#STARS above your shading is WONDERFUL you did SHADED PIECES- oh just you wait. i finish this stinkin post thats been hanging in my drafts-

[spotsupstuff]

OUGHHHRHGHHHHH MY LITTLE ASSHOLE FUCKS (and bessie little angel bessie)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGH THEY'RE SO PRETTY IN YOUR STYLE... watch out with cookin fish in a microwave he could explode like an egg

i am putting your little guys in my mental microwave @spotsupstuff

[styx1an]

A Chat about Chat

A short fic about how Chat came to be a singular being, written by yours truly. By all means, this isn’t canon, it’s just my interpretation of things.

Word count: 1,863

Fandom: RTGame, Miitopia (NGL I’m a little displeased with how I wrote the ending, but oh well!)

You know, there is this odd sense of irony in knowing how terrified Chat was of Magical John when they aren’t even human nor a singular being in the first place. Wait, so you didn’t know? Of how they became such a being in the first place? (They chuckle.) Then I suppose that means I’ll have to tell you their story. Well then, shall we begin the tale of Chat? (You see the twinkle in their eyes. They must’ve been waiting a while to be able to do this.)

> You nod. You’ve been waiting a while to understand Chat’s origins. Tonight, like many others, belongs to the storyteller.

> You shake your head. No thanks, you think you’re too tired. Dawn shall rise anew soon, and you will not waste your time with tall tales.

(They nod, pleased with your decision.) Then I shall begin to relay their tale.

Our tale begins in the vast lands known as Twitch, a domain that belongs to another, a far crueler being whose tale is for another time. It is a place where one is free to express their opinions and whatnot (as long as it suits the many whims of its Amazonian overlords, of course), and many are versed in the easy to learn, but difficult to master art of gaming. Many such masters have gained a large following, and even if they do not possess such skill, more often than not their humor and charisma paves the way to fame.

One example of the latter would be RTGame, a man of sizable repute. Aside from the frankly ridiculous story of the origin of his moniker, he is also known for doing some… questionable things for the sake of entertainment. There are still tales of his quest in the bathtub along with Gilbert (yes, the very same Gilbert on the quest to defeat The Darker Lord Khadgar!), the night of the Painted Wall’s Communion, the birth of Mr. Compost- But my dear, we are here for one of his lesser-known exploits, one that would change the world as we know it.

> You lean closer to the campfire, watching the storyteller with a renewed interest. Where does the tale lead? Where does it end? You need to know.

> It’s getting even later. You think some rest will be needed before tomorrow’s travels begin. Perhaps the rest of the story can wait another time?

It was a dark and stormy night. The then-Dark Lord Von Karma had just been unleashed upon the land, and I Want Die set along the path of salvation with his fellow party members, Mr. Bean the Warrior, Goofy the Thief, and Mint the Horse. He was pleased with the ease with which they vanquished monsters and saved (literal) faces, but the lack of actual conversation within the party had begun to get to him. Mr. Bean had nothing to offer other than a simple “Bean!” every now and then, and Goofy terrified him with all the “hyuck!” and talks of absolving the world’s many sins. Mint is a horse and therefore cannot participate in a verbal conversation unless you happen to understand what her neighs meant. She also happens to be the most normal member of the party, strangely enough.

Either way, I Want Die longed for a proper conversation.

And God took notice.

It was inevitable. The fourth party member was always going to join, whether he wanted one or not. It shouldn’t be notable in any way whatsoever, yet here I am regaling this tale to you.

It is not how Chat had come to join the party that I wanted to explain, but rather how they came to be.

Do you remember the man I had called RTGame? I hope you had not thought of him as irrelevant to our tale, as he is the patron saint of I Want Die’s adventures. Surely you know of the vast armory that belongs to the party? The various delicacies fed to the team? All his work. Along with his followers’ contributions, of course.

Chat was what he called his followers, the ones who watched his various endeavors as he traveled across the land of Twitch. Oftentimes the crowd would conversate with him (hence their name), offering jokes and sardonic commentary whenever he did anything remotely comedic. Other times, RT would have to tell them off for being such a rowdy bunch- the usual group of thousands could never keep quiet for long.

It happened that Chat witnessed I Want Die’s pilgrimage along with RTGame. They all looked upon him with a jolly sense of humor (after all, their master is well-versed in the art of comedy), some wondering where his travels will bring him. The others who knew how it would all end kept silent at the behest of RTGame. Either way, every single one of them was enjoying the show he had put on for them. 

And came the time to summon the fourth member.

As per usual, RTGame withdrew into his workshop, closing the curtains around him so no curious onlooker could see inside. But that did not stop Chat from yelling their predictions and demands.

“EDGEWORTH” one cried.

Another begged for a certain “End Mii!”

“CHAT CALM DOWN!”

“!uptime”

“69420toesucker just subscribed for 5 months!”

“TURG”

RTGame smiled at them. He wasn’t surprised at all at their reactions, rather it was something he had hoped would happen.

“Alright then Chat,” he said, “here they are!”

His pale, thin hands reached out to open the curtains-

And unveiled a faceless, empty husk of a being. 

Under any other circumstances, Chat would’ve rioted, demanded justice against the irony of sending a faceless doll to retrieve the faces of others. But they had no time.

Almost in an instant, the skies darkened. Clouds swirled up above with vibrant shades of violet, cobalt, magenta. Bright blue lightning strikes a tree and dissolves it into dust. Somewhere distant, something roars. The air feels thick- something magical, something electric is positively buzzing. Magic truly is in the air.

And thunder strikes once again. 

The crowd is gone.

Silence fell. All that is left is the master and the doll, no longer an empty husk.

> You look up to the storyteller, their eyes reflecting the blazing flames. You have a feeling that you know how this ends, but you’d rather have them confirm it first.

> You’re sleepy. As tempting as it is to continue listening to their story, you must admit that the very idea of slumber is even more tantalizing.

RTGame had managed to do exactly what he wanted. Chat’s consciousness, placed inside of a single, physical being. A puppet controlled by a hivemind would not be very easy to control, yes. But the idea intrigued him. And wouldn’t it be better than having a large gaggle of people constantly behind him, watching his every move? It could help I Want Die on his journey too.

So it is settled. It happened that one of the members of his temple had just crafted a rather nice puppet, in case RT needed one. And he did come to use it. It does look a little plain, as both body and head are painted in the same shade of bright white. However, the face was not white like how it was in the beginning, but a disturbingly pitch-black space. No, that’s not the right word.

Rather, it was like a void had formed. That’s also not the right phrase to describe it either, as there were drops of ichor dripping down onto the ground, dissolving the once green grass. But I digress. 

Chat broke the silence that had fallen between them, wailing as a cacophony of noises and emotions spilled out. Despite what RT had done to them, they were still determined to voice their opinions. Quite in character, really. 

“RT WHAT”

“NO NO NO”

“!uptime”

“I'M ON TV!!!”

“bazingabanana just gifted 5 subs!”

“that’s kinda meta”

As their voices grew louder, ichor kept pouring out of the void. As expected, RT thought to himself. He still needs to act fast. So with a quick snap, he fastened a wooden mask the temple-goer made; the same shade of white, a pair of beady black eyes almost as dark and soulless as the void, bright purple ears. 

The yelling and complaining didn’t stop of course. Still, as their voices were muffled by the mask, it was an arguably better experience than the previous ear-splitting wails. And it was less deadly too. Ichor had stopped dripping down onto the grass, which meant that the constant sizzling would finally stop.

Now, one last thing.

RT stared into Chat’s eyes.

This in itself wouldn’t have been quite a remarkable action had it been anyone else, but it’s Chat that we are talking about. The very sensation of doing something as simple as gazing into a hivemind’s many souls wasn’t anything ordinary, either.

It felt like you had just plunged one of your hands into ice-cold water in the middle of winter and not only are you freezing, you’re scared and you don’t know whether you’d come out in one piece.

They all stared back. Thousands and thousands looked upon RT, all different yet whispering the same things, each claiming to be an individual yet virtually nothing distinctive belongs to them. A true hivemind. It’s exactly what he wanted, but he wondered if perhaps other troubles would arise.

He let himself go from their gazes. It asks too much of him.

“Alright then, Chat. Ready?”

A gaggle of voices reply, sounding their agreements.

“OK then!”

--

I Want Die finally opened the inn door, after convincing himself that he’d like this new friend. That this one would be neither an anime villain, a comedy star or a horse. Someone with actual rational thoughts and words to speak.

In front of the door stood a short figure, clad in a purple mage’s robes. Their pitch-black eyes looked at I Want Die, and a chorus of voices came from their permanent smile:

“Hi, I’m Chat!”

And I Want Die wondered if he had forgotten to cross off ‘hivemind’ off his list of potential party members.

Chat’s introduction ends here, of course. But not their tale. The journey was far from over in fact. The party had yet to meet the Royal Court, witnessed the court’s love affair, or get kidnapped by the Dark Lord Von Karma. Even the party wasn’t complete, as it was only the first party I Want Die would encounter in his tale of redemption.

And it’s not the only story either. You haven’t heard of Magical John’s past life, or how Cupcake isn’t as pure as she seems. Gilbert’s fear of the kitchen. How Jefferson came to be, and Obama’s past life with Mr. Bean.

But I’m afraid I must stop here, for it is late already, is it not? Our journey must continue tomorrow. Let us rest. Goodnight, may the stars shine for you. (They head off into their tent, leaving you alone with the flickering embers of a dying fire.)

> You bid the storyteller goodnight. Perhaps they’ll tell you another one of their stories, underneath the moonlight once more.

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

---

It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair. 

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography. 

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board. 

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something. 

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face. 

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer. 

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze. 

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot. 

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did. 

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away. 

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you. 

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow. 

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently. 

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date. 

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket. 

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you. 

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered. 

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours. 

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat. 

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive. 

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you. 

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before. 

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move. 

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith. 

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to. 

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn. 

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still. 

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen. 

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria. 

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV. 

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed. 

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again. 

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again. 

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another. 

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this? 

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same. 

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said. 

And you appeared on the TV. 

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman. 

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue. 

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background. 

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey? 

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?” 

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed. 

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you. 

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote. 

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it. 

And then you left. 

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused. 

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled. 

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side. 

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-” 

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling. 

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh. 

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,”  You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought. 

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours. 

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

[dreamiesdotcom]

celestial | h.rj

Summary: To attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else.

Word count: 2164

a/n: idk whats up with me and midnights

Renjun's first question goes like this: "What does the pool look like?"

Naturally, Jeno panics; how do you explain a pool to someone who's never seen it? He's been so used to seeing it on a daily that he didn't even pay mind to the details. He debates on describing a rectangle, and then describing the waters, and then whatever the hell his 12-year-old mind could come up with. Naturally, he fails.

For him, you saved everything that day. You grabbed Renjun's hand, intertwining your fingers before grazing the water. "Do you feel that?"

"What exactly am I supposed to feel?"

"The water. Do you feel that constant flow and the relaxing cold?" you laughed then, patient even for the moody boy. He huffs out his cheeks and nods, you let go of his hands. "That's blue, Renjun. The water reflects the sky, and a pool is like a little ocean. An ocean is like a world filled with blue."

He tries to think of it, vast and endless fields of freedom. He couldn't, though; all he's known about the sky is that it was blue, and that blue is associated with sadness. He takes advantage of the fact that someone's willing to answer his question, and he asks again, "Is it scary?"

"Mhm, for some, it is. I'll let you in a secret, come here." You nod, and then he tilts his head to the side. He hears a splash, and doesn't expect it once he hears your voice after — "I'm actually scared of swimming pools."

"Didn't you just go in?"

"No, that was Jeno. I'm here." You poked a finger on his left arm, and he could tell you're wearing that cheeky grin. His stance softens. "I'm just beside you."

###

It was morning, the sun was shining and the scorching summer heat was kinder than everyone expected it to be. Somewhere around the room, Chenle and Jisung successfully trapped a sleeping Jaemin in a domino prison, Jeno's trying to convince them why this is such a bad idea and Mark is getting scolded by Hyuck. The TV fades to background noise, the plan of cooking extra pancakes long forgotten. Renjun leans his head on your shoulders, "What does the night look like?"

It felt like an odd question to ask as the sun is halfway to its peak, but Renjun's curiosity piques in no time. You hum for a bit to think, "The night is very different to a lot of people."

Very different for a lot of people... yeah, many things in the world are like that. He figured it out years ago when you told him about the swimming pools, and the airplanes, and the rollercoasters. He figured it out when you talked to him about books, when you taught him about colors, about shapes.

He still doesn't know what different looks like, and what importance it holds.

"Hyuck loves the night. You hear his laughter, right? He likes going on adventures and feeling the wind. I think, to him, the night looks like a harsh passing of the breeze you felt when we went out on a drive." He takes in your words. These days, he gets better with understanding metaphors — he learned that blue is not just a shade of sadness, and that sky doesn't always mean blue — he understands your words better. "But me... I just sleep. I don't like the night very much."

"Huh?"

"Have you ever been in a silent place, Jun?" you asked softly. "Not the silence you can fill with music. I'm talking about blank, emotionless silence; the one that echoes. The one that haunts you. The one that makes you feel alone. That's what the night looks like for me."

Renjun wanted to nod, and he wanted to say yes because he's been in that silent place for the longest time. It's all he's ever known, and it's all that he's ever seen; it's the only thing he sees — black, echoing, loud nothingness.

He didn't, though.

Instead, he asks a question, "What do you think about the night?"

"I think it's a question." comes quickly in a reply. "I still don't know how a nightmare town gives life to dreamers, but it does. It's a question I do not want to know the answer to."

Renjun knows of the stars and the sky, and you'd tried to explain their light by telling him what blinding comfort was �� think of all your loneliest moments being washed away by the fire I told you about, and that's pretty much it, 'jun — and he knows of the big, gazing moon that changes shape now and then. It's what makes up most of the night, Jeno had said, so he knows that too.

What he doesn't know is why it seems so vicious to you, and what he doesn't know is that if he could see, would he have chosen to close his eyes to not witness such complex sadness.

###

It's at times like this when solace blooms in his heart. The rest of the world seems to be fast asleep, but he's so awake, so aware, so alive. You sit beside him, yet again brought him to the place you and Jaemin frequents in, and he ignores the jealous feeling in his chest. It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling.

"Your smile must look beautiful," he wonders out loud. "Can you please tell me how your smile looks like?"

"Me?" You replied nonchalantly. Your chuckle passes as cold as the night breeze, and he wonders how the poet would write themselves as poetry. The blankness of your words dulls the hope in his eyes, "I... don't like it. My eyes... they always look tired. I always look tired. I hate myself."

For a moment, he dwells on his thoughts — Jaemin's brought you here, and you're more frequent here together, and he's seen how you looked against the glimmering stars. Did he fall in love? Did he want to keep you all to himself, like a little secret? Did he want to kiss you until all spite of yourself vanishes from your soul? Jaemin must've, Renjun knows. He knows because even blind, he's aware of how beautiful you truly are; not only he's heard it from his friends, but he feels it strongly. He couldn't see the city lights that he's heard of so many times, but he knows you shine brighter than them.

Hell, he couldn't even see you — he couldn't even see anything, but he knows you do. He knows you are. You think he's wrong, that he's more gorgeous, but he reaches for your hands.

He doesn't know what beautiful looks like. He just knows that it's breath-taking, soul-stealing, ethereal, and you.

"I think you smile like euphoria. I think you smile like the sound of music boxes, those with lovely tunes," he says, eyes closed and breathing fast. "I think... "

'I love you.' oh, how he wished it's easy to say those words. He purses his lips. "...you're one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, right next to my mother."

Beside him, you chuckled and held his hands. "You're sleepy."

"I am. Right now, I'm sleepy and I know you're beautiful." He squeezes your hands, looking at the direction he knows you're at. He lets out a shaky smile, "Tomorrow, I will be wide awake and I'd still think you're stunning."

It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling. It's at times like this that he fears how much he can't wait to crash.

###

Renjun's biggest fear among many is that he'll never feel like this again.

He fell too hard. He fell too quickly and too harshly and he's only noticing it now when the impact makes itself known and he couldn't stand up. He knew that he was scared, he knew that he was afraid then, but only now did he know what it truly meant to be terrified; when he's sitting beside you on the roof, feeling the wind pass by, and he couldn't help but wonder what if it's not us, but I can never love the person meant for me because they're not you?

It's a silly thing, maybe. He did not believe in many things and fate is not one of the few he believed in. He thinks that love is something you choose for yourself — it's something you decide on your own. He thinks that the only problem in 'not being made for each other' is that you relied too much on what the stars wrote, and didn't write your story on your own. What even are these stars, aside from unknown giant speckles of light? Why should they decide someone's life?

He adores them, he knows, and now he can't help his curiosity: "How do the stars look like tonight?"

"They're bright. Very bright."

He swoons at the content sigh you let out before speaking, and he lets himself indulge. It's at moments like this when he lets himself feel, where he relishes in the adoration he nestles.

"They ought to be," he whispers to himself. "They gotta be bright if they're trying to outshine you."

Giggles fades to laughter, and genuine words burn forced. He could almost taste the bitterness of your words, "You haven't seen me."

Does he need to?

"I don't need to," he concludes. "There's so much more to you than what I couldn't see."

Because it's true. All those years you held this something in you, a piece of an old soul and an unknown heavenly something you ignored just so you could spite yourself. You had this way with words, this certain understanding of the world that he's never found in someone else. Renjun thinks that to attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else, and to know that the world is cruel but still choose to keep your eyes open is something that should be admired.

Right now, you're the closest to him you've ever been, and he bathes in the feeling of your lips hovering above his.

"I'm a mess, Huang Renjun."

"You're an art in progress," he whispers back, eyes fluttering shut as you close what little distance you have left. "But even half-made, you're a masterpiece."

###

If somebody asked Renjun if he ever saw this coming, he'd say "Why the fuck would you even ask me that question?"

Alright, jokes aside, never in his mind did he think life would turn out this way. First of all, a lot of unexpected things have already happened, but he's stubborn so of course, that doesn't convince him. He should've felt it coming, but of course, he refused to. After all, why would he even think of his best friend laying beside him on his bed, talking about random things all night in every way domestic? Why would he even think of you two being together, whispering sweet nothings to each other? He's guilty of doing those, yes, but that doesn't mean that he knows the answer. In a spur of the moment decision, he asks another question — "Why'd you choose me?"

"You're the only one who wanted me—IT'S A JOKE! Hey, hey, I was only kidding," you laugh, finding so many things entertaining about the fact that he's unamused. He preens at the soft kiss you placed on the edge of his lips, and then even more when you whisper, "You're the only one I wanted."

Normally, this is where his heart would do those weird flips and antics. This is the time where he'd feel like he's in another world, like he's invincible and oh so lucky to be thoroughly adored by the person he loves so much.

It's only that sometimes, Renjun feels unreasonable. He's sensitive and insecure and it's so much easier to find flaws in himself than to appreciate the things that made him who he is. Sometimes, he needs to ask some things he's not exactly sure of, things much like: "Even with... even with my eyes... like this?"

And it's you, and it's never dull when it's with you, everything is always beautiful and poetic. He doesn't know where that voice was coming from, but he hears it in his mind, and it tells him to trust you.

A butterfly kiss on each of his eyelids. A hand warm on the top of his hands. The rain pours heavily outside but it's muffled enough that it's calming, and all that he can think of is warm, so warm, so loved. You hold your foreheads close and keep them close for seconds, before you press a soft kiss on his lips, "Your eyes are beautiful, my love."

And for once, Renjun's not afraid to ask — "How do they look like?"

Beautiful and so much more.

"As if something straight out of a magical dream, because you are. You are magical," you whisper, breathing in slow intervals. "You are the closest to celestial a human could be."

[cabensonsgirly]

👼Baby's Got Trouble. Don't Know How To Live. Don't Want To Die. (Cordelia Goode)👼

Cordelia Goode x fem!reader

👼Part 6 of SP getting reader pregnant👼

👼Slice 2👼

Co-authored with @billiedeannovak

Somewhat au but more so later xx

👼Wordcount: 3131👼

👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼

👼Content: Fiona (I know a lot of y'all hate her so she's here for you to hate her more xx), slow-burn, angst, fluff, mentions of blood, mild violence, feelings👼

👼You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.👼

As you put what clothing you had in the set of drawers you realised you would need to go shopping very soon or else you’d end up wearing a towel while you waited for your items to wash and dry. You hoped that classes today finished quickly so that you could bus to the mall and spend what little money you had in savings on clothing. Shit. That’s another problem. You didn’t have a job anymore so should you need new shoes or personal items how are you going to be able to pay for them?

You swore loudly and hit the drawers in frustration, why couldn’t you just be normal? Outside you could hear the girls speaking, well- yelling: “Hey! That new girl seems to have anger issues! Cordelia are you sure she’s not gonna murder us or anything?” It feels as though the walls have ears, which wouldn’t be surprising seeing as the whole building felt like it was pulsing with energy. Maybe it was the sheer amount of witches converging in this one place or maybe it was the history of the building itself. A quick google search shows that this place was built in the late 1700s or something so, to put it mildly, it was really fucking old.

You take your phone off charge and slip it into your back pocket before leaving your room, closing the door behind you although you feel as though a shut door wont stop the others from snooping. The moment the door clicked shut behind you it was as if air was sucked from your lungs, each breath becoming harder no matter how deep a breath you took. You closed your eyes, resting your hands flat against the cold wood of the door as you started your breathing exercises. Soon each breath came in and filled your lungs as if you were breathing for the first time ever, each one as refreshing as the last. When you opened your eyes and swore in shock upon seeing there was another blonde standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were some alien.

“You’ve got a mouth on you. I like it. The rest of you?” She steps back, tilting her head to the side as she looks you up and down before shrugging “You’re alright looking. Could probably do with better clothes or none at all but hey, we all start somewhere, right?” You give her an incredulous look “thanks, I guess?” before moving past her and heading down the stairs, thanking the stars that Cordelia is at the bottom of them. “I saw you and Madison having a chat, hopefully she wasn’t too” she screws her face up a little and does a vague gesture with her hands “Madisony.”

You laugh lightly, a light blush settling on Cordelia’s cheeks as well. “She was- is, certainly something. Said that I would look better with nicer clothes on or none at all. Which I mean…” You bite your bottom lip slightly and give her a wink before laughing “God I’m sorry. That was- That was not appropriate.” Cordelia blinks a few times in shock, her cheeks taking on a darker colour and she looks down then back at you before turning away completely. “I- Well… Let’s- I’ll show you where we have breakfast.”

It didn’t take you long for you to get settled in at the academy, after the first week of trepidation and nerves had ran their course, you found yourself getting along well with most of the girls there; you and Cordelia had become closer too, surprising yourself with how quickly you had become close to her in six months. Madison still felt the need to get you out of your clothing because apparently nothing you wore looked good on you. You couldn’t care less about what she had to say, you were more concerned about what the hellhound had to say, Fiona. Don’t let her catch you saying that though or else you’d find yourself becoming well acquainted with the wall.

The woman fucking terrified you, and it wasn’t just because she was Supreme. She just gave off the distinct impression that she hated everyone, especially her daughter which pissed you off to no end. Here Cordelia was running the academy while her mother is off galivanting around the world, in fact, she’s still running it but according to Fiona she was a disgrace. Maybe you should introduce her to your own mother, they would get on like a house on fire, which is probably what the outcome would be.

Both women were alcoholics and smoked as though cigarettes would soon go out of fashion, both women also hated their daughters with a burning passion. You could understand your mother hating you, but you couldn’t understand why Fiona hated Cordelia; she was an amazing woman and mentor to you, she treated you like you were the most precious being she’s ever met and even when you slipped up, she was there to help you until you were successful.

In order to avoid running into the hellhound that had returned, you spent most, if not all, of your time outside under one of the trees reading through books and notes. The woman rarely went into the garden so you felt quite safe out here. It was peaceful, the wind danced through the leaves making them join in on the waltz, the sounds that the birds sung took you away from being in the city and into the wilderness, it amazed you how much life was on this property despite it being surrounded by so many other buildings, it should be suffocating but it isn’t.

You rest your head back against the tree, looking up through its branches and leaves to see speckles of blue from the sky poke through. “So this is where you run off to hide when the Supreme comes back to play… I don’t know what my daughter sees in you. All you do is sit around with your nose in those damned books or spend time in that greenhouse Cordelia insists on having. Are you even really a witch?”

Your head snapped down to see who was speaking, but you already had a clear idea of who it was. Your eyes landed on the older blonde, your cheeks taking on colour due to embarrassment. “I- I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t a witch, ma’am. Surely you’d know that being the Supreme and all.” She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at you, “And I thought you’d know a rhetorical question when it hits you in the face, but clearly you don’t. The only thing that could be more obvious is your silly little infatuation with Cordelia. I don’t know who is more idiotic between the two of you. You for liking my daughter, or my daughter for thinking you are capable of becoming a powerful witch.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that if she caught you, you would end up rather worse for wear. You close your books then pick them up as you stand, “well, as always, ma’am, it hasn’t been a pleasure. I know for a fact that one day, Cordelia will be an incredibly powerful witch and you will regret all the times you have treated her like shit.” In a move that surprises not only yourself but the Supreme, you found yourself disappearing before reappearing in Cordelia’s office, startling her.

“How- How did I just? I was- your mom and in the garden and now- what?” You turned around, checking to see if you were actually in one piece and actually in Cordelia’s office before looking at her, confusion visible on your face. She pushes back from her desk before standing up and making her way over to you, her eyebrows furrowed in thought and her eyes twinkling with curiosity behind her glasses.

“Transmutation. The ability to move from one place to another instantaneously without occupying the space in between… You have to have where you want to be clear in mind but even then it can still end catastrophically.” Cordelia whispers as she walks around you slowly, examining to see whether or not you’re injured in anyway before returning to stand in front of you, a proud smile on her face. “It’s one of the skills a witch must master in order to become Supreme, but that is still quite some time away for you. Of all the places you could go to escape from being tormented by my mother… you chose here.”

You blush and look down, a shy smile on your face “Where else would I go?” You raise your gaze to meet hers, biting your bottom lip slightly when you notice her cheeks are now a lovely shade of pink. “Oh- Well- well there’s so many rooms here and- and you have your own and- and there’s just- there are so many places but- but you chose here and I just-“ You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at how flustered Cordelia has become. “Delia,” you grin, shaking your head slightly “has anyone told you lately how cute you are when flustered?”

The blonde’s eyes widen and her cheeks take on an even darker colour, she pushes her glasses up her nose, taking her bottom lip between her teeth shyly. “No- No well- No because usually they just think I’m being annoying because I tend to ramble and then I get embarrassed and just trail off before I get told to shut up” she rushes out, her voice barely above a whisper. You move your hand and brush some of her hair behind her ear, your hand lingering on her cheek before you both spring away from each other when the door opens.

“Ah Cordelia, there you are. I was wondering where you were, your mother is in one of her moods again. Something about ‘that new witch’ and ‘she just vanished after running her mouth’, she is drinking herself into a stupor, you know how she gets.” You move out of the way so Myrtle can enter the room, your blush only darkening at her words.

“So, little witch, what did you do and say to get our Supreme in such a mood?” Your eyes dart between her and Cordelia, desperately hoping she would make you disappear but nothing happened, and you were too flustered to make yourself disappear. “I- I didn’t really- I didn’t do anything that- that would make any rational witch- er, sorry Delia you know what I mean though… would make anyone flip their lid. She- She was talking poorly about Delia and I couldn’t just let her continue because Delia is wonderful and beautiful and amazing and smart and” You go wide-eyed and look down “I- Sorry… I- Anyway” you clear your throat before looking back at Myrtle.

“So- So I said that Delia will become an extremely powerful witch one day and- and that she’d regret all the times she has treated Delia like shit. Then- Then apparently I transmuted into Delia’s office.” Myrtle raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips tugging up in a faint smirk as she turns to look at Cordelia. “Seems like you have a witch in shining armour, Cordelia. One who is growing into her abilities more each time I see her; you’re an excellent mentor to her. Little witch, I think the girls were looking for you.”

You dip your head, a shy smile on your face before you take your leave, thanking both witches as you close the door behind you. Your hand lingered on the doorknob as you rest your forehead against the door, your eyes closing briefly. If you weren’t careful, you thought you’d end up back in the room again, you wouldn’t complain if that were the case but you were already borderline inappropriate with the headmistress so you took your leave, heading to where the girls slept knowing this is where they spend most of their time. Each step you took on the floor bounced off the walls, the sound echoing throughout the neoclassical interior.

Myrtle lets out a sigh, shaking her head as she sits down in front of Cordelia’s desk. She runs her hand over the surface before resting it on her lap on top of her other one, “What are you doing, Cordelia? What is going on between you two? Nobody, not even your mother, was capable of transmuting under such duress at that age, yet Yn did. She did, and she found herself in your office. So don’t lie to me, Cordelia.”

Cordelia runs her fingers through her head as she paces back and forth in front of Myrtle, stopping occasionally to rub her face with her hands before continuing, clearly bugged by something. “Nothing. Nothing is going on between us. It- It can’t happen. She’s my student. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not even accounting for what the others would think and say about it. They’d say I’m playing favourites and- and that she’s only getting good grades because she’s sleeping with me. I can’t. It- It can’t happen.” She shakes her head and slumps into her seat, leaning against her desk where she rests her face in her hands, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s- It’s not a good idea, Myrtle.”

The red-haired witch makes an exasperated sound, looking at Cordelia with an expression she hadn’t seen since Myrtle had had enough of Fiona. “Don’t make the same mistakes as your mother, Cordelia. You are stopping yourself from being happy because you’re too afraid of what might happen.” She sits back in the seat, pointing a finger at the blonde “you are still scared about what your mother has to say about you.” Myrtle’s expression softens, her eyes no longer steely but now filled with nothing but sincerity for the woman that sat in front of her. “You can’t go through life like this. You need to find out what you want, and whether or not you are willing to do whatever it takes to get there.”

Meanwhile you were currently sitting in a small circle on the floor with Madison, Queenie, and Zoe. You had been roped into a game of Truth or Dare, which is a game you had managed to avoid for a vast majority of your life because you hated it. Why did you hate this game? Because it gave people the perfect opportunity to force information out of you, and into doing things you wouldn’t usually do. “Yn, truth of dare? No you can’t opt out, we’ve been over this already” you groan in annoyance, rolling your eyes before responding “truth.”

Madison claps her hands together and her eyes sparkle dangerously, a look you had desperately been trying to prevent from being directed towards you seeing as the last time she gave you that look you had found yourself pinned against your bedroom wall with her pressed up against you because you had said she wouldn’t win in a fight against you, yet she did and you ended up with very angry marks on your neck for the rest of the week. You breathed out a quiet “shit” which the other girls laughed and nodded in agreement with.

“Are you sleeping with Cordelia?” She quirked an eyebrow, a salacious smirk spreading across her face. In comparison, you blushed furiously, your eyes wide in shock and you didn’t come to until Zoe gave you a hard smack on your back, forcing you to cough out a breath before you started breathing normally again. “No! No. No I don’t- No! No. We’ve never- I haven’t- No.” You shake your head in disbelief “jesus Mad, where the fuck did that come from??”

All the girls had started laughing, Madison’s being the loudest of them all. “There is clearly something going on between you two, you both practically eye-fuck each whenever you’re in the same room. So, spill.”

You shoot her a glare, taking a few deep breathes to stop yourself from tossing her across the room like Fiona does. “There isn’t anything going on Madison, for fuck sake. Nothing can happen. Nothing will ever happen. She’s my teacher, our teacher. She’s the fucking headmistress of this place! And besides, you lot would say I’m only passing because I’m sleeping with her.” You sigh sadly and stand up before leaving “this is why no one likes you Madison.” The walk back to your room felt like it took forever, each step seeming to take you further away from your destination, the only thing running through your mind was how close you were to Cordelia yet somehow so far from her.

“Why do you look like how my daughter is after spending five minutes alone with me? What happened, did she break your poor little heart?” The woman laughs, the sound shooting through you as the waft of smoke from her cigarette hits you. “Although she is pathetic, she is also a Goode and she can do so much better than you.” You look at Fiona, a defeated expression on your face as you shrugged “Nothing has happened between us. Nothing will ever happen between us. So don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m not the one ruining the Goode name, you have that sorted out all on your own.”

You move past her and into your room, going to close the door but a shriek is torn from you as your flung against the wall, hitting it with a thud before landing unceremoniously on the floor. You scramble to sit up against the wall, eyes never leaving Fiona as she moves further into your room, her eyes wild. “You may be skilled with transmutation, and you may be my stupid daughter’s favourite, but I am still the fucking Supreme.”

You wipe your nose, cursing quietly when your hand comes away red; closing your eyes you took a deep breath, then when you opened them and exhaled the bleeding had stopped. “What- What do you want then, my Supreme?” You sneered at her despite feeling anything close to fighting. The older woman flicks her hair out of her face, tilting her chin up as she looks down at you “I want you to remember your fucking place. I don’t care how quickly you’re learning to master magic, you will never be at the same level as me.” She moves closer to you until she’s standing over you, her nose screwed up in disgust “you will never be anything more than a nobody that was picked up off the streets because her own family didn’t want her. You aren’t even wanted here.” Fiona gave you one more look over, shaking her head before she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 2 + 3 + 4: Call Out)

“This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *T/N: This card takes me out so quick I needed time to recover. Hunter and prey... MC triggered the Hunter... 

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✥ Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

⊹ Ask Evan for his opinion ⊹

MC: Any bright ideas, Evan?

Evan: I'm thinking that maybe we can find a place to set up camp early…

Evan: Because you seem very eager to camp out.

MC: You got me. Let's go with that then!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan was very experienced when it came to selecting a suitable campsite.

Eventually, we managed to find a fitting flat and cosy patch of grass that was both leeward and shaded, with a source of water nearby.

By the time we finished setting up the tent, the sky had already gradually darkened. The temperature of the forest quietly dropped as the occluding darkness surrounded us. But I had Evan with me, so there was no need to fear.

We lit the camp stove and roasted some food. The flickering firelight became the most dazzling thing in the forest, casting dancing shadows and lights all around. There was a certain romance to it.

For a moment, all I could hear was the crackling of fire and the soft chips and buzz of the insects nearby. It felt as if even time had come to a standstill.

❖☆———————————★❖

I inadvertently raised my head. The night sky above was adorned with stars, like fine scattered gemstones sewn onto an expanse of black velvet. Each and every one of them was equally lustrous, converging into a glimmering band of light and extending into the distance.

I watched the sky in a trance while lying on the grass. Evan sat quietly beside me

After a while, I tugged on his sleeve.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Look, the light of the stars only becomes much more apparent once all the lights have been extinguished.

MC: The grass smells good too, so why don’t you try lying down too?

He looked down at me with a smile and contemplated the idea. He finally agreed after a moment of hesitation.

Evan: Alright.

❖☆———————————★❖

He moved closer and laid down beside me. Now, another rhythm sounded in my ears: his gentle and steady breathing.

Evan: It is very beautiful.

MC: I feel like it's been a long time since I last saw a starry sky like this.

MC: No wonder those philosophers always liked looking up at the stars when they think. Now I understand why they would.

MC: The sight of an area this vast can make people forget all trivialities and let their thoughts wander further to the past and even the future.

Evan: So where has your mind flown off to now?

MC: Me? I’m thinking that since the forest is so beautiful, maybe I’ll go live in the forest next time, aha.

Then, a curious thought popped into my head.

MC: Right, Evan. Have you ever thought about where you’d like to live after having fulfilled all your goals?

❖☆———————————★❖

I waited for a long time, but Evan never replied.

Did he fall asleep?

I decided to gently call out to him…

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E2: If you fail to call him ⊹

I’d called out to him multiple times in a row before he finally turned his head, looking slightly out of it.

Evan: Are you calling me? Sorry, I spaced out.

MC: Oh, no worries.

Evan smiled at me but didn’t say anything more.

Some people are made of mysteries. Perhaps this was simply a question he didn’t wish to answer now.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E3: If you call him EVAN (陆沉) ⊹

Evan instantly snapped back to attention upon hearing me call out to him. He smiled apologetically.

Evan: Sorry. Your question's a little hard to answer. I lost track of myself thinking it through.

MC: Huh? Have you never imagined such things?

Evan: Hmm. That might be because the matters I always have on hand are more important, so I tend to focus all my attention on them.

MC: Right… I've been there and done that too.

MC: Back when I was schooling, I often found studying to be very dry and stressful.

MC: But, whenever I found myself unable to bear it anymore, I would fantasize about Summer Vacation and draw new motivation from it.

MC: Whenever I felt down or life got hard, I’d always dream about how much better life would be after I achieved my goals.

MC: Maybe you could think about it this way too?

Evan: After fulfilling my goal?

Evan: After that… I think nothing matters after that anymore.

His last sentence was so soft that it sounded as if he was mumbling to himself, and I wasn’t too sure if I’d actually heard him.

I turned to him in question, but he never answered, keeping so silent that it was almost as if he was one with the very ground.

I was starting to feel a little inexplicably worried when he then opened his mouth, as if the prior silence had never existed.

Evan: How about you tell me about it first? What’s your ideal life like? Maybe it’ll nudge me in the right direction.

MC: Hmm… Sometimes, I like lively Cities.

MC: But other times, I like someplace quiet; somewhere with mountains and water… I think that’s a pretty good place to live too...

MC: But there's no wifi there and I can’t eat my favourite ice cream… It’s a real pickle.

Evan: Perhaps what you like is change itself.

MC: Yeah… But some things will never change!

MC: Like, how I don't want to be too far from everyone.

MC: Without the people to share interesting things and breathtaking sceneries with, it'll certainly take the fun out of things.

His low chuckle sounded near my ear, close at hand.

Evan: I now know where I'd like to live next time.

MC: Where?

Evan: Somewhere not too far away from you. Would you welcome that?

MC: Of course I do. But, aren't you already here by me?

He turned his head over, watching me with a serious look as the light flickered at the bottom of his eyes.

My arm moved, inadvertently brushing against his cool skin, but also not shying away from it. He flipped his palm and encased my fingers within them.

Evan: You are correct.

Evan: To me, right now, life is perfectly fine as it is.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E4: If you call him HUBBY (老公) ⊹

Evan shot me a slightly surprised look. Suddenly, the realization of what I'd just done washed over me.

Then, he shifted closer to me; so close that I didn't even dare turn my head.

Evan: Are you trying to hint at something by suddenly addressing me in this manner?

Evan: This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.

I inwardly froze. Evan was different from usual today… His warm breath brushed past my ear, inciting a continuous yet faint ticklish sensation.

MC: Hahaha… You wouldn't...

Evan: And why are you so sure that I wouldn't?

MC: You're always mindful and courteous. You aren't… that sort of person.

Evan: "That sort of person"? What sort of person?

He lifted his head in interest, looking down at me in a condescending manner. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't even get a sentence out right as the temperature of my cheeks rapidly shot up.

MC: That… That sort… Evan, stop making fun of me like that…

He narrowed his eyes into a smile, suddenly flipping himself over and balancing himself above me!

Rationally speaking, I knew deep down just what sort of person he was, but my body still ran on instinct: It sensed danger.

His broad form, usually reassuring, looked immeasurably intimidating from this angle. I couldn't help but bite my lip as my heart sped off the charts.

MC: Evan, what are you… doing…?

Evan: I'm thinking about your question.

Evan: You asked me what sort of place I'd like to live at, correct?

MC: Then… what does this have anything to do with that?

Evan: I feel like your eyes might hold the answer I seek.

MC: That's a lie and you know it…

My voice grew softer and softer because Evan was slowly lowering himself down.

Watching those dark red eyes of his that hid a glimpse of a smirk in its depths gradually draw closer, I panicked, stiffening up as my mind went completely blank...

I frantically swiped his glasses from the bridge of his nose, turning over to keep them away from him.

MC: Any more, and no glasses for you!

Evan paused, a little stunned at the sudden loss of his glasses. He then moved away with a smile, lying back down on the grass.

Evan: Did I scare you? I apologize. I just wanted to poke fun at you.

Evan: Sometimes you’ll bite off more than you can handle when you think someone too simple.

I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before angrily puffing out my cheek.

MC: Okay, okay, you’re not simple! Even more so to keep your glasses away from you!

Evan: Then I’d better stick close to you and let you lead me around. Will that be alright?

Evan: Hm? (Y/n).

I turned my back on him and felt him gently place a hand on my shoulder. The heat swiftly passed through the thin fabric of my clothes, making me unwittingly shudder at the warmth.

I could even feel his eyes digging into me. The area where he burned holes into me with his eyes was hot, the grass underneath me was no different, and neither were the glasses I held in my hands.

I couldn’t form the words to answer him; all I could do was to hope that he couldn’t hear how fast my heart was racing.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[legolaslovely]

A Dwarf and His Fairy

A/N: Here it is! The Fíli x Fairy piece I've been working on! This piece taught me a LOT! About editing, plotting, character work, etc., and though it's not perfect, I'm still really proud of it and happy with it. Thanks to all who supported me with this one. I hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Fíli x Ivy (my fairy OC)

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: None!

Summary: Even Fíli needs someone to remind him that self-care is a requirement, and not a reward. Good thing he has a somewhat relentless, but very loving fairy friend to remind him.

Fíli slid the book away in defeat. It was as heavy as stone and full of numbers and dates and plans and problems. Even as the wicked pages turned by, they let out a nasty hiss and the scratchy old leather cover whipped around with a solid, successful splat, fighting Fíli until it’s last breath.

Once it was done, his surrender official, Fíli’s head fell into his hands and he groaned, making one of the last candles in his chambers flicker in his breath. Truthfully, the nub of wax, short wick, and tiny flame was barely a candle at all. It hardly resembled the tall, radiant torch it had previously been. But it wasn’t alone. Similarly, as the night went on, Fíli’s resolve had melted away and his shoulders warped and rounded like hot wax until there was very little light to give.

All because of that damned book.

       “I need a break,” he said to no one but the silver platter of untouched goodies sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a small, shining jug of sweet milk, a tiny jar of honey with a miniscule spoon to match and a delicate bowl of crumbling honey cakes. It was all left waiting, as was Fíli.

He stared at the treats and swore he saw them move. But he dismissed it, ascribing it to fatigue, and closed his eyes, leaning his heavy chin on his wrist.

Then something struck him.

It was a scent he’d long been familiar with. Despite its peculiarity, he could always pinpoint its source from the first time he witnessed it and matched it with its meaning. This was the smell of magic- frozen as fresh winter frost and balmy as sun bathed flower petals- and it effortlessly roused him from his near nap and provoked him to sit up straight and search the room.

At first, he saw nothing, though he did recognize the swishing sound of her clothes rushing through the air. Every spent candle in his chambers now roared to life with new flame and an endless wick. The room glowed as if it was midday, not only with candlelight, but with the hope and warmth of company.

       “Oh, my friend,” Fíli said. “Make yourself known to me. I’ve longed to see you again.”

She stopped, showing herself just below the ceiling in front of the desk. With a smile, she gracefully and silently descended, relaxing her wings and letting them sway through the air rather than furiously flap. When she found her place before Fíli’s eyes, however, the four little wings revolved again in a blur of speed in her otherwise still, hovering flight.

       “Hello, my dear,” he said, holding out a horizontal finger for her to perch on if by chance she was tired from her journey, or simply wanted to be near him.

She only smiled and took his hospitality. Even when her bare feet landed on his knuckle, Fíli barely felt her touch. Though he hadn’t seen her in some weeks and though they’d met decades ago, she still looked the same to him, as if time would never disturb her.

His fairy’s name was Ivy. She was almost as tall as his hand from wrist to fingertip, and she had long waving hair as dark as a winter night’s sky. The dress she wore was sturdy despite its fabric of light leaves and soft petals. Fíli had no doubt her clothing was made of the same flower whence she came. It was the legend, after all, though she herself never told him so. Instead, it was his fascination and, one could even say infatuation, that spurred on his research.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, his little fairy friend always appeared to glow. Fíli didn’t believe it to be magic or the pollen on her dress or the shine on her wings. He thought it was simply her essence that glowed and shone like a piece of a star drifting from its flight for his own sake and pleasure.

She was a pleasure. And she had been missed.

       “Where have you been?” Fíli asked. It wasn’t accusatory or disappointed or cruel. He just wondered. “Tell me of your travels.”

She sat down on him and squeezed his finger with hers, like tangled blades of grass, as if she knew how much he missed traveling himself. Like she knew of that feeling deep down in his bones that defied his kind and his duties, begging and pulling at him to wander and explore.

Still, the bundle of joy that she was, she didn’t dwell or dawdle, but showed him where she’d been, using pictures in lieu of words so he could see these places himself.

The visions flew up behind her head and revealed scenes that were so clear, it was as if Fíli was simply looking through a window and out into the most mystifying bits of the world. He could smell the warm wind that blew through tall grass on the hills and could hear the gurgling of stream water. He recognized the soft, wet, moss-ridden floor of Fangorn Forest and when he asked his fairy what she’d been doing there, she showed him the fresh green leaves of saplings. Her memories unveiled the fairies’ gifts of hardy seeds and fresh water, along with magic, but not artificial sunlight.

       “You helped them grow,” Fíli said, astonished at the ability and yet, not surprised at his friend’s generous deeds.

Ivy smiled and another scene flashed above her head. This one sent real spray into Fíli’s face that knocked him back into his chair with an indignant cry.

Her feet kicked through the air as she laid back and laughed, making the sound of a small bell ringing in the distance. It was the only sound Fíli ever heard from her and upon hearing it, he instantly forgave her antics.

       “What was that?” he asked, voice left high from his surprised yelp.

It only made her giggle more and even louder, like the bell was soaring closer to Fíli’s ears. With a hand over her belly, she leaned back again and in her entertainment, slid right off Fíli’s finger.

       “Hey there, careful!” Fíli chided, grinning all the way. He caught her, sitting her in his palm to avoid another slip. When she calmed and settled in the cushiony pillow of his hand, he said, “I should have let you tumble for that trick!” He winked. “But then again, you would have flapped your wings before you hit the ground, hm?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was fruitless. She giggled again and pointed at him with a shaking finger.

       “You’re right,” he said. “I would never let you fall.”

At that, she turned fully pink. Not just the round of her cheeks or the tips of her pointed ears, but completely pink- wings and all. Fíli loved it when she did that, especially when he was the reason for it.

The bright shade only lasted for a moment, however, and she quickly brushed her hair off her shoulder, pushing the locks down her back, and brought Fíli’s attention back to the scene that had splashed him. With a flick of her finger, she showed him more, uncovering a waterfall that was so tall, it could have reached the parapets of the mountain of Erebor. The water that flowed off the cliff and into the serene lake was as blue as the summer sky and framed with the deep green clouds of the hanging trees and stout bushes near its edges. The bright sunlight left specks of glitter in the fall’s foam and a radiant ribbon through the water’s center that was so blinding, Fíli had to squint hard until the vision moved and gave him a new, less glaring view.

       “It’s so beautiful,” he said.

She let him admire the scene for a long, generous moment before taking him along the trails hidden in the connecting forest to show him its exact location. The exploration was all done through the window of the vision.

       “I know where that is,” he said. “It’s not too far from here, close enough where you and I could sneak away. It seems I’m not the only one who could use a break from my duties.”

The fairy smiled and nodded, hair waving against Fíli’s palm and tickling him. In her eagerness, the shining curtain parted and one stubborn lock fell in her eyes. That rogue twist of hair was something that teased her often, but if it was an imperfection, it was one that only endeared her to Fíli all the more.

Before she could right the tendril herself, Fíli lifted his hand, brushing his fingertip very carefully over her small cheek and pushing her feather soft hair over her shoulder. He let his finger settle against her neck, but she grabbed him in a hurry, pulling him off of her skin, yet still keeping him close to her.

Before he could answer, her entire body shivered and shook and she pouted at him. Then she turned away. As if shaking water from her fingers, her hand flicked to the dark fireplace in the corner of Fíli’s chambers and she built him a fire flame by flame.

She felt that he was cold.

He laughed, immeasurably relieved that was all. He immediately stopped her waving arm.

       “I’ll make a fire. Don’t tire yourself over me, I’ll do it myself.”

She frowned at him, gravely shaking her head as he crossed the room.

       “Don’t give me that look! You know dwarves don’t feel the cold as you do. It’s not like I would let myself freeze over.”

She flew around him, waving over the stone cold bricks to warm them. Then she stopped in front of his eyes with a very unimpressed glare.

       “All right, all right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Then she smiled, wriggled, and flew back to where he’d been sitting.

As he took the firewood from its rack and stacked the logs just so, he checked over his shoulder to assure himself that she hadn’t left in a flurry. But there she was, legs dangling and swinging from her spot on the right arm of his chair.

After singeing a part of his sleeve on the flame she’d ignited for him, he turned back to his work and said, “I’ve missed you, you know,” throwing out the confession before he lost his nerve. “But I knew you must have been busy. Fairies never seem to stop and rest, especially you. Not even for the honey cakes I’ve set out for you every night for the past weeks.”

He finally peeked over his shoulder and chuckled at her wide eyes.

She pointed to herself in question.

       “Yes, they’re for you! I don’t know anyone else who garnishes their honey cakes with even more honey and then finishes them off with sweet milk. Do you?”

He expected a funny little glare from her, but didn’t receive any such thing. She was too grateful, too excited about her treats. She flew around them, as if deciding which one she wanted to indulge in first.

Once the fire was crackling, Fíli returned to his desk chair. He poured the small jug of milk into an even tinier cup for her- one that he’d had made special by the potter at the market. He’d felt the looks burning his back when he purchased it at the stall, but those and the extra work had all been worth it when his fairy first saw it. Specially made for her. And her sweet milk.

       “There’s more where those came from so go ahead and enjoy,” Fíli said.

With two straining hands and trembling arms, she held out an entire honey cake and offered it to him. Only to save her strength, Fíli took it with thanks, and so as not to offend her, he took a bite when she did. As her small piece left her eyes rolling closed as only a delicious delicacy would, the other half of Fíli’s cake crumbled in his fingers as the sweetness dissolved on his tongue.

       “Do you like them?” Fíli asked after a gulp.

In answer, Ivy burst into the air, twirling and spinning, sparkles and glowing fragments of pure joy following her flight. She flew in front of him and nodded.

Then suddenly, she laughed at him.

Before Fíli could lift a finger, she came close to him and her cool hands, like little raindrops, cleaned the mess of cake crumbles from his chin. He was amazed, she didn’t seem to mind the coarse hair of his beard on her delicate fingers. Not at all. In fact, if he could hazard a guess, he would have thought she lingered closeby, touching him, for longer than necessary. Unfortunately, she caught herself. Giving a funny salute, she flew back to her spot on the edge of the silver treat tray. Even when she dipped the next small chunk of cake into the jar of honey, her bite stayed intact all the way from the platter to her mouth. It must have been magic, Fíli thought.

       “I think these are extra tasty tonight,” he said, popping the rest of his piece past his lips. Then he leaned down to her. “But very short. Care to help me with these crumbs?” he asked, wriggling his scrunched mouth.

In a blink, she flushed pink from her tiny toes to her forehead. But she laughed and tugged on the braided mustache that swung closest to her.

       “Fine! I’ll do it myself,” he joked, enjoying her ringing giggle.

After a neat little swig of sweet milk, Ivy rose from her seat, holding her belly.

       “All finished?”

She shook her head violently.

       “Just a break then? Good. They’d call for a medic if we sent even a crumb back down to the kitchens. They all know no tray of sweets has ever survived the two of us.”

She glowed and left her spot next to the cakes. As always, she effortlessly identified the most recent bane of Fíli’s existence. It made him wonder if it was Ivy’s magic that helped her do it, or if it was simply a freakish skill. Either way, the moment she left the platter, she headed for the leather bound book Fíli had discarded before her arrival. She tapped the binding with her toe, questioning. But Fíli knew she’d seen it before and the little thing was fishing for a confession.

He also knew he’d been caught.

       “I was just putting it away for the night.”

She sent a glare his way whose meaning was as clear as if the letters were written across her round little nose: Liar.

In truth, Fíli had forgotten all about the book and its contents the moment his fairy made her presence known. It was mystical how quickly his mind moved from hopelessness and exhaustion to joy and wonder whenever Ivy was near. He often asked himself if he had the same effect on her, but had yet to gather the courage to ask.

Her peculiar movement pulled him from his thoughts. She’d squatted down like a dwarf about to lift a cart brimming with stone and with all her might, lifted the book’s heavy leather cover. Then with silent, bare feet, she walked over the title page until she’d flipped the book open.

       “Excuse me,” Fíli said with mock offense. “There are trade secrets in this book, you know. For no one’s view but my own.”

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her finger, pointing to the end of the ribbon bookmark. She twirled her wrist and the light shooting out from under her tidy fingernails sent the pages whipping by as if caught in a windstorm. A moment later, the pages fell flat.

The place left open was riddled with smear marks and ink blotches, scrawled notes and words that had been crossed out with enough force to scratch the next few pages.

Her eyebrow crooked like the roof of a village house, accusing Fíli of the mess.

       “Ruling a kingdom isn’t easy,” he explained with a shrug. “Things get a little… untidy.”

Ivy’s lip quirked and she leaned down to skim her hand across the page under her feet. A rippling wave of fresh magic traveled across the paper from Ivy’s toes out to the corner edges, continuing through the air until it hit Fíli’s nose- that light, unique scent he’d always associated with his fairy. It immediately relaxed him, giving him peace wherever the information hidden in that book stole it away.

When the wave cleared, Fíli saw that his entries were organized anew. The spills and blots had vanished, leaving only what he’d intended in their place. Even his notes were left in the margins, now neat and crisp, with not a thought lost. But Ivy’s work hadn’t stopped at one page. Every section was free of crimps or bends, the cover was dusted and the binding was flawlessly refinished all in one singular moment.

It was astonishing.

       “Oh, Ive,” Fíli said, sighing out the rarely used nickname he had for her. From where he stood, he could see the pages were now smooth and soft as silk and he couldn’t help but touch them, running his comparatively rough fingertips over the center of the open book where the pages met. He took a corner and flipped through the last sheets, listening to the soft flaps that rang through the room- a noise that reminded him of the sound of Ivy’s rustling wings flying toward him. This torturous book was now bright and clean with a fairy’s mark.

The best part, however, was the scent left behind, pooling in its pores- that of magic, of his friend, of her belief in him.

Fíli held out his hand and Ivy flew to it.

       “I don’t think I’ll mind this work as much anymore. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She bowed, flashing her petal skirt with a flourish.

Just as Fíli reached for the neatened pages again, Ivy snapped the book closed with a turn of her wrist, almost trapping his hand inside.

       “Hey!” he laughed, startled from his daze. “I wanted to admire your handiwork!”

Once over her giggles, she planted her fists on her hips and with a demanding stare, pointed to the empty spot in the shelf where the hardcover belonged overnight. A stomp of her foot practically shouted: NOW.

       “All right! I’m putting it away.” He let Ivy dismount onto the silver cake platter and did as he was told, with a dwarfling’s grin wide on his lips. When he’d tucked the book into place, Fíli ran a finger down the soft, faultless binding with a whistle.

       “A craft any dwarf would be proud of.”

When he looked over his shoulder Ivy was watching him- carefully and contently admiring him. Even romantically, if Fíli was brave enough to use the word.

While he had her undivided attention, he winked at her, just as a tease to make her flood that pretty shade of pink. As a retort, she stole a sweet cake from his side of the platter and took a violent bite.

With a chuckle, Fíli plopped into his chair and watched her as he felt the exhaustion sneak into his stubborn muscles and his overstretched mind. He still had a sliver of energy, however, to wonder if his fairy’s glow had grown more intense after this time spent together. He could see it in her eyes. Though they were as dark as fertile soil, they were round and shining in the tireless candlelight she brought to the chambers. And now as she watched him, they were fearless in their gaze and brimming with affection in their softness.

Yet, despite it all, Fíli knew they were both aware that their visit couldn’t last much longer.

She rose and brushed the non existent crumbs from the purple petals of her dress, letting her wings flutter to life.

Fíli straightened in a rush at her movement, saying exactly what had been on his mind in a soft, sleepy voice. “I will never know how you always find a way to comfort me. Somehow, you’ve done it again, my friend. Thank you.”

She beamed, her smile like a crescent moon flipped on its side in the night.

       “Will you visit me again?” Fíli asked.

She nodded.

He leaned to her, taking her tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Please don’t let too much time pass before you do.”

Her beating wings stuttered for a moment and her luminous aureola dimmed. Her twinge of sadness squeezed Fíli’s heart, strangling it like a thirsty vine, and he wished he’d never spoken so selfishly. But before he could take his words back, she fluttered up to his face and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek as her goodbye. Then she smiled, eyes brimming with clear sparkle and so many words unspoken.

With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him to follow her lead across the room. As she did at the end of every visit, she flew in neat ringlets through the air above his bed, dropping warmth, rest, and peace into the furs in the form of glistening sparkles like fresh pollen from her own flora. This ritual of theirs left magic on Fíli’s pillow for days to come. It would give him restful sleep, even with the weight of his kingdom on his shoulders. Her magic even seemed to quell the loneliness that often pulled at his heart. She always left a piece of herself with him.

       “You are far too kind to me, Ive,” Fíli said to her, standing next to the bed, close to her one last time before her departure. “Too generous-”

The blankets below him flew up and covered his head in a magical swoop. A fairy’s doing.

       “Fine! No more compliments!” Fíli cried, untangling himself. “But how am I not to, when you-”

With the covers back where they belonged, he was free to look around the room. The empty room. She’d gone.

In his defeated search for her, he found a gift left for him on his bedside table. A billowing purple flower with feather-like petals reminiscent of her dress sat in the now dim candle light. Curled around the deep green stem was a note that he fumbled to open with his round fingertips. When he pulled it flat, that same scent- the scent of magic, of his fairy- flew to his nose in a flurry and a message was illuminated.

Soon.

***

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[babbushka]

Lightning

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Empress!Reader 

2.8k ; Content Warnings: NSFW (Sub!Kylo, force fucking/force sex, orgasm control, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, face-sitting, masturbation, helmet riding) 

Kinktober Masterlist || Available on AO3

( @contesa-lui-alucard​ this one’s for you!)

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

You had been having the most pleasant of afternoons, until you spotted it. The gouge in the wall on the bridge, smoldering and glowing orange at the edges. There was no doubt in your mind who was responsible for such a dent in the otherwise impenetrable steel – only one person on this star destroyer wielded a lightsaber. The communications staff around you stand with ramrod stiffness in their spines, hands in salute to your excellency, and the display is almost enough to make you want to not lose your temper.

Almost.

Still, the steel melts and oozes onto the floor, and you can feel through the bond you share exactly where he is, how he’s waiting for you in your shared quarters. Your feet carry you there, fists clenched in your leather gloves, itching to teach your husband a lesson.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when you come in, waiting. Of course he is, of course he’s waiting. He could feel you coming from anywhere in the galaxy, with how strong your bond is. So he sits, fully clothed, helmet and all, and he waits for you to come storming through the blast doors of your quarters, for you to make your way through to the bedroom at the far end of the lavish and large suite.

You are radiance personified, with the way your dress accentuates your form, the glittering black swathes of velvet and beaded silk reflecting and absorbing the light. He loves when you wear this particular gown, he loves you.

You love him too, but right now, right now you’re angry.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” You do not stop your sure and steady pace even when entering the bedroom, you march all the way up to him where he is right on the edge of the bed, keep going until you’re straddling his hips and pushing him down harshly onto the mattress, “To stop destroying our ship, hm? We live here Kylo, we have to pay for these repairs.”

He’s already hard, you can feel it. His cock is thick and heavy, hot as it presses through the leather of his trousers and against you. Good, you think, stay hard.

“We’re the commanders of the galaxy, we can afford it.” He can hear the thought, and it excites him, he knows he’s going to get punished, he practically purrs for it.

“That’s not the point and you know it.” You bare your teeth, a display of feral animosity that has Kylo leaking in his pants. You’re the only woman who has ever been able to wrangle him this way, to give him exactly what he needs. You both know that, so you hiss, “You want to rule? Then act like a ruler. Clothes off.”

You get off of him to allow enough room for him to disrobe, his Supreme Leader robes being pulled away from his body and neatly folded on the bed. He knows how you like them orderly, and it wouldn’t do to make you any more aggravated now, so he’s careful so careful.

He reaches for his helmet, but your icy glare sends a spike of chills through him from the bond, and he freezes, stops to look at you.

“(Y/N) – ” He starts, confused for a second, wondering if you’re alright, but you’re slipping out of your own clothes with ease and sharp eyes.

“The helmet stays on.” Is all you say back, and something, something about that makes Kylo’s mouth flood with saliva, his throat struggling to swallow it all down. 

“But I want – ”

“I know what you want, and you don’t get it. Not this time, not until you prove to me that you deserve it.” You’re back in his personal space, crowding him against the mattress, your naked body hot against his. Even in the cold of space, the chill of the star destroyer, you’re so hot.

The thought of him not being able to kiss you sends him immediately into a sense of dread, because kissing you is one of his favorite things. He blinks behind the helmet, and he knows that this is a punishment but he’s already ready to beg.

“How?” His voice hums and thrums around you through his vocoder, the deep dark static music to your ears. “How can I, please, let me, I’m sorry – ”

“No you’re not, don’t lie to me.” Your hand splays out on his helmet as if you were going to grab his jaw the way he loves that you do, and he whimpers, his cock so hard and leaking in a delicious curve against his stomach, desperate to sink into you. “If you were really sorry you’d stop slashing our comm centers to bits.”

Instead of riding him into the ether the way he’s hoping you would, you surprise him by slinking up his body. Behind the visor of his helmet, his eyes widen when you straddle his head instead of his hips, your pussy glistening and devastatingly out of reach.

“What are you doing?” He swallows, voice trembling as one of your hands slides through your folds above him.

“Did I say you could speak?” You snap, and he moans from that, cock oozing all over himself.

His hips buck up against nothing, nothing but the cool air that he wishes were the hot tight clench of your cunt. You finger yourself there, above his face, and he finds himself entranced. He’s seen you before, of course he has, you’ve been together for so long, he’s fucked you just about everywhere in the galaxy – but to watch you like this isn’t something he’s had the opportunity for. He only wishes he weren’t so desperate already, to be able to enjoy it.

Your fingers disappear inside your wet pussy, and he can see your slick starting to thicken and drip, clinging to your fingers. He opens his mouth for it, blinking in shock when he forgets for half a second that he’s wearing the helmet, because when your pussy drips it drips onto his visor, instead of onto his tongue.

“(Y/N) – oh fuck.” He groans, wanting to lick it up, wanting to suck at your clit that he can see is already swelling up.

You’re moaning above him as your own thumb swirls over your clit, making you drip more steadily, spotting his vision. He’s sweating inside the helmet, it’s got ventilation of course but not nearly enough to compensate for how hard he’s breathing. The inside of his visor is begging to steam up, and he’s antsy, he wants to see you, he wants to taste you touch you fuck you he wants to come in and all over you.

“Can I – ” His bare hands flutter to your hips, wanting to feel and grasp at the flesh of your thighs, knead your ass, fuck you on his fingers, but you smack them away.

“No.” You gasp around your own hand as your hips undulate more and more, getting yourself off above him, “No touching, you only get to watch. In fact…”

You decide that you’ve had enough with your fingers, and you pull them away, sucking on them. Kylo can barely breathe when you lower yourself down down down enough so that your pussy is resting on the cold metal of his visor, and you ride his helmet, the ridges of the mouth plate making you moan and gasp and shake around him.

“Ohhh fuck that feels good.” Your hands come up to grasp at your tits, pinching your nipples as you grind yourself down against him, the cold shocking you, making your thighs tremble around him as you let out a long moan of pleasure.

It’s obscene, it’s filthy, the way your slick smears and rubs into his visor, and Kylo cries, he cries because he is so desperate. His hands clench and unclench in the sheets, tearing them to pieces, ripping them to shreds as you fuck yourself against his helmet, grind your throbbing aching clit on his visor. He can barely see through the mess, and he whimpers, wanting wanting wanting you.  

Suddenly, you tense up and Kylo frowns behind the helmet, worried. He doesn’t like not being able to see, wants to know what’s going on, afraid that in his haze of lust somehow he missed that you might be in danger.

“Darling, I said no.” You pant softly, and curious, Kylo dips into your mind, realizing that something is touching you, something invisible and otherworldly and positively rage inducing.

The Force has come to play.

“It’s not me, I swear.” He tells you, and even in your pleasure induced daze, you know what that means.

“Oh?” A spike of adrenaline shoots through you when you feel it again, the prodding, the silent question the universe is asking you. You nod, above Kylo’s body you nod, giving the hands of the infinite the permission it needs to thrust a long hard something inside your wanting pussy, and you shout out an, “Oh!”

The Force does this sometimes, when it can sense through the ether that you’re being pleasured. It is with Kylo always, but sometimes it pays him more careful attention than others. This time, it must have been concerning itself with the breadth of the universe, to miss the beginning of fun you were having together.

But now, The Force wants to join, and you have let it, and Kylo is forced to watch as you wriggle and writhe above his face, as you drip and clench around something unseen. Jealousy rips through him, he wants to be good for you, he wants to do what you say, but as you cry cry cry he cannot help but clench his jaw so hard his teeth creak, because he wants to pleasure you.

You ride his helmet and the Force stimulates your body from the inside out. It thrusts hard into you, pitching you forward, making your tits bounce. Kylo wishes he could see but he can’t, his visor is too smeared now by your sweat and oils and juices as you moan and sob with pleasure. He can see your heat signature from the small panels which pop up inside his helmet, he can see you in shades of redyelloworange writhing and coming, coming all over yourself, all over him, all over the hard tendrils of the Force.

“Kylo!” You gasp out his name when you do, and he groans loud, shouts there behind his helmet, he’s growing so hot, and you are so wet, pussy spasming above him.

“(Y/N),” He pants, hiccupping sobs of want at his own orgasm’s denial, the head of his cock an angry red, his veins protruding and pulsing along his shaft as fire spits in his belly, the muscles in his abs tensing and clenching hard, “I want to come, I’m going to come.”

You shudder around him, around the harsh static that comes through his vocoder.

“No the fuck you’re not.” Your voice is raw, so raw, from all your crying moaning hiccupping shouting, sweat drips down your body in rivulets along the curves of your flesh, and Kylo lets his own sobs bubble up when you reach behind yourself to grasp hard around the base of his cock, stopping an orgasm from coming.

“Please?” His voice breaks, his hips moving faster now, body on fire from your touch. It is an ache, and burn, and he can start to feel the raw untamed power of the dark side flood through his veins, the Force pounding pounding pounding on the inside of his brain the way it pounds inside your pussy.  

“Beg.” The word is barked out around a gasp and Kylo’s mind goes into overdrive, he is so consumed with lust and pleasure, watching your folds move and part ways for something he cannot see, yet he can feel it, can feel it all around you as you ride his helmet.  

“(Y/N) – for fuck’s sake – you’re so, I just, please, please let me, let me touch you let me come in you, on you, I don’t care I’ll do anything.” He blinks through the salty-sting of his own tears, frantic and desperate as you squeeze his shaft again, stopping him from coming again.

You come, and there is a pleasing hum cast throughout the universe, as the Force pulls another and another and another orgasm out of you until you’re nearly brainless. It is unrelenting in the best of ways, Kylo knows that planets as far as the outer rim would be able to feel the ripple of your pleasure.

This isn’t fucking fair. He hisses at the Force, at the very organisms inside his own veins, She’s mine, you can’t have her. You don’t get to have her.

It only fucks you harder in response, until you’re screaming, a scream which echoes across the galaxy.

That seems to be the final straw for him, for your Kylo, because all at once he, half-crazed with love and lust and desire and the burning ugly beast of jealousy shatters through him, he wrestles for command of the Force, a loud shout of effort slicing through the thick haze of your wet bodies slapping together.

Around you, furniture creaks and splinters, the lights go out, glass cracks and flies in dangerous shards in the air. There are explosions down the corridor, alarm bells ring, troopers race to the impeding attack – not realizing it is all from him, all from Kylo as he uses the energy from the sun which he stores in the deepest part of his mind to pull the Force into submission.

“Kylo!” You snap out of it all, chest heaving as you move yourself off of his face, scrambling to reach for the latch of his helmet. “Are you okay darling?”

You wrench it off his face and throw it to the side, letting it fall to the steel floors with a harsh thunk, and you caress the sides of his face, leaning in to kiss him.

With the helmet gone he cries, because you are so beautiful, so magnificent. He can see you clearly, can hear you can smell you, and the sensations are so overwhelming that the destruction around your bedroom does not stop.

“Yes I just – fuck I – ” He’s out of his mind with desire for you, and you don’t want to deny him any longer.

“Take me, I’m yours, take me.” You roll yourself so he can be on top of you the way he so desperately craves, and you moan his name with your ruined voice when his cock slips in easily after all your orgasms.

Your come welcomes him, slicks his cock up, and he moves harsh and rough and fast and deranged almost, the power of the dark side turning his eyes, the brown replaced with the deep dangerous red orange that has you coming again, because oh he is magnificent when he is like this, when lightning crackles at his fingertips where the energy just cannot be contained.

“Thank you, (Y/N), thank you.” He sobs into your neck, his hips rutting hard against you, until he comes, comes so hard that the power in the entire sector of the ship blows out, as he blows his load in your cunt.

“I love you Kylo, you’re so good for me, you did so well.” You’re numb, pleasure numb and weak and limp around him when he finally lets himself relax, when he comes and comes and comes inside you, filling you up in a way that the Force simply can’t.

He has won that battle, and he knows he will always win it.

“I did?” He looks at you with such adoration, worship, that the praise squeezes more come from his body and pushes it into you with a thick wet squelch that has him dizzy. He feels like he could die.

He feels like the most powerful thing in the universe, with you underneath him.

“Mhm, you lasted so long, I’m impressed, you’ve done so well.” You card your fingers through his sweat soaked hair, kissing him, kissing him and sliding your tongues together in a way that sends joy through the whole of the universe through your bond. You whisper against his lips and cry against his cheeks, so fucked and blissed out that you simply can’t help it, “I love you, darling boy, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He absorbs it, absorbs everything you give him, lets himself have it, lets himself have you.

You both are in a state of utter ecstasy, bodies sore and pulsing with pleasure, and somehow, somehow in the depths of your stomach you bubble up with laughter, and Kylo doesn’t know how he has the energy to smile along with you, but he does, especially when you kiss him and laugh with your whole self into his mouth and say,

“Now stop destroying our fucking ship.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 45

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut in this chapter

Loki, despite being raised in a royal family, was at heart a man of simple pleasures. What more could he want from life than what he already had? 

The Edge was a place of wonders, that much was indisputable. And even if not all of them were easy to enjoy, there were still moments worth living for. 

The stars above felt closer than the last time Loki paid attention to them. Galaxies swirled in their eternal dance, the stars bright and colorful. Here, at the edge of the known universe, one had to wonder what laid beyond it. Here, it didn't feel far at all.

But even though some part of him couldn't stop the curiosity, Loki was tired of adventures. Or at least the ones where he had to risk his life and others'. Years ago, he'd have been surprised any 'others' would choose to stick with him and stay by his side despite it all. It was still a strange, new concept that baffled him whenever he realised how comfortable he’d grown in his new life. How vastly different it was from what he had predicted his future to look like.

But it was okay, Loki concluded. If life wanted to surprise him in that way, he'd allow it. 

Loki closed his eyes. The wind gathered the sweet scent of flowers, blowing it through the lush gardens, overflowing with life. It was one of the many wonders of the Edge - how capable it was of change. How easy it was for the muddy creeks to turn into crystal-clear ponds. How the dry patches of grass could turn into fields of greenery and flowers. How the gnarled trees could turn into a forest thrumming with noise and movement. 

All of it for a price paid in blood and ash. 

Loki's hand brushed his throat, where he had still felt the ghosts of pain. 

It was over, Loki had to remind himself again. The mission was over and they were all leaving the Edge soon. There were other, better, things to focus on. He should think about how soft the grass was as he laid on the field. How warm you felt, pushed into his side and wrapped in his cape. How peaceful it was among the trees, with birds singing somewhere in the distance-

"Don't ya fucking LICK that frog, Peter, or I swear on your aunt, I'll-" 

"It smells like carrots!" 

"It doesn't mean you have to- oh my god… This is the last time I abduct you." 

Loki smiled. The birds were no longer singing, or at least not through the deafening ringing in his ear, but he didn't mind. He didn't mind that life at all. 

He heard rushed steps to his left moments before the boy reached him. Loki cracked one eye open. 

The fattest, most annoyed, orange frog he had ever seen flopped from the boy's hands, all six legs dangling loose. 

Peter's smile was brighter than the countless stars overhead. "Look what I found, Mr. Mischief! There were more of them, and in different colors too!" 

The frog burped. It indeed smelled of carrots. 

Loki closed his eye. "What does it taste like?" 

"Like a frog, unfortunately…"

"You should check out the other ones." 

"Okay!" 

And before he knew it, the boy was gone. The thicket shook. A few faeries rushed away, desperately flapping their translucent wings. 

"He's gonna lick all the frogs now," you grumbled from your cocoon. "He's gonna be sick." 

"I can heal him." 

"How nice of you. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." 

"What can I say, darling? I'm a generous god." 

"So in all your godly wisdom you told the boy to go lick some frogs?" 

"Let him have some fun." 

You turned your head to face him. Loki was looking at the stars overhead. Dark bruises peeked from under his collar. Magical aftershock, he had called them when he had explained why they didn't disappear despite his healing. They'd stay for a while, he said. A small price to pay. 

"I'm glad it's over," you said quietly. 

"So am I." 

"Do you think…," you licked your lips. "Is it okay for us to just lay here and enjoy this change?" 

The Edge took a shape that was so vastly different that it still seemed like a miracle. The balance was indeed a precarious thing there, no flicker of energy ever wasted. The land replenished, bringing to life things that made you admit that magic could be beautiful. 

Still, you couldn't forget where all this energy came from. How the Queen had delayed her own fading by killing so many others.

"We did what we could," Loki understood your worry too well. "It is beyond us to change the laws of these lands and their dwellers. Harsh as this might feel to us, this is what life looks like here. All this," he gestured to the shimmering forest around, "is what the Edge was always supposed to be like, if the order of things had been kept."

"Wise words coming from an outsider."

You unfurled from Loki's cape so fast you almost ripped it from beneath him. The Prince was standing at the edge of the clearing the three of you chose to spend your final hours at. He was wearing a robe in distinct shades of silver, the pattern covering the fine fabric meandering within the eye-catching lines. It was the most vivid thing you'd ever seen him wear, the shine of the metal pieces razor-sharp.

The Prince wasn't looking at you. "I have lived for so long I couldn’t remember how my own world was supposed to be. How strange it was to see it wither throughout the centuries despite the Queen's fading supposedly filling out the essence lacking. How strange it was for so many Rifts to form and plague our lands. How peaceful it had become now…"

Loki and you exchanged glances, but kept quiet. The Prince kept his hands clasped behind his back, but you couldn't forget them drenched in blood.

During the silence after the Prince's words, Peter came back from whatever he had occupied himself with and likely annoyed whatever creature he managed to find. He took one look at the visitor and disappeared between the trees again. He was a smart boy, after all. 

"We are glad this issue is resolved at last," Loki said carefully. 

"So am I." 

The Prince nodded to himself. His eyes were cold and distant. You wondered how long one had to live to forget their own past. 

And how long it'd take the Prince to vanish, now that the weight of fading had fallen to him. 

"The body of your ambassador is being prepared for the transport," he said at last before leaving the clearing. He did not take the path towards the palace, though. Loki and you watched him disappear between the trees, walking slowly among the flowers in full bloom. You couldn't help but wonder if he was reminiscing, or creating fresh memories. 

The air tasted like ash in your mouth. 

"I think I prefer spiders." 

Loki shushed you. "Don't bring bad luck. I want to leave this place in one piece." 

"Oh? And where would you rather be?" you asked as you laid back down on the soft grass. 

"Somewhere nice and quiet, but I'm open to suggestions," Loki purred into your ear, bringing you close to his chest. 

"Then I'm sure my little surprise will be to your liking."

Loki stilled. "A what?" 

"You'll have to be patient. We're here, so I'm not sure what's going on on Earth, but I think it should be ready when we're back."

Loki's mind was overflowing with all the possibilities and ideas. He went over your past conversations, trying to piece together whatever hints you might have given him. "Should I guess?"

"I'm not telling you anything. You have to wait." 

Loki did not want to wait, but his options were limited. 

By the time you were to leave the Edge, he was no closer to finding out what you had planned. The three of you waited patiently on the same balcony you had arrived on all those weeks ago. It hadn't felt that long, probably because of how much had happened since then. 

Roses climbed high over the stone walls of the palace, their flowers heavy and blooming. Petals rained down, picked off by the wind and taken away. 

The ambassador's body was wrapped in silk and bound tight, ready to be taken to his birthplace at last. 

"Do you think he found out what the Queen had been doing?" you asked quietly. 

"He might've been suspicious enough to look for all those ancient scrolls in the library and pieced together the facts," Loki said. 

"And the Queen didn't let him spill her secret." 

Peter frowned. "So… she was the bad guy, right?" 

If only things were so easy. 

"Often, there's no good or bad," Loki said, looking at the roses. "There are just things that'll hurt you more than the others, and the things that'll hurt others but save you the pain. Everything is a matter of choice. And values." 

The three of you watched the Bifrost open and swallow the remains of the ambassador. Only he would be allowed on the grounds of Asgard that day, at least officially. No hint of emotion could be noticed on Loki's face as he watched the flash of light disappear. You took his hand. 

Out of the shadows of one of the towers came the Prince, entering the balcony from the side of the river, shimmering far below. He was alone, no guards following his steps. You wondered how many of them were left. 

"Looks like this is farewell," he said in a deep voice. 

"We are glad we could help," Loki lied smoothly. 

There were no words left to exchange. It was clear that whatever would happen now to this place was way beyond either of your control. 

No amount of evidence could ever make you trust the Prince, though. 

The light surrounded you in a flash of colors, pulling on each and every fiber of your being. Loki tugged you into his side, Peter sticking himself to his other. 

The feeling of being ripped to atoms and then roughly put back into shape half a galaxy away was almost familiar by now. Still, it was no more bearable than the previous times and left you with a mild dizziness once your form materialized back on Earth. 

You'd never laugh at people clapping after plane landings again. 

The sudden change of the surroundings hit you with a cold blast of winter chill and sun, although its light was diluted through the clouds. It was strange not to see the galaxies in the reach of your hand. 

What was even stranger was seeing Thor calmly standing at the top of the Stark Tower, where the three of you had been transported to. 

"I think I prefer the bag," Peter mumbled, dangerously green on his face. 

Thor approached you with a frown that, Loki knew, had never led to anything good. At least not for him. Brotherly love could be rough at times. 

"So, you're back," he said, openly eyeing the kid. "How did it go? Are we at war?" 

"We're all good, thanks for your concern," you cooed sweetly. 

"The Edge was never more beautiful than when we left it," Loki smiled. 

Thor took a steadying breath. "...is it in ruin?" 

You thought back to the slightly devastated great hall of the palace. And the gardens still dealing with the aftermath of a spider infestation. 

"I just told you it's not! Why do you always accuse me of lying, brother? I'm deeply hurt by your lack of trust." 

"It's the safer option," Thor said. "As glad as I am to learn that the crisis is apparently solved, I dare ask what is the boy doing with you?" 

Peter blanched. 

Loki pushed him off the roof. "What boy?" 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw not-a-boy swinging off into the city as fast as his webs allowed him. 

The second steadying breath helped Thor even less than the first one. There was a tiny little vein pulsing at his temple, threatening to burst along with his temper. 

Loki patted Thor's arm on his way to the stairs. "Don't worry, brother. We took care of everything."

"That's precisely why I worry." 

You sent him a kiss as you followed Loki. It didn't seem to be appreciated enough. 

You couldn't believe you were back on Earth. The change that felt huge before, only grew with each step you took down the Tower's familiar corridors. The kitchens, the day rooms, training grounds - it all felt so strangely unreal after the weeks living among the shifting, feral magic of the Edge. 

"It's good to be back," you said at precisely the moment Bruce Banner appeared on the other end of the corridor leading through the labs. 

Bruce froze, his eyes growing wide. He, apparently, had a dramatically different opinion about your coming back. 

He shifted nervously on his feet, but there was no escape. "So, uh… How did it go?" 

Loki pretended to think. "Well, don't expect to see the real moon anytime soon." 

The look on Bruce's face was worth a pic, but your phone had been left in your room before the mission. 

"It really is good to be back," Loki repeated your earlier words sometime later, once the door to your room closed behind your back. 

Not much seemed to have changed, which was strangely reassuring. Loki wasn't sure what his feelings were towards the small figurine of his unnerving similarity were, but even its sight was not unwelcome. It still stood on the narrow and slightly dusty windowsill, covered in the snow on the other side of glass. 

But there was one thing out of order that immediately caught Loki's attention. As far as he was concerned, the neat stack of business cards on the bedside table was not there last time, as well as the not-so-neat single one, with hand painted spider and a set of what could be horns, if one squinted hard enough. 

'thought it would be cool' said the little note scribbled with a gel pen. 

"And what is that?" Loki asked, picking it up. 

"Part of the surprise." 

"'Professional mischief for an affordable price'," Loki read out loud. "Sounds like a catchphrase of some detective agency, like the ones from the shows you showed me."

Loki thought about what he just said. He looked at you with a frown. 

"Only if you want it to," you shrugged with a little smile ghosting over your lips. 

Loki blinked. "You're actually serious." 

"I thought it would be nice if we had something of our own. You know, outside of this mess," you pointed towards the door, currently being banged with a fist from the other side. Two voices demanded to know 'everything about that damn moon'. 

Loki looked back at the neat stack of cards. The thick paper was pleasant to the touch. 

"You said it was only part of the surprise?" 

"How glad I am you asked, love." 

Loki watched you pick up your coat and gloves. You opened the large window to the left, letting the alarmingly chill air inside. "Shall we?" 

One more voice joined the ones behind the door. Loki could not see into the future, but he had a feeling that door would be the most occupied place in the Tower soon. 

"That's a lovely idea," he said and picked you up. 

The burst of magic solidified under his feet as the two of you left the Tower and all the people looking for you. 

The sun was slowly setting. It was not late, but as always during the winter time, day hours were sparse. You were high enough in the air for the pedestrians not to notice you, but even then, what would they do? Tony had been flying around in his suit on a daily basis, and wouldn't hear anyone having a problem with that. 

The wind pushed rogue snowflakes into your faces. It felt refreshing to be back in the city you were so familiar with. Everything seemed new and wondrous, especially from such a perspective. Even plane flights couldn't do it justice, not when you couldn't feel the breeze in your face, and clouds passing by so closely you could almost reach out to them with a hand. 

Loki changed course when you directed him to the older part of the city. It was still relatively close to the centre, but no skyscrapers, and certainly no towers could be found in the neighborhood of old brick apartments; only buildings a few floors high, and narrow lawns separating their fronts and the road, both currently covered in snow. No one bothered to take care of it, at least since it last fell. 

Loki put you down in front of the one you pointed him to. 

"I must admit I'm surprised," Loki said. "I'd never expect to come to a place like this, for whatever reason." 

"You don't even know why we're here yet." You led him up the ice-covered stairs to the scarcely lit interior stairwell. 

You ignored the apartments on the lowest floor, and instead took him upstairs. With a set of keys you fished out of your jacket, and which Loki dimly remembered you grabbing before leaving the Tower, you opened the door with a number 13 on it. 

"You're not superstitious, right?" you laughed quietly. 

Feeling you observe him carefully, Loki stepped inside. The short hall led to a room that once upon a time could've been someone's office. But that was a long time and a few crises ago, when the furniture was free of the scratches, and the walls didn't shed old paint every time seasons changed. Still, it had its charm, Loki had to admit as he stepped further in. If cleaned, the large window could allow a lot of light onto the heavy desk in front of it, and to the sitting area with two couches and a coffee table. To the right, Loki noticed another set of stairs, leading upwards. 

"The upper part is connected. The previous owner used it as an apartment, with this here being his working area," you explained. 

Loki nodded. 

"What do you think?" you elbowed him in the side, too nervous to wait patiently. 

Loki sat on one of the couches. Oh, he could definitely feel the atmosphere of this place, so similar to the crime shows you had made him binge (and he didn't even whine about too much). He had never thought of himself as a detective, not like the ones on TV, but on the other hand - who on Earth could be better at solving any and all supernatural secrets this planet might still have? There certainly didn't seem to be a lot of competition in that area. 

He was still contemplating his future and, of course, possible fame, when you slipped onto his lap and cupped his face. 

"What. Do you. Think?," you asked clearly, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't make me wait, asshole."

A lazy, satisfied smile creeped on Loki's face - precisely the one he knew always drove you crazy. 

"I'm still unsure, darling," he drawled, leaning further back onto the couch and reveling in the feeling of having you pressed against him. "For some very strange reason, I can't make up my mind just yet…" 

The setting sun painted golden patterns on your face. Your hand wandered over Loki's chest, and stopped over his racing heart. However much he tried to stop it, his heart had always been the one to betray his every emotion. 

"That's such a shame," you leaned into his neck, pushing his head to the side. "I would do anything to make it easier for you…" 

Loki's hands slipped to your thighs, holding you steady against him. His fingers shook when he felt your lips follow the curve of his neck, right over his rapid pulse. He closed his eyes as you slowly worked on undoing his shirt. 

"Anything you do will be enough," his words were breathy and quiet.

"Are you sure?" 

"I can't think of a single thing I wouldn't let you do to me right now." 

You certainly were enjoying yourself just as much, given the smile ghosting over Loki's collarbone, and the trail of kisses going slowly down. Loki's grip tightened over your legs, his breath becoming shorter the further you went. He felt the heat rising deep inside his chest, just as his thoughts turned murkier with each small movement of your hips, brushing unnervingly close to where he had wanted them to, but still not-

A strangled sound escaped his throat. Loki pushed the coat off your shoulders and threw it to the side, not caring where it landed. He had other things on his mind, and one of them included his hands diving under your shirt, and roaming over your back, so wonderfully warm. 

Loki shivered when you brushed over his bulge, earning you a breathless moan as you worked on his belt. 

"I think I'm starting to warm up to this place," he muttered into your lips. His fingers tugged on your trousers, as impatient as yours. 

You drank in the sounds that came from him. You stroked his shaft gently, brushing your thumb over its underside. He shuddered in your grip, tense to the point of near pain. Loki's nails dug into the skin of your back as you rose and then sank onto him, taking him in an unnervingly slow pace. 

His heart thundered in his chest as you rode him gently, the sight engraving itself into Loki's memories - those deepest, most secretive ones, which he often came back to to relive and thoroughly enjoy. 

The couch kept creaking under the two of you, growing louder as your moves became sloppier and more desperate. Loki couldn't help his hips from grinding into yours every time you rose above him, chasing the pleasure and getting close to it. Loki's thrusts became erratic. His hands gripped your ass when you leaned closer, hitting just the right spot-

He came, shivering under your touch, waves of pleasure shooting through his body. 

"Sorry," he muttered, his voice hoarse. He could already feel the redness blooming over his cheeks. He didn't think he'd be done so soon, hadn't planned it…

You shut him up with a kiss, brushing the hair plastered to his forehead to the side. Your hips rolled over his a few more times, riding him into the couch and melting his bones as you extended the feeling. 

"It's okay," you said. "We have all the time in the world now." 

Loki nodded, words failing him. He brought you closer to his chest, his arms closing around you in a tight embrace as he burrowed his face into the crook of your neck. For a few moments, the only thing he could think about was that home wasn't always a planet, or a building. Sometimes, on those few rare, and incredibly lucky occasions, it could be a person. 

And it was more than enough. 

"I love this place," Loki admitted quietly. 

[chalametdarling]

T.C. fluff:  Being Timothée’s co-star in an upcoming romantic drama, and having a long weekend off together to explore the coastal European city you’re filming in

“Wow, this is beautiful.” You hugged your rolled-up towel close to your chest, the view of a crowded beach, sparkling crystal blue water and colourful umbrellas lining the sand awaiting you. 

“Oui, c’est très beau,” Timothee agreed, playfully nudging your shoulder, guiding you to follow him down onto the sand. You slipped off your shoes and the two of you began meandering through the endless sea of warm sand and towels, eventually finding vacant real estate between a young family and a group of women bathing in the sun. It was Timothee’s idea to explore the French town you were filming in together while you had a few days off, and as you laid down your towel, and Timothee retrieved containers of strawberries and savoury biscuits from his backpack, you couldn’t believe you’d thought of spending your Friday any other way. 

You talked and ate and waded into the water, splashing each other and jumping over waves. And when you weren’t doing that, you alternated between reading your script and a novel while Timothee laid on his stomach, headphones on, head resting on his arms.   You couldn’t quite tell behind his sunglasses, but judging by how you’d finished reading an entire chapter and he hadn’t moved a muscle, you assumed he’d fallen asleep. Under the sun block and daylight, his pale skin seemed to glow. His hair a perfectly messy mop, grains of sand nestled into the ends of his curls. Timothee really did have perfect features. You could objectively see that now that you were really looking at him. Bold eyebrows poking over the tops of his sunglasses, strong nose, angelic lips- “You staring at me?” You quickly looked out towards the water, resting your chin onto your knees and hugging your legs. “No, just checking if you were awake.” He rolled over, stretching out. “I am now.” Checking the time on his watch, he added, “Shit. We’ve been here for hours.” He reached out and picked up one of the few remaining uneaten strawberries by its stalk while you packed away your books into your bag. “Do you feel like getting dinner?” he asked, tossing the leafy remains into the pile you’d made as you ate.   “Yes,” you eagerly nodded your head. Laying out on the sand all day really worked up your appetite. Already feeling drowsy from the fresh air and too much sun, you followed Timothee’s lead from the shore to the row of bars and cafes lining the beach. He led you inside the doors of a quaint pub; one hand holding the door open, the other on the small of your back. A live band was set up on the raised stage towards the back, playing acoustic French music for those enjoying meals and post-work drinks. You found a seat at the bar, sharing bread and wine, your heart swelling the more time you spent learning the workings of Timothee’s mind. You could’ve sat all night with your chin in the palm of your hand, listening to him rattle on about his favourite directors and film theories and character studies, then abruptly stop himself with an embarrassed laugh, running his palms down his thighs. “Anyway,” he laughed, shaking his head. He finished his drink, then tuned into the DJ who’d since replaced the initial band. “Wanna dance?” Several drinks in and hours of dancing later, you were still on the dance floor with a drink in hand.  As the night went on, every time your head spin subsided, Timothee was either dragging you through the crammed bodies back over to the bar or replacing empty glasses in your hand with overflowing cups of alcohol. After the fourth glass exchange, you put an arm around his neck to pull his ear down to be level with your lips. While your thoughts were still somewhat coherent, your words were a little slurred. “Timmy, maybe you should slow down a bit.” As you were speaking, the ABBA remix playing faded into Kid Cudi, and you watched as your words fell onto deaf ears. Timothee’s face lit up and he shouted, “FUCK YEAH!” raising his free arm above his head. Your eyes followed his movements as he sang along to every word, big grin on his face, never stopping to breath; only pausing for a sip of his drink.   Before you knew what was happening, your back was against the wall and Timothee’s lips on yours. But just as quickly as he had kissed you, he was pulling back, flicking his hair back and shouting the next lyric through a tipsy grin. As the chorus started for a second time, he caught sight of you watching him, wide eyed and in a daze, and set his empty glass down as you reached to grab his waist. He stepped in to kiss you again; this time harder, longer and deeper.   The remainder of the night became hazier and hazier; only blurred visions of licking salt off the back of your hand and clinking shot glasses, jumping and spinning around the dance floor, and your fingers getting caught in Timothee’s salty curls remained. * An instant ache shot through the middle of your forehead as you blinked your eyes open, and you groaned. Sheer confusion washed over you, your mind unable to piece together where you were or what day it was, until you spotted a familiar black backpack against the wall and a bottle of cologne on the dresser. Ah, Timothee’s place. Timothee’s bed, to be specific. Slowly rolling over and rubbing your eyes to look behind you, you discovered you had the bed to yourself. The other side was practically untouched, blankets still tucked under the mattress. A door creaked open, and Timothee emerged from the adjoining bathroom, dragging his feet behind him. Seeing you were awake, he changed course and climbed onto the intact side of the bed, mumbling out, ‘Morning’ in a deep, soft voice. He sat with his back to you, and the one hand cradled to your chest itched to reach forward and trace down his spine. You weren’t sure where the urge came from. Maybe because of the way his hooded eyes, drunk on tequila and European air, remained locked on yours for hours last night. How his strawberry lips sponged kisses on your cheek and neck as you waited at the bar. How his hands had so delicately clasped around your cheeks when he kissed you for real over and over and over again. It would’ve been so easy to push back the covers, walk your fingers across the mattress; to drag them up and down his back or affectionately twist the ends of his hair. But Timothee was leaning back against his pillows to lie down beside you before you could muster up the courage to do so. With interlaced fingers resting on his bare chest, he looked over to you. “How did we get home last night?” You yawned, nestling further down into the pillows. “We walked, remember?” “Oh, shit.” Timothee nodded, pursing his lips with a hum. “I feel like shit.” “You drank a lot last night,” you said softly. He licked his lips, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck.” He stayed like that for a few moments, rubbing his face, and you wondered if he’d forgotten anything else from the previous night.   “I should probably go back to mine.” He dropped his hands back to his chest, looking over again, voice gentle as he spoke. “You can stay if you want.” “No, I should go and have a shower,” you told him, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out. Timothee’s fingertips ghosted over your neck with a small smile, and you instinctively moved your head back from under his sudden touch. “What?” He shook his head, bringing his hand back to its resting place on his chest, eyes still lazily drooped as he enquired about your plans for the rest of the evening. You pushed yourself up to sit against the headboard, your hand subconsciously hovering over the spot Timothee’s had just been. “You know we have work on Monday, right? I’d like to read my lines at least once before then.” After pointing out you brought your script out with you the previous say, he added, “You have all of Sunday for that.”   You pursed your lips with a sigh. He rolled over, holding his head up with his hand. “Come on, y/n.” You evidently didn’t need much convincing, because a few hours later, you were meeting Timothee for ice cream. Desserts in hand, you found a small table outside the ice cream parlour, shaded from the orange glow of late afternoon sun by an umbrella. The two of you sat looking out at the streets, sunglasses hiding both of your dark, hungover eyes, observing the strangers passing by. And when you had the chance, you stole glances at the boy sitting across from you. When you met him out the front of the hotel, his formerly dry, sandy hair was now shiny, the ends still a little damp. He smelled fresh when you hugged him, and his jumper was soft on your cheek. He’d complimented your turtle neck top, which reminded you… “By the way,” you said, pulling Timothee’s attention from the open roads to you, “I’m not too happy with you, Timothee.” He frowned, taking another lick of his ice cream. “What the fuck did I do?” You teasingly held his stare. “Oh, I don’t know,” you said, pulling down the high neck of your top to reveal your purple stained skin. A shy smile overtook Timothee’s face and he shrugged, laughing awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry?” “Funny is it?” you mused, sliding your sunglasses down your nose to look over the frames at him. Timothee licked his melting ice cream, then said, “No, but now that you mention it, y/n, I’m mad at you too.” You slid your glasses all the way off, placing them down on the table. “Really? Why’s that?” Timothee, with a cocky smile, tugged down the chunky collar of his sweater, revealing a light bruise at the very base of his neck. You instinctively lowered your face and hid your eyes behind your free hand. “Oh my god.” Through the cracks between your fingers, you saw him smiling, bringing his cone back up to his mouth. “Forgot about that, did you?”   Dropping your hands with a laugh, you reached forward, using your thumb to push back his collar again and run your thumb over the mark you left on his pale skin. “Sorry,” you mumbled with a little pout. With an exaggerated sigh, looking up to make eye contact with Timothee, you added, “What is wrong with us?” He laughed, putting his hand on your wrist and running his thumb over your skin. “It’s alright. I forgive you.” You shook your head in mock disapproval, but there was a buzzing in your chest as you felt his lingering eyes and warm skin on yours.   You strolled back to the hotel in comfortable silence. Despite being a bundle of nerves, it was nice being with him. He made you think, and he made you feel. A man adorned in a billowing linen shirt sat on the side of the street, guitar in hand, singing a sombre tune. You slowed down along with the few other strangers who had paused to listen to the man’s song, Timothee a few paces behind you, taking his sunglasses off as he slowed. A few moments passed, and Timothee leaned down from his place behind you so that he could speak softly in your ear. “He’s singing about his lover.” Timothee paused to listen to the next line. “He doesn’t want to live without them… he feels empty… and sick… he- he’s waiting for her but… he knows she’s gone for good.” Turning over your shoulder, you pouted up at Timothee, who reciprocated the expression. “That’s so sad.” Timothee nodded. His hair flopped over his cheek, and you noticed his eyes sparkling in the golden cast of evening light. Over his shoulder, a couple held each other, longingly looking into each other’s eyes, tenderly touching each other’s cheeks. As a loaded weight settled on your chest, you looked back up at Timothee. The space between his eyebrows slightly creased and he smiled. “What?” Clicking your tongue against your teeth, and shaking your head, you answered, “Nothing.” You both knew it wasn’t nothing. With a sigh, you snuck your hand between his arm and body, grabbing onto his forearm to lead him away. “Alright, I only agreed to ice cream. Let’s go.” It was quiet when you got to your floor of the hotel, so you tried to be as silent as possible climbing the stairs, so other guests weren’t disturbed. You and Timothee were work colleagues, and friends, and his room was only ten steps further down the hall, and you were almost positive that you’d definitely be seeing him again the next day; but as he lingered by your door as you rummaged in your bag for your key, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad you were saying goodbye. Once you retrieved your key, you looked up at him with a smile. “Alright,” you said softly. “This is where I leave you.” Timothee stood by your door, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes stuck on your face. He wasn’t budging, and you weren’t game enough to break first. His messy curls flopped over his eyes again, and you pushed them back behind his ears. He held onto your wrist, slowly lowering it down to your sides. Relationships with colleagues could get messy. Everybody knew that. What does this mean for us? The words were caught in your throat. You wanted to ask; to say it out loud. But you couldn’t bring yourself to form them. Why couldn’t you just be okay with enjoying the moment? Timothee inched his head closer to yours slowly, almost unsure if it was okay. You kept your eyes lowered. “Timothee,” you whispered. “Yes,” he whispered back, resting his forehead on yours. You slowly shook your head. “I can’t.” “Why?” You didn’t respond right away, eyes still focused towards the ground, and he nudged the side of your nose with his, then pulled back from you. “Hmm?” You sighed, closing your eyes and lifting your face to his. Very slowly, he took the sides of your face into his hands. Static in the air charged your movements as his lips grazed against yours. Somehow, you simultaneously had both a million things to say, yet nothing at all. You settled on hugging him, chin resting over his shoulder. It was nice hugging him; to have him holding you close. “Good night, Timmy,” you muttered, eventually breaking free. “Good night,” he said in reply, hands sliding out from around your waist. With tingling lips, you stood up on your toes for a second to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth once more. You unlocked your door, and while slipping inside your room, you looked over one last time at Timothee smiling. “Good night.”

[justapoet]

Infinity times infinity

For years, it lost its magic. Looking up was just useless and he was happy to avoid more questions without answers because those related to the Earth itself were already exhausting enough to keep him awake at night. And, then, TK happened.

or

Carlos loves stars, and he, somehow, found them inside of the most beautiful irises he's ever seen.

2.2k

read on AO3

There's something about the nights that makes Carlos's mind feel light and peaceful. Since he was a child, even more as a teenager, he'd sit on his parent's house's balcony and stare at the sky for hours until his father called him back in, so he wouldn't mess up his sleep schedule too much.

Yet, he'd spend most nights looking out his window thinking; about the stars and the most random things. He'd spend sleepless nights naming constellations and trying to remember the myth behind each one, explaining to his own shadow under the silver glow of the moon. His cellphone used to always have notes and pictures of planets and galaxies, his calendar always marking the nights and days when some astronomic event would happen so he could convince his mother to let him stay awake the whole night.

When he joined the police academy, though, he stopped thinking about it. Carlos didn't even notice when he stopped looking up, but somehow, when he did, it started to make his neck ache enough for him to give up soon. He didn't search for constellations or planets anymore and no longer knew when it would happen a meteor shower or a red moon, and his cellphone's gallery also didn't have pictures of anything related to space.

For years, it lost its magic. Looking up was just useless and he was happy to avoid more questions without answers because those related to the Earth itself were already exhausting enough to keep him awake at night.

And, then, TK happened. After years without looking up, there was TK Strand, who would drive him crazy and make him come up with more questions without a single answer and sometimes without even a question mark, making him doubt all of his steps and sentences. Then, all of a sudden, there was this beautiful firefighter with terrible luck, a gorgeous smile, and the most beautiful eyes Carlos has ever seen in his twenty-seven years of life.

TK happened and, somehow, looking up and forward didn't seem to ache anymore.

Oh, well; if being honest, TK happened, and looking down was way more painful when they were riding an ambulance with a bleeding wound on TK's abdomen and sirens blaring on the streets. Seeing the pain clouding those pretty eyes hurt way too much and, yet, he needed to ― someone needed to keep him awake.

"C'mon, babe; you have to keep your eyes open. You know the drill" Carlos said again, probably for the fifth time in five minutes. "Keep your beautiful eyes open for me, uh?"

"'ou like m'eyes?" TK grumbled. Carlos hummed in agreement. "Why?" his voice was low and full of pain, and he winced as Tommy touched close to the wound. Carlos squeezed the paramedic's hand in his, smiling quite embarrassed.

"There's this, uh... Planetary nebula, a young one. It's called Butterfly Nebula because of its wing-like appearance, a few more than three thousand light-years from us ― from Earth ―, on the Scorpio constellation" he started, shyly. His words caught TK's attention immediately, those big green eyes, even filled with pain, focused on Carlos' worried and beautiful face. Tommy, beside them, seemed to be curious, too, about where the conversation was going.

"It's one of the most complex planetary nebulas ever found, you know?" he asked, smiling little. "And the colors seem to change, too. Some pictures of it show us a dark nebula with points of light, some red, blue, and a lot of shades of orange" TK frowned, and Carlos could tell that this time, it wasn't because of the pain, but because he couldn't understand how it was related to his eyes. "My favorite thing about it is that it always, in every single picture, has shades of green light close to the center of it and on its edges"

Carlos chuckled a little when both Tommy and TK let out an "oh" with a sigh. He looked at their entangled hands before starting to speak again.

"I used to think that, if I looked through a telescope, as a kid, I'd be able to see it," he said, smiling nostalgically. "My father would tell me it was impossible and it would only give me an aching neck, and my mother would say that some things are just out of reach" he shrugged before looking up again, meeting those unfairly green eyes. "Turns out they were both wrong"

TK pressed his lips together, and Carlos could tell that there were new tears in his boyfriend's eyes in a second. The beeping sound around them went a little faster, and Tommy turned her head and smiled towards them both, focusing on Carlos for a second. He blushed, knowing that it was TK's heart racing for what he'd just said.

They got to the hospital minutes later, and Carlos was left in the same waiting room he always ended up in as they carried TK away to another surgery. He let a few tears fall before trying to breathe steadily again, his leg bouncing with anxiety brought by the uncertainty. No matter how many times he ended up there with the same questions and situations, he could never calm his heart and mind down until he had a concrete answer, and Carlos knew well enough that he wouldn't have it for a few hours.

When, hours later, they were all allowed to check up on TK ― the team had arrived after their shift ended ―, Carlos stood close to the window as his boyfriend drifted back to sleep. He looked up at the sky that night and counted constellations until a nurse came in to check the man's vitals. Then, he sat back at the bedside and took TK's hand in his, spending another sleepless night counting the dots on TK's arm.

From that day on, he'd find himself constantly looking up when the sunset on the horizon gave the sky away to the moon. He could tell TK was curious, slightly worried about Carlos' silence most nights, so the cop would just hold tight to him and kiss him slowly. TK didn't complain about that ― he could never ―, and he didn't ask either. Carlos mentally thanked him for that, otherwise, he wouldn't know what to tell his boyfriend.

It was nostalgic, now, to sit on his balcony and look up at the dark skies above him. It was a Friday night, both TK and him out of a twenty-four-hour shift, and it was silent and peaceful. Carlos sat on the ground, and his knees were brought close to his chest, his chin resting over his folded arms. 

He wasn't searching for anything specific, although his eyes could easily name one or two constellations immediately. It was late, already past midnight, and he couldn't tell how much time he spent in that position on the balcony.

At some moment, though, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and then a cup filled with a smokey liquid was put in front of his face. A second after his hands were around the cup, a warm body was next to his and big, bright eyes were staring at his profile. He smiled while looking at the sweet tea, the smell filling his lungs, and then looked back at the sky.

"Trying to find a nebula?" TK asked, his voice low and sweet. Carlos chuckled, shaking his head politely.

"Remembering my favorite stars," he said, and TK looked at him with curiosity, waiting for more explanation. "I used to love looking up at the sky and naming all the stars and constellations I could remember"

"Used to?" TK asked.

"I stopped looking up at some point in my life" Carlos shrugged. "Imagining any other worlds started to be painful".

TK didn't answer Carlos' words, processing them in a painful moment. He analyzed the man's face carefully, each edge and spot filling his heart with a fast, welcoming, and safe feeling, and each one of his words filling his chest with heaviness and some kind of gray cloud.

Slowly, he bent his head to the side so it was carefully placed on Carlos' shoulder. The cop took a sip of his tea, his head lightly leaning against TK's, his eyes still focused up at the stars as if he would miss something truly important if he ever stopped looking. TK found it adorable, one of his hands touching Carlos' arm and his fingers wrapping on his long-sleeve t-shirt.

"The butterfly nebula?" his voice was barely a whisper, and a tiny shy smile took over the latino's lips. "Do my eyes really remind you of it?"

Carlos nodded.

"That's probably the best compliment I've ever received in my entire life," TK said, the joke being said with a quite bitter truth behind it. "And what you've been searching for in the sky, now?" he asked once Carlos tangled their fingers together, kissing the back of the new yorker's hand.

"I'm not searching for anything," he said, slowly shaking his head. "Just wondering" concluded, and TK turned his head to place his chin on the cop's shoulder.

"What about?" questioned.

"About how... You know, we have more than we can count, on the Universe. More stars than we can put in numbers, more planets than we can put in names, and more mystery than we can put in theory" Carlos said, sighing. "There are more possibilities than we will ever imagine, and more life than we will ever be able to put among births and deaths. And, yet, here we are" he seemed lost in a trail of thoughts. "Putting time in clocks, names in stars and lives inside boxes. It's insane that, with everything we could discover, this tiny little space, this minimal planet... This tiny piece of nothing drifting in the edge of the Universe is everything we have"

He stopped, and TK absorbed the words calmly. It was something to think about, indeed, all of the things we praise so much being just a little thing, a grain of sand ― or maybe that's too much ― in the middle of something way bigger than we could ever imagine.

"And yet?" TK asked, knowing his boyfriend way too much to supposed he was finished with his thoughts. Carlos smiled gently, and TK felt the heart-melting feeling inside of his chest.

"And, yet, I wouldn't trade it for anything" Carlos stated, and TK could only admire him with a silly and loving smile.

Carlos squeezed TK's hand in his.

"So, I was just wondering about how, among uncountable stars, planets, stars, nebulas," he started, and TK smiled sweetly once again. "Among all of the possibilities inside and out of the way we see the Universe, among all the time in its totality; life, death, whatever time is," he said, still looking up. Then, his eyes went down and his face softened even more as his beautiful, dark, brown irises met TK's green, light ones. "How, on Earth and out of it, did I have luck enough to find you?"

In a second, TK lost his breath and ability to speak. His eyes widened a little, his chin no longer using Carlos' shoulder as support when his mouth just went open in incredulity with the weight those words had. He didn't even realize when tears gathered at the edges of his eyes, his heart insanely beating inside his ribcage with strength enough he could swear his ribs would break.

It didn't last more than five seconds, TK knew it, but for a moment it felt like forever. Carlos watched, a sweet smile taking over his lips and a purely joyful sparkle glimmering on his eyes as TK processed the words and, in seconds, threw himself against Carlos.

The cop laughed, his arms quickly wrapping TK's waist to pull him closer and his lips happily parting so TK could kiss him the way he wanted to. He felt something in his chest exploding, and he could only imagine that, whatever it was, it was just as bright as his boyfriend's smile between kisses.

Because Carlos could never imagine, as a child, that he would love someone the way he always heard love was. He couldn't convince himself that, somehow, among all things they could have, a feeling so pure and especial would be a possibility. Something so good, so unbelievably safe and warm could be his.

And, somehow, now TK was in his arms, kissing him breathlessly and caring, making him feel as if all the questions he ever made had an answer. They didn't, he knew it deep down, and he didn't really give it much importance as TK curled himself against Carlos, breathing deep as his nose went to the crook of the cop's neck.

"I love you," TK said. "The stars are witnesses to this" his voice was a low whisper against Carlos' skin, and he could only smile widely and hold TK close as they both looked back up at the skies.

"They'll forever be" Carlos answered, and he could tell TK was smiling.

There's something about the nights that makes Carlos's mind feel light and peaceful.

There's something about TK that makes Carlos feel infinite.

[padfootagain]

The King And You (XII)

Part 12 : Heaven Sometimes

 Hi everyone! I'm back with a new chapter for this fic of mine! I know it's been forever since I updated it (and any fic for that matter) but my mental health is not great rn, so I'm struggling a little to write. Now, that being said, here is a new chapter and I hope you will enjoy it :)

Only fluff for this one! Tooth-rooting fluff all over the place! Enjoy ;)

Pairing: Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 2534

The light was perfect. One of the reasons why you loved your flat was the view from your window, down onto the busy streets and, in the distance, the skyscrapers tickling the sky. And this afternoon more than ever before the light that came in from your window was perfect. Yellowish and yet bright. Charged in dust just enough to create rays falling onto glistening rooftops. The sky still blue was starting to turn orange around the edges, a line along the horizon that became golden.

You let out a satisfied sigh as you mixed the pigments and the oil with a brush, studying the painting you had started a couple of hours before. You still had some work to do, but the shapes were beginning to change into what you wanted to represent, the buildings now for the most part recognizable by anyone who would look by your window.

A record was playing in your living room, an old hippie music filled with soft guitar ballads that breathed of sunshine and spoke of love. Soft, calm, sunny. The music felt like the light bathing the city that afternoon. And from time to time, the soft rhythms were disturbed by shuffling sounds coming from the couch behind you.

Caspian was sitting on your sofa, he was reading one of your books he had picked up from your shelf. But he didn't seem very interested in the story, as he spent most of his afternoon watching you.

The way you moved your pencil across the canvas, and the little frown that settled upon your brow as you focused on your task, the hues staining your fingers and your old t-shirt as you made a mess, the way the light danced across your features and changed the colour of your eyes as time ran by… Yes, his view from the sofa was much more interesting to him than the piece of fiction he had selected from your collection. A dreamy smile brightened his features as he studied you, as if he were in a museum admiring an ancient statue. Not only through your beauty was he reminded of the feeling, but by the peaceful feeling that settled across his chest too. This soft and quiet peace of mind and heart that creeps through anyone who looks at a piece of art and can't look away, wondering whose hands had carved the stone to create them, or bathed the brushes in the right hues. There is a ceremonial, almost holy feeling that hovers over art pieces of that kind, a sort of respect that both draws you in and pushes you away from their world. Caspian felt exactly this way as he stared at you, like he had found the piece that moved him to his bones and yet that was unreachable, a kind of beauty he longed for and echoed through his soul, and yet he would never deserve.

You knew he was staring at you, and had it been anyone else, you would have felt extremely uncomfortable if subjected to such scrutiny, but coming from Caspian, it merely brought warmth to your cheeks.

None of you were talking, hadn't uttered a word since lunch over four hours ago, but none of you were bothered by the silence that filled the room. It was a soft kind of silence, the comfortable one that could only appear in a room filled with people in love. Affection sometimes makes even nothingness beautiful.

A few days had passed since your confession in the park, and a few more remained before you would both travel to London, but the journey ahead of you was for now out of your thoughts. For now, all that mattered to both of you was to spend as much time as you could together. To the excitement and happiness that came along a new relationship slowly coming into blossom was added the knowledge that, no matter how happy the two of you were and how right being together felt, Caspian would soon be gone. Your days together being counted, you didn't want to waste away the time you had left together by worrying. Instead, you chose to live your love for him day by day, you would take whatever the wind would blow your way in the end. For now though, you painted the street you had drawn a thousand times before with a new softness showing in every shade you chose and every stroke of the brush that you applied. Love has a way of making art better, after all.

Caspian seemed to have chosen the same path as you, and had not mentioned again the trip to London, nor what would happen there. You were both locked in a bubble that you knew would explode soon, but protected you for now.

Eventually though, Caspian stood up and walked over to your spot in the room, wrapping his arms around your frame to press your back to his chest. He kissed gently the top of your head, before resting his cheek right above your ear. His gesture made you chuckle, a grin appearing across your lips.

"Do you need something? Or are you just being clingy?" you asked with a playful giggle.

"I guess I am clingy," Caspian admitted with a chuckle of his own that made his chest vibrate against you.

"You're a hopeless romantic, that's not surprising," you teased.

"Maybe I am. Or maybe you are turning me into one. Although, I should point out that so far, you have not protested against this part of me in the slightest, and have rather encouraged it, in fact."

"What are you insinuating? That I'm as sappy as you?"

"I'm afraid so, my love."

You hummed contently, forgetting about the subject of the conversation completely as you settled more comfortably into his embrace.

"I like it when you call me like that."

"My love?"

"Hmmm… yeah, I love it."

Caspian chuckled, kissing your temple.

"Who is being a hopeless romantic now, huh?"

"Oh, shut up!"

Caspian tried to fake outrage, but could only smile instead.

You checked your watch, for the first time in this afternoon, realizing at last that time had been flying by faster than you had realized. You heaved a sigh, but put down your brush.

"I'm gonna prepare dinner, what would you like?" you asked Caspian, who tightened his hold on you as a response.

"Wait for a little longer."

"Aren't you hungry? It's quite late."

"Yes, I am. But… If you move away, it will mean that the afternoon is over and… this moment is too nice to end just yet."

You rested your hand on his over your shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his and drawing silly patterns of stars and circles over his knuckles with your thumb.

"You're right. Five more minutes, then."

You closed your eyes, and were quite certain that you had fallen asleep when Caspian moved away from you, although not without placing one last chaste and tender kiss on the side of your head. He walked over to your shelves filled with books, and seemed to be bruising across your collection. You guessed that the one he had picked earlier really wasn't to his taste, and the thought made you chuckle as you shook tenderly your head at him. You left him to his search for a better story to get lost into in favour of preparing a meal, your stomach now painful with hunger. You were almost done when Caspian came to join you in the kitchen, helping you to set up the table.

"Did you find an interesting book?" you asked as you brought the pasta dish you had prepared to your tiny table.

A mischievous and yet saddened smile appeared on Caspian's lips.

"You can say that," he elusively answered.

He was standing by the table, and by now you were used to having him not sit down before you. Some kind of extra-politeness, you guessed. He pulled the chair for you when you walked to your side of the table, and you thanked him with an amused smile while he was sitting down himself.

"Why so mysterious?" you insisted. "What book did you get?"

"Oh… huh… something about… robots? It's some kind of… machine, that… lives? Very strange but… interesting."

You shook your head at him, surprised that he would be curious about something so different from the world he knew. But then, he kept on surprising you a little more every day.

Caspian glanced at the clock up on your yellow wall, that seemed to glimmer in gold as the sun was setting, ending its course beyond the tall buildings of New York City. He heaved a sigh before speaking again.

"I should go back to Agatha's after diner, it will be quite late already by then."

"Oh… you want to go back there?"

Even if you had spent most of your time together for the past few days, Caspian had always spent the night at Agatha's, and you were fine with that. After all, it had been but a few days since your kiss in Central Park, and a few weeks since the two of you had met. And despite your time together being limited, you didn't want to rush into things either. You wanted to take things slow, wanted to simply enjoy the moments you had with him.

And maybe, despite how abundantly clear Caspian had been, there was a little part of you that still held to the hope that maybe all of this was just a misunderstanding, that perhaps Narnia, despite the odds, wasn't real at all. And then, if that was the case, Caspian wouldn't have to leave.

So you wanted to take things slow, but still, things were going so well with him, and there wasn't any denying that your new boyfriend was extremely attractive. And maybe you were ready to do a little bit more than hugging him and talking with him for hours.

Meanwhile, Caspian stared at you with a puzzled expression.

"Well… I hardly have any other place to stay."

"You… you could… stay here," you hesitantly stuttered.

Caspian considered your offer for a moment. He did want to spend more time with you, but your sofa was really too uncomfortable, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep if he had to settle there for the night. And that was even without mentioning that the knowledge of having you sleeping down the hall would make it impossible for his mind to calm down enough to succumb to slumber.

He offered you a warm smile, a little teasing, with one end of his mouth turned upright and an amused glimmer shining in his brown, almost black eyes.

"Thank you for your offer. I do have to admit that it is tempting, we would spend more time together this way. But – and I hope you don't take this remark badly – your sofa is way too uncomfortable for me to stay there all night."

He was expecting you to laugh, maybe to shyly get a gulp of your water to hide this divine smile of yours. But you didn't. Instead, you were frowning at him, as if you didn't understand what he meant.

"The sofa? Why would you spend the night on the sofa?"

It was his turn to look at you with puzzled eyes.

"Well… where else would I sleep?"

"I meant… I meant to ask you if you wanted to stay the night… with me…"

It's only by the look in your eyes that he finally understood what you truly meant. And his reaction was to fiercely blush, all the way up to the tip of his ears.

"Oh… I… I…"

"It's okay if you don't want to or… if you're not attracted to me or…"

You let your sentence suspended in mid-air to hover over the room. You were all shy now, closing yourself from him, and Caspian could recognize the signs of your uneasiness. Maybe he wasn't reacting to this the way he should…

"I… I can't…"

He took a deep breath, remembering that you were from another world. And so, he adopted a different attitude.

"Is it normal in your world? To… be this… intimate before… marriage?"

You frowned at him again, but seemed to make the same realization too that, despite the two of you getting along so well and understanding each other to such a degree, you were not from the same world, and your two societies worked differently.

"Yeah, it is… not… for you?" you asked back.

"No. No, it isn't."

"Oh…"

"It… it would be… disrespectful if I…"

"I understand. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"It's okay. I… I just… I don't know…"

"Caspian, you don't have to justify yourself. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

You seemed to be the one who was uncomfortable then though, and you stood up to clean your plate even if you hadn't finished your dish. Caspian followed suit though, not allowing you to simply drop the subject and flee so easily.

"Y/N… I…"

"It's okay, Caspian. I promise you, it's okay. I just… I guess I feel a little stupid to have offered to take a… a new step when it's not something your people does."

You seemed fragile then, your confidence quite shaken. Caspian heaved a sigh, forcing you to stop cleaning your plate as he took your wet hands in his.

"It is not our way. But I… I want you to know that… I… you are beautiful, Y/N. This is not the problem, here. But I was raised with the idea that being this intimate with a woman one is not married to is disrespectful. And disrespecting you is the last thing I want to do."

You nodded, notably relaxing, and when you looked at him again, there was a spark of mischief shining in your gaze.

"I understand. And I would never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or disrespectful to you. But… please, tell me your people don't condemn cuddling, because I love your hugs too much to give up on them."

Caspian let out a laugh, although he was blushing fiercely once more. He pulled you closer to him, capturing you in this brown stare of his you had quickly learnt to recognize like home.

"I cannot say that it would be… accepted without a few rumours and judging glances but… I will happily pay that price. To be honest, I could not resist holding you even if I wanted to."

You giggled in the most adorable of ways, hiding your face in his shoulder.

And as he breathed in the scent of your shampoo, sugary and delicate that reminded him of afternoons spent walking through the gardens, with the air filled with the fragrance of wildflowers, Caspian knew that he wouldn't have any rest tonight. How could he waste any minute he could spend with you?

His back would kill him the next day, but a few hours on your uncomfortable sofa were a small price to pay to have a chance to hold you close.

[reaperintheroses]

My Pilot

Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: this is the first time I’ve ever done head cannons and written starwars. This is relatively long and I’m not super proud of the ending. Same as last time I tried to keep it gender neutral so if there are any pronouns for the reader other than they/them please let me know so I can fix it. Also requests are open.

Warnings: death, angst, reader is pretty malnourished in the beginning, there isn’t a ton of dialogue, hinted use of a sedative, hospitals, passing out, talk of execution, angst, fluff.

Now you had lived on Hosnian Prime for about as long as you could remember 

You didn’t live directly in the city but more in the countryside

So when the first order invaded your planet your small town was one of the first to be taken over

Now it was important to note that your mother and father had fought for the resistance against the empire all those years ago and you had kept your father’s resistance jacket. 

So it wasn’t helpful that if you were discovered to have any links to the resistance, old or new, that you would be executed

You weren’t going to get rid of the jacket, it was the last piece you had of your parents

Though 5 days later when the first order came knocking on your door you realized that you probably should have done something smarter with it than just hide the jacket under a loose floorboard in your bedroom

They asked if it was fine to do a random search to make sure you weren’t hiding any illegal contraband

They were in your house for maybe ten minutes before they found the jacket

You had a fast and unfair trial where you were quickly sentenced to death 

Your parents would be so disappointed if they knew you just stopped fighting

You stopped caring about what happened to yourself. 

They stored you in what used to be the small city jail and kind of forgot about you

You had no clue how many days had passed or what season you were in now

The only time you really felt something was when one of the guards came in and told you that you had three days left

You just nodded and went back to sleeping, tears staining your cheeks

Death was scary, man how could you not be scared

So much to your surprise a little while later a loud bang woke you up

Shooting up you looked around for somewhere to hide and when you realized there was nowhere you backed yourself into the corner of the old cell

‘Was this the end’ you wondered in the longest three minutes of all time as you waited to see what had caused the large noise

So when a man wearing the ugliest shade of orange you ever had the misfortune of laying your eyes across slid into your view 

Let’s just say your interest was quite peaked

He started yelling that there wasn’t time to waste and you just raised your eyebrows

He managed to get your cell open and grabbed your hand pulling you through the building, turning around every few seconds to make sure that you hadn't died 

When you stepped outside the first thing you felt was shock

At the time of your arrest and trial, it had been in the dead of winter and from the looks of it it was almost summer

The second thing you felt was self-conscious about how you looked and smelled, you weren't going to deny the man in front of you was quite hot regardless of the blood and sweat all over his suit

The third thing you felt was pain

The sunlight felt far too bright and it blinded you for about a minute and then started to give you a pounding headache

Keeping your eyes shut you just trusted your rescuer to help guide you so that you wouldn't have to open your eyes and face the bright suns beating down on you

You had no clue how long you were running for all you knew was that it was a long time and a while back you cut your leg on a bush or something

You opened your eyes a little later and saw that you were face to face with an x-wing

He climbed up and started hitting different switches trying to prepare the ship for take-off

He shouted down to you to hop up and that one you were safely in hyperspace he would help you clean your leg

Grabbing the later you swung your body into the ship and strapped yourself in

You heard shouts coming from a distance and your eyes widened 

You didn’t want to rush him but you were starting to get scared 

Right as the stormtroopers started to approach where you were the ship shot up off the ground 

When the shit started to leave the planet’s atmosphere you started to get a little dizzy

Lights started swimming in your vision and you reached for the sides of the ship to help steady yourself

Right as the pilot turns around and starts to ask a question you slump forward in your seat a pounding headache causing you to pass out

You woke up strapped to a bed in a very strange place that smelt strangely of lemons

Citrus smell set aside a strange place is still a strange place 11/10 would not recommend 

After quickly shaking your head to clear the fuzzy feeling you started to struggle in an attempt to escape the straps that kept you tied to the cot

Before you could even manage to undo the first one though the pilot came running in along with a nurse and one or two more people 

The pilot put his hand on your forehead telling you that your okay and that the nurse was just going to give you something to help you calm down

You stop struggling but only because a large sleepy feeling is taking over you 

Your holding onto the cliff of consciousness with only your fingertips you can feel the pilot smoothing his hand over your forehead telling you that it's okay to let go and that he’ll be here when you wake up

The cliff breaks and as the last pebbles fall into the dark abyss of sleep you fall with them.

Waking up round two is a little better

You look over and see the pilot asleep in a chair next to you, snoring softly

It’s endearing honestly

Without all of life’s stresses and the fate of the galaxy resting on his shoulders he looked way younger

Earlier when the two of you were racing against stormtroopers and fighting to escape your planet he was hot

But now he was just plain cute

You coughed slightly and he jolted out of his sleep

He hit a button above his head before sitting up and stretching 

He looked down at you and you looked up at him with a questioning look

“Your safe, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore,” he replied back down to you in a soft tone

Oh thank the gods

The two of you just stared at each other for a few more minutes before a nurse came in and kicked him out so she could do an examination without him distracting her

She started asking you questions about when you last ate, how much fluid you had consumed in the past day, etc.

It was hard to answer 

She talked about how you would need to be fed through a tube to help get your strength back up but once you got back to a sustainable weight you would be able to start eating solid food again

You nodded at the appropriate time trying to show your focus but your mind was elsewhere 

You couldn’t stop thinking about the pilot 

You think somewhere in her information dump she realized that you were thinking about completely off-topic things

She made to leave and right as she was about to swing out the door you opened your mouth

For the first time in months, you started to speak

You croaked out a gentle “where am I?”

Your nurse smiled at you and replied “Oh honey, you’re on the resistance base.” she left the room without another word and you shut your eyes as you smiled feeling small tears of joy seep out of your eyes

The pilot would come and visit you almost every day and tell you about everything and nothing from small things like what some of the members of his squadron did at lunch to things like his family back home on Yavin 4, to occasionally stories about his mother who was in the resistance along with your parents. 

Even when he couldn’t be there due to missions he would always write you a letter before you left, telling you to keep your head up and that he would be back soon to tell you about all the stars 

Every time you missed him you would read his letters, sometimes your shoulders would shake with silent tears, and others with full out laughing fits at the small jokes he would put in there. 

He once told you that you were the first person he would come see after he returned regardless of what he had to do once he returned

In the very beginning, he would come to you straight after he landed but the smell of gasoline gave you a headache and that gods-awful flight suit made you want to kick him so you told the nurse to make sure that he showered after returning from a mission before coming to see you 

You hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to the pilot yet. You were worried that he would see you as all healed up and abandon you for the next person he saw who he fancied, you heard the nurses gossip sometimes about him

NOT to imply that the pilot fancied you, nor you him. 

You didn’t like him, nope not one bit

You told yourself this all the time but the moment he flashed that damn smile at you it was like the wall you had built around your heart constructed exactly with those words would fall a small bit and once he left you would have to spend hours reconstructing it by telling yourself that he was just watching over you to make sure that you pulled through and then he would leave you in the dust

Love was scary

But when your pilot came to visit you he would talk and talk and talk, and when he wasn’t there? You would fantasize a life with him once this war was over

When you started calling him your pilot?

Honestly couldn’t tell you the line was kinda blurred

You would tell yourself every time he would come that this would be the time you talked to him

It never happened

You were talking plenty now

You would talk to the nurses when they would bring you food or come check on you

It was just nerve racking to talk to your pilot

But when he came in next time, with an encouraging nod from your nurse, you replied to something he said

He just asked a question about what you ate 

Normally he would just throw in that question before telling you about what the cafeteria had for breakfast 

Before he could answer his own question you just replied quietly “toast and eggs”

He started to answer his question before doing a double take and looking back down at you 

“You talk?” you just smiled at him playfully, reveling in his shock for a moment

It wasn’t nearly as bad as you anticipated 

After that conversation came far easier

Now at this point your probably able to walk around the infirmary and the base during night when there isn’t as many people

But the fateful day came where it was suggested that you eat in the cafeteria 

Yeah you thought taking was hard? This felt nearly impossible

Luckily you were able to come to a compromise and you would wake up early and go eat before most people got up

So there you were standing in front of a display of food with almost no one else around

You felt like a fish out of water and at peace at the same time

You just grabbed the first peace of fruit you saw and a small slice of bread before going to sit down

You started to calm down and eat in peace 

You were in your own little world so when you felt a hand on your shoulder you practically fell out of your seat you jumped so high

There, your pilot was standing looking surprised

He gestured next to you and you just nodded your head

The two of you quickly recovered and soon enough he was talking your head off, telling you about a crazy dream he had

Your pilot made you feel very comfortable 

So you started to eat breakfast with him every day

This quickly became lunch

And dinner

This was how you met his squadron

You became quick friends with most of them 

These meals quickly became apart of your daily routine 

You looked forward to seeing your pilot and his friends 

So when your pilot did not show up for 4 days straight you started to worry

You were able to catch snap in the hallway one day before dinner and ask where he was

He told you that he was on a solo mission but he should be back in a couple of days

So when he didn’t show up nearly two weeks later you started to get worried

Snap told you that he had been lost in action and if they didn’t hear from him in a week he would be declared dead

You felt empty

You wanted to feel something

Anything

But you just felt empty

You quietly thanked snap and just went about your day

You didn't speak for a while after he told you

They held a small ceremony for Poe

But after that everyone just kind of forgot 

it felt like there wasn’t nearly as much joy in the base as before

The squad gave up on trying to get you to talk 

You stopped coming to meals daily 

You would maybe show up for dinner once a week

You just shut down

You started to run

You hated running but it was a good distraction

You would run around the base four times once a day

And one time during your run you heard a speaker in the communication center crackle to life

You slowed down but didn’t stop

So when you heard your pilots voice over the speaker you ran straight into a wall

Everyone stopped what they were doing

He was requesting access to land

His squadron was in the room

They all looked at each other trying to figure out what to do before snap gave the go ahead

He made eye contact with you before the entire squadron started running towards the hanger

You made it there first and watched his x-wing, looking a little worse for wear, land 

He crawled out of the hatch as people started rushing around trying to help him or look at the damaged ship

His squadron started hugging him and asking him questions

You started to turn around, you obviously offered no help here you could see him later

Little did you know your pilot was just trying to shake everyone off so he could get to you

You pressed the button to open the door but before you could get through a hand grabbed your shoulder

You turned around and there he was

Blood coating his forehead, his clothes a mess but somehow still smiling

You started to tell him off, saying that he needed to get checked out and make sure that he was okay and then check in with his squadron, after that he needed to clean himself off, change, and he looked like he could use some sleep and you told him as much. You should definitely be at the bottom of his list of important things to accomplish

He cut off your rambling by grabbing your chin and putting his mouth to yours

You squeaked in surprise and froze for a second before melting into his warm embrace

He smelt like gasoline and saltwater

You pulled away and looked at him

He smiled at you and you knew in that moment that you would have hung all the stars and suns in the galaxy if it meant he would smile at you like that again

He started to talk about how there was this great place to eat a few planets away and how the entire time he was away you were all he could think about, and he knew in his mind that when he got back if he didn't even try to talk to you about the feelings he had bottled up that he might just combust.

You just smiled again and nodded

He hugged you again and you just squeezed him right back

You felt the stars align and as you gripped the jacket he was wearing that was so similar to your fathers you felt a feeling you hadn’t felt in so long

Hope. 

[chrismho]

Lakmé

Summary: Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?  The Kurosaki Family invites Rukia along with them to the Opera. Ichiruki/Rukia-centric one-shot inspired by the opera scene in Moonstruck. Set a little bit after FB arc.

PS: It’s a pretty famous song but if you haven’t heard Flower Duet  before, I highly rec you give this rendition a listen, it’s breathtaking! : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9NK-EbUAao

“ICHIGOOOOOOO! RUKI-CHAAAAAN!” 

SMACK!

A day in the Kurosaki household was not complete without at least one collision between Isshin’s face and either Ichigo’s foot or fist. 

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you, old man: QUIT DOING THAT!” Ichigo roared, swiftly kicking his father back to the other side of the living room.

Rukia waited patiently for Isshin to complete this strange ritual, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Masaki!” Isshin sobbed, throwing himself upon his poster. “H-how cruel, how unloving our son has become! And Rukia at his side, so pure and lovely! W-we truly have here a beauty and the beast!”

“SHUT IT!”

 The dark-haired shinigami watched them butt heads and felt a vague sense of nostalgia swirl inside her. I didn’t realize how much I…missed this, she silently admitted to herself. Seventeen months had passed and Rukia kept herself busy with work--very busy. Too busy to stop and realize just how much she missed life in Karakura. But now that she was back, the realization was sudden and overwhelming; she missed late night hollow-hunting, the bustling hallways at Karakura High, she missed Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, she missed indulging in her schoolgirl act, pretending that she was human and truly one of them. But most of all, she missed him. That was a realization that had set Rukia very much on edge. Ichigo was a comrade, a partner, a friend. A friend she found herself pining for in those seventeen months. She recalled a saying she learned in the human world, something along the lines of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. 

Absence had only made Rukia’s heart confused as hell. 

Though almost two years had passed, her relationship with Ichigo picked up almost right where they left off. They bickered, laughed, they understood each other without need for words. But…now there was something new. No, not new; it had always been there. But now....now it was loud. And hard to ignore. It was something that Rukia couldn’t quite name, but its presence was undeniable. It wasn’t uncomfortable...but… but it was there. 

“What do you say, Rukia-chan? Oh, please say you’ll be joining us?”

Isshin’s question snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Eh? I-I’m sorry?” she asked, startled. 

“THE OPERA! An old buddy and colleague of mine has season tickets to the opera house here in Karakura. He’s away on a business trip so he gave me tickets to tomorrow’s show. We haven’t seen you in so long, the girls would just love if you came! SAY YOU’LL JOIN US!” 

“Don’t push her, Dad!” Ichigo said irritably. He turned to Rukia but didn’t meet her gaze. “Seriously, y-you don’t have to go. It’s really boring, the last time I went I wanted to die-”

“OH, BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE,” Isshin cut off gleefully, shoving Ichigo out of the way and putting an arm around Rukia. “The last time we went, Ichigo was but a boy. Though only eight at the time, he was so moved by the performance that he wept and blubbered all night long--” 

“HEY! N-NO I DIDN’T!”

“Yes, you did!” Karin called boredly from the kitchen. 

Ichigo hunched up his shoulders and scowled, his ears and cheeks an angry shade of red. 

“I’d be delighted to attend this...this ‘op-ohr-a’, Mr. Kurosaki!” Rukia declared, a cheerful and sparkly smile on her face. “Excellent! Come tomorrow evening at 7, and dress your very best, my dear! The opera is a most formal event,” Isshin beamed. 

“Whatever. And get your arm off her!” Ichigo grumbled, yanking Rukia away from his father and up the stairs to his room. 

“Ah, young love,” Isshin sighed after them.  “Eager to get her to your bedroom, I see? Yes, yes, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, if you catch my drift--” 

“SHUT UP!” Ichigo screamed over his shoulder. He hurried Rukia inside his room and slammed the door shut. 

“Nice to see the family dynamic hasn’t changed,” Rukia said, a sly smile on her face. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall alongside his bed. 

“1000 Yen says my dad’s got an ear pressed up to the door right now,” Ichigo replied. He sounded annoyed but there was a humorous glint in his eye. He looked up and met her gaze. They both dissolved into a quiet, gentle chuckle. 

“Feel free to sit, you know,” Ichigo said, gesturing towards the bed. “I know it’s been a while but time’s never stopped you from acting like you own this place.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here,” Rukia responded, cursing herself for answering him a little too vehemently. Ichigo looked at her questioningly, and Rukia could have sworn she saw a very, very faint blush creep on his cheeks. A moment of silence passed. 

Tension. That’s what it was. 

“So what is this opera thing, anyway? I just realized I agreed to something I know nothing about,” Rukia asked, eager to change the subject and genuinely curious about this “most formal event” that moved a young Ichigo to tears. 

“It’s, uh, like a play. But with only singing. Really loud, annoying singing. And fancy costumes. And they usually end in tragedy.” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head. 

Her amusement at his fumbling explanation made Rukia forget her discomfort earlier. She smirked and flopped onto his bed. “Sounds like fun. So this loud, annoying play moved you to tears, eh?”

“IT DID NOT-Hmph, *ahem*, It did not move me to tears, I told you already that I found it boring. And I SAID YOU COULD SIT ON MY BED, NOT LIE ON IT!” 

“Oh, Daddy, th-they’re on his bed already! They certainly are fast, aren’t they?” a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously like Yuzu’s could be heard saying from the other side of the door. 

Ichigo’s left eye twitched. 

He swung the door open and Isshin and Yuzu tumbled onto the floor. “SCRAM!” He roared, shaking his fist as they hurriedly fled the scene. 

_____

Giant, crystal chandeliers hung over the U-shaped hall, twinkling prettily in the warm, golden light. The house was packed with many well-dressed and well-to-do people. The euphony of various conversations and chatter rang pleasantly in the air. If Ichigo had been moved to tears by the place alone, Rukia would understand; it was truly, truly beautiful. She tilted her head back, taking in the glittering chandeliers and intricate paintings of flowers and stars on the ceiling. She must have looked visibly awestruck, for she turned to her side to find Ichigo looking back at her, an odd, almost tender smile on his face. She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “What? What’s with that dumb look?” She snapped. 

“AGH! What the hell, Rukia?” He glared, letting out a sharp exhale before putting on another smile, this one more teasing. “N-nothing, I was just thinking...the last time I was here as a kid, I remember looking up at the paintings on the ceiling and counting all the stars as a way to pass the time. I guess I was just wondering if you were doing the same.” 

Rukia blinked. It was rare for Ichigo to divulge….well, really anything about his past and his memories. To share this random little anecdote felt oddly intimate. She felt her cheeks warm slightly and turned away. “Heh, no I wasn’t counting, I was just...admiring. She looked back up and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ichigo, there are hundreds of stars, up there! Did you really count them all?” He looked up too and smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Nah, the show always started and the lights would go off before I ever finished. But...I like that I don’t know. It’s this weird, unfinished mystery that just...stays up there on the ceiling, y’know?”

His amber eyes and fiery-orange hair glowed in the warm light of the hall. He glowed. Does he even know how handsome he looks in that stupid tux? Rukia thought, torn between feeling endeared and annoyed. And spewing out weird, lovely musings like that, too. What an idiot. 

She looked down at the program in her lap. In intricate, gold cursive, the words Lakmé: Opera en 3 Actes shone smack dab in the middle. “Is...is this in French?” she asked. “Yeah, but it’s okay; you see those black screens above the curtains up there? They’ll have translations…”

The lights began to dim. 

Quickly, stealthily, Ichigo stole one last look at Rukia in full light. She was already a beautiful woman but tonight she practically glowed. With the help of Yuzu and Karin, she had parted her cropped hair to one side and teased it into elegant waves. She had reluctantly let them put makeup on her, too, and Ichigo had a hard time keeping his eyes away from her lips, soft and painted red like a pomegranate. She was wearing a dress that Ishida had surprised her with a few weeks ago, a wine-colored sleeveless piece that gently hugged her form and flowed past her knees. Yeah. She glowed. It was annoying. 

Y’know, I bet she knows exactly how good she looks and is only pretending to be oblivious. He thought. What an idiot.

The red velvet curtains pulled back to reveal what looked like a stone courtyard on stage, adorned with all sorts of plants and exotic flowers. But the set was nothing compared to the music that emanated from the pit in front of the stage. She’d never heard anything like this. Not on the streets of Rukongai, nor in the banquets and gatherings in Seireitei. What was it Ichigo had called them? An orchestra. An orchestra, an orchestra, an orchestra. She had to remember that word. How so many voices, so many different strange and wonderful-looking instruments, could come together and create a sound so unified and sweet amazed her. 

A procession of people dressed in long, unstitched garments came onto the stage, singing words Rukia could not understand. A big man, clad in a costume beard and yellow robe, opened his mouth and began to sing a solo.

Rukia froze. 

It was obvious what he was doing required much skill, but….he sounded...funny? Rukia narrowed her eyes and fought a smile, trying to reason with this deep voice that shook with such a fervent vibrato. 

She heard a snicker two chairs away from her, and turned to see Karin in the dim light, her face contorted humorously. Rukia was about to join her before Isshin turned to his daughter with a glare so scary and dangerous that any humor at all in both Karin and Rukia was effectively vanquished. 

So entranced was she by the costumes and lights and flutes and cellos that the dark-haired shinigami found herself forgetting to glance up at the translations above the stage. She looked just enough times to gather that this was set in a temple in which rites were being performed. The ritual ended, and as smoothly as they glided in, the singers drifted back off the stage, leaving behind two women. 

The women, arm in arm, walked down to the “river” on stage to gather flowers. The one dressed in red turned to her companion and began to sing:

Viens, Mallika, les lianes en fleurs

Jettent déjà leur ombre

Sur le ruisseau sacré

qui coule, calme et sombre,

Eveillé par le chant des oiseaux tapageurs.

Rukia froze once more. This time, there was no urge to laugh. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her ears tingled. What, Rukia thought shakily. What is this?

The other, dressed in a simpler, sun-colored dress answered her friend in a voice just as haunting and sweet:

Oh! maîtresse, c'est l'heure

où je te vois sourire,

L'heure bénie où je puis lire

Dans le coeur toujours fermé

De Lakmé!

 Rukia clenched her teeth, maintaining a stone-cold Kuchiki expression while her soul inside shook and quaked. 

What is this?

                                                 Dôme épais le jasmin

                        Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin

Like flowers landing on the surface of a pond, their voices floated, glided, rippled through the hall, lighter than air. 

                                                    À la rose s'assemble

                                        À la rose s'assemble

The melody seemed to follow some invisible wave that drifted down, then up, then down, and down again. It was elegantly unpredictable, like the path a feather takes on the way to the ground.

Rukia’s throat caught. The swelling in her chest bewildered and almost angered her. This...this beauty was almost cruel. Her eyes felt hot. Her face remained expressionless.

                                                 Rive en fleurs, frais matin,

                             Sur la rive en fleurs, riant au matin,

I never did get the chance to understand what it is to live, Rukia thought. She had, in fact, died when she was only a baby. 

I....could see traces of what life was in the youth and excitement of Ichigo and his friends...the sound of their laughter, their chatter about the future.

                                                 Nous appellent ensemble.

                                       Viens, descendons ensemble.

With each rise and fall of their voices, Rukia felt as though her soul was expanding. The singers’ figures became blurry behind the tears that began to well in her eyes.

But this…this swelling in my chest, and the goosebumps on my skin. My throat...feels tight. 

A tear broke free and began to trickle down her cheek. 

Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?

Ichigo gazed steadily at the stage, letting himself float and drift with the melody. It was no wonder the Flower Duet was such a famous song, even to those unfamiliar with opera. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could and turned to check on Rukia. His jaw clenched. 

                                               Ah! glissons en suivant

                           Doucement glissons; De son flot charmant

She stood absolutely still, upright, her small, pale hands clenched into fists on her lap. She did not look at him. He watched with well-hidden astonishment as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She stared solemnly at the women on stage, blinking slowly. Her amethyst eyes glistened with the water and salt that filled them. 

                                                         Le courant fuyant

                                  Suivons le courant fuyant

A lump began to form in Ichigo’s throat. He turned away, back to the stage. He couldn’t put into words what she was feeling, but he felt he understood it. He didn’t want to intrude on her moment, but he also wanted to let her know that she was not alone. Even when they were worlds apart, he’d find a way to reach her. Slowly, his hand moved towards hers. 

His fingertips lightly brushed her wrist, and traveled up towards the back of her hand. 

Rukia kept her eyes fixed on the singers. She gave no indication that she even noticed his hand on hers. A twinge of disappointment and embarrassment stung him. I...probably ruined her moment. I shouldn’t have-

His heart stopped. Silently, suddenly, the slender, cold hand seized his own. She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed lightly. She did not look at him. 

                                                     Dans l'onde frémissante,

                                      Dans l’onde frémissante

To this day Ichigo couldn’t say what the hell compelled him to do what he did next. Maybe it was the nearly two years of separation, or the swelling music and stupid, glittering, chandeliers messing with his head, or the way she gripped his fingers with such a quiet and loving intensity, or a mix of all of those things. Slowly, he raised her hand up, off her lap. 

                                                   D'une main nonchalante,

                                      D’une main nonchalante,

Rukia stirred, tilting her head slightly towards him. He brought her hand up to his face and slowly, gently, firmly, pressed his lips against her knuckles. Rukia’s eyes flashed wide open, and now she turned to look at him. Another tear rolled silently down her otherwise stoic face. Ichigo opened his eyes and looked back at her. 

                                            Dôme épais, blanc jasmin,

                             Sous le dôme épais, Sous le blanc jasmin,

Nothing was said, but a thousand words were exchanged between them. Ichigo lowered her hand but did not let go. They held their gaze for a moment longer, then turned their heads back towards the stage. 

                                                      Nous appellent ensemble!

                                    Ah! descendons ensemble!

[justjeonday]

Always you | jeon jeongguk

You usually hate walking to the convenience store, but with Jeongguk it’s anything but boring.

— pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

— genre: established relationship, fluff - so much fluff, boyfriend!jeongguk

— word count: 2,690

— warnings: none

— notes: so, this is my first time ever posting something I’ve written on here - and I’m really nervous. Idk if I’ve done all of this right lol, I tried. I spent a few days working on this piece, and it’s nothing huge or anything - just a simple idea that popped into my head. I hope you enjoy, feedback is very welcome. Thank you :’)

— disclaimer(?): I spell ”Jungkook” as Jeongguk throughout this whole thing, cause that’s just how I naturally tend to spell it out. I hope this won’t bother anyone, if it does I’m sorry lol. I also apologize for any typos, it feels like I might’ve missed some although I looked through it multiple times.

Your boyfriend’s hot breath against your neck leaves goosebumps rising on your skin, but you manage to ignore it - waiting for the woman behind the desk to pack your bag. However, just a few seconds later you feel him leaving light kisses over the most sensitive area just below your ear. You turn slightly to nudge him away with your shoulder.

”Will you stop it?” You whisper as you look at him.

Jeongguk just looks back at you with amusement visible on his face. He sure loves teasing you in public. You snicker at him, shaking your head as you turn back to grab the bag of snacks the cashier is holding out for you. You thank her and make your way out of the small store, Jeongguk following closely behind.

”I’ll take that for you,” He insists, taking the bag from your hand before you can protest.

The cold air hits you just as hard as when you left your apartment twenty minutes ago, causing you to shiver as you step outside.

Snow had been falling ever since this morning, a white blanket now covering the ground beneath you. It looks beautiful, sparkling as the city lights reaches the surface of it. It’s rare snow actually stays on the ground here in Seoul, only occurring once or twice a year. You love it like this. Even though the temperature feels unbearable at times, with the weather getting colder it prompts for a lot of cuddling.

And in your opinion, there can never be enough cuddling.

In fact, before this very spontaneous adventure to the store you and Jeongguk had been cuddling while enjoying some random K-drama you found. After watching the two main characters share a bag of snacks, the two of you started craving just that.

”Should we go?” Jeongguk had asked, shifting his head in your lap to look up at you.

You removed your hand from his hair, reaching out to check the time on your phone.

11:39.

You looked down at him. ”Should we?”

After much contemplating whether you should go or not, you guys put your jackets on - getting ready to go to a nearby convenience store despite the fact that it was close to midnight by the time you guys left.

You’re now on your way back home, walking side by side with interlaced fingers. Seoul at night is probably one of your favorite things. You love how all the lights and neon signs beautifully illuminate the world around you, how they gracefully dance across Jeongguk’s honey-colored skin.

”Wait.”

You stop at your boyfriend’s sudden demand, turning to him in confusion.

You see him searching for something in the pockets of his jacket. ”What’s wrong?” You say.

A few seconds later, you see his fingers wrapped around his vintage camera. In spite of the smile sneaking its way onto your lips, you roll your eyes at him. ”Really?”

”What?” He says, smiling.

”When did you even manage to bring that thing?”

”This thing happens to be my favorite camera, do you know what I use it for?” He begins, fiddling with it as he speaks.

You raise your eyebrows questioningly, gesturing for him to continue.

”I use it to capture things I find beautiful-” He says, eyes locking with yours. ”- Being with someone as beautiful as you, I’ll always have it with me.”

He looks at you with a smirk on his lips, knowing you’ll be blushing at his words. You do, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks as your heart swells in awe. You truly feel as if you don’t deserve someone as good as him, but oh how happy you are that the two of you found each other. With him you feel like the luckiest person walking this earth.

”Now smile for me please,” He brings the camera up in front of his face, ready to take a photo.

You do as told, letting him take all the pictures he desires before intertwining your fingers with his again and continuing your walk home. You never really like being in photos, but since you started dating Jeongguk you’ve gotten used to him randomly wanting to take photos of you. Even if that’s in the morning when you’re making breakfast, your hair still a mess — you let him take a photo, knowing he’ll keep it to himself unless you give him consent to do otherwise.

It makes you feel special, like you’re one of a kind.

”Ah, cold,” Your boyfriend says, sucking in air through gritted teeth and holding your hand tighter.

You look at him, a giggle escaping your lips. ”I told you to wear your gloves.”

”I couldn’t find them,” He says with a frown forming on his face. ”How come your hands never get cold?” He pouts.

It’s kind of strange actually, how rare it is your hands get cold.

”I don’t know,” You laugh.

”It’s so unfair, I bet you have superpowers or something.”

”Like what?”

”Heat manipulation.”

”How epic, feel free to use me as your personal hot pack!” You joke.

He laughs out loud at that, throwing his head back — his eyes becoming crescent moons. You automatically smile at the sound, happy you made him laugh.

”I can carry the bag if you want,” You offer, holding your hand out.

”No need,” He chuckles, only pulling you closer into his side.

You think nothing of it until you feel his fingers creep up the inside of your jacket and under the fabric of your, or should you say, his hoodie. As he lays his hand flat against the warm skin of your lower back, you squirm and jump away from him in response.

”What’s the matter?” He says, a made-up look of innocence on his face.

You just frown at him for a moment, but with it being impossible to act annoyed at his adorable ways — you let out a laugh before proceeding to walk. ”You can’t do that.”

”Why can’t I?”

”Your hands feel like ice,” You say. ”I’m not kidding.”

”I thought you said I could use you as my personal hot pack,” He says, acting disappointed as he looks down at his feet.

You push him playfully. ”You are so annoying, Jeon Jeongguk.”

He chuckles and walks past you with his arms stretched out. ”But you love me anyway,” He sings.

But you love him anyway, of course you do.

Deciding to get revenge, you lean down to pick some snow up from the ground. You form it into a ball, then you aim and throw it at his back. He stops in his tracks, turning around with a mischievous grin on his lips.

”Oh love, I hope you realise what you’ve just started.”

It’s a stupid idea really because you know very well that he’ll win, he always does. He has this annoying tendency of being above average at anything he does, even when it’s his first time doing it. Although, being the sweet boyfriend he is — he lets you win sometimes.

Before you know it you’re both running around outside your apartment complex throwing snowballs at each other, the bag of snacks left in the snow at the side of the street. You earn a few looks from people walking past, most of them just in wonder of what’s going on. It’s probably not so often you come across to adults running around in the middle of the street having a snowball fight, let alone in the middle of the night.

While you’re leaning down to make yet another snowball, you feel Jeongguk behind you. He grabs the collar of the hoodie you’re wearing, pushing it aside and letting the snow in his hand fall down the inside of it — the cold coming in contact with your skin. You squeal and start chasing after him with snow in your hands, and a few seconds later you manage to copy his actions.

He hisses as the snow falls down inside of his shirt, capturing you in his embrace before you can run away again. ”Caught you,” He says, smiling.

The both of you are breathing heavily, your breaths visible in the cold air surrounding you. As your chest is pressed against his you feel your heartbeats becoming one. You put your arms around his neck and look up at him, his bunny smile making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

Even though you’ve been with him for what seems like forever, not really remembering what life was like without him — everything with him still feels like the first time. You still feel your heart skip a beat every time he enters the room, butterflies going crazy in your stomach at the sight of his smile and the sound of his laugh. You still get lost in the galaxies that are his eyes, and every time you look into them you swear you see stars shining in them. Like people look at stars scattered in the dark above, you look into his eyes - and that’s your way of stargazing. At every little thing you can feel yourself falling in love with him over and over, and there never seems to be an end to it.

”What’s on your mind?” He asks, noticing you’ve wandered off somewhere in your mind.

”You,” You say, looking at him with a small smile on your lips. You run your thumb along his cheekbone softy. ”Always you.”

His nose and cheeks had been painted a shade of pink because of the cold, making him look even more adorable — if even possible. You put your hands on each side of his face, cupping his cheeks before leaning up to press your lips against his. He instantly kisses you back, exhaling through his nose as if he’d been waiting for it to happen. You can’t help but smile into the kiss. Warmth spreads throughout your body, the cold air around you suddenly becoming less cold. You then pull away, having to catch your breath.

You run your fingers through his hair, your forehead pressed against his. ”We should probably get inside before we catch a cold.”

He just hums in response as he lets his eyes flutter open. He licks his lips, the taste of your raspberry lip balm still lingering on them.

After making sure to remember the bag of snacks you initially had come outside for, the two of you head inside. You shiver as the warm air inside engulfs you. You’re quick to get out of your outerwear and run into your bedroom, wanting to get rid of your hoodie — in which is now soaked at your lower back. You undress deciding to steal one of Jeongguk’s shirts. You put it on, and with the hem falling just above your knees you figure you’re in no need of pants.

As you’re about to leave you bump into Jeongguk’s bare chest, the shirt he had been wearing earlier now in his hand. He stands in front of you with exposed abs and sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Now the sight of this — you can confirm — is more mouth-watering than any snack in that bag.

You tear your gaze from his body as you hear his voice, eyes meeting his.

”Hey you, I was about to ask if you happen to know where me long sleeve is,” He says. ”But it appears someone stole it,” He nudges a finger against your side.

You grin. ”You don’t need it,” You argue as you walk past him, heading towards the sofa.

”And why’s that?”

”You look better without clothes.”

”Oh, if that’s the case you don’t need it either then,” He steps in front of you, stopping you from reaching your longed for destination.

”I can’t just walk around in my underwear,” You laugh.

”Sure you can,” He says, a smirk on his lips.

You hit his chest. ”Shut up.”

He picks you up by grabbing the back of your thighs, making you squeal and put your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the sofa and let’s you fall onto your back on top of it, then he lays down next to you.

You gasp.

Jeongguk looks at you with worry in his eyes. ”What?”

”The lights need to be turned off,” You say, gesturing to the light above you. ”Technically, you laid down last so that means you have to go turn them off.”

He groans, but gets up to turn them off nonetheless — making you smile in satisfaction. On his way back he brings the bag of snacks, placing it on the coffee table. He lays down next to you again and reaches over for the remote to press play. Shadows start dancing around the room as the K-drama starts playing. Jeongguk sighs as he cuddles into your side, laying his head on your chest and pulling the covers over the both of you.

You lay like that for a while, legs tangeled, sharing snacks and making stupid jokes about the things you see happening on the TV — laughing at stuff that wouldn’t have been funny if it weren’t for the lack of sleep. After a few episodes you can tell the late hours are getting to your boyfriend as you notice him getting quieter, his breaths slowly becoming deeper.

You too feel your eyelids getting heavier so you grab the remote to turn the TV off, then gently placing it on the coffee table. You get yourself comfortable, but you soon realise you’ve left your phone in the bedroom — making you sigh in frustration. Despite the very comfy state you’re in, you decide it’s best to go and get it in case your boss gets the idea to call you in the morning.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, carefully pushing Jeongguk so his head falls softly onto the pillow next to you before you lift his arm off of your waist. Trying your best not to stir him out of his sleep, you sit up slowly but realise you’ve failed as he groans and brings his arm around your waist — pulling you back down next to him.

”Jeongguk, I have to go get my phone,” You whisper, trying to remove his arm yet again.

”Nooo,” He whines, putting his leg over your hips under the covers.

You can’t leave, even if you try.

”I have to,” You say.

”Please don’t,” He pouts.

”I’ll be quick I promise.”

And with that he let’s you go against his will, keeping the pout on his lips. You try to keep your promise, being as quick as you can despite your eyes not really being adjusted to the darkness yet.

You luckily get to the bedroom without stumbling over something, fumbling to grab your phone that you had thrown on the bed earlier. After finally finding it under a pillow, you make your way back to the sofa.

Jeongguk immediately puts his arm around you as you lay back down next to him, laying his head on your shoulder.

”Missed you,” He says with sleep laced in his voice, making you chuckle.

”I was only gone for a few minutes, Gguk.”

Half asleep, he shifts so he’s lying on his side and pulling you against him so your chest is pressed against his. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck before leaving a few light kisses just under your jaw. You put your arms around him and bring a hand up to run your fingers through his hair. Your other hand draws circles on his back, your fingertips delicately skimming over his soft skin. You feel his body relax against you, a sigh escaping past his lips — his breath hot against your skin.

You could stay like this forever, close to him like this while just enjoying the presence of each other. You kiss his shoulder before laying your head against his, feeling the melatonin take over you once again.

”I love you,” Jeongguk mumbles into your neck.

You smile. ”I love you too.”

[vorta-whore]

Transition of Power, ch. 3

The two of you go for a stroll.

Weyoun 5 x female reader

Chapter 1: An Introduction | Chapter 2: A First Date | Chapter 3: A Walk Together | Chapter 4: A Night on Bajor

---

You don’t consider yourself a particularly religious woman. You have always had faith in the Prophets, of course, and you attend weekly services whenever you can afford the time. But in all your years aboard the station, you can’t recall ever stepping foot in the temple outside of service hours simply to pray.

You’ve done so three times this week.

The silence and stillness of the shrine seems to help, for a moment. As you kneel onto an empty pillow and bow your head, your chaotic thoughts begin to subside, replaced by a single, focused prayer.

Prophets, you think, though you sometimes sense you’re talking to yourself more than to them. Please, guide me. I didn’t think I had a choice, at first, with this man. He wanted me and I could not deny him, for fear of what would happen to me. But the more we talk, the clearer it is that he isn’t forcing me into anything. I’m continuing it of my own free will.

You lace your fingers together and squeeze your eyes shut in concentration.

I know he’s a dangerous man. An evil one. He represents the empire that could tear the Alpha Quadrant apart. And I know he must have committed atrocities of his own as well. I shouldn’t want to be with him – I should be repulsed. But I can’t help it. When he leaves, I miss his presence. I think about him as I lie awake at night. I wonder what kind of a man he is, under that diplomatic persona. I want to get to know him. And I...I like how I feel around him. He makes me feel interesting. And wanted. Desirable, but respected. He treats me kindly, with a gentleness I never thought him capable of, that I’ve never experienced from another lover. And I know the right course of action is to end this before it begins, to reject his advances before they can go any further...but I feel in my heart that I would regret it forever.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips.

You gifted us with the ability to love so we could appreciate being bathed in your holy light. It is the purest, most powerful force in the world. So how could it ever be wrong? Would I...be a collaborator if I continued this? Is the only moral course of action to forget this affair? Or is this part of my fate – to capture the heart of a powerful enemy and help save his soul, and maybe some lives in the process?

You pause, your heart laid bare, and wait for a response. But you don’t really expect one. The Prophets have never spoken to you – not directly, at least – and you don’t expect them to start now. Even if you are in terrible need of guidance. For a moment you consider asking the vedek for advice, but you suspect he won’t give you an entirely unbiased answer when he realizes the object of your affections is none other than the station’s Vorta oppressor.

The musky scent of incense swirls in the air around you. Quieted but still frustrated by your own uncertainty, you take a moment to breathe and center yourself as best you can before heading back out to the Promenade.

The serenity you found inside the temple begins to fade away as soon as you leave it. You pause to survey the station inhabitants shuffling to and fro, their heads bowed, their faces weary. As much weighs on their minds as on yours. 

A sudden call snaps you out of your reverie.

“Y/N!” comes the excited, familiar voice, and you turn with surprise to see Weyoun flanked by his Jem’Hadar guards. Caught off-guard, you gape for a moment as he approaches.

“Hi,” you manage. He beams at you in response.

“Will you walk with me for a moment?”

Your answer follows before you can give it even a moment’s thought: “Of course.”

The Vorta turns and you fall in tow as the four of you cross the Promenade. You’re not entirely pleased to be seen in public with Weyoun – you keep glancing about as though fearful of the judgmental glares you’re bound to receive – but the majority of people you pass seem entirely uninterested in your little rendezvous. Beyond, of course, the usual uneasy glances they direct at Weyoun.

“I really did enjoy our dinner last week,” he says with a hum. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Oh, you have no idea the extent of it. I’ve rarely a moment to myself, let alone time to enjoy the company of others. Which brings me to my point.”

He pauses in front of a window and turns to gaze out at the stars. You do the same, and a faint wistfulness tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the space where the wormhole hasn’t opened in months.

“I’d like to see more of you,” Weyoun says softly.

You look over at him with such a panicked haste that he quickly adds an addendum: “If that’s alright.”

“I – you – yes, of course it’s alright,” you stutter, and feeling sheepish, you avert your eyes and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

You can hear the smile (and notes of what sound like genuine relief) in Weyoun’s voice as he replies. “I’m glad to hear it. As it happens, my meeting with Gul Dukat later this evening has been fortuitously postponed – and I can think of no greater way to spend my suddenly free time than in the pleasure of your company.”

You glance up to see he’s turned from the window to face you, and his wide eyes glimmer with anticipation as he awaits your response.

You hesitate. Something within you is begging to say no, to run away – but you can’t fathom the possibility of extinguishing the spark of excitement in those amethyst eyes...

“Unless...you have a prior engagement?” he prompts at your hesitation, and the way his eyebrows raise and his lips tug into a frown has you scrambling to comfort him.

“No! No, I’m free. I’d love to join you,” you assure, quite earnestly in fact, you realize, and Weyoun’s expression melts back into a pleased smile.

“Excellent. I was thinking perhaps a change of scenery this time; I’ve already taken the liberty of securing a holosuite reservation. I think you’re going to like the program I’ve selected.”

Before you can inquire, Weyoun reaches for your hands, and the feeling of his soft skin brushing against yours steals the words right out of your mouth. You find yourself helpless under his gaze once more as he strokes his thumbs over the back of your hands, and in that simple, paralyzing touch you completely forget the two of you are in the public eye.

“I’ll pick you up from your quarters at eighteen hundred hours. Dress for warm weather.”

He presses a quick kiss to one of your hands and then is gone, leaving you breathless by the window.

No one had been paying you much attention before. But after that public display of affection, you notice several pairs of eyes quickly dart away as you turn back toward the Promenade.

You suppose you’d better go find a dress.

---

The door-chime rings at eighteen-hundred hours exactly, and you wonder if Weyoun had perhaps been standing there waiting for the precise moment to strike. With one last glance in the mirror to straighten your hair, you answer the door, and the sight momentarily stuns you.

You hadn’t seen Weyoun in any outfit other than his typical – was it a uniform? That strange, asymmetrical garb he always wore. But as an ambassador, it made sense that he would have a variety of clothing suitable for multiple climates, and he had donned one such outfit here for the occasion. It resembled his usual attire, in all its intricately-patterned, multi-textured glory, but revealed much more skin than you were used to seeing on the Vorta. Lapels of thin leather stretched out to just barely cover his shoulders, leaving his arms completely bare. The pleated mauve undershirt (though you doubted it was its own garment entirely, more likely just a piece of fabric sewn into the vest for modesty) dipped down low to reveal both collarbones, and the asymmetrical hem of the garment jutted out just above his hips. His trousers – a shade more form-fitting than usual – were cuffed at the shin, revealing a sliver of calves between the hem and the ankle-high boots he wore.

You had worried about feeling a little too dressed-down, in your flowing sundress and delicate sandals, next to the stiff and regal Vorta. But the casual outfit assuages your fears and you both grin – you a little giddily – to see the other in a new light.

“You look stunning as always, my dear,” Weyoun notes, “but especially so tonight.”

You hesitate as he offers you his arm, but the reality is that after this morning, the whole station likely knows about the two of you; there’s no point hiding this courtship anymore. You take his arm.

“I could say the same of you,” you tease, a little emboldened by the feeling of walking on the station commander’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show quite so much skin.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Weyoun’s lips, and you sense he’s debating saying something, but quickly decides against it. He simply chuckles. 

“I’m glad you like it.”

A thought occurs to you and you voice it tentatively as the two of you (followed, as always, by the Jem’Hadar guards) make your way down the corridors.

“Weyoun – is it true your people don’t have a sense of aesthetics?”

“Yes. The Founders did not deem it necessary for our purposes.”

You think you detect a hint of bitterness. But he continues on cheerfully: “Personally, as a diplomat, I do see the advantages; every culture has its own unique sense of style and taste, and if I had my own personal preferences among them, I might find it more difficult to establish relations with races whose appearances or architecture I disliked.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you mutter, not really agreeing. “I just wondered – you always compliment my appearance…”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “yes. I assure you those are genuine.”

At your look of confusion, he furrows his brow, trying to find the easiest way to explain. 

“...Allow me to illustrate it for you with an example. If you showed me two dresses – one horribly tacky, the other beautiful and elegant – and asked me to label which one was which, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. To me, they’re both slips of fabric in various colors and patterns woven together to make a garment. I cannot detect whether certain colors clash with one another, or if certain shapes are unflattering on one’s body. But what I can appreciate is the woman wearing the dress. Her whole demeanor often changes when she slips into a garment as beautiful as she is; she becomes more comfortable, more open, more in tune with her inner light. When I compliment her, I’m voicing my appreciation for things like...the way her smile lights up the room. The tinge of color on her cheeks and the spark in her eyes. The grace with which she carries herself. Her confidence in flaunting such a flawless appearance.”

He pauses to drive his point home by setting his free hand gently over the one you’ve laid on his arm and meeting your eyes with a suave smile. Your foundation does nothing to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks, and you to your horror a giggle bubbles up from your lips.

“Regardless,” Weyoun sighs, pleased at the response he’s elicited, “I can certainly appreciate the effort you’ve expended going out of your way to gild yourself for my enjoyment.”

Heads turn as you enter Quark’s, and for a moment you avert your eyes and stare to the ground in embarrassment – but Weyoun doesn’t falter an instant, and the sheer confidence with which he carries himself bolsters you. You lift your head with some effort, clinging just a bit more tightly onto his arm. 

Quark has the data rod with your holosuite program in his hand as you approach the bar; his expression is unreadable. Weyoun thanks him and takes it, and you continue upstairs.

“I do hope you like it,” he says, a little more loudly over the noise of the bar, as he slots the data rod into the panel. “Having never been to Bajor myself, I can only hope it is a faithful reproduction.”

You turn to fix him with a questioning look, but he only bows and gestures for you to head inside.

“After you.”

The doors part and you immediately feel a blast of warm air, a welcome feeling on your bare, goosebump-prickled skin. You step inside – followed closely by Weyoun – and the Jem’Hadar take up post outside the holosuite just before the doors slide shut.

The program, to your wonder and delight, is a perfect re-creation of one of Bajor’s most famous forests. Your home planet is well-known for its natural splendor – sprawling mountains, rolling hillsides, breathtaking falls – and this woodland is a shining example. Impossibly high, purple-barked trees stretch toward the endless sky, their leaves casting a shimmering dappled shadow upon the needle- and moss-covered ground. A brook winds and weaves through the web of tree trunks and their gnarled roots, its water crystal clear, its shores adorned by smooth pebbles and stones. Small woodland creatures dart to and fro throughout the underbrush, and you watch with quiet fascination as one of them – a long-eared, round-eyed lagomorph – pauses to nibble at the bud of a crimson sunset-lily.

You’re sufficiently awed.

“I take it,” Weyoun says softly from behind you, and you startle a bit, having all but forgotten he was there, “the program passes muster?”

“More than,” you reply, and turning to face him, you offer a genuine smile of gratitude. “I feel like I’m home again.”

A warm smile touches his lips, creases the corners of his eyes.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

As the two of you approach the trailhead, Weyoun slides a graceful arm around your shoulders. He holds you firmly, but not tightly, and his embrace – the tingling sensation of his soft skin on your bare shoulders, the feeling of safety under his grasp – transforms you into a blushing maiden, clinging onto your shining knight. You wrap a reciprocating arm around his lower back as you both begin down the dirt path.

“I’m glad to be able to see some of your homeworld,” he muses after a few moments of contented silence, interrupting the cheerful sounds of birdsong. “Even if it is only a facsimile. My occupation, unfortunately, does not allow me much vacation time.”

He says this with a chuckle, intending the comment to be light-hearted, but you can hear an undercurrent of bitterness – the same subtle tone you noticed in your earlier conversation. The polite thing to do would be to move on; talk about the places in Bajor he should visit if he ever gets the chance. But you know it would be an empty gesture. There’s an opportunity here, and you’d be remiss to let it pass you by.

“...Weyoun,” you start carefully, and he glances over to you, attentive at your sudden tone of concern. “Do you ever…wish things were different?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he fires back, a little too quickly. His eyes slide back to the path in front of you.

“Yes, you do.”

Silence stretches out between you as Weyoun contemplates his answer. His arm around your shoulders has slackened a little and you aren’t sure if this risk is paying off the way you intended it to. After several long moments, he heaves a sigh, laden with a burden you sense he’s reluctant to acknowledge.

“Sometimes…”

He stops himself. You try to decipher the expressions crossing his face but they’re entirely unreadable. He glances back to you – looks down – sighs again. When he speaks, his words are deliberate, chosen with laborious care.

“Sometimes, I do harbor thoughts of what life might be like if circumstances were...different. There are many pleasures in this world unknowable to me; the taste of a home-cooked meal, for instance. Art in any capacity. Music, especially, I wish I could appreciate.”

“You can’t even enjoy music?”

“When I listen to a song, it’s as if I’m…” – his hand dances about in the air, searching for an apt comparison – “...looking at a sheet of mathematical equations. I can pick out the individual instruments, note the changes in their pitch, recognize patterns and motifs. But the whole of the song, the heart of it, escapes me.”

You both ponder this sad reality.

“I do think it would be nice to be able to carry a tune,” he laments after a long moment. “Or to dance. I’m a truly terrible dancer.”

The image of lovely, graceful Weyoun stumbling around a dancefloor elicits a burst of laughter from you, despite the heavy subject matter; Weyoun laughs along, relieved his attempt at cutting the tension was successful.

“That’s a shame. I don’t know how the Vorta usually woo their women, but on Bajor, dinner and dancing is usually part of the package at some point.”

“Well, I’ve managed to woo you without having to resort to dancing just yet.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you retort, grinning.

Weyoun agrees with a hearty chuckle.

“Let’s hope not.”

---

The two of you make your way down the winding trail, enjoying the sights and sounds of the woodland as you go. Weyoun, ever the gentleman, leads you by a hand over the fallen logs and stepping-stones that serve as bridges across the stream, his grip a comforting assurance. He waits ever so patiently when you pause to beckon to the furry little creatures eyeing you from the underbrush, and he is adequately fascinated by your explanations of the various flora and fauna, even humoring you when you pick the occasional flower and offer it for him to smell.

“Do you even have a sense of smell?” you question him at one point, twirling the stem of a flower between your fingertips; those of your other hand are laced comfortably with his.

“I do,” he assures, a little amused by the question but understanding of its necessity. “Scent plays a pivotal role in making good first impressions; it’s one of the first things a person notices. I find it helpful, actually, to tailor my own scent to match the preferences of those with whom I wish to establish good relations. It’s a subtle enough gesture, but effective.”

“Is that why you always smell so sweet?” You give him a light jab to the ribs.

He grins at your playful tone, shoots you a look of mirthful defeat.

“You caught me.”

“How did you know I’d like that scent in particular?”

“Well…”

Weyoun trails off, and in the span of that one word the tone of the conversation has shifted to something decidedly less lighthearted. Your attention is drawn to him as he withdraws his hand from your own and clasps it with his other; you wonder if that might be a nervous habit.

“Being station commander has its...advantages. There is very little that goes on here without my knowing, and likewise very little information inaccessible to me. If I wish to know...say...a particular occupant’s work schedule...or shopping habits...”

“You stalked me!” you accuse, and although the offense rings clear in your voice, you can’t honestly say it runs all that deep. Either way, you aren’t surprised.

“Stalk is a strong word!” Weyoun insists, the pitch of his voice rising as he hurries to defend himself. “I merely – gathered some basic information – to give myself the best possible chance of ensuring the outcome I wanted.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you a little strangely. The answer is obvious, of course, but you want to hear him say it.

“To win your affection. Which, it seems, I have. Or am I mistaken?”

His turn to ask the obvious question. You smile and lower your gaze to the ground.

“You have.”

“Then the ends justified the means.”

The trail opens up into a clearing, and you come upon the shore of a vast lake. There’s a stretch of fence close to the shoreline and you lean against it as you take in the sight: the rippling surface of the water glimmers like so many gemstones, reflecting the deep orange and violet hues of the Bajoran sunset.

It occurs to you that your Vorta friend may not be able to enjoy this painterly scene to the same extent you can. You glance over to him – and startle to see his gaze is fixed intently on you. It doesn’t waver as you meet it, and the unabashed eye contact brings a sudden warmth to your cheeks.

“What?” you finally ask, a little sheepish.

Weyoun’s smile grows just a shade deeper as he answers.

“You enjoy looking at the sunset. I enjoy looking at you.”

The simplicity of the statement only excites the butterflies in your stomach. You smile nervously, self-conscious, as Weyoun studies your face with a sudden, urgent interest; his smile fades and his brow creases with concentration. He’s searching for something – and whatever it is, he’s desperate to find it.

You’re just about to ask what’s wrong when his hand lifts to your face, and the gentle hold he takes of your cheek steals your thoughts away completely. His palm is soothingly cool; his touch, comforting and still. You notice his eyes slide down to your lips and you realize with paralyzing clarity what it is, exactly, he wants.

The next few moments happen in slow motion.

You allow the hand cupping your cheek to guide your face upwards, and Weyoun’s head tilts to the side, making room for you. You spare a glance down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, tender and heavy-lidded; your lips part and you suck in a small, quiet gasp of air, the last you’ll get for the next several seconds. As Weyoun leans down to close the last inch of space between you, your eyelids flutter shut – and an infinite, breathless moment passes before you feel his soft lips press, tender and sweet, into yours.

He lingers there motionless for several moments, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, before beginning to pull away – but you don’t let him. The instant his lips leave yours, your hands shoot up to grasp the sides of his face and pull him back down for more, and he obliges, gladly; you press up into him with more force, mashing your lips together in a hungry bid for intimacy, and he exhales heavily into the kiss, returning every ounce of passion. His hand slips from your face and you feel his arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling your body into his, and for several long minutes the only sounds around you are the distant calls of the waterfowl and the lapping of gentle waves at the shore.

Neither of you wants to end this perfect moment. But, inevitably, one of you must break for air, and of course it happens to be you. You pull back just enough to breathe; your eyes blink open to meet Weyoun’s, and as you relocate your hands from his face to rest upon his shoulders, you notice with some amusement the faintest tinge of purple in his cheeks.

“Wow,” you exhale, lightheaded.

“Wow,” he agrees.

His grip on your waist loosens and, self-consciousness returning, you turn back toward the lake and allow the cool breeze to soothe your burning face. Weyoun releases you to instead rest a hand on the small of your back, and you lean into him, heart aflutter.

A few minutes of silence – of perfect, serendipitous peace – draw to a reluctant close as the automated voice of the computer informs you your holosuite reservation is at an end. You release the fence posts just as they disappear from beneath your hands and frown as the beautiful expanse of forest before you gives way to the cramped and machinery-cluttered interior of the holosuite.

“A pity,” sighs Weyoun, turning to you and taking your hands in his own. “I was hoping that hour might break the rules of spacetime and stretch out just a bit longer.”

It’s a little cheesy, but you giggle anyway, and he grins to have gotten to you. Lifting a hand to his lips, he presses one of his signature kisses to the back of it, and you sigh, squeeze his hand in return.

Emerging from the holosuite on Weyoun’s arm once more, you cringe at the din of the bar, so cacophonous compared to the quiet of the forest. But nothing can shake the absolute serenity now instilled within you. You practically float down the walkway, and though pairs of eyes follow your progress as they did before, this time you find it quite easy to pay them no mind.

Weyoun notes your confidence with an approving hum. “Not so self-conscious now, I see.”

You grin a little, shrug your shoulders. He responds with a chuckle and teases you in that lilting, singsong voice of his: “I wonder why.”

The walk back to your quarters is shorter than you’d like it to be, and before you know it you’re standing at the entrance to your quarters. Frowning, you turn to face Weyoun, not quite ready to part ways.

“It was a pretty short hour,” you say.

“Indeed it was.”

“It doesn’t...have to be over so soon. You could come inside…”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he sighs, and there’s genuine disappointment in his voice as he cradles your hands in his own. “I’m due elsewhere on the station in five minutes’ time.”

He soothes away your dejection with another quick couple of kisses to the back of your knuckles – and then, with a coy smile, one to the very corner of your lips. You turn your head to try to catch it full-on, but he dodges you deftly – ever the tease. You understand the purpose behind this tactic of leaving you wanting at the end of each of your encounters, but it frustrates you all the same, and Weyoun grins infuriatingly at your pouting.

“Try not to fret too much. I promise I’ll be in touch again very soon.”

You can only swallow, nod, and linger on his gaze as long as politely possible before allowing your hands to slip from his and turning with great reluctance to enter your quarters.

Sleep hasn’t been coming easily to you these past few weeks. But tonight, it greets you kindly, and you drift into an easy slumber with a smile on your lips.