"

It's a promotional picture from LX2. By no means am I as exposed as Taemin is in Ace promotional photos; still, LX2 is the most suggestive concept of my career. It's embarrassing to see myself like this, especially since I have passionately avoided the photos. 

The idol Lei wears a flattering white tube top (cut just above her belly button, of course) and matching white bell-bottoms. Over her shoulder, branded with LX2's logo, she casts a wide-eyed glance that is not at all innocent. For a moment— just a moment— I see her through Taemin's eyes. I agree: she is beautiful. 

Then, my eyes open when Donghae hisses at Mom, "You approved of this?" He must have been avoiding the pictures too. 

Cutting her eyes at his tone, Mom replies, "She is beautiful, Donghae! Of course, I approved this!"

If I think it's annoying how Mom babies Lucas, how do I describe Mom and Taemin's shared perspective on suggestive imagery? Weird. 

Lucas cries, squinting at my image, "I've been cropped out!" He flies forward to point at the black background. "I was standing right here, looking supermegafoxyawesomehot! I had my arms around Lei! We were looking at the camera like we got caught kissing or something!" 

He over-explains, forgetting that Mom and Taemin witnessed the photo shoot and that Donghae, judging from how he covers his eyes, clearly does not want to know. 

"Lucas, honey," Mom says softly, "Taemin didn't want a poster of you holding Lei, so we had to crop you out." 

Whirling around with tears caused by the sting of betrayal forming in his eyes, Lucas sulks. "You were in on this, Mom?" 

Oh great, my eyes rolled, another development in Lucas's competition with Taemin for Mom's attention. 

"Go look at the picture on the mantle above the fireplace, honey!" Mom encourages Lucas. "There, you'll find a framed unedited version of your picture with Lei." 

Donghae, Taemin, and I watch Lucas run to the fireplace, where he releases a deep sigh of relief upon finding the picture. 

Everyone except me and Donghae is weird. Lucas is weird for caring so much about a picture we took for work; Mom is weird for commemorating the products of the LX2 photo shoot like they are family portraits taken at a department store studio; Taemin is weird for wanting this poster of me enough to edit Lucas out of the picture. 

Pecking at my forehead, Taemin asks, "What are you thinking, baby?" 

Obviously, I won't admit that I am thinking that my family is comprised entirely of weirdos, especially not with Taemin looking at me so hopefully. I try to say something positive or make an objective comment about the composition of the photos, but I can't. 

Glaring at the picture of me, I complain, "My butt is huge!" 

When I look up at Mom, asking, "You approved of this?" Donghae is rising to his feet. He walks into the kitchen to escape the conversation; I can't say I blame him. 

Mom rolls her eyes. "Yes, I approved it! You look amazing, and judging by how well the LX2 package sold—"

"My butt is not that big!" I whine, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Why didn't you pick a picture where I didn't look like that?"

I regret saying anything when Taemin's face pales. He frowns at the picture because he can't bring himself to frown at me. In a voice so quiet that I am probably not meant to hear, he wonders, "What's wrong with it?"

The disappointed lines around his mouth deepen as he tries to see me thorugh my eyes. Suddenly, my stomach ties in knots. I never want Taemin to see me as I have always seen myself. I want him to look at me as he always has— with stars in his eyes— so I grumble, "Stop looking at it like that." 

Meeting my eyes, Taemin realizes instantly that I am upset. I don't think he understands why, though. He probably thinks that I am lashing out from the embarrassment of opening the posters before an audience, but I'm not. I'm not. I am begging him not to look at me after I have tainted his vision with my self-criticisms. 

Taemin means it when he says, "I'm sorry," as he rises to his feet, fixing his gaze on the floor. "I'll take these to my room. I'm sorry." 

When he leaves, he takes both posters with him. I don't speak up to say that I like the poster of him. I don't speak up to say that I know I'm being irrational. I just watch him carry both heavy frames up the stairs. I just hear the slam of his door that is too loud to be an accident. 

I have learned that Taemin does not cope well with rejection. I don't know anybody who does. He is more sensitive than most might expect, and I seem to have a talent for accidentally wounding his feelings. I never, ever mean to do it. I'm always sorry when I do. 

"I hate to tell ya, sis," Lucas says, collapsing on the arm of my chair that Taemin just vacated, "but you can't really blame Mom for that picture. Your butt is gonna look big in, like, every picture because—"

"Stop looking at my butt, Lucas!" I boss in a tired voice, too shocked by the sudden shift in the atmosphere to immediately chase after Taemin. "It's gross." 

Lucas raises his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Literally nobody thinks—"

He falls silent when he picks up on my glare, and Mom takes the opportunity to state the obvious: "I think Taemin's feelings are really hurt, Lei." 

I'm not going to mouth off to Mom just because I feel uncomfortable, I decide, so I bite down on my lip and listen as she continues, "Maybe it seems like he's overreacting. He probably is, but we already know that he's prone to passionate fits. Try to understand that he was trying to do something special for you. We spent hours looking through all of your pictures and all of his to find two that looked like a pair." 

I squirmed, imagining how many SHINee pictures they must have looked through before settling on that Ace one. I knew that Taemin was thoughtful; I knew that I hadn't meant to belittle his efforts; still, no knowledge could have defended me from the rising wave of guilt. 

As Lucas drops an arm around me to remind me that this isn't that big of a deal, to keep me grounded, to protect me from the downward spiral— his greatest talent— Donghae advises from the kitchen, "Give him some time to cool off, Lei. He'll be okay." 

. . . 

When Taemin hasn't returned downstairs by the time Mom and Donghae have finished making dinner like a cutesy couple from a drama— oblivious to the fact that they are the subject of Lucas's incognito photo shoot— Mom sends me upstairs to get him. She doesn't tell me to apologize, but I have an apology pressed to the tip of my tongue by the time I knock on Taemin's door. 

"Dinner is ready," I announce first. That doesn't compel Taemin to open the door, though, so I add, "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings. Mom explained—"

The door swings open, and Taemin pulls me into his room by looping his arm around my waist. His smile, coupled with the kiss he drops on my lips, implies that there are no hard feelings between us. He is not expecting an apology. 

I am relieved not because I am too proud to apologize but because— I don't know— maybe this is irresponsible or somehow unrealistic, but I like skipping ahead to the next happy moment with Taemin. I don't like standing in the dark for longer than necessary. 

"Look at how good they look together!" Excitedly, Taemin points to the ceiling above his bed (which is now decorated by white sheets similar to those he had at the SuperM house), where he has managed to secure our posters. 

Objectively, they do look good together. If I didn't know better, I might believe that both pictures were taken in the same place at the same time. There is something kind of romantic about drawing parallels between our separate art. My heart flutters. 

I don't know how to say that yet, but I will learn. For now, I ask, blushing and averting my gaze from the posters' "What will you do if they fall on us in our sleep? Do you even think you'll fall asleep with them staring at you like that?" 

"If they fall, maybe they'll knock some sense into me," Taemin jokes, laughing away my valid concern about, you know, the very real force of gravity. "And I don't mind them looking at me. You look at me like that—" he points at my poster— "all the time!" 

He winks just before I release the faintest laugh and swipe lightly at his shoulder. "I do not! Stop daydreaming and come on!" I grab his hand and pull him toward the door. "Everyone is waiting for us!"

Taemin insists, “You do so!” 

I don’t keep arguing; I am too happy that he lets me hold his hand on his walk downstairs. 

9. The Moon

When I refuse to sleep under the posters— at least until Mom guarantees that they are hung properly and their stares no longer make my stomach knot— Taemin agrees to sleep in my room again. 

While we wash our faces side by side because he loves this kind of domesticity, Taemin says, "You know you're beautiful, right?" His head goes aslant. "Even if you think the poster is weird, you know there's nothing wrong with your appearance, right?" 

Body image is an uncomfortable topic. I don't especially enjoy discussing it with anybody, probably especially not with perfect gorgeous ideal Taemin. I don't resent his perfection or anything; I admire it. I just don't like questions like his because there is only one acceptable answer. Anything contrary will arouse concern, and I don't want his concern. I don't need his concern. 

I nod my head because that is the right thing to do. 

Taemin keeps looking at me, so I profess, "Being pretty on the outside isn't important at all. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words 'pretty' and 'handsome' can ever define a person." Turning my gaze to the counter, finding my reflection there too, I conclude, "Or, at least, they shouldn't. Those words are too small." 

Or, at least, that's something somebody I trust entirely taught me once upon a time. God, I so rarely trust anyone entirely. 

"That's true," Taemin nods thoughtfully. His tone softens like he knows that my heart feels tender. "But you are pretty on the outside. It's okay to say that. Your beauty isn't superficial. The surface and the depths are beautiful." 

I smile and say, "Thank you," because — why would I ever want to argue with kindness? "It goes without saying that I think the same thing about you." 

"Maybe it does." Taemin shrugs before drying his hands and standing behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans so that his chin rests on my shoulder. "But I like hearing it anyway." 

It isn't difficult to smile at our reflection and say out loud, "You're beautiful inside and out." 

He whispers in my ear, reaching for my hand to ensure that the moon— our moon— is secured in my grasp, "I think you would benefit from saying that to yourself from time to time." 

And I know that he is right. 

I will try.

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Walking the tightrope - A "The Greatest Showman" Fanfiction 2

- Who am I kidding, she won't even come. - stated Constantine as he paced up and down in his room, constantly tugging on his shirt's sleevecuffs and twiddling with his rings. Lentini grunted dramatically and layed back on Constantine's bed with a thud. He facepalmed.

- Constantiiiiine stop iiiiittttt! - he sighed and removed his hands from his face. He lifted his head slightly to see his friend. - I'll tell you, again, for the fifth time: she👏invited👏YOU👏out👏on👏a👏date👏. - he sat up, pulled his third leg up to his side and opened up his arms in a questioning way. - Why would she ask you out if she didn't want to go out with you in the first place? - he put his elbow on his third knee and placed his chin in his palm. Constantine stopped in his tracks and pointed at his friend.

- Because... - he started deliberating but couldn't think of a possible explanation. So he just waved Frank off. - You know what, just shut up. - and with that, continued pacing up and down. Frank rolled his eyes.

- Okay, let's approach it from an another perspective. - Constantine stopped and looked at his friend with hands placed on his hips. - Why did you dress up so nicely... - Constantine looked down on himself, slightly adjusting his suit. He wore a red pair of pants, a red frock jacket, a burgundy waistcoat, a white shirt with an embroidered bird skull on each collar, a pair of black, embroidered suspenders and burgundy scotch tie shoes. He didn't wear a caravat, nor a tie; he didn't like the feeling of being tied up... That way. He cleared his throat. He really put on his best suit... - ...painted your eyes with kajal... - he looked sideways. That was true too... - ...fixed your mustache and hair with pomade... - Lentini stood up, grabbed him by the shoulders and twirled him around to face his bodysized mirror. Constantine touched his handlebar mustache. Frank pinched his face jokingly with a small laugh. - ...and poured at least half a bottle of cologne on your body if you don't belive that she'll come? - Constantine clicked his tongue annoyingly.

- I hate you so much. - Lentini shrugged with his hands held up.

- I am literally your best friend! You don't. - Constantine looked into his eyes in the mirror.

- But she's late! - Frank grunted.

- BY 10 GODDAMN MINUTES YOU IDIOT! - the tattoed greek almost shouted something back but was stopped by knocking. They both looked at his door as it opened. Charles was holding the door handle, still dressed in his costume. They didn't change between shows. He had a waggish little smile on his face.

- Knock knock Romeo. Someone's here to see you. - Constantine looked behind the small man's back but saw noone. Charles threw his head back. - Not here here, stupid, she's waiting for you by the backdoor. - he let go of the door and walked up to Constantine who started sweating profusely and bit his lips anxiously. Charles punched his knee jokingly. - Don't make her wait Casanova, or I'll steal her from you, 'cause let me tell ya... That girl is something else. - he immediately looked down at his colleague in terror. God he was nervous about this rendezvous.

- What do you mean?! - Charles shrugged with a shiteating grin in response.

- Oh you'll see. I won't spoil her fun. - Frank crossed his arms before his chest.

- Told you she would come. - Constantine closed his eyes for a second and breathed out to calm himself down.

- Phew. - when he opened his eyes, he looked at his best friend. - Frank, I'm having second thoughts.

- Calm down. Everything's going to be alright. - Constantine huffed, took a huge step, then spinned around to face his friends again.

- Okay... - he adjusted the collar of his shirt. - How do I look?

- Like a prince. - said Frank.

- Woo her, your majesty. - cheered Charles.

- And ask her if she has a sister or not! - said Frank with a laugh. Constantine nodded with a smile, turned around, put his wallet and keys in his pockets and ran off. Lentini just patted Charles's shoulders when he spotted something on Constantine's bedside table. He let out a huge sigh. - He's going to lose his head one day without me. - he grabbed the bouquet up and ran out to the hallway. - CONSTANTINE YOU DUMB FUCK YOU FORGOT HER FLOWERS! - he shouted. Fortunately, it did occur to the tattoed man that he forgot something so he was already on his way back to his room. Lentini gave him the flowers while shaking his head and saying: - Break a leg, brother. - Constantine flashed a mean little smile.

- Can I borrow one from you? - Lentini crossed his arms before his chest and looked angrily at his friend.

- I swear to the Holy Heavens that I'll slap the tattoes off your face. - Constantine shooed him off with a wave of the hand and ran off.

He didn't even reach the backdoor yet when he started hearing the sweet voice that lured him down to the circus ring just a day prior. And now that sweet voice was singing. As Constantine stepped closer and closer to the backdoor, his heart pounded faster and faster. Hazel was humming a lovely song he was sure he already heard somewhere, he just didn't know where. He closed his eyes for a second. Be brave, Constantine, he's just a young lady. He opened his eyes, gripped the flowers tighter and opened the door. You already met her, so you don't have to worry about first impressions. He stepped out into the streets of Manhattan. It was a rather warm evening, and the perfume of flowers filled the air. Wait, flowers? Here? Why would Manhattan smell like...

That was the moment he spotted her. Miss Hazel Munroe stood beside a huge Friesian black horse, petting its neck with a small smile on her face, still humming that lovely tune. Constantine couldn't help but let out a nearly inaudible "wow". But Hazel heard it. When she turned around, Constantine almost dropped the flowers he bought for her. She wore a red dress made from rich indian silk, with hundreds and hundreds of little black arabic style flowers painted on it. The dress twirled around her as she moved, revealing the 4 layers of petticoats she wore beneath her dress. Her tiny waist was hugged around by a pretty, embroidered black belt. The pleated design of her bodice made her cleavage really pop, and her shoulders were left barren as well. Her kind of puffy sleeves went all the way down to her wrists, with sleevecuffs that hugged her tiny wrists tightly. She wore 2 wide and tight golden bracelets wrapped around her sleevecuffs, a couple rings on her hands, all resembling either animals or stars, a beautiful black velvet choker with a golden star medallion on it, and earrings that were made in the shapes of stars and moons. Her long, luscious black locks of naturally wavy hair were half up half down and into the upper part of her hair she braided jasmine flowers. Wow. Constantine gulped. The girl giggled by the awe of her date. The tattooed man felt that this started getting awkward, but he couldn't help but stare. The young lady bit her lower lip and twirled around.

- Do you like it? - she asked in a voice that Constantine could only describe as angelic. It was so delicate and sweet. He couldn't help himself. Screw social norms.

- Do I like it? - he asked in a low voice. He walked up to his date and stopped right before her. He brushed the back of his hand against her caramel skin. Her red lips curled into a naughty little smile as the man stroked her face and inspected every little part of it with a light, loving smile. He smiled even harder when he realised that Hazel also put a good amount of kajal on her eyes, just like him. Thank god she's not that "natural is always better" type. He was way too close to her but Hazel didn't mind at all. Screw social norms. - My eyes never did behold such beauty! - he said, then looked deep into her hazel eyes and brushed his hand over to her chin. He playfully held it between his thumb and index finger. - I am sure you will be the last thing I see before I pass one day, because they say that people see angels before their deaths. And I'm pretty sure I'm standing right before one. - Hazel blushed and looked down at the ground to cover her red cheeks. Constantine let go of her face and pulled the bouquet from behind his back. - Oh, I bought this for you. - Hazel looked up and gasped.

- Dahlias! - her eyes twinkled and she smelled the flowers. - One of my favourites! - she took the flowers from Constantine with a wide smile. - Thank you! - the tattoed man flashed a naughty smile at his date.

- I'd love to spoil my date as much as I can. - Hazel batted her eyelashes innocently. But her gaze was everything but innocent.

- Many might say that's not a good idea, for I'll only meet you for the sake of receiving gifts. - Constantine rolled his eyes with a smoulder.

- Screw them, I will spoil you anyways. - Hazel giggled. She looked down at her flowers.

- So I suppose you're not a fan of societal norms? - she asked in a tiny voice while putting her weight from one leg to another.

- Not at all. Does that bother you? - he asked, anxiously waiting for the answer. Hazel smiled lightly, still not looking into Constantine's eyes.

- I wanted to ask the same thing. - she sighed and started twiddling with her flowers. - You see, I'm not exactly a proper lady in the manners of courtship, one might even say that I'm... profligate. - she looked up, but still didn't look straight into the Prince's eyes. She looked so troubled. - Look, Constantine, I'll be honest with you, I despise etiquette books, courtship and beauty standards. I am loud and obnoxious. So if you find yourself being uncomfortable around me, or I make you feel ashamed, or I make you think I'm a fallen woman...

Constantine couldn't hold it any longer and he started laughing. Loudly. Hazel looked at him, puzzled.

- What are you laughing about? - Constantine turned around, still laughing. He pushed his hair back with a smiley, relieved sigh.

- Do you have any idea about how happy I am... - he said as he turned back to Hazel with glistening eyes. - ...that you are not a prudish young lady that stays 6 feet away from her date? I mean, staying distant is just unromantic for me. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to rush anything, I just... - he looked down to the girl's hands and quickly grabbed them, as gentle as he could. - ...don't understand why couldn't I hold your hand or brush your hair away from your face or marvel at how absolutely gorgeous you are? - he let go of the woman's hand, who had a huge smile spread across her face, mixed with a look of surprise. - Hazel... - all of a sudden Constantine grabbed her waist and twirled her around in the air. Hazel let out a heartfelt little giggle as the tattoed Prince lifted her up in the air. - ...I cherish the fact that you are not like well-mannered women of your age. - he gently put her down, still keeping his palms wrapped around her waist. - And trust me, being with someone who acts unusually, just like me, will be a pleasure. - Hazel batted her eyelashes.

- Are you sure? - So she still won't believe me. Constantine stepped back and pointed at his date.

- Tell you what. Going out with the Tattoed Prince of Greece will be a relief for you, because of 3 reasons mainly. - he said while he bowed before Hazel theatrically. He held a finger up, which had a big seal-ring on it. It was shaped as a siren between the ocean's waves. - One, people will stare at me, not at your nonpowdered cheeks. - first he pointed at himself, then his date. - Which I really like, I have to say. - he gestured 👌 with a wink. - Seriously though, I just don't understand why women want to look like corpses. - he held up a second finger, which had no 3-dimensional ring on it, but had one tattoed on. - Two, I don't care if someone acts unusually because I've always been categorized as weird and unmannered myself. - he held up a third finger, his little one, which had a little ruby ring on it. - Three, people say I'm good company and I'll try my best to make you feel wonderful. - he straightened himself up fully and tilted his head sideways a bit, searching for his date's gaze, who were biting down on her lips. - Does that calm your anxious heart? - Hazel looked up at him, with lips curled into a cute little smile.

- Absolutely. I just hope you'll feel the same way by the end of the night. - Constantine booped her nose.

- I'm sure about that. - he said, then looked around. - So, shall we get going? - Hazel patted the black horse's large neck.

- Just a second, he didn't finish his treat yet. - Constantine raised an eyebrow.

- And that stops you from riding it because... - Hazel tilted her head and looked up to Constantine from below. Her gaze was so critical.

- Would you be happy if somebody made you run while chewing? - Constantine snapped his fingers and squinted.

- Touché. - Hazel smiled as a reply, completely making that critical little gaze disappear. The horse did a big gulp, which in response made the woman run her fingers through the horse's black, wavy mane.

- Okay, you're done. - the young woman stepped away from the horse and dramatically bowed towards her date. - Prince Constantine, let me introduce you to my most loyal friend, my stallion, Cosmos. - Constantine giggled. Hazel looked at the black horse. - Say hiiii! - but the horse just huffed and groaned. Hazel stood up and put her fists on her hips in a truly teacherly manner. - Oh come on you already swallowed the last bite, I saw it, don't be mean! - the stallion let out a little sigh, and rolled his eyes. Hazel cleaned her throat. The horse folded one of his front legs under him, kept his head down, and basically bowed. Constantine clapped and shouted a little "woo-hoo", which made the girl smile again. She looked back at her horse, who already got back up from the bow. - See, what was so hard about that? - she stepped next to the stallion and ruffled his mane. - You melodramatic baby. - she looked back at Constantine and tilted her head. - Come, pet him! He loves little neck scratches.

Constantine stepped next to the horse and stratched his neck. He looked at Hazel eagerly.

- No saddle? - the woman just shrugged her shoulders.

- No, that's not necessary for such a short ride. - and with that, she grabbed Cosmos's bridle and pulled herself up to the horse's back with a little jump... And sat down on his bareback pad in an astride position. To cover his surprise and slight shock, Constantine looked around, searching for something.

- Alright, and where's the horse I should ride? - Hazel looked down at the horse's neck. She started blushing a bit.

- I only have one horse and I didn't want to rent a carriage for the night. - she turned her gaze to the bewildered man's tattoed face. Hazel jotted with her head behind herself. - So, hop on behind me.

Constantine shook his head disbelievingly, looking more perplexed than he ever was. He blinked fast.

- We... - he stuttered. Hazel giggled with a closed mouth. Constantine pointed at her and him by turns, agily. - We're riding on the same horse? - Hazel shrugged.

- Another thing that's not so well-mannered. - she offered Constantine her hand with a courteous look on her face. The Prince scratched his neck. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe she's doing this. Even more people will stare at me than normally, Jesus. He sighed and shrugged a little. Eh, what the heck. Screw what people think. With still a dubious look on his face, she grabbed the woman's tiny hand and hopped behind her. An astonished look crossed his face for a second; he got rather surprised by his date's upper body strength. She helped him up so easily... That's strange. She turned her head sideways to see him. - Would you like me to ride sidesaddled, like a lady? - Constantine shook his head.

- Not necessarily... - the girl was still looking at him sideways. Was his bewilderment so obvious? He laughed anxiously. - Pardon my unsettled look, this whole thing is just...

- Unusal? - cut in Hazel. Constantine let out a smiley sigh.

- Exactly.

- I thought you liked all things odd and unusual. - asked the lady, then puckered her lips. Constantine giggled anxiously. Wow she has a wonderful figure, he thought as he took a look at his date's body from the back. Her waist is so tiny, oh my God in Heavens. And she's so beautiful. With such delicate features. And those lips... Man I bet they're really soft... Fuck I have to calm myself down if I don't want an inconvenient moment while riding with this beauty...

- Okay... - he said, voice shaking a bit from the woman's closeness. He glanced down for a nanosecond at his crotch area. Calm. DOWN. GODDAMNIT. - And what should I do with my arms? - Hazel shrugged with a devilish little smile.

- I don't know, maybe you could put them round my waist... - Constantine gawped with a smile.

- You little vixen! - Hazel laughed.

- You know, just so you won't fall off. No other reason. - Constantine shook his head. Well, so much for avoiding inconvenient moments! God I have to learn how to behave myself already. He gently put his hands round the woman's waist. He was pretty sure he heard a little moan, but bundled the thought off quickly. Hazel stroked his hand with her thumb before gently squeezing Cosmos' sides with her legs, making him start walking.

After a short ride, they arrived at a nice restaurant. Constantine got off of the horseback, then reached for Hazel who already turned sideways on the bareback pad. The tattoed man, ignoring the strange looks from people passing by, gently held Hazel by the waist and lifted her off. She tenderly placed her hands on his shoulders, while taking really good care not to damage the bouquet she got from her sweetheart.

- Do I weigh anything to you? - she asked while Constantine was holding her in the air.

- Not really. - he said, placing her down on the ground. They both adjusted their clothes. - It's like holding a cluster of grapes. - he said in a sweet tone, watching the woman's every move while she tied her horse's bridle securely. She patted Cosmos' neck and turned back to her date.

- You are such a charmer. - the tattooed prince stepped aside so Hazel could lead the way with an adoring look on his face.

- Only in the company of effervescent young ladies such as your lovely self, Miss Munroe. - Hazel went ahead with a small awkward laugh.

- Oh my god please never use that name ever again! My kids call me Miss Munroe, please call me Hazel. - as soon as they reached the entrance of the restaurant, Constantine hopped ahead and opened the door before his date. He winked at her with a playful smile when she passed him.

- Alright, be as you wish, my dear. - Hazel stopped for a second, alluring little sparks glistening in her eyes. She stroked the man's beard with her thumb. Which was a near-swooning experience for him again.

- Hmm, I like that name, too.

The restaurant was undoubtedly lovely. Hazel booked a romantic little table in the corner, with a vase for flowers and candles. She explained that she insisted on booking that table, since she wanted to make The Tattoed Prince of Greece feel as relaxed as she could, and she thought being away from most watchful eyes would do the trick. Constantine cherished her for her compassion. After a couple minutes of pleasant chatting and ordering food, the waiter asked what kind of drink he could bring. Constantine found the whole situation rather humorous, since the waiter couldn't look in his eyes and was constantly checking out his tattooes, especially the naughty ones on his neck. He didn't mind these kind of looks anymore... Other kinds, well... Let's not even think about that. He shooed the thought away with a throat cleaning.

- Champagne? - offered the Prince but Hazel shook her head. Her gaze wandered off from the menu straight into the man's eyes in a pensive way.

- I'm not a fan of bubbly drinks, they make my head hurt. - she put the menu down, and crossed her fingers under her chin. The young woman tilted her head a bit, and changed her gaze into a rather seductive look. - Would you like to surprise me with something exotic, my dear foreign prince? - Constantine thought about it for a second, then bit his lower lip with a smile as an idea popped into his head. He whispered something to the waiter. As soon as he left, Hazel let one of her arms down and rested it on the table next to Constantine. She was still sitting on the edge of her seat. - So, what are we drinking? - Constantine smiled passionately. There was a certain glow of mischief in his eyes that just made Hazel get goosebumps. Oh little missy, you shouldn't toy with the devil if you don't want to get burnt, he thought. But the woman walked her fingers closer to the Prince, playfully brushing her index finger against his hand. So she really is the screw social norms kinda gal. And it looks like she really does like me... Well then. Time to grow a pair and start turning this little vanilla, Constantine. He reached down for her hand and held it up gently.

- Easy, darling. - he stroked her fingers with his thumb. His touch was delicate but his skin was rather rough. Like a sailor's. - Where's the surprise if I tell you now what I ordered? - he asked in a flirty tone, just before blowing a kiss on her fingers. - Where's the fun in that? - she gulped. That last sentence was said in such an arousing way that Hazel started thinking about how his whispering would sound... During the night... Right in her ear... After some heavy breathing. She bit her lower lip as the next kiss landed on her fingers. God she had a thing for husky voices like his.

- Did anyone ever tell you how pleasant it is to listen to your voice? - Constantine chuckled and put Hazel's hand back on the table.

- No, never, as far as I can recall. - Hazel put her hands back under her chin.

- Well, I could listen to it for hours. I bet that if you read poetry out loud, it's like listening to the gods of Greece. - Constantine rolled his eyes jokingly, trying to cover up the fact that he started blushing. He was good at flirting, but actually receiving something back, without paying for it, was rather new. The woman sat back on her chair. - Echo and Aoede truly blessed you. - the Prince gasped.

- You know the greek gods! - the young lady chuckled.

- I'm a history teacher, of course I do! Plus, what can I say, I read a lot. - the tattooed man put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his palm. A totally enamored look found its way to his face.

- More radiant than Hebe, more charming than Aphrodite, wiser than Athene... - he sighed. - I'm truly blessed by your company.

The flirtatious chat got stopped by the waiter, who arrived with a tray, on which there were 2 stemmed wine glasses, both containing a small amount of green liquid; on top of them, some kind of flat spoon with a cube of sugar; and a carafe of ice cold water. He placed the things down on the table, and reached for the carafe. Constantine held up his hand, stopping him in his movement.

- Thank you, I'll take it from here. - as soon as the waiter left, Hazel moved her chair closer, stooping in the tattooed man's direction.

- What's this? - inquired the woman, inquisitive by the limegreen liquid that sat in front of her. Constantine smirked and reached for the carafe.

- Absinthe. Have you never heard of it? - Hazel shook her head. Constantine adjusted the sugarcubes on the slotted spoons. - Many say it's an aphrodisiac. - he reached for the carafe. The bottle perspired tiny little drops of water, it was so cold. - Others say it's an addictive poison. - he poured the ice cold water over the sugarcube rested on Hazel's glass. She watched his fingers move with admiration. As water diluted the spirit, the green substance quickly turned cloudy, then changed into a light mint green colored, milky opalescent liquid. - But there is one thing that is certain, and one thing that everybody knows. - he did the same thing with his drink too, then put the carafe and the slotted spoons away. He held up his drink, ready to clink glasses with Hazel, who looked at him as adoringly as she was looking at a perfect painting. - The green fairy who lives in the absinthe, wants your soul. - Hazel held her drink up as well, and they clanked glasses. The Tattoed Prince's gaze was irresistibly alluring. She couldn't look away from it. Those dark brown eyes captivated her and didn't let her go. - But fear not, I will protect you from her. - he moved the glass to his lips. To those perfectly shaped, luscious lips, framed by that magnificent mustache and beard... Hazel moved the glass to her lips as well, and before taking a sip, in the sweetest tone Constantine ever heard she said:

- I've never felt more safe.

As she took a sip, a cacophony of tastes filled her mouth. It felt like anise and other herbs were blooming on her tongue. It was rather scrumptious. When she put her glass down, she was faced with that seductive gaze that made her weak in the knees. Her Tattooed Prince wiggled his eyebrows in a mischievous, playful manner. Covering her invoking blushing, she looked sideways with a smile. As she did so, she noticed that an elderly couple, wo were sitting at the next table, was practically staring at them, without a single sign of shame. So Hazel looked the staring man straight in his eyes, flashed an adorable smile, and waved. He got so frustrated that he immediately looked away and dropped his fork. Constantine laughed out loud and shook his head with a wide smile.

- You really are something else, my darling. - he said when his date turned back to him. She reached across the table and stroked his hand with her thumb, while having a sweet yet flirtatious smile spread out on her cherry lips.

- Fear not, I will protect you.

[thatdarncatchronicles]

That Darn Cat | Issue No. 2 | A Hint of Pesto Aioli

Warnings | Mentions of blood, Canon-typical violence

Rating | K+

Genre | Friendship, Family, Snark (Is that a genre...?)

Guest Stars | Harvey Bullock, Ornell Sackett (OC)

Word Count | 1.7K

Summary: Help comes from an unexpected source when a suspect is kicking the snot out of Jim. Cue Agents of Shield references, a large dose of Harvey!snark, and a lovely dollop of protective!Harvey.

The third punch sent Jim reeling, stars and colors bursting behind his eyes. This was not how he had seen his day going. Pushing off the brick alley wall, he turned back to his assailant just in time to catch a meaty fist square in the face.

Ow.

He staggered and dropped to his knees on the rough pavement, blood spurting from his nose. Then a heavy boot connected with his chest and suddenly his cheek was pressed into the asphalt.

He grunted. He could hear Harvey's I-told-you-sos already.

The boots stepped into his field of vision, and Jim struggled to his hands and knees just in time to catch the kick in his side rather than his face. Flat on his back now, Jim watched as the surrounding buildings swam against the gray clouds of Gotham.

He knew another blow was surely coming, and he knew he should probably do something to avoid it, but he couldn't find the energy to move. When several seconds passed without any sign of his attacker other than an intelligent, "huh?" and a loud clonk, he wondered if he had been forgotten. There was another clonk, followed by a thud, and then footsteps.

Great. Another thug who wanted a piece of the imprudent GCPD detective. He should definitely do something now. He groaned, and was about to try to roll to his feet when this new threat interrupted his view of the Gotham skyline.

"Hiya, Detective." Selina Kyle stood leaning over him, hands planted on her knees and an insufferably smug smile on her face.

Jim frowned. Was he hallucinating? He didn't think he had been hit that hard. "Selina? What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Cat! That guy was really kicking the snot out of me."

"Yeah." He shifted successfully, if painfully, into a sitting position and smeared at the blood still pouring from his nose with the back of his thumb. "That, too I guess." His halfhearted attempt to stem the blood flow ceased abruptly when his eyes landed on the fallen form of his attacker, spread-eagled on the pavement, a sizable welt already forming on the side of his head. "Did you just—?"

Selina pulled a large glass bottle from her coat and flipped it in the air, catching it with cat-like grace. "Lucky for you, the local booze joints dump right outside my digs."

"Huh." Jim gave up on his nose and rubbed experimentally at his jaw, instead. Ow. "So what brings you to this part of the neighborhood?"

She shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms. "I could ask you the same question, Detective."

"I feel like we've had this conversation before." He struggled to his feet with a barely suppressed grunt and gestured at the prone form beside him. "Ornell Sackett."

Selina smirked. "Well, he certainly sacked you."

"Funny. He's a suspect in a murder investigation." He pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed 911. "This is Detective Gordon, badge number two-three-six-seven-four. I have a suspect unconscious at 24th and Finley, in the alley between Sergio's and…" he glanced at the sign hanging above the second establishment's back door, "Arnold's Florals. Gonna need a bus." Returning his phone to its pocket, he reached back for his handcuffs and set about restraining the man in question. The last thing he needed was for Sackett to wake up and come at them again. Then he called Harvey.

"Hey. I got him in custody, but he's gonna need to be checked out by a doc before we can bring him in. Yeah. Okay. See you in a few." Flipping the phone closed, he looked up, somewhat surprised to find Selina still present, sitting cross-legged atop a trash can. "You're still here."

"That's quite the observation, there, Gordon. I see why you made detective."

He sighed. "Usually, when our paths cross in the city, you take off at the first opportunity—probably with my watch or my wallet. Or leave me in a sewer."

"That was one time." He raises his eyebrows and she shrugs in acknowledgment, amending, "And it probably won't be the last."

"Exactly."

A siren wailed in the distance, growing nearer, and Selina swung her legs off the trash can. "Well, as fun as this has been, Detective, I'm afraid I can't hang around long enough to see the touching reunion between you and your pals at the GCPD."

"Selina, wait."

She did, head tilted, eyes hard.

"Stay a little longer. Harvey'll be here in a minute, and he'll have seen that Fitzsimmons' food truck is parked two blocks away, which means as soon as he's allowed to leave the scene, he's gonna be dragging me over there. Eat with us."

"Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll take my chances somewhere where there aren't a dozen cops waiting for an excuse to send me upstate."

"No one is going to send you upstate, Selina. Not on my watch."

"Sure. Whatever." She turned to go.

"Hey."

She paused with a dramatic sigh, back still towards him, her very posture oozing annoyance.

"Thank you."

She turned back just enough to meet his eyes, her own glinting with mischief as she gave him a two-fingered salute and darted away, disappearing into the maze of Gotham's underbelly.

Jim sighed, turning his attention to the ambulance that had pulled up at the entryway behind him.

A few minutes later, Jim watched, standing by with the two of the uniformed officers now on the scene, as the EMTs loaded the still-unconscious Sackett onto a gurney.

"I gotta admit, partner, I underestimated you."

Jim's eyes closed when he heard Harvey Bullock's voice behind him.

"I'm impressed! You takin' down a hard hitter like Sackett all by your lonesome. I gotta tell ya, I thought you were gonna get your—"

Jim reluctantly turned to face his partner.

"—butt kicked." Harvey's face went from amiable pride to shock to concern in record time, and he was he was at Jim's side in an instant, poking and prodding him to determine the extent of his injuries.

"Harvey—" Jim swatted at his partner's hands when he found a particularly sore spot. "Harvey. Stop it. Stop it, I'm—no, I'm fine. I'm okay."

Harvey eyed him suspiciously, but the fact that Jim was standing seemed to assuage his worry at least enough for him to stop his bearish pat-down. "You sure?"

"Yeah. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Well, that's good, cause it looks bad. Look at you—you got blood everywhere."

"It's just from my nose." Jim ran his blood-crusted hand under his nose again. It seemed to have stopped, mostly. Small mercies.

Ten minutes later, despite his protests, Jim was sitting on the ledge at the back of the ambulance as an EMT made sure he didn't have a concussion or fractured skull or anything. The bruising would be substantial, but the EMT pronounced him good to go and gave him a towel to clean up with.

Jim was in the middle of mopping the worst of the blood from his face when Harvey leaned against the ambulance beside him with a look that Jim knew only too well.

Jim sighed and accepted his fate. "Go ahead. Get it out of your system."

"I told you. I told you this was a stupid idea. Didn't I tell you this was a stupid idea?" He turned to a uniform passing by. "Didn't I tell him this was a stupid idea?" The officer shot him a quizzical look and kept walking. Jim offered her an apologetic smile as Harvey continued. "I definitely told you this was a stupid idea. But did you listen? Nope. Nobody listens to Bullock, do they?"

"Alright, alright. But you also told me this was a bum lead, and I found him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, sure, you found him all right. But got your butt handed to you—royally, I might add. I'm surprised you were able to see well enough to cuff him with that fat eye."

The EMTs rolled Sackett by, and Jim stood to let them load him up.

Harvey's eyes widened at the sight of the golf ball-sized lump on Sackett's temple. He whistled. "Dang, son, what'd you hit him with?"

"I didn't."

"What do you mean, you didn't? That thing's the size of a grapefruit!"

Jim expelled yet another sigh. It was going to come out sooner or later. "It wasn't me. Selina Kyle showed up with a bottle and...Well, you see."

"Selina Ky—hang on, let me get this straight. You're tellin' me a twelve-year-old kid with a beer bottle and a bad haircut took out a three hundred and fifty-pound murder suspect while you sat on your thumbs seein' stars?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It was a champagne bottle. And you're hardly one to talk about bad haircuts. Or...any haircut, really."

"Hardy-har-har. Where'd that kid get a champagne bottle?"

"Some dumpster, I guess."

"Nice."

"Yeah."

Jim finished cleaning up his face while Harvey finished laughing.

When the guffaws had faded to the occasional chortle, Harvey slapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and began guiding him back to his car. "So, it's your lucky day."

Jim shot him an incredulous look. "Really? My lucky day, huh? How so?"

"How so? I'll tell you how so. You'll never guess who I saw parked a couple blocks down."

"Fitzsimmons."

Harvey didn't appear to have heard Jim. "Fitzsimmons! What do you say we get a bite to eat? I'd kill for a sandwich right now. Prosciutto and mozzarella—slap some buffalo on there, maybe a hint of pesto aioli, and…" Sliding into his seat, Harvey proceeded to make a series of sounds that Jim was embarrassed could come from a seasoned member of the GCPD.

No sooner had Jim eased gingerly into his own seat and Harvey finagled the key into the ignition than the back door opened and closed, someone plopping merrily into the seat behind them.

"Howdy, boys."

"Selina, what are you—"

"I said I didn't want to go upstate, Gordon. Never said I didn't want lunch."

A/N: So, this is super nerdy, but I didn't want the bottle to break when Selina conked the guy out, so I did a little research on the packaging of alcohol. Because the only time I have handled any was when I found a can of beer someone left on the beach and disposed of it. (It smelled terrible. 0/10. Do not recommend.) Annnyway. I found out that while most tall bottles, such as wine, are made of fairly fragile glass, champagne bottles are dense and heavy because of the amount of pressure the contents are under. So yah. If you ever need a large bottle to knock someone out with, champagne is the way to go, y'all. You're welcome.

Props to those who caught the shamless Agents of SHIELD reference, and double props to anyone who caught the more subtle Louis L'Amour reference.

Oh, hey! Lemme know what you thought of Harvey in this chapter! This fic definitely focuses on the grudging palship between Jim and Selina, but I'm excited about the opportunities for guest stars. :D Who would you like to see make an appearance in upcoming chapters?

Remember to follow my blog and #thatdarncat (no spaces!) to never miss an issue! If you missed issue no. 1, I’ve got it linked below. :)

Thanks for reading, beautiful hooman. Get your sleep, take your vitamins, drink your water, eat somethin’ :) I love you! *hugs*

Issue No. 1 | Of Spaghettie and Sneezes:

https://thatdarncatchronicles.tumblr.com/post/620372790294528001/that-darn-cat-issue-no-1-of-spaghetti-and?is_related_post=1