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jpitha · 2 years ago

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The Dreams of Hyacinth 4

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Jameson smiled. "I know. An AI with a daughter? Who ever heard of such a thing, right?" Nick nodded silently.

"Well, very occasionally, when two AIs enter a relationship, we decide we'd like progeny of our own. We were built and designed by humans after all, it makes sense for our thought processes to be similar right? Anyway, we can combine a bit of our own code and... have a kid. They're not exactly a baby, and they don't learn like humans, and it's not a lot like raising a human, but she's still my daughter and I still love her."

Nick nodded. "Of course Jameson. We'll find her and bring her home. Is her... other parent in the picture?"

At mention of the other parent, Jameson's face crumples. "No, Nick. They died."

Nick didn't know a lot about AIs, but he knew it was rare for one to die. He had heard that some AIs were more than a thousand years old. "I'm sorry Jameson," was all he could manage.

"Thanks for your condolences Nick. They were one of the Starjumpers that attacked Empress Melody a decade ago, were you around for that?" Nick shook his head. "It's better you weren't. It was a nasty time for everyone." Jameson looks into the middle distance, remembering. "They were destroyed in orbit around Venus during the push to catch Melody before she escaped." Jameson looked at Nick in the eye. "They took out two of their damned Super Dreadnoughts when they blew their reactor though. They left with a positive count." His face softened and he looked down at his pad. "Not a day goes by that I don't miss them. Yon is my only link to them left, so you get why I want her back."

Nick looked Jameson in the eye. "We'll get her back. I personally guarantee it." Eastern was looking at them, wide eyed. "Nick, what the fuck are you-"

Jameson raised a hand for silence and smiled. He snapped his fingers towards the guards in the shadows. They wheeled over two beds, also with straps. When they beds came by, Eastern started to struggle against the straps.

"Now now Eastern, don't be like that. We're not going to hurt you." Jameson stopped. "No, I apologize. We're not going to hurt you on purpose." He stopped again. "No, that's still not right. The goal of the exercise is not pain." He thought a moment, "Yes, that's more accurate. I'm giving both of you a gift. A very special, rare gift. Something that will help you immensely when trying to find an AI."

As Jameson was speaking, the guards lifted up Nick like he weighed nothing and moved him to the bed, strapping him down. They did the same to Eastern. Nick was too confused to be more than curiously worried, but tears freely flowed from Eastern as she was strapped down. She whimpered quietly.

Nick turned his head and his eyes met Eastern's. She was incredibly frightened. He has never seen her this scared. "Uh Jameson? What is going to happen to us? Eastern is really worried."

Jameson waved his hand dismissively. "She's scared because she knows me better than you do, that's all son. I'm not going to torture you though, even though that's what it looks like. We're going to perform a little procedure on you, and you'll be better able to help me."

"Procedure?"

"That's right." Jameson nodded. "We're going to give you both cybernetic enhancements."

Eastern screamed.

Nick felt the icy pinch of a needle injecting something into his body, and before he could react, he was out.

Soon after the AIs were created and their personhood confirmed, biological people noticed that their bodies didn't break down and fail like human bodies did. A group of humans came to the AIs and asked "Can we get bodies like that? Could you put us into a body that doesn't get decrepit and die?"

The AIs, game to try anything with their new partners in the galaxy, agreed to try.

They dragged out ancient research into brain/computer interfaces and started the research again. Decades of people-hours went into improving the theory, developing new techniques and technology, all to give their new friends what they wanted.

A small subset of the AI faction was worried that this was too much change to their biological brains too quickly, but the humans assured them that it would be tested only on volunteers, and everyone knew the risks.

In hindsight, the AIs probably should have known better. After all, the people that most wanted to live forever were the people that probably should not have had access to the technology.

Eventually, the first generation of human cybernetic enhancements were developed, and the systems were ready for testing. Humans by the hundreds showed up and volunteered to be cut open and have this technology inserted.

All kinds of enhancements were developed. Artificial limbs, artificial organs, additional computational power for our brains and improved memory.

The losses were horrific.

If the subject didn't die from shock or rampant infection, then often they were reduced to a state of cationic stillness from over stimulation. Some reports made public state that of the one thousand official test subjects, less than twenty survived.

Some less official reports state that the number of "volunteers" was nearly three times the official number, and the losses were even higher.

In the end, there were "officially" twenty cybernetically enhanced humans, a lot of corpses, and the horrified AIs closed the program forbidding any further research. The cybernetically enhanced humans were given jobs that would benefit from such a person - mostly out in space, away from everyone else.

One of the most famous uses for a cybernetically enhanced human was as the co-captain of the massive colony ships that were launched soon after the program completed. This is not their story, however.

The thing about cybernetics is that the lure of it was just too enticing for some. The ability to be more than what they were, to be faster, smarter, stronger was too intriguing to just... stop the research.

So it went underground.

There was no shortage of "volunteers" either. People who had owed money to the wrong people, people who had signed up for the chance to get their family off planet to one of the nicer orbitals, people who just wanted a chance at a more exciting life. More meat for the grinder.

Because of the stigma against cybernetic enhancement, work was also done to hide the work done. There would be no chrome people with beautiful biomechanical arms, no lines of silver on their skin denoting their special status, no large ports on the back of their necks to show where they can interface more directly with a computer. Just as much work was done to hide the mods as was done on the mods themselves.

Nick didn't know any of this. He was a kid from Parvati who used the proceeds from the death of his parents to book passage as far away from Parvati as he could. He wasn't interested in AI history or cybernetics any more than he was interested in Empress Melody.

While he was under, Nick had odd dreams.

He was young again, sitting on the uncomfortable bench at his parent's funeral. His suit was rented, and scratchy. The two urns that contained their remains sat on a table surrounded by flowers as people walked by. Some had misty eyes, one or two, actual tears, but most everyone was expressionless.

Every now and then, someone - he never remembered who - would come up to him and offer hollow condolences. "You're strong." and "I'm so sorry" and "How lucky you made it." and so on and so on.

Nick was numb to the words.

While he was sitting, Eastern walked up to him. The same adult Eastern Nick knows now, not some kind of child, like he was. "Hey Nick, what are you doing, wallowing in your memories?" She looks around. "This is where you came from?" She scoffs. "No wonder you're so boring."

Nick looked up at Eastern. She was as beautiful as ever, dressed in a black, low cut cocktail dress. Entire inappropriate for a funeral, but at least it was black. "Come on now, what are you going to dream about next? Purchasing cattle class to Hyacinth because that's the furthest you can get with your meager inheritance? I know that part already." She bends down low, and Nick's eyes are drawn to her cleavage. She notices his eyes and grins wickedly. "Hah, I knew you were in there somewhere, you perv." She laughs. "Come on, let's get out of this dream, find somewhere nicer." She grabs his hand and squeezes it. Nick's head snaps back and he gasps.

The sky is turquoise and the sun is much more orange than Sol. Eastern looks around. "Is this Parvati? I've never even been planet-side and you're taking me to a fucking colony world?" She playfully nudges his upper arm. "Why couldn't you have done shit like this when we were dating?" She's wearing a black bikini with a blue and gold sari skirt, and Nick is in a black speedo.

Nick looks around. "We're at Touchdown Beach, on Parvati. It's where the first colonists landed." He gets his bearings. "Behind us is Naya Chennai, the First City, which means..." He stepped onto the dune, with Eastern following. As they reached the top, the flash of the sun on the water caught her attention and she gasped.

Eastern had never been on a planet. She spent her childhood on Luna, and then bounced around stations, starbases and orbitals her whole life. Dream or not, this is the first time she's ever seen an ocean. "Holy shit Nick. This is so much water! I can't even see the other side!" She takes a deep breath. "What's that smell? It's salty and funky and..."

"It's the smell of the sea. The salt and the sea creatures and the rotting seaweed." Nick took a deep breath as well. "It smells like home."

Eastern stood with the sun in front of her, highlighting her skin and the black bikini she was wearing. She put her arms on her hips and stared at Nick. "Nicholas North, you never told me Parvati was a paradise!"

Nick smiled and chuckled sadly. "Only if you're vacationing here, Eastern. Things aren't as... exciting when you grew up here."

"Ahh, there's the sad lump Nick I know and love. Welcome back." She looked around. "What are we doing though? Doesn't this feel odd for a dream?"

Nick mused. "Maybe it's related to the cybernetics work they're doing on us." He looked at Eastern. She really did look amazing in her outfit. He'll have to see if he can buy what she needs to recreate it when they're awake. "You try remembering something Eastern, maybe it goes both ways."

"Hmm okay."

They were in a crowd. So many people all at once. Nick felt light on his feet too. When the crowd moved, he had to shuffle along so he didn't bounce too high. Bounding when you walked was seen as something only tourists and newbies did. Why did he know that?

Everything was grey. Grey walls, grey ceiling, the dome above showed a black and grey sky. Everything smelled faintly of people and cordite.

"Luna." He said, "We're on Luna."

"That's right." Nick looked down. Eastern was next to him, but she couldn't be much older than 12 or 13. Her raven black hair was much longer now and floated lazily in the low gravity of Earth's moon. She caught him staring. "It was a sign of affluence to have long hair on Luna. It takes work to keep it from becoming one huge snarl."

"Why are we here?" Nick asked, looking around.

Eastern looked too. She jumped up until she was a good two heads taller than everyone and lazily floated back down. "I know why we're here! It's one of my best memories!" She grabbed his hand. "Come on, you're gonna get to meet her, you'll love her!"

Eastern dragged Nick through the crowd, ducking and weaving around the masses of people, trying to make it to the front of the crowd and the stage ahead. In the distance, he saw figures standing on the stage, their blue outfits a splash of color in this monochrome world. They seemed even more highly contrast than should be possible. This must have been a very formative memory for Eastern.

At the front of the crowd, two women sit. They're both wearing the vivid blue uniform. One has long dark hair pulled back sensibly in the low gravity, and the other has blond hair cropped short and spiky. The black haired woman seems to have a hologram of... wings and a crown on her? They're faint. Barely the suggestion of them, but Nick knows they're there.

It's their turn. Eastern bound up to the table. "And who is this young lady?" The Empress Melody says kindly. Eastern is practically bursting with excitement. "My name is Meghan Pelham, your highness." and she does a short curtsy.

"Such manners Miss Pelham, It is our pleasure to meet you." Empress Melody inclines her head gently and the woman behind her smiles.

"Are you really going to help all of us?" Eastern looks at them wide-eyed.

"That's our goal, yes. No matter who you are, or where you came from, we're here to help. There's so much we can do, and I hope that I can make everyone's lives better." She touches Eastern's right arm in a familial way and she practically floats off the floor. "Now, run along Meghan, and I hope we'll see you soon." A K'axi behind the empress hands Eastern a signed photo of her and the woman with the short blond hair.

Suddenly, Melody looks up at Nick and stares at him. "You don't belong here."

Sputtering, Nick has no reply. "I-I-I-I mean..."

Nick wakes up.

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#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and aliens #jpitha #the k’laxiverse #The Dreams of Hyacinth

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1ore · 1 year ago

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ough. everything happens so much and i barely have the processing power to talk about the men who live in my brain that aren't real. this is unacceptable. how is a woman to work under these conditions.

byuuillggghhh i make an effort anyway.

yuri got his shit rocked in the mists. i still cant believe my dumb throwaway idea is canon. i dont think that man 'came back wrong' so much as he didn't come back at all. instead, an entity who has been transformed to the point of being unrecognizable (but still technically a continuation of the same person) came out of the mists. happy pride.

i think the sheer need to kick balthazar's ass is what brought him back. not just his own desire, but that of everyone and everything around him. he forms around the collective suffering and vacuous emptiness left behind in his wake, and while he DOES recover some memories on the way up, all of them are of conflict and war. which. has some implications for his sense of self and how he relates with literally everyone around him.

he is instinctively drawn to people with unresolved grief, righteous anger, or other wounds related to wartime. For a while, he's not really a person but a physical force that strongarms the cruel and powerful into paying their moral debts, whatever that means. (the Norn description of the six gods not as persons but as motive forces is bouncing around in my brain.)

inevitably this leads him back to his old gang as they converge on Kicking Balthazar's Ass. yuri is drawn to their hurt and remembers most of them from his time with the Pact, but only in broad strokes-- the great victories and terrible losses. he remembers almost nothing of their actual day-to-day relationships. he is vaguely compelled to learn more, but he doesn't know how to be anything but a shambling wraith. so. emotional intimacy doesn't come naturally. that, and everyone else just thinks they're hallucinating him out of grief.

idk if yuri even GETS to kill balthazar. i think it's fun if he's robbed of the chance to fulfill his purpose, and feels anchored to tyria out of this sense of unfinished business. my man is once again embodying the vacuous emptiness left behind by war.

right now, in the aftermath, he's kind of just orbiting people and trying to be helpful in his narrow, ominous, vaguely upsetting definition of being helpful. he remembers 'Commander Atropos' and 'Marshal Trahearne' well enough to hold a stilted conversation. The Lastborn is a puzzle to him, definitely knows that guy, definitely has The Long Shadow Of War hanging over him, but cannot for the life of him pin down why or from where. hasn't met his daughter the vinetooth yet, but when he does, she Will force those memories back into his miserable brain like a square cube into a circular hole. biting him and biting him and biting him and b

(Of all people the Lastborn is probably handling this the best. he's like oh we all have those days where we cannot continue to exist without annihilating everything that we were and everything that we could have been. you're not special. maybe if you eat some soup you'll calm down.)

something something trahearne finally getting to reciprocate the patience and kindness that yuri showed to him while he was in the pits of his psychic mordremoth prison. at first he's being dragged kicking and screaming into this but then he picks himself up and dusts himself off and 180's on it, just like his wild hunt. anyway that's all thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#the problem with video game journaling is journaling ):#yuri six-cants tag #guild wars 2 tag

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wcrpbubble · 7 months ago

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well, that didn't go as expected. - chakotay @ janeway

out of all the things that have gone 'not as expected' in the delta quadrant - this is what's blindsided her the most. perhaps it shouldn't have, but it's certainly a sharp slap in the face to the past seven or so years. standing at one of the windows of her ready room, kathryn stares at a blessed sight - earth, it's vibrant blue beauty having very much been missed. she can see small pinpoints around, ships moving in and out of orbit or waiting for clearance to enter space dock. it's a flurry of activity, half caused by their return and half business as usual in the sol system.

starfleet has barely let her process the fact that they're home.

"i knew there'd be testimony - but i was hoping they'd be willing to be a bit damned flexible." she mutters, folding her arms across her chest. a court martial, issued to her - starfleet has been combing her logs from the past seven years before they'll be allowed to land.

there are teams on board already going through ship, the modifications that have kept them alive the past few years. she already knows it'll be dismantled when they finally get clearance to land - which won't be for another few days at least, she estimates. starfleet is being cautious and it's at a boiling point. people on voyager want to see their families beyond the screen of a video message. they're all antsy to be back on earth - kathryn included, though now she suddenly feels like she ought to dread it.

"i'll just be honest." she continues, gesturing vaguely at the air. "the decisions i made were for our survival, that's all. are there things i shouldn't have done? yes. a great many things. but i won't regret them. not when it's led us here." she grabs her empty mug of coffee and crosses to the replicator to refill it (holy hell will it be a blessing to have actual, real coffee again).

she massages her temple in anticipation of a beaurocracy headache. it's probably a formality, give her a chance to explain some of the more complicated logs - especially around the borg, she assumes. but kathryn has never quite liked this side of starfleet.

"you - the former maquis, they'll probably drag my ass across the carpet for it, but i don't want you or be'lanna or any of the others to worry. i'll defend you just as i have in my logs." besides, how can admiral paris put the mother of his new grandchild in a penal colony? and how can starfleet neglect the contributions chakotay and the others have made to their survival? voyager never would have made it. frankly starfleet should be bowing down and licking their boots.

"i'm telling you, as a friend." kathryn adds after another moment, lifting her head to him. "don't tell the others - they'll only worry. they deserve to enjoy the celebrations, to look forward to the homecoming. not worry they're about to lose their jobs and ranks and thrown in a jail cell."

she doesn't expect starfleet to do much - after all, voyager has done the unthinkable and it's crew are an asset. if starfleet does even so much as consider demoting them for actions taken when they were fighting for survival - well, she imagines the press and the thousands of others heralding their return will put up one mighty stink. and kathryn is willing to let them.

"now we just have to wait for them to decide the pomp and circumstance and i'm sure they'll put on a good face, throw some insane party and we'll have to pretend we're absolutely delighted to go." she mutters, rolling her eyes as she lifts her mug to her lips. "before reality comes crashing down around our ears." kathryn murmurs, quieter. her fingers curl around the warm mug of coffee, lips pulling into a soft frown. "as much as i've looked forward to this day - it's going to feel strange. not waking up to the hum of the ship. not seeing everyone all the time. i love this team with everything in me and faced with the fact that it's over . . . i already miss it."

@stcrdate

#stcrdate #( --- stcrdate && chakotay )#( --- character && kathryn janeway )

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chaosmagicss · 3 years ago

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love in the dark (wanda maximoff x reader)

synopsis: your plan is simple; get through your senior year and make it to college with minimal fuss. what you aren't expecting is the spanner in the works that is wanda maximoff and her stupidly kissable lips.

series warnings: high school au (everyone is 18), secret relationship, jealousy, allusions to and brief mentions of smut, fluff, angst

chapter warnings: underage drinking, flirting

words: 5.3k

read it on ao3!

a/n: surprise! part one of a series! it’s not going to be super long - probably around five-ish parts, but i've got most of written out soooo i'll try update it weekly. also! i have no idea how american high-schools work so have this poorly researched attempt! hope y’all enjoy! :)

part two | part three | part four | part five

“Y/L/N, you comin’ to the party later?”

You frown a little at Tony Stark, who simply wiggles his eyebrows. You find yourself at a loss for words for a moment, and you’re about to start stammering your way through an excuse when an arm wraps around your neck and Carol settles in beside you.

“Yes, she is,” Carol answers for you, lightly pinching your cheek. She chuckles as you try and fail to nudge her away, and Stark smacks the locker in celebration.

“Alright!” he declares, already stepping away. He grins widely, pointing at you just before he disappears around a corner. “Can’t back out now, hotshot.”

You manage a smile, but the second his attention is elsewhere, you’re shoving Carol off you and giving her your best glare. “I thought we were gonna just hang at mine,” you hiss in a whisper, only a hint of a whine in your voice.

Carol fumbles for a second. “I, well—”

“Natasha asked if she was coming,” Val jumps in, and you watch as Carol’s cheeks flush red, a teasing grin pulling at your lips as you gently punch her shoulder.

“Oh, Natasha asked,” you tease, giving her an over-exaggerated wink. Carol huffs, pushing you so hard that your back connects with the lockers behind you hard enough to hurt, but you’re too caught up in teasing her to care.

“You should’ve seen them,” Val says excitedly, stepping closer, grinning widely. “It was a miracle they made it through a conversation without sticking their tongues down each other’s throats—”

“Alright, alright, fuck off,” the blonde cuts in, face still burning, and Val simply giggles as she ducks away from Carol’s attempts at a smack. Carol sighs heavily, dragging a hand down her face before she seems to get ahold of herself. “Ugh. Anyways! Sorry I dropped this on you, but you’re coming, right?”

Your first thought is absolutely not. What you really want is to go home, curl up in bed and stream a ridiculous reality show, and then sleep until your body decides it has gotten its fill, and wake up hangover-free midmorning on a Saturday. However, you have a sinking feeling that your best friend was going to do everything in her power to make sure that didn't happen.

You watch her for a moment, studying the almost smug look on her face. “You're not gonna take no for an answer, are you?”

Carol grins, clapping you on the shoulder. “Nope!”

Shaking your head with a smile, your eyes jump across the room, and find none other than Wanda Maximoff. Beautiful, smart, kind Wanda Maximoff. You've never made conversation beyond a polite hello or awkward small talk on the occasion that Wanda has to pick her mother up from your house of an evening, but your eyes are almost always drawn to her whenever you're in her orbit, whether she's answering a question in class or she’s reading on the bleachers while she waits for the lacrosse team's Wednesday practice to finish. And, sure, maybe it's a little weird because you hardly know her, but really, can you blame yourself? She's almost annoyingly pretty. And then there's that weird high-strung tension that shrouds every brief interaction you have with her.

Take right now, for example.

She’s looking right at you, even as her brother and Jarvis converse right in front of her, but the second she processes that you’ve caught her staring, she looks away, pushing a hand back through her hair.

Tightening your jaw, you tear your eyes away from her, ignoring the fluttering in your chest.

Stark’s party, although on the small side this time, is as lively as ever. The team and their friends as well as a handful of people from the opposing school are crowded into Tony’s huge house, half-drank cups of whatever scattered on every surface as music plays from the speakers.

Carol has practically force-fed you two shots of vodka and three mixed drinks, and now you’re tipsy enough that you’re not anxious, enough so that when Sam Wilson challenges you to a game of flip cup, you don’t hesitate at all.

The cheering only gets louder the closer you and Sam get to the end of the table, neck in neck. He finishes skulling the last drink half a second before you do, but curses loudly as he misses the first flip. You, however, manage to nail it. Your arms shoot up in the air as the room erupts, Sam groaning good-naturedly and offering up a high-five as Carol leaps onto your back excitedly. You giggle as you smack your hand against Sam’s, wiping at your mouth and chin with the back of your free hand.

“Victory shots!” he declares, tugging you along, and as you look around, you catch Wanda slipping up the stairs. There’s a flash of concern in your alcohol-muddled brain, but it’s pushed away the second Sam starts to pour the tequila and Pietro Maximoff hands you a lime slice.

About twenty minutes later, you decide to start taking it easy. You skull two glasses of water and steal a slice of the toast Carol had made herself, and when someone drunkenly bumps into you, it’s enough to jolt you out of your anxiety-free mood.

All of a sudden everything seems too loud and too much, and you find yourself upstairs only a minute later, the world spinning as you stumble for the closest room, hoping it’s somewhere you’ll be able to catch your breath.

However, when you swing the door open, the room you’re met with isn’t empty. Wanda is sat on the edge of the bed, cross-legged as she scrolls through her phone. She looks up, startled by the intrusion, and any and all intelligent thoughts leave your brain.

“Oh,” you stop, gripping the door handle to keep you upright even as the world stops spinning. Wanda tilts her head a little, the start of a smile pulling at her lips, and it has you blushing in no time. “I’m - sorry, I didn’t… didn’t know you were in here.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to sober up quicker. There’s no way you were going to get through a conversation with Wanda without embarrassing yourself if the alcohol was still clouding your brain.

“Are you, um, are you okay?” you ask.

She looks a little surprised by the question.

“I just… needed a breather,” Wanda replies, still watching you in that way that’s making you dizzy. You nod a little, hand flexing against the door handle. Wanda’s eyes flick briefly to the movement, and your heart starts to pound when she stands and starts to make her way towards you with a previously unnoticed bottle of water in her hand, “Here.”

You swallow dryly, taking two steps to meet her and only managing to hold her eyes long enough to give her a smile as you take the bottle from her. “Thanks.”

She watches you take a few big sips, and you can feel your face returning to a reasonable temperature.

“So,” Wanda says, her smile turning teasing as she pauses, “why’d you sneak away from the party, hotshot?”

And now you’re blushing again.

“I - I didn’t—” You huff a laugh. “I’m not - I mean, I just… it was—” you wave a dismissive hand, “—it’s just a lot, is all.”

You fight the urge to actually smack yourself in the face. A pretty girl makes eye contact with you and you’re tripping over yourself? Get a fucking grip.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head and rubbing the back of your neck anxiously. You take a deep breath, manage to pull yourself together to meet her gaze. “I - I’m so…”

When you trail off, Wanda tilts her head again, that teasing smile still on her lips. “Drunk?” she offers.

“Nervous,” you reply quickly, eyes dropping for probably a beat too long to Wanda’s lips, and your heart leaps when her cheeks flush. “You make me nervous.”

Her eyes dart between your own, almost like she’s looking for something, and that strange suffocating tension that’s always seemed to exist between you rears its head again as she takes a small step closer.

She swallows thickly, and when she speaks her voice is so soft that it’s hard to believe that it’s even her speaking. “Good nervous?”

You fumble for words, gaze flicking between her eyes and her mouth rapidly, “I, um—”

“Little Maximoff, you up here?”

You take a big step back as Tony appears in the doorway, and you watch a slow grin creep onto his face as he so clearly picks up on whatever this is. “Oh my, what’s going on in here?”

“Nothing,” Wanda says quickly, stepping around you to push Tony back into the hallway. She glances at you, cheeks still red. “Did you need something?”

“First of all, ouch,” he says, “and second, Tall ‘n British is looking for you.”

Wanda huffs, pushing a hand back through her hair. “Okay. Alright.” And just like that, she’s gone.

You release your first full breath for the first time in five minutes. Tony leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you expectedly. “Come on, hotshot, spill the beans.”

You make a tsk sound, abandoning your water bottle on the closest flat surface before joining Tony in the hallway. “Sorry to disappoint, Stark, there aren’t any beans to spill.”

He groans heavily, and falls into step beside you as you start to make your way back downstairs to the party. “Lame,” he says. “I need something exciting to happen already. Senior year’s boring when you already know what’s happening after you graduate.”

“You could always get yourself expelled,” you offer with a grin. “Y’know, switch it up a little.”

Tony grins widely. “I just might.”

You really just can't tell if he's joking or not.

As you step back into the party, you spot Jarvis leaving with Wanda in tow. You watch as Natasha catches her at the door, her face pulled together in what you pin as either concern or confusion. Wanda shrugs in response to whatever she says, motioning to Jarvis. Natasha twists her lips, sighing softly before she softens and pulls Wanda into a hug, bidding her goodbye.

As Wanda steps outside, squeezing Nat’s hand before dropping it to let her close the door, her eyes flick past the redhead and land on you. She blinks, offers up a half-smile that doesn’t at all reach her eyes before turning around, and you lose sight of her just a moment later.

You pull the door open, and your heart jolts when you find Wanda standing on your front porch opposed to her brother.

You don’t let your surprise show, however, managing a tiny smile as you step aside. “Oh, hi,” you say, “come in.”

Wanda nods wordlessly, and you close the door behind her before moving down the hallway, all too aware of Wanda’s soft footsteps behind you as you reach the kitchen. Iryna is closing the dishwasher, having just emptied and restocked it despite you offering to do it so she could head home early. She’d simply given you a tsk and said, “Your mother pays me for a reason, dear.”

She beams when she spots Wanda, stepping over to her and wrapping her in a hug, pressing a quick kiss to her hair. You assume she utters a greeting in Sokovian, and you pretend not to be listening as Wanda replies to her in her first language, too.

You sit yourself up on the counter as you open the jar of Nutella, only glancing up when Iryna tells Wanda, “I’ve just got to put a load of washing on before we leave.”

You frown. “Mrs Maximoff, I can—”

She’s already heading down the hall. ”Not a word, love, it’s alright.”

You huff, looking back down to dig into the Nutella. Your eyes dart to Wanda briefly, but when she looks back at you, you fail to hold her eyes. Your cheeks warm a little, and you exhale roughly through your nose.

It’s been four days since Stark’s party, four days since whatever the hell that conversation with Wanda had been, and her being only a few feet from you is enough to make your heart beat a little quicker.

”Would you like anything to eat?” you ask, because that’s the polite thing to do, and the silence is very quickly becoming overwhelming. “Or drink?”

Wanda takes a breath. “Could I have some water, if that’s okay?”

You nod, hopping off the bench. “Tap or bottle?”

”Whichever.”

You move over to the fridge, pull out a chilled bottle of water, and Wanda mutters a quiet thank you as she takes it from you. You move yourself back to your spot on the kitchen counter, picking up the tub of chocolate spread as a sort of awkward silence settles over you. You’re glad you can hear the TV from here, humming along quietly to the generic pop song playing from the living room.

“How’d you do on the popquiz?”

You look up, startled by the fact that she’s starting a conversation, and it takes a few seconds for you to recover.

”The Spanish one?” you ask. Wanda nods. You shrug. “Not too bad. You?” She shrugs a shoulder, drumming her nails atop the countertop. You breathe a laugh. “Top marks, huh?”

She looks sheepish all of a sudden. “Yeah.” You hum around a mouthful of chocolate spread, dragging your spoon along the edges of the plastic container. “Sorry,” Wanda says all of a sudden, “I didn’t bring it up to, like, try and gloat.”

You shrug. “I know, don’t worry.”

She nods, lips twisting into a tiny pout as she averts her eyes, and it’s an undeniably adorable sight.

Before you can spiral too far, you’re startled out of your thoughts when Iryna walks into the room. “Alright, all done. You ready to go, Wanda?”

As Wanda nods, turning towards the front door, you hop off the counter. “Oh, Mrs Maximoff, wait.” You pick up the envelope sitting on the bench and hold it out to her with a small smile. “This is yours.”

Iryna frowns, opening the unsealed envelope before immediately closing it and offering it back to you once she sees what’s inside. “Oh, love, you aren’t meant to pay me until Friday.”

Your eyes jump to Wanda, suddenly embarrassed about the whole thing. “Oh, no, it’s not - it’s not a payslip.”

Iryna and Wanda both look up at you with puzzled looks, and you do your best not to fidget. You twist your hands together in front of you. Iryna tries again, taking a step forward with a rushed, “Dear, I can’t take this,” but you shake your head.

“Really, Mrs Maximoff, it’s alright. It’s a birthday gift. My mother and I wanted to give you something, but we weren’t sure what kind of jewellery you like, so we thought we’d just give you the money to buy yourself something.”

Iryna’s eyes water a little as she gives you a smile, and your eyes flick almost on their own accord to Wanda, who’s watching the interaction closely, a thoughtful look on her face.

You swallow. “If you - But I mean, if you’d like, you could always bring over some of your paprikash,” you grin, and Iryna gives you a watery laugh as she steps over, taking your face in her hands and dropping kiss after kiss to your skin until you’re giggling.

“Oh, you darling angel,” she says, leaning back to look at you and smoothing the hair away from your face. “Thank you, dear, really.”

You nod softly as her hands fall away from your face, smiling shyly. “Of course. It’s the least we could do. Happy birthday, Mrs Maximoff.”

She takes a deep breath, checking her watch, and takes a step back. “Oh, we’ve got to get home,” she says. “Don’t want dinner to be too late. And good luck with the game on Friday, honey.” You nod as she turns to Wanda, kissing her cheek and briefly squeezing her hand as she steps past her. “Come on, love.”

Wanda presses her lips together as she looks at you with this look that you can’t really decipher, but the eye contact has your heart pounding in three seconds flat. She licks her lip, opens her mouth as if to say something, but is cut off by her mother in the doorway.

“Wanda, sweetheart.”

She blinks, looks away from you. “Coming, mama.”

You jump a little at the sound of three harsh knocks against your door, only just loud enough to be heard over the rain. Pausing the movie, you scramble off the couch, tripping a little on the blankets that get caught around your ankle.

You have no idea what you’re expecting when you swing the door open, but it sure as hell isn’t an absolutely drenched Wanda Maximoff holding what seems to be a tupperware container. You blank, unsure of what to do or say.

She breaks first, glancing down and back up again. “Um, hi,” she says.

You snap out of your little trance, stepping aside. “Hi, sorry. Come in.”

She steps inside, letting out a breath that gives away how cold she is as the door closes. She’s dripping down onto the hardwood floor, her hair sticking to her forehead and her cheeks. A tiny part of you wants to reach out and push the dark strands away. She looks nervous, you realise. Her knee is bouncing a little and her hands are gripping the plastic container like a lifeline, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she looks at you.

“Are you, uh, okay?” you ask, a little amused at her out of character behaviour. She blinks rapidly, nods a few times. “Why were you out in the rain?”

“I, um,” she clears her throat. “All of my friends are at Bucky’s, and when my ma found out we were going there, she gave me this—” She waves the container around a little, “—and asked me to bring it to you, ‘cause you’re only a few blocks away. But as soon as I started walking from Bucky’s it just started pouring and there was no point in turning around, uh, because they’ve all started drinking so Pietro couldn’t give me a lift, and I—” She cuts herself off with a laugh, presses a hand to her forehead as she shakes her head a little. “I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure, trying not to get too caught up in how different she’s acting. This must be the real Wanda, you realise. Clumsy, shy, somehow even sweeter. “Is it, uh, the paprikash?”

Wanda nods, sticking it out towards you. The moment you take it, her hands are in front of her, fingers fiddling anxiously. You step into the kitchen to put the food in the fridge, half aware of Wanda’s cautious steps after you. You turn to look back at her, once again taking in her drenched appearance.

“Do you, uh, need a change of clothes?” you ask. “I’m sure I’ve got something that would fit you.”

Her cheeks colour, lips parting and eyebrows raising in surprise before she gets ahold of herself. “Oh,” she stammers. “Oh, no, that’s alright.”

You nod. “Okay, well, let me give you a lift, at least,” you offer, stepping towards her. Wanda shifts on her feet, eyes dropping from yours briefly. Your heart stutters. At her hesitation, you smile a little. “I can drop you around the corner, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Wanda says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, it’s not - it’s not like that, I just…” She licks her lip, and you do your best not to let your eyes get caught on the action. She exhales heavily through her nose. “Y/N, have you ever kissed anyone?”

It’s your turn to blush. You fail to speak for a few seconds, completely taken aback by the change in conversation.

“Uh.” You huff an embarrassed laugh. “I mean, at parties, yeah. And, I, uh, had a ‘boyfriend’ for a week in like, sixth grade.”

Wanda frowns. “I thought you were gay.”

You laugh again. “I am,” you say. “I didn’t know I was then. That was my last hurrah at being straight. Did a terrible job picking a boyfriend though, ‘cause we both turned out gay.”

Wanda tilts her head, genuine curiosity taking over her face. “Who was it?”

“Can’t tell you that,” you say quickly. Wanda nods, pushes a hand through her wet hair.

“Right, of course, sorry.” She swallows hard, seems to wrestle over her next words. “Have you ever, um, kissed… Carol?”

You frown, trying to get a read on her face, but it’s annoyingly difficult to do so. “No,” you say slowly. “I haven’t. We… aren’t dating, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. And then she says nothing more. There’s a few seconds of awkward silence, and you scratch at the back of your neck, grab your keys off the counter and stuff them in your hoodie pocket as you start to move past her.

“Okay, um, c’mon, I’ll give you a lift.”

Her hand flies out to catch your wrist, spinning you around to face her, but you don’t even get a word out before she’s cupping your jaw in her free hand and pulling your mouth down to hers. You freeze, shock taking over your body as soon as your brain catches up to what’s happening, but before you can relax, Wanda’s pulling back.

Her eyes leap up to yours, fear suddenly written all over her face, her cheeks flushing red. “I’m—” She sucks in a breath, dropping her chin. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what I was…”

“Hey.” Gently, you press under her chin until she lifts her face, her brows furrowed in confusion. Her breath catches when you lean in, slowly enough that she could back out if she wanted to. There’s a loud voice in the back of your head that’s screaming things like Stop and Jarvis and Straight, but they all go quiet when Wanda nudges forward that final inch to press your mouths together.

Her lips are so incredibly soft, and she tastes like spearmint gum and strawberry chapstick and it’s entirely addicting. She gasps softly against your mouth when you tease your tongue at her bottom lip, her fingers tangling into the drawstrings of your hoodie and tugging gently, keeping you close as your mouth moves slowly against hers.

You only pull back when your lungs are begging for air, and Wanda exhales shakily, leaning her forehead against yours as she fiddles with your hoodie and tries to catch her breath. Your chest feels like it’s bursting, an almost uncomfortable amount of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, and you can’t help your small smile when she takes half a step back and you catch her eyes.

She smiles then, too, a soft giggle slipping past her lips. “What…” You try and fail to smother your smile, having to look away from her, all too aware of your cheeks burning. “What’re you laughing about?”

She shrugs a little, still grinning even as she averts her eyes, too. “I’m - I’m not, just…”

“Have you… have you never…”

“Not girls,” Wanda says softly, eyes dropping to your mouth for long enough that it makes you a little dizzy. “Not… never a girl.”

Your heart skips. “Was… does it… I mean, was it… okay?” you ask quietly.

She nods. “Different,” she says. “But good. Good different. I—” Her face is pink all the way to the tips of her ears. It’s entirely endearing. “I liked it.”

“Okay,” you mumble, biting into your still tingling lip, averting your eyes again. “I, um, do you still… want a lift?”

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Oh. Yes, please, if that’s okay.”

You clear your throat and nod softly. “Yeah. Uh, come on, then.”

You drive the six blocks in silence, Wanda staring out the window as you struggle to get your heart beating at a normal pace. The rain has eased a little, but it’s still loud against the roof of your car, filling the otherwise dead silent car. As you pull up to the curb out the front of Bucky’s house, the butterflies come back in full force.

“Thank you,” Wanda says softly, and you work up the courage to look at her. It’s a mistake, you realise; all your breath leaves you the moment your gaze meets hers, and the anxious look on Wanda’s face has your heart pounding all over again. You tear your eyes away, and Wanda takes a breath as she reaches for the door handle. But then, before she opens the door, she pauses. “Y/N?” You hum in acknowledgment, turn to look at her again. “Don’t… don’t tell anyone at school about this, alright?”

Your heart cracks a little, and you’re not sure why. What else had you expected, really?

Still, you give the girl sitting across from you a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you tell her.

Wanda blinks, seems to hesitate for a minute before she decides against whatever it was she was thinking about. “I’ll - I’ll see you on Monday,” she says. “Thanks for the ride.” She gives you a tightlipped smile before she closes the door and jogs to the front door.

You watch Natasha pull her into a hug when she opens the door to the house, and when the redhead’s eyes flick to you, you feel caught, somehow. Even so, Natasha smiles and waves before pulling Wanda inside, and you let out a heavy sigh, thumping your head back against the headrest.

Idiot.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda fluff #wanda angst #wanda smut #wanda series #j is writing #mine

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ethan-torchio-angelo · 3 years ago

Text

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.

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luxwritesfanfic · 4 years ago

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On Tap

Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.

“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.

“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”

“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character.

You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.

Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”

You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”

Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”

You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.

As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.

“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.

“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.

You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.

“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.

Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.

—

“I thought you were staying over?”

It had only been a few hours since you had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.

“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.

He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.

“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”

You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.

All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.

“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.

“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.

Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.

The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.

“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.

“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.

“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.

Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.

Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.

“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!

-Y/N xx”

He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.

Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.

He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.

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missgeniality · 4 years ago

Text

Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest.

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities, @kithtaehyung and @baepsaetan, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse.

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’.

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step.

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir.

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!”

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells.

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy.

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink.

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’”

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you.

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend.

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses.

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting.

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed.

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it.

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame.

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone.

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.”

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest.

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours.

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls.

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold.

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm.

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance.

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.”

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist.

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in.

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole.

“Fuck me.”

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings.

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat.

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no.

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do.

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide.

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!”

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!”

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke.

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting.

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again.

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side.

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago.

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not.

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down.

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges.

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance.

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream.

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites.

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major.

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency.

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless.

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?”

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act.

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!”

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day.

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage.

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home.

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities.

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man.

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation. He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one.

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self.

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath.

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact.

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church.

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out.

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief.

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream.

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding.

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out.

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne.

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon.

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself.

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin.

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires.

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side.

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim.

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God.

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain.

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information.

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!”

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them.

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck. Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes.

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.”

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands.

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.”

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different.

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you.

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree.

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can.

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released.

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself.

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well.

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat.

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling. You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat.

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-”

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say.

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more.

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again.

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this.

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long.

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface.

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment.

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock.

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back.

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him.

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right.

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately.

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release.

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high.

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you. An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use.

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him.

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want.

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago.

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛: @little7bitchh, @afangirllikeme-blog, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead

Thank you so much for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed the fic, my ask box is always open for your lovely opinions. To read more of my work, find my main masterlist here. :)

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k-comfyspace · 3 years ago

Text

Half

Star: Loona

Idea: Yes

Love: Hi, I’ve been here for a while and got the confidence to request, though in anon, could I ask for a Loona 13th member experienced a loss in their family? And reader is super effected so she locks herself out and shuts everybody down? At first everyone understood but a few days later Haseul comes in with the others and comforts reader? Fluffy please thanks!

A/n: If you lost someone, know that you can always talk to anyone

You walked into Jiwoo’s room, seeing Heejin, Jiwoo, and Yerim bunched on the bed, a camera and a light in front of them as they all smiled when they saw you.

"Orbit, Y/n’s here," Heejin cheered, making you pad towards their direction, jumping on the bed so the camera could see you. An innocent expression on your face as you smiled, waving your hand as a small part of your fingers were visible due to the hoodie you were wearing,

"Everyone, you know Y/n has been acting so cute today!" Heejin added, the two nodding as they rubbed your head, "She’s been wearing Haseul unnie’s hoodie since this morning, and it’s so cute,"

You sat up properly, sitting between Jiwoo and Yerim, both of them clinging onto your arms. Jiwoo nuzzled her face on your shoulder, while Yerim rubbed her hand across the soft sleeve,

"It’s oversized, so it reaches all the way past her knees," Heejin explained, seeing the comments suddenly filled with white hearts and different variations of the word ‘cute.’

"You’re making everyone’s heart, flutter Y/n,"

You smiled at the comment, your face flushed a shade of pink, but you still felt happy,

"I’m very happy today, Orbit," your eye smile becoming apparent as your eyes disappeared from your face. While everybody, including the comments, squeals because of your cuteness.

It was a good day. You woke up bright and early, you had breakfast with all of your members, and throughout the day, you were all giggles because of them. You felt relaxed, having no worries, only focused on having fun with the people around you.

The rest of the night was spent doing the live, the four of you, enjoying yourself. Creating different games to play with your fans, and sharing some stories that orbits surely enjoyed.

It was in the middle of the night when your phone suddenly rang, taking it out of your pocket, you furrowed your eyebrows, seeing your mom on the phone.

It was unusual that she would call at this time, since you knew that she was on shift at the hospital.

You excused yourself, moving out to the hall as you answered the phone. It was probably nothing, you thought.

Heejin put the song on the speaker, singing along with Yerim and Jiwoo as they playfully put their hands up, acting like they were listening to a concert.

When the door opened, they saw you enter. Jiwoo was about to call you to join them, but when you raised your head, the smiles on their faces disappeared, seeing your tear-stricken face.

"Oh, well, orbit, I think we have to go. Yves unnie is calling us for dinner," Jiwoo faked, wanting to end the live immediately.

Heejin and Yerim looked at the older girl, but she nudged them, asking them to play along, which they did, and soon enough, after a lot of goodbyes, they ended the live.

The three of them quickly stood up to pull you into their arms.

"What’s wrong, Y/n?" they asked you, while you buried your face in Heejin’s chest, a sob finally leaving your lips.

"Hey mom," you greeted, partly confused, but it wasn’t any day that your mother would call you at this time, so you had no complaints.

"Y-Y/n, where are y-you?"

You suddenly grow concerned. You noticed how her voice broke, and the brokenness of her tone, "I’m at the dorms right now. Are you crying mom? What’s wrong?" you asked her, a sudden pit in your stomach made you grow uncomfortable.

"Y-your father, he c-called this morning--he said grandmother was brought to the hospital,"

You felt your heart stop, your breath hitching with the sudden news, "I-is--how is she now?" you asked, hoping for the best, your own eyes starting to sting, but the sound of your mother’s sobbing already gave you the answer you weren’t hoping for.

"The doctors managed to stabilize h-her, but this afternoon she suddenly had a s-stroke-- they called her d-dead a few hours a-ago,"

Everything suddenly went dead silent, not believing everything that you heard during this conversation. But you knew better that your mother wouldn’t make this kind of joke with you. Knowing just how much your grandmother meant to you.

"Honey, are you t-there? I--"

You dropped the line, leaning back against the wall as you held your phone in your hands, your mind not processing anything as you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks.

Yerim couldn’t help but hug you tighter, the three of them brought you to bed as they kept you in their hold. Not wanting to let go.

They kept you in their arms, cradling you, trying to prevent the tears that have yet to stop. Their hearts broke at the sight. Just a minute ago, you were happy, smiling whilst you interacted with the fans.

Now, you are crying your eyes out. All traces of happiness have drained away from your face. The others didn’t know what to do, they tried to call the other members, but you wouldn’t stop for anything.

Yerim tried to call their leader, however, due to the older woman’s schedule being held up, they couldn’t reach her either.

The members tried their best to help you, albeit only going as far to keep their arms around you and rub your back. At some point, you stopped crying, and they were relieved. Their shoulders got slightly lighter because they couldn’t hear you crying anymore.

When Heejin felt your shoulder slump, partnered with your breath evening out, she carefully pulled away, leaving you beside Yerim and Jiwoo, who were already asleep.

She tucked you in carefully, seeing the two other girls unconsciously wrapping their arms around you, cuddling closer before she left the room.

Heejin joined the rest in the living room, who glanced up, questions floating in their eyes, though Heejin just shook her head, combing her fingers through her hair as she sighed.

They let the silence linger in the living room, having no choice except to wait for their leader so they could figure out a solution.

While they waited, an hour passed by and you could feel your eyes opening, a small groan leaving your lips. You were confused about where you were for a second, until you saw Yerim and Jiwoo beside you. Each of their arms around your torso, keeping you close.

Then the sadness that seemed to pass by came back again, feeling your eyes sting you swiftly, but carefully pulled away. Laying their hands on top of each other which seemed to work, seeing them cuddling each other instead.

Leaving their room, you went into the hallway, hearing murmurs down the hall. You had assumed the girls were talking about you, which in turn left a deeper frown on your face. You didn’t want them to worry about you. It was your problem, yet you had to drag them into it.

With a sigh, you went down the hall towards your room. Locking the door and slumping on your bed, curling up on yourself as you clutched your knees. The first tear left your eyes once again, and you knew it wasn’t going to be the last.

Meanwhile, in the living room, the girls raised their heads when they heard the door open. Haseul walked in, her own distant look on her face when she read all the messages that the girls left her.

When she met their eyes, she had to pause, seeing the visible concern in each of their features. She placed her bag on the counter.

Giving the others a small smile before walking to the hall, opening Jiwoo’s room quietly in search of you.

She saw two figures and approached the bed, thinking that one of them was you, but when she got a better look, she grew confused when she only saw Yerim and Jiwoo, sound asleep.

Haseul looked around, walking to the bathroom if you were inside, the pitch black bathroom indicating you weren’t there.

She left the room quietly, thinking you were inside her room. However, you still weren’t there, she started to get worried, her mind running at the thought of you running away.

However, due to the quietness of the dorm, she heard a quiet sniffle come from the room beside hers, your room.

The leader padded down to the hall, holding the knob to open the door, which she found locked.

The older girl knocked, she got no answer. She tried again after a minute, and still you didn’t answer. She could hear you trying to muffle your sobs, though the faint sniffling could be heard through the door, so as softly as she could, she tried to reach you.

"Y/n? Are you there?" she called out, hearing the sobs cease before continuing again,

"Y/n, could you come out? It’s Haseul," she gave it her all, waiting for a few minutes to see if you would come out. Though she only went back to the living room, her shoulders slumped.

"She’s inside her room, I think it’s best to leave her for now. Y/n’s going through something, it’s best if we let her handle it on her own. She’ll open up when she’s ready," the leader announced, garnering nods from the others before they all separated, going inside their rooms.

It was true that some members could be the vitamin of the group, giving energy to the others.

Though, tonight, everything was silent. Everyone was solemn, as the person that could energize them was in the low herself.

The next day, the girls woke up differently. The usual fun, happy dorm was quiet, everyone doing their own things silently as they waited for Yves to call them to eat.

When breakfast was served, all of them gathered around the table, two seats were left unoccupied, until one of them wasn’t.

Haseul sat down, shaking her head when the others looked at her. You wouldn’t even answer the leader, so she wasn’t expecting more when she had knocked on your door.

"Will, Y/n unnie be alright?" Yeojin asked suddenly, making every pause to look at the youngest girl, they could only show her a smile, unsure of the answer until Yerim piped in,

"Of course, she’s gonna be alright, Y/n unnie’s strong, she just needs a little time."

The others could only silently agree, wanting to give you the space you needed, hoping you could recover faster.

The first day, they assumed that it would hit the hardest, so they did their best to give you the space you needed, although some were on the couch, waiting to see if you would go out, while the rest kept their doors a little open. Just in case you would call out.

The second day, they started to worry, since you hadn’t come out at all, you didn’t eat or drink, and they doubted that you were getting any sleep based on the occasional sobs and sniffling that they could hear when they went into their rooms.

However, on the third day, when they had enough, the girls started to worry. Their concerns were growing since they hadn’t seen you get out of your room in three days. The younger girls tried to cheer up the older girls, seeing as they were getting more antsy by the second.

Sooyoung and Jungeun wanted to use the spare key, but Haseul stopped them. Pushing that you needed more time,

"Haseul, I know you want to respect Y/n’s privacy, we do too. But she’s been inside her room for three days, without anything to eat or drink, not to mention sleep."

The leader bit her lip, she had to admit that she was concerned too. Her head was just telling her that she needed to give you space.

What she didn’t think about was whether you were coping or not. You needed someone, and all of them staying away wasn’t going to help you at all.

Haseul stood up, getting the dorm keys from the hooks and padding down the hall to your door. She quietly unlocked your door, peeking inside to see you curled up on the bed, slightly shaking.

She noticed that you were wearing her hoodie, but due to the minimal movements inside your room, the hoodie wasn’t much help with the cold surroundings.

She went in, closing the door behind her as she felt goosebumps along her arm, her body adjusting to the cold temperature. She walked around and crouched in front of you.

Seeing your sleeping face with a frown on your lips, partnered with the way your eyebrows were furrowed, she was disheartened seeing you like that.

Haseul couldn’t believe that she let you suffer for so long.

Carefully as she could, she climbed onto your bed, nudging you to the side before she lifted the covers on top of both of you.

Haseul wrapped her arms around your form, while you unconsciously inched closer to the source of warmth. She held your hands and frowned at the coldness.

She held your hands in her own, trying to transfer as much of her warmth to your body as she held you. A few minutes later, she saw the door open, followed by two heads peeking in.

Yeojin and Kahei looked at the leader before shifting their gaze towards the head that was peaking through the covers, the two came in.

Yeojin wasted no time as she went under the covers to hug you, her arms wrapping around your torso as she rested her cheek on top of your head, while the eldest approached the leader.

"She wanted to come inside. I couldn’t stop her," Kahei whispered, seeing the nod from Haseul before she rested her hand on your shoulder. Honestly, she also wanted to see you, her concern swimming in her eyes, which Haseul did take note of.

The older girl shifted slightly to the side, wanting to give the eldest room before she tugged at her wrist.

Kahei looked at Haseul, who only smiled, opening the blanket which she got into without much force, resting her head against the leader's shoulder, keeping one hand on your arm.

Throughout the day, more and more of the members would come inside the room, each of them choosing a place, until Hyunjin was the one who brought a comforter, pillows, and a blanket.

Then it became a collective decision for all of them to sleep inside your room for now.

Both sides of your bed were occupied by the others.

The girls let Kahei, Haseul, and Yeojin sleep in your bed with you. They didn’t question it more, knowing that they were the people that you approached when you had problems with something.

Seemingly, the air in the room grew lighter, their shoulders losing the weight that they had to carry. They were relieved that you were only a few feet beside them, easing the worries that they had.

The dorm was peaceful that night, not too sad, not overly happy.

You opened your eyes, waking up from your sleep.

You found your room dark. Glancing at the window, you noticed that it was already pitch black. The time on your wall said it was already past evening, a sigh left your lips.

You spent another day crying. Even if it’s been three days, you are still taking it hard.

You hadn’t touched your phone, left your room, or eaten a proper meal in so long. You were starting to feel bad for your members, knowing they must be worried, but being the nice people that they were, you knew they would let you have your space.

Another sigh left your lips before you tried to move your arms, but found it hard to do so.

Glancing down, it was then you realized the arms that wrapped around you, followed by the small body of the girl in front of you.

You blinked a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness before you were stunned. Seeing Heejin, Hyunjin, and Yerim on the floor.

They were lying on the comforter, all three of them cuddling as they slept peacefully. You glanced down and saw Yeojin, resting her head against your chest as she kept her arms around your torso.

You turned, though, once again you paused when you saw the rest of the girls on the other side, your leader, and Kahei on your bed while the rest rested on the floor.

Then a small smile finally spread onto your face. Suddenly, you feel warm that they are already beside you. It was a good feeling to have somebody beside you, having your second family be by your side while you struggled.

Sure, you shut them out, grateful that they gave you your time. However, this was what you preferred, seeing them bunched around you showed just how much they cared for you.

You sighed, happily, as you closed your eyes. Sure, you might have lost another half of yourself, but you knew that your members would be here for you, ready to rebuild the broken side of yourself, little by little.

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jinxfirebolt18902 · 4 years ago

Text

I licked it so it’s mine - JJ Maybank Imagine

Words: 1.818

Warnings: none?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader

A/N: I got this idea from a tumblr pic that read the title in a neon light sign. English isn’t my mother tongue so prob syntax mistakes AND F**** ENGLISH PREPOSITIONS other than that I love y’all, hope you enjoy.

—Okay sweetie, go have a good day and make new friends! —She heard her mom telling her as she gently pushed her by her shoulders towards the group of little girls and boys near the teacher. She took a few steps lacking confidence, not sure she wanted to actually be a part of the class. Minutes later a blonde boy with a face that already screamed ‘trouble’ despite the young age furrowed his eyebrows at her new face. He got closer and observed her attentively making her a little uncomfortable. Matching his personality, she furrowed her brows as well and asked rudely “what?!”

The boy processed the uncommon attitude coming from a girl and smiled at the change, appreciating the feisty confrontation in contrast with the so common cries or runaways of the other little girls he used to annoy. From then on they became inseparable and her mother always invited him over to play. Their play dates often involved fights, stolen toys and ice cream. As time passed, they grew out of toys but not out of ice creams, and they kept going to the small store that sells popsicles and doing their routine: buy the popsicle, go to the dock in front of the store and sit with their feet hanging as they ate the ice cream.

One of the many times, they were nine years old and just as she was about to give her popsicle the first lick he beat her to it and she whined immediately.

—JJ! —he laughed real hard and took it from her hands, provoking his best friend to become even more angrier.

—Sorry —he shrugged his shoulders innocently and then looked at the frozen candy —But I licked it so it’s mine now.

She punched him on the right shoulder and before she stood up and got away, he handed her his still packaged popsicle with a smile. She sent him another glare before sitting down again and not talking to him for the next 5 minutes.

—C’moooon! You can’t ignore me foreverrrr —he dragged some syllables of his words as he spoke close to her just to annoy her more.

—You’re disgusting JJ.

He smiled winningly at his victory. —But you love me anyways.

Years went by, their friendship grew and their group too, with the addition of John B, and years later Pope’s and Kiara’s. After Kie finished her shift at The Wreck, Pope and JJ were done with the groceries deliveries for the Kooks and John B and she were done at the Cameron’s, each with their different tasks, the crew had agreed on meeting at The Chateau to relax and drink some cheap beers.

John B was stargazing with a nostalgic look on his face; Kie was strumming her ukelele; Pope was sitting on an old foldable beach chair while she and JJ were swinging on the big hammock, beers of can in their hands. She was struggling to open hers as she tried to avoid breaking her nails on the process. She pouted as she extended her arm holding the can to the blonde. He took it and opened it easily but before handing it back he made sure she was still looking at him and carefully dug the tip of his tongue into the little hole, earning a protest from her.

—JJ!

He smirked and enjoyed the reaction he was getting from her. —What?!

—It was my beer!!

He let out a deep laugh as his head fell backwards. —You know the rules, I licked it, so…

Their friends laughed as they nodded their heads at JJ’s passion for teasing her.

Months later, summer days began and holidays welcomed free time and Tourons in Outer Banks. New faces, new adventures, new hook ups. The gang had organized one of the very famous keggers at the Boneyard. Music resonated from someone’s speaker, 5 bonfires had small groups of teenagers of all ages sitting around talking and drinking while larger groups were dancing around the beach. She and Kie were at different fires chatting with Tourons while Pope and John B made sure everyone got their refill. JJ being JJ was sweet talking a brunette into his bed at The Chateau. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. They were all having a good time. Things got awkward the next day, when the crew woke up and saw JJ’s brunette still there, showing no intentions of leaving. She and Kie had passed out on the pull out couch while Pope slept on the other couch but they all looked a bit shocked, and uncomfortable, at the intruder walking around the kitchen as if she belonged there with them. JJ came out of his room minutes later and got his friends curious stares for breakfast. He shrugged his shoulders and twitched the corners of his lips indicating an “I-have-no-clue-why-she’s-still-here” expression when the girl couldn’t see.

In the afternoon, the intruder announced she’d go back to her family and take a shower but also planned to meet at The Wreck for dinner. Once she left the females of the group scoffed at her.

—Dude, she stuck with us like she’s part of the Pogues, what the fuck?! —Kie complained at no one in particular, but sent JJ a quick glare.

—You gotta fix this. —She pointed her index finger into her best friend’s chest. —There is no way I’m having dinner with her.

After everyone had gone back to their place and taken a shower, shared some family time and run some errands, the Pogues agreed to get together after dinner and go for some ice cream.

—Which flavour did you ask for Kie? —she asked as she licked her cookies and cream ice cream before it dripped on her clothes and hands. Kie gave her a funny look and answered.

—Watermelon, it’s really good actually. Sweet and refreshing.

The boys came walking a few steps behind them as they pushed each other like little kids. The girls rolled their eyes but stopped on their tracks as they heard a voice calling for them. Well more specifically, for the blonde surfer and their leader.

—JJ! John B! —the same brunette they were trying to avoid rushed down to the docks they were standing on.

—Hey there… —John B answered, not wanting to be rude.

Once again, the intruder stuck to the group of friends and hung out for a few hours, constantly trying to flirt with JJ. The brunette playfully hit him whenever he teased her, gently grabbed his biceps when they were sitting down on the wooden dock and tried to get him alone by walking slower than the group, her arms circling around his waist. JJ wasn’t used to his hook ups sticking to him like this, he usually made it clear he was up for a one night stand only but this one didn’t want to give him up just yet.

The brunette had also caught interest in the intense relationship between him and his best friend. The intruder wanted to have JJ’s complete attention but his friend was kind of getting in the way of that. As a girl, she sensed his friend was purposely cock blocking him, which started a silent and very subtle war between them.

The brunette laughed at JJ’s joke and got impossibly closer to him, resting her light weight on his chest. She rolled her eyes and made a signal to Kie to make her look at the intruder and then faked a vomit earning a laugh from Kie. John B and Pope furrowed their eyebrows at Kiara’s laugh, confused at why she was laughing. Kie was the only one who could see her little act.

Moments later they decided to go around the docks and throw some rocks into the water. John B felt a bit more comfortable now and teased the brunette by trying to splash her with the rocks he threw. That was the first time through the night that she had gotten away from JJ and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to hit back.

She got closer to her best friend and challenged him with just a look. He rolled his eyes as he smirked, knowing he was in trouble.

—Get her off our backs dude. I wanna spend time with my friends, not her! —she whispered urgently looking up at his eyes as he was taller than her.

—What do you want me to do? Tell her ‘hey me and my friends want to be alone, do you mind?’—he mocked trying to make his point clear but she was having none of it. —Yep, that sounds perfect —she smiled and taped his chest as if the whole matter was solved. He raised an eyebrow and focused his eyes on hers. A second later he had a dirty smirk on his features, then it was her turn to quirk an eyebrow. —What?

—Aren’t you jealous, are you? —his smile grew wider as her scowl deepened. He was quick to snake his arms around her middle and pull her close. —Don’t touch me. Let me go, you’re an asshole. —He pouted and cooed her. —Aww c’mon baby don’t be mad I’m not giving you attention, you know I’m yours. —she just rolled her eyes and sighed deeply as Kie laughed near them, enjoying the whole show.

When she heard too much silence, or the lack of an annoying giggle, in the back, she caught a glance from the corner of her eye and saw John B and the brunette looking at them while Pope told something about dead bodies as he drew patterns in the sand with a stick he had found.

—Careful sis, remember if you play with fire, you get burnt. —John B spoke to her in a mocking tone. The rest, except for the Touron, began laughing.

She takes her chance as JJ’s face is not that far from hers and a wicked smile painted itself on her face before implementing her idea. In less than a second she had stuck her tongue out and slid it from under his jaw up to his bottom lip making the boy freeze and set his blue orbits on her. Her eyes were already on his, shining with playfulness. She was having so much fun having her way. The laughs around her turned into gasps.

She then turned to the other girl and spoke mockingly —I licked it, so it’s mine. —the girl’s jaw fell and she winked at the blonde before walking to Kie and throwing her arm over her curly haired friend, who was wearing an incredulous expression.

—Oh my God, I can’t believe you just did that! —both began to laugh as they walked back to the van and hopefully they would all drive back to The Chateau and spend a real night of friends with no intruders.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj obx #outer banks jj

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sneakerdoodle · 3 years ago

Text

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 3

Rated: K

HELLO here are some FEELINGS

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PDF || ff.net

General warnings: trouble breathing; (states resembling) panic attacks; depression; familial tension, difficult parental relationships

You just wish there was still a place for you in the world.

If only the overarching symphony could accommodate the grating, pained sounds brewing in everything that is left of you. If only your song still belonged.

Even if you were still able to sound your heart, what is your lonely voice against the boundless dark around you? What is it without the crackling metal, without the thunderous echo, without the chorus of adoration pushing you forward, against the overwhelming threat of the cosmos?

Was it them who were a part of your song or were you a part of theirs?.. It seems to matter less now. You just wish it still held you up, anchored you; you wish it was still there to make your approach thick with gravity, pulling everything close. You wish you were still irreplaceable, front and center, the very rhythm of the march.

You wish desperately for the same security, promise of importance, to never, ever be left alone again. Just don't leave me alone again. Don't make me one of the many, forgettable, dispensable, easy to toss aside.

Not alone. Anything but alone.

Eya played a funny little joke on you, didn't she. Hilarious.

What an offer it was, to be given a chance on safety, to dig your feet firmly into the ground that had no choice but to cave. To be able to tighten your grip around the world, to hold onto your place in it as fiercely as your body would allow.

Why would you ever say no? Your every wish fulfilled so plentifully, all the comfort you had ever yearned for handed right to you, how could you ever stop? How could you possibly keep yourself from longing for more, for this to never be over?

Once the world started singing a new song, each heart alight, all equal, yours stood no chance. For the first time in your long, fearful life, it had the choice of control. It would never be able to change its tune in time.

The world made you scared. The world made you shake with the thought of the vast expanse of land, then sea, then bottomless skies, all profoundly indifferent to your pathetic little fate. The world never paid you much mind when you were stumbling through it, still just a kid, bruising yourself at every turn, giving your very best - yet never becoming special enough to draw another into your orbit, to be helped, to be loved.

The world seemed to have redeemed itself, by finally giving you every single thing you deserved. Guidance. Purpose. Adoration. It took you into its arms as the most incredible thing it had ever held within itself.

It took advantage of your every deep desire.

It threw you away with no hesitation once your part no longer served the whole. It branded your heart rotten for daring to want what it offered. It infected you with the bone-deep itch to matter, then flinched away in disgust once you tried.

You despise it with every fiber of your being. You hate everything that is alive and moving.

Your hatred is venom, and life rejects it. Life rejects you.

You wish to tear your bleeding, poisoned heart right out.

***

- Oh-hoh! Down already, muffin!

Kiwi lingers on the last step of the stairs, hand on the rails, an exhausted smile faint on their lips. They nod to Mom, then to Baron sitting in the big chair they watched him drag out of the bedroom and dust off just the day before. The mechanical morning greeting is dry and laboured, like their long-suffering neck has rusted through.

- Thought I'd have to go pester you more to get you out of bed, - Mom laughs, setting a teapot in the middle of the table. - Well, come help, since you're here!

Bard nods again, letting their mother's off-handed remark sink into the pit of their stomach – like swallowing an ice cube - and wordlessly makes their way over to the kitchen counter. Baron stirs and follows promptly, hulking behind his two family members. Bard feels incredibly awkward trying to maintain the appropriate amount of eye contact while handing him plates of porridge, which Baron accepts with another silent nod. Overworking one’s neck joints seems to be the most popular method of communication in the household these days.

Baron lumbers over to the table, and Kiwi follows, a bread basket filled with sugar buns and a little bowl of home-made jam in tow. They wince slightly at the sight of it. Rhubarb.

Mom places a round-bellied steaming teapot in the middle of the table and looks over it with a satisfied little hum.

- Don't let it all go cold, now!

Silently consuming the laid-out meal as Mom chatters over it is about the only experience Kiwi and their... dad can find any sort of solidarity in. Now and then, they exchange a wordless look, Kiwi reluctantly spreading jam on a sliced bun, Baron sending a spoonful of oatmeal behind his cheek. Although Baron's awkward silence has a distinct shade of guilt to it. That makes Bard wonder if they should feel worse about not engaging, too.

Mom watches them reach for another pastry and shakes her head with a laugh that is probably supposed to be affectionate.

- You're so hard to cook for, muffin!

Kiwi tries to mold their face into a noncommittal expression, but can feel it scrunch up around their tensely neutral smile as if they'd just bit down on a lemon. They glare at the bowl in Baron's hands with a weird mixture of resistance and jealousy. Not for the contents, for sure, they're more than comfortable with their preferences, but perhaps... for the freedom to casually share a meal.

Baron seems to intercept that look and puts the bowl down. The ceramic bottom taps against the table, a sound like a punctuation mark. He clears his throat.

- So...

Bard looks up at him, all but horrified. Mom throws a quizzical curious glance over the cup of tea she's holding up to her lips.

During the two weeks Kiwi has been staying at their parents' house, they have barely heard Baron utter more than a word, safe for the extremely awkward welcome the next morning after their arrival. Baron seems to be aware of that, too, shifting in his seat for a couple of seconds before continuing.

- I'm sitting in on some workshops and the community meeting at the Fa...- he stops and covers his slip up with a delayed cough, - the center.

He turns to Kiwi, full-body, brushing against the table in the process and causing the cutlery to clatter. Kiwi feels incredibly small.

- I thought that maybe, uh... - Baron rubs his knees, drying his palms. He looks about as nervous as Bard, if that is at all possible, -...you'd want to come as well.

Bard feels like choking, on food or tea, but there is none in their mouth at the moment. So instead they just glare, feeling their own hands become sweatier and sweatier. Spending a whole... day? With their wayward father, of all people?

- Oh-ho-ho, how wonderful! - Mom chimes in cheerfully. Of course, she does.

Kiwi barely has the bandwidth to ruminate on just how shamefully potent their annoyance is. They never voice it, but the sheer power of it still feels impudent, somehow. And they are growing more and more irritable, lately.

- A great day to go out, isn't it? - Mom continues, not helping at all. - It's about time you left the house, too, muffin!

Bard never even gets to reply. Mom moves on to packing the leftover pastries for the two to take with them, and urges Kiwi to have one more with his tea. Kiwi has trouble conceiving of eating anything at all, his stomach in the process of tying itself into several tight knots. He mumbles excuses inarticulately, speaking mostly with his hands that are held up in front of him in a politely defensive gesture. From time to time, he dares to throw a glance at Baron. The latter is stubbornly cleaning his glasses, bushy eyebrows lowered, obscuring his eyes in the lenses’ place.

This is going to be... a day.

Bard doesn't know what to do with their hands as they are walking down the street next to their... dad. Every usual gesture suddenly feels incredibly childish, and for some inexplicable reason, that feels... wrong. Far too... vulnerable? Is this how Miriam feels most of the time?..

Mom's not wrong, it... has been a while since they've been outside. Which makes her remark only more uncomfortable.

The first few days Kiwi diligently tried to engage. They checked in on all the neighbours; hung around the grocery store, sprawled over the counter as Tanya was detailing the stock on the large board behind it; took part in a cooking class at Beth and Katya's; clapped along to the live performances at the Pub. As their visit continued, however, staying in and endlessly re-reading old diary entries was becoming more and more of an easier choice. It got too wearing, desperately trying to enjoy Chismest's new, friendlier face despite the underlying sense of dread that greeted them every morning.

Now, walking down the streets in Baron's company, they smiled awkwardly at every surprised look or forced casual expression. People have been asking Mom if they had left already, Bard knows they have. Mom didn't fail to mention that.

The two walk in silence, neither of them really knowing how to even start to approach a conversation with the other. But Baron has apparently discovered an unsettling amount of gut to try nonetheless.

He clears his throat once again, and Kiwi feels their stomach drop at the prospect of having to handle small-talk.

- So... - Baron seems to be weighing his words in his mind, judging which ones would be best to follow with. Eventually, he sighs in resignation, the same low rustling sound from the other side of the wall. - Do you... like it here?

Bard is... at an utter loss of words. Does she “like it”?..

She likes what Chismest has become. She likes that every familiar face is now healthier, and happier. She likes that everyone is closer now, and caring. She likes that the children can play outside, without choking on poisonous smog.

Do they like being here? Do they like shutting themself in their room, glumly listening to the sound of snowball fights breaking out right under their window? Do they like the unexplainable, persistent sense of... being left behind...

Kiwi gulps down the sick feeling rising from their gut as all the dream sensations attack their body once again, and shakes their head in an attempt to snap out of it.

Baron seems to take that for their reply. His eyebrows move up a degree, and – weirdly – he seems smaller, for just a moment. The thought of letting a single person, let alone Baron, suspect they are the odd one out, fills Bard with panic. They leap into the energetic equivalent of a 180-degree turn and start emphatically nodding instead, trying to emphasize, somehow, that this is their chosen answer.

Baron seems incredibly confused as to what to make of it. He turns away and rubs the back of his neck before carefully, tentatively continuing:

- Y-yeah. Me as well. - He looks up ahead, wistfully, and adds quietly, barely audible: - Strange to think I'd kept myself from this for so long...

Bard shoots a look at Baron's face, conflicted. Are the two of them... relating? Is Baron just as conflicted over the sight of Chismest's thriving?.. They guess it would only make sense for him to be, given everything, but...

But... something.

Whatever the “something” is, it makes the poorly suppressed flurry of emotions within them intensify. They will not explore that. They are not going down that path.

Bard squeezes as polite of a smile as they can out of themself and turns away, looking right ahead. They seem to be approaching the grocery store.

Tanya sees the weird duo pass by the window and waves, bringing both of them to a stop. Soon, she is coming through the door, a little jar in her hands.

- Well hey there, - she seems to greet Kiwi specifically, only sparing Baron a wary side-glance. He does not waver under it. The step back he takes is almost demonstratively polite.

Tanya turns her full attention back to Bard.

- Haven't seen you around in a while, have I?

Kiwi shrugs with an awkward smile. Tanya shakes her head.

- Now, now, I ain't ragging on you. Just couldn't find a good time to give you this.

She extends her hand holding the small jar. Bard takes it into their palms, confused. The contents of it are beaming bright orange. The word “Marmalade“ is written in cursive on the brown label.

- Special delivery! - Tanya smiles warmly; her particular but welcoming demeanor is something Kiwi has grown to appreciate. - Got a whole crate of those, actually, but those pirate friends of yours insisted I keep one safe for you. No idea how they'd caught the wind of you staying here, - she shrugs, - but either way you're getting something sweet outta it.

Kiwi looks at the jar they are carefully holding in their hands, overcome. They suddenly find themself so tired and so fragile, the unexpected wave of gratitude and warmth make their eyes sting with the promise of tears. They look back up at Tanya, their smile for once genuine and heartfelt.

- Thank you 🎶, - they sing softly, struggling to find more words to express how much this is turning out to mean to them. Tanya interrupts it.

- Don't go thanking me, I'm just passing on. - She does the closest thing available to ruffling their hair: patting and flattening their hat with a similar hand motion. - Be good, hon.

She smiles one more time before heading back into the store. Kiwi squeezes their eyes shut, trying to covertly blink the budding tears away, then turns back to where Baron is standing. He seems to have been studying the paving for the last couple of minutes.

Bard takes a reluctant step towards the ex-factory building to signify they are ready to move on. Baron follows, looking at the jar of marmalade they are still clutching in their hands and attempting a slight smile.

- You have many... interesting friends.

Kiwi tries to smile with the same amount of genuine affection they'd just felt at the unexpected gift, but it comes out awkward and sour. They are suddenly very aware of not having said a single articulate word to their dad the entire morning. They clear their throat.

- Yeah!.. 🎶

Her voice is small, quiet, but it's... something, at least. It is bewildering to think about her recent encounter with Baron, the first one in years. It was so easy to challenge him, back when Kiwi had no idea who he was. Now, the overwhelming discomfort and confusion of having to interact with her long-forgotten... father... render her basically incapable of any solid verbal exchange.

They ascend the steps leading up to the entrance into the intimidating building that now houses the Community Center. Kiwi glances over the schedule as they pass it. Workshops, consortium meetings, training, public discussions... Chismest's busy schedule is a constant, at least.

Once inside the building, Kiwi and Baron take the stairs to the second floor of the factory, away from the narrow, menacing hallway leading into the ground. There is no low rumble echoing through it: the production lines are only brought to life to order these days. Bard tries their best to not feel like they are walking above the lair of a sleeping beast.

The two take their seats in a once-spacious conference room, seating rearranged and reimagined in a way that tiptoes along the thin line between ingeniously efficient and absurdly cramped. The room is gradually filling with people who recognize Baron, some giving reserved nods, few – more enthusiastic waves.

A tall dark figure leans into the space between them for a more conspiratorial greeting, murmuring something to Baron in low tones. Baron chuckles and pats the person's shoulder heavily, then turns to Bard. He is smiling; there is uncharacteristic and... frankly unsettling vivacity in that.

- You have met Vlad…,- Baron assumes, only somewhat sure, and Kiwi can finally recognize the tall person as the Clockwork Pub's bartender. They give a sheepish smile and a nod, and Vlad returns the latter, accompanied by a somewhat wistful look.

The sudden weight of a large, heavy palm on their shoulder, along with the pure emotional shock at this distinctly fatherly gesture, almost knock Kiwi's ghost out of them.

- This is my, – there is only a fraction of a beat before the final word drops, - kid.

Bard stares at Baron's face with enough dumbfounded intensity to notice the subtle signs of nervousness: the furrowing brows, the dry lips firmly pressed together. There is some relief in knowing he feels about as uneasy actually saying this.

Vlad nods, slowly, reflectively.

- I should have noticed the semblance, - he draws out, and, barely giving Kiwi time to recover from that, adds: - Good to have you back, young Bard.

Vlad takes an empty seat a few rows away, leaving Kiwi and Baron to sweat in the aftershock of the sudden f a m i l y m o m e n t. The weight of Baron's hand disappearing hardly registers. Kiwi mindlessly stares at the wooden desk in front of him. Vlad's “back” echoes in his mind, dressing in more and more foreboding tones with every encore. Is this it? Are they... staying?.. The thought makes their stomach churn.

They purposefully shift their attention to the people seated around them in an attempt to fight the sickness. There are at least a dozen conversations happening at the table at the same time, from confidential murmurs to loud exchanges interlaced with laughter. The room is bustling with sound and action, even with everyone sitting still.

A single voice rises above the neighbourly commotion, drawing it to a single focus.

- Hello, everyone.

Bard's eyes follow in tandem with everyone else's, and they shrivel up in their chair, wishing to make their body as small as humanly possible. At the center of the room and everyone's attention, there is Elara – the very person Bard has been avoiding since even before his self-imposed confinement. They hunch behind the desk, hoping to not draw her eye.

Elara glances around the room. Her eyes travel from one face to another, eventually meeting Kiwi's. He succumbs to agony as Elara gives him the same plain, honest look, accompanied by a subtle steady smile, before moving on.

- Thank you for coming. - There is a pause as the head astronomer and now community organizer considers what to say next, apparently less confident single-handedly orchestrating a public discussion. She turns to Elmer and gives him a quiet nod.

Elmer, fully in his element, clears his throat, preparing to project.

- Agenda for the day, - he shrieks out, enunciating: - updates on Chismest's research program; the public library initiative, session 1; trade and barter year plan; sustainability panel, session 3.

Elara throws another look around the conference room.

- Unless anybody has any last-minute pitches, - a second-long pause, - let us begin.

The public discussion turns out to be... draining. The many-voiced conversation ebbs and flows: one moment it is overwhelming with everyone’s impatience, people barely managing to not talk over each other; then it is tedious, the consortium mulling over the routine detail of the town's day-to-day functioning.

The worst part is that Kiwi can actually sense the rhythm of it, the rise and the fall; they recognize a skipping shifting rhapsody in the chain of interlinking exclamations, one prompting another; they feel the steady vital rhythm of cross-referenced numbers and well-practiced schedules. They feel the song of the moment.

It is like sensing the vague outline of a repeating dream, recognizing something that used to be vivid in their mind in a completely different state of it. Some part of them longs to join in, crush into the stream of collective life, move with it, be carried by it, naturally dissolving into the overarching symphony. But it is alien, it is a song they do not share with the rest. If there was a time when they knew how to join someone else’s celebration, – and they believe there was, even though it sounds like something from another life - it seems to have passed. Irrevocably.

Kiwi is pulled into the tidal wave only once, without any initiative on their part, as the sky-mapping project is being discussed. Elara's eyes stay on them, thoughtful, trying to puzzle them out, as she asks:

- Are there any news from Delphi? If you wouldn't mind sharing.

Kiwi thinks back to the letter entombed in the drawer of their bedside table, out of sight, yet still burning in her mind daily and making her shrivel up with guilt, then plunge herself into avoidance. They vividly re-live the sensation of crumpling yet another sheet of colorful paper up, failing to find the words for their reply. Their decision to stay (for a while? ...indefinitely? no, no, surely not) is already obvious. Why do they dread the idea of actually announcing it to Miriam so much?

Bard shakes the thought off, returning to the present moment, to the concerned, questioning looks of everyone who has just watched them zone out, lost in their own mind. They smile pitifully as they shake their head again, more emphatically. Elara nods, slowly, her eyebrows softly knitting together, and Bard makes a mental note to leave the room as soon as the meeting is over, sneak away with the crowd before they can be stopped and questioned further.

The conversation moves on, and Bard is left outside of it, rocked by irregular waves, thrown in this and that direction like old, soggy driftwood. She cannot follow the flow of the discussion, she cannot focus on the words bouncing from one end of the overcrowded room to another, and the unsteady rhythm she cannot keep up with leaves her queasy. She just wants to crawl back under her blanket, let it muffle all the sounds apart from her own breathing - and try not to think too hard about the latter, the tightness in her non-existent chest that haunts her every dream, the persistent pull somewhere out of cosmos--

Okay. She needs something to center herself. One single thing to focus on, to ignore the surrounding chorus.

Kiwi barely gets to think before their eyes stop on Baron's face – arguably, the worst possible subject for them to try to ground themself with half-through their unraveling. But Baron seems to feel out of place in the general harmony as well, and that provides Kiwi with a weird, uncomfortable sort of solidarity, another’s experience forcing itself on them through the sheer familiarity of it. At the back of their mind, they note how this feels sort of like being possessed by a ghost (again), but also… as if they are doing the possession at the same time?.. They could compare it to their nightmares. But they won’t. They are not thinking about those.

The chorus of the consortium is spontaneous, unpracticed, noisy. Kiwi thinks back to the rhythmic thumping of factory machinery, the unified movement of workers, in at nine, out at five. Up until recently, Baron hadn't heard anything but that steady march for more than twenty years. No wonder this is weird for him, too.

There is this specific hesitation to him, as well: how he frowns at something he feels the need to dispute, opens his mouth - but stops before producing any sound. He seems to be marking his thoughts on a piece of paper, but that hardly satisfies him, and he is left shifting in his seat restlessly, exhaling sharply through his nostrils.

All this fidgeting is much less subtle than he probably thinks. His immediate neighbours keep throwing looks in his and Bard's direction, some of them questioning, some incredulous. Associating with their father is not something Bard is generally excited about, but here, in the troughs of difficult history and unresolved hurt, the discomfort is all the more intense.

At one point, Baron leans on the desk with his entire lumbering frame, making it creak, and lets out a loud jingling sigh. The room goes quiet.

Heads turn.

People are looking at the imposing figure with overwhelmingly guarded expressions. Baron notices the kind of attention he has drawn to himself and fixes his gaze in front of him, visibly tense. Next to him, Kiwi is trying to slide under the desk undetected.

They think back to Tanya, to the look in her eyes when she saw Baron. They are suddenly acutely aware of how much of a pressuring, entitled presence Baron must be to many people in Chismest. Even those ready to give him a second chance must feel threatened when the person who once dictated their entire way of life tries to affect it once again, even as an equal.

Baron seems to be aware of this, too. He is demonstratively silent, barely even breathing when he raises his eyes, but there is a weird air of defiance to it. He looks around defensively, as if the room has just collectively reached for pitchforks.

For a moment, Bard sees him again the way they did some months ago, for the first time in many, many years. Prideful, self-righteous, towering over the rest of the world that simply does not know what is best for it.

Back then, that hardly had any effect on them, outside of Chismest's general depressing atmosphere. Now, knowing that this was their father, the very mythical looming presence at the back of their mind, casting its shadow onto every little misstep and every instance of rejection, a constant reminder of their insignificance... The thought makes Kiwi shudder. Nothing scares them more than the idea of this cold, dismissive look inevitably turning to them, saying everything that has previously only been implied.

Kiwi is sitting next to the scariest person this side of a life-sucking void outside of time and space, and all the eyes are on the two of them, and the rest of the word makes no difference between Baron and his lost, odd child, both of them glaringly out of place.

The longest few seconds of their life – not counting the world's impending end, they suppose - pass in deafening silence stretched so thin KIwi is scared it's going to burst any moment. Then the conversation slowly picks up, flows once more, avoiding the now isolated island of Baron's seat. Kiwi dares to look around from where they are half-hidden behind the desk. Have their neighbours to the right and to the left moved just a little bit further away?..

Elara's eyes linger on Baron's face just a fraction of a second longer, with some hint of rapport. Her chin moves ever so slightly in a secret nod intended only for him, before she turns back to the indignant speaker interrupted by Baron's display of frustration.

Baron himself spends the rest of their time in the conference room stone-still. Bard tries to mimic, hoping any further attention slides off of her if she blends into the background. Under the desk, though, her sweating hands are desperately clutching the marmalade jar.

When Elmer calls a break and Baron stands up, intending to leave, Bard all but deflates with relief. They do not have to follow him around, they know it. But, however deeply rattling it is to be around him, especially now, they feel a strange sense of obligation. Like the plan sprung on them over breakfast means both they and their parent are supposed to fulfill a certain quota before either is released from this weird, strained attempt on father-child bonding time.

Kiwi doesn't like this feeling. It's been a long time since they had to be someone's child, and they cannot remember the last time they were their father's. It was hard enough to balance their dreams and desires alongside Mom's off-handed but insistent expressions of all the regrets she quite openly held, about Kiwi's passions, their chosen path in life, their decision to leave and the lack of visits. This new, sudden and alien responsibility for yet another familial relationship feels only heavier with the weight of all the years Kiwi didn't have to bother with it, outside of the sleepless nights by the window or picking at their being in search of apparent faults.

Bard feels his fists clench at his sides as he sinks into a dark, glum state of low-burning anger. It was never his decision to put the two of them into this situation. Why must he feel any responsibility--

He is yanked right out of his thoughts as Elara's voice cuts through the background noise of moving benches and discordant steps.

- Oh, Baron. Good day. I was just about to find you.

Kiwi freezes, for just a second, then chooses cowardice. They look around, hurriedly, and slip behind Baron's wide back, trying to get lost in the crowd against all odds, pulling the glaring beacon that is their red feather hat off their head. Maybe it's their restless imagination, maybe it is the proverbial sixth sense, but they feel two pairs of eyes follow them to the exit. No one calls out, however, leaving them to their expeditious escape.

Outside of the conference room, Kiwi leans against the wall and lets out a long sigh, half-exhausted, half-relieved. The general commotion of the many groups of people moving up and down the hallways, of doors opening and slamming shut, is still hard on their frazzled nerves. They want to go home. They don't want “home” to be their mother’s.

They're not sure how long they stand there for until Baron exits as well, looking thoughtful, scratching his chin. He seems almost surprised to see Bard right next to the door and takes a moment to recollect himself. He clears his throat and attempts to... look cheerful?.. That does not quite work out, and eventually Baron gives up and simply sighs, despondent.

- I will not be staying around for the second half, - he announces with a glum expression. - You're welcome to, if you...

Bard shakes their head, and Baron nods, slowly, processing.

- Well... - he sighs again, then makes his way down the hallway, - this means I'm free to join a couple of workshops. - He looks at Bard, contemplative, then forces out: - Why don't you... try out any? See if there is anything you'd like.

Kiwi weighs her options. They need space, desperately. They do not want to aimlessly wander the streets, prompting polite conversations and letting the cold air freeze them all the way through. They would not be able to deal with the meaningful look in Mom's eyes right now, and it is coming if they return home so early, making their way straight to their room.

They just need a quiet corner.

They find it at the back of a room where a small-voiced, timid-looking person is delivering a lecture in low, unimposing tones. Kiwi leans against the wall, cradling their knee, feeling their eyelids droop with the weight of the past weeks of poor sleep, poor mood and general nervous exhaustion. They let themself node off, the incoherent scribblings on the board slowly blurring into even more meaningless shapes.

They sway on the very cusp of sleep and wakefulness, safe from the disarray of life and the cold thick terror of nightmares. There is an unsettling amount of comfort to be found in not having to deal with existing.

Bard places the marmalade jar on top of the bedside table. Their eyes linger on the handle of the drawer just below the board. Hesitantly, they curl their fingers around it and pull the drawer open.

Miriam's letter rests on top of a chaotic pile of paper and various craft supplies. It isn't folded, and the familiar words call out to them once again.

“Bard,

Kiwi,

Hey, you

Uh. Hi.”

A weak smile tugs at their mouth.

The rest of the letter burns with long-overdue, not very well-concealed urgency, kindling the background sense of guilt that is now pretty much constant.

“...haul boards around on my broom like a mule while everyone is hovering and asking me questions and RUSHING ME. There's a lot of people and

We're holding off 'till you're here anyway, so like, hurry up?? I don't... know what to do with all of THEM wanting something from me all the time, and Saphy's no dang help!!! I don't know why she expects me to... UGH, whatever.”

The haunting vision of Miriam shutting further and further down under the pressure, knowing Bard was supposed to be there next to her, feeling abandoned and alone, starts turning Kiwi's guts inside out once again. But still, there is a bitter sort of comfort in reading this hesitant message from their best friend, examining the familiar antsy corners of her handwriting. Kiwi reaches for it, fingertips hovering just above the surface of the paper. Their eyes linger on the last line, scribbled on rashly, almost like an afterthought. Which means she really meant it.

“...Miss you.”

There is a shout from down the stairs. Bard's hand jolts back.

- Don't take too long, muffin! - Mom draws out, rushing him to take his place at the dinner table. Bard throws one final glance at Miriam's name at the bottom of the page before leaving the room.

He will write back today. Totally! Probably.

It's hard to make their dinner go down when Baron keeps throwing heavy glances in Kiwi's direction. They try their best not to notice, but the unspoken tension pumps their body full of adrenaline. Bard wants to shift and fidget and move their limbs to shake out the pinpricks of restless nervous energy, but hesitates, not wanting to draw even more attention. She is stuck sending one spoonful of veggie stew into her mouth after another in a mechanical, almost robotic motion, only occasionally nervously glancing over to where Baron keeps staring with the air of inexplicable dread.

Once the table is cleared and the unspokenly mandated fifteen to thirty minutes of quality family time begin, things escalate.

Bard is absent-mindedly picking at the stray threads of the couch's armrest when a cough up above calls for their attention. Baron is towering over them, looking sulking and miserable.

Oh no.

Kiwi's head snaps in the other direction, grasping at the last straw of Mom's presence, only to see her thoughtfully leave the room. Of course. Of course.

As Bard feverishly ponders whether Ira's usual lack of consideration is reserved for turning their life into quiet misery, Baron sits down, a full seat over. Kiwi feels the couch sag under his weight and grabs the armrest, scared of getting pulled into this sudden gravity well. They are staring at their knees, desperately hoping this isn't going where this is certainly, absolutely, one hundred percent going.

- So...

Kiwi is now staring holes in the floor, hoping to compel it to open on command and mercifully swallow her whole.

Baron sighs, and out of the corner of her eyes, Kiwi sees his shoulders fall into a tired, resigned posture.

She keeps begging Eya to let her disappear.

When Baron speaks again, the words come out on the exhale, heavy, weary, bare.

- You saw me out there. I... - a pause, as he searches for words, while Bard prays for them to never, ever come, - I... made a great mess of things. Too many mistakes, for too long.

He lets the thought sink in, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of it. He wants Bard to know he means it. He thinks this is better. This is so, so much worse.

Baron continues, eventually.

- Now no one... really knows what to do with me. Myself included.

There's a mirthless chuckle, and Kiwi dares to throw a single glance at Baron's face, a bitter smile cutting hard lines into it.

Bard is silent.

Baron sighs once again, heavier.

- Despite that, what you did... what all of you did, and what you played a large part in... it brought me here, like everyone else. I don't quite know how to move on. But the world has decided it was…, - he hesitates for a second, - better off with me in it. I can't pretend to understand why, but it has.

The last sentence barely reaches Bard's ears through the sounds of blood pounding in them. He is suddenly flooded with panic, his body locking up, leaving him short of breath. No. No, don't make him think of that.

Oblivious to the fact that his child is suffocating, choked by terror, right next to him, Baron continues.

- I've hurt people. In more ways than I can ever hope to make up for. But I'm still... here. And it seems that the only right thing to do is to try, still.

Don't think. Don't think of the implication. Don't consider the fact that the world is trying to force you out of itself every single night. Don't think about what it means, that the man next to you, the one that had haunted the bigger part of your life with unspoken judgment, the one that terrifies you with just how easily he could destroy any semblance of peace you might've managed to gather, just might deserve a place in this universe much more than you ever did.

Is this really how it works? Their father, who spent decades hurting others out of the self-serving notion that he knew what people needed better than them, gets to stay with those he had wronged, while Kiwi is tortured with nightly reminders of what it would be like, to be left eternally alone, for daring to not have had an immediate, magical change of heart. They clench their fists in their lap, trying their best not to shake.

Baron notices, finally. There are a few seconds of silence as he staggers, obviously unsure how to proceed. Out of the corner of their watering eyes (no, no, no, this only makes this worse...), Bard sees him take his glasses off.

Baron rubs his eyes, wearily, then places a heavy hand on Kiwi's shoulder. They shrivel up and look over, sheepishly.

Baron meets their gaze. One would expect his eyes to be a piercing cold blue, to match the white in his hair and his general demeanor, inexplicably reminiscent of frost. Instead, they are brown. Dulled, shadowed by his furrowed brows, yet still... warm.

- Kiwi.

If only there were words in any human language capable of explaining why his father calling him by his name has just made Kiwi so disorientingly sick.

- Things are changing.

Please don't say that. Please.

- I would like to change with them, if I can.

Bard turns away from the eyes that look unsettlingly like their own and chokes down a laugh, too afraid it will come out as a sob. It gargles in their throat, weird and vague and embarrassing. The hand on their shoulder tightens in an attempt to comfort, and Kiwi wants to run miles away from themself.

- I know I have... hurt you. More than anyone else, perhaps.

He should stop. Can he please stop. Can't he see how hard Bard is trying to not think about-

- You don't owe me patience, or forgiveness. But I'm here. ...If there is anything at all that you need from me.

Silence hangs heavy over them, threatening to crash Bard's stiff, trembling body. This is the part where they are supposed to say something. “I understand”, or “I will never forgive you”, or “Why did you do it?”, or “Did you ever miss me at all?”. Instead, they can barely push a single gulp of air down into their lungs. They stopped trying to sing when they discovered it is barely possible to get a spoken word out in their family's presence. How come being under this roof always renders them voiceless?

Baron waits. Patiently. It is terrifying, to think that he will continue waiting, always ready for Kiwi to walk in through this very door, announcing she is ready to mend their ill phantom of a relationship.

He is waiting for an answer. Any answer. Give him something, anything at all, just make it stop.

Bard nods, slowly, shakily, praying that this faint acknowledgment gets them off the hook. He could not possibly want more. He does not get to ask for more.

Baron's hand lingers on their shoulder another second, before finally releasing. Kiwi deflates in relief and immediately jumps off the couch, their legs wobbly, knees weak. Their eyes slide past Baron's lost expression. Without looking at him, they give another frantic nod and tear off towards the stairs, grabbing onto the handrails for dear life.

Her room is swaying softly before her. Kiwi takes one unsteady step away from the door, eyes wandering aimlessly. They catch the open drawer with the letter inside it, and Kiwi feels like she is about to crumble. She grabs the handle with a weak shaking hand and shuts it in a jerky motion.

The marmalade jar rocks with the bedside table, then tips over and hits the floor. The thick glass thuds loudly against the wooden boards. It rolls into the corner.

Bard lowers themself to the floor next to their bed, shaken, nauseous. They pull their hat off and do their best to breathe.

The ceiling light overhead is swinging slightly from the momentum of the door slamming shut just a few seconds ago. Bard's shadow is shifting, the outline vague and blurred. It looks little like themself.

For a second, they could swear they recognize the shape of a long scarf obscuring the line of their neck.

#wandersong #kiwi wandersong #the bard wandersong #baron wandersong #my writing #(not) alone #it's been a whileeeeee i've been. busy >:3c #if you enjoy it do let me know 😌

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katblu42 · 3 years ago

Text

Tie Me to the Moon

Installment 4 (of 5) in my Whump Wheel spinning experiment. This spin was for John and gave me Cuddling For Comfort and Cemetery.

It is another Young Tracys fic, but it requires some WARNINGS as it deals with grief/mourning, funerals and of course a cemetery. I'm also tagging for social anxiety, sensory overload and panic attack, although I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm putting John through. If there's any additional warning or tag I need please let me know (or if these ones don't hit the mark).

Possibly more angst than whump.

The day started early. Scott had spoken with John and Virgil the night before about how much he was relying on them both to help get Alan and Gordon ready, since Grandma and Dad would both have a lot on their plate. So, John had set the alarm for 6am to give them time to wake themselves up before tackling the tinies.

By 9am all five boys were awake and fed and dressed in their Sunday best, shoes shined and hair combed awaiting final inspection before the cars arrived to take them to the church. Normally it would have been Dad who inspected the troops before such an important occasion but, like many other things over the last week or so, today the job was taken on by Scott. He left no stray hair or speck of lint unscrutinised, while their father was barely able to do more than glance at his boys and give Scott a pat on the shoulder as he passed on his way out the front door.

Scott decided it would be best if he went in the lead car with Dad. It was the one that had been fitted with the kiddie seats for Gordon and Alan, and Scott could sit between them and keep them settled. That left John and Virgil to ride in the second car with Grandma. The car trip was mostly silent, but Grandma told them they both looked very smart and did her best to smile despite clear indications she was holding back more tears.

As they neared the church it was impossible not to notice the large number of parked vehicles, some still offloading passengers. John let out a large sigh as their car pulled up in front of the chapel. The soft murmurings and general bustle of the gathering crowd penetrated their insulated little bubble even before the driver opened the door to let Grandma out. Virgil waited until he’d caught John’s eye and received a nod before opening his door so both boys could exit on the same side of the car.

The kindly young driver from the funeral home seemed to be keeping most of the well-meaning mourners at bay as the family gathered and were solemnly led into the church and ushered to the front pew. John tried to focus on the flowers, the quiet organ music, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through stained glass rather than the coffins or even the photos of Mom and Grandpa, and definitely not the endless stream of people filling the rows of seats behind them. It was a slightly tight fit getting all seven of them in the one pew, even with Alan on Dad’s (and later Scott’s) lap, but John was glad of the warm press of Virgil on his left and Gordon on his right.

The service was a simple, no-frills affair with the Minister officiating, but friends and family doing most of the talking. John listened through Dad and Grandma retelling stories he’d heard before, but there were little details revealed that he had never known. The anecdotes shared by the others who stepped up to the pulpit microphone – one of Grandpa’s farming neighbours, and an old friend of Mom’s from school – almost felt like stories about other people. It didn’t feel like they were talking about the people John had lost.

For John losing Grandpa was like a constellation of stars going missing from the night sky. It was Grandpa that had told him people are all made of the same stuff as the stars. He had been a quiet, watchful presence in his life, providing light and joy whenever he looked up and saw that twinkle in Grandpa’s eye. Like Ursa Major and Polaris, Grandpa was always there guiding him, giving direction when needed, but never wanting to overstep or overshadow his parents. Not the brightest light in his orbit, but an important, comforting presence that meant John always knew his place in the world.

Mom had been the sun at the centre of his life, his family, his everything. Without her all the light and warmth was gone from the world. Instead of a regular (though slightly wonky) orbit his world now felt like it was tumbling through space and gravity was constantly shifting. One moment he was too heavy to move and the next he was so light might be flung out into space. Night and day and seasons, years and everything he measured his life by had been connected to his Mom – waking him and tucking him into bed, making sure he dressed warm enough or wore sunscreen or had his raincoat, keeping track of birthdays and holidays and school excursion days were all her.

During the service no one spoke of Mom and Grandpa like that.

There was music. One of Mom’s favourite piano pieces. Virgil had wanted to be able to play it today, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to even sit at the piano, much less play at all since the accident. So a recording had been found and it was played as a backing track to the slideshow that flickered through image after image of happy memories telling part of two life stories.

There were prayers. Reassuring words from the minister about heaven and God’s love, and the love we should all share with each other. John wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about heaven, or God calling Mom and Grandpa home to his kingdom.

There was a poem read out by one of Mom’s work colleagues. It was something about not crying or being sad because they were gone, but being happy because they had lived. Many of the people in the room were obviously ignoring the advice – his immediate family included. There were a good many wet handkerchiefs and tissues in hands, a great deal of suppressed sobs and eye rubbing, and a few sleeves swiped across cheeks before the service was over.

Scott and Dad were among the pall bearers who carried the coffins out of the church and onto the waiting machinery that would take care of their final movements. John and his brothers and Grandma were the first of the mourners to follow in the sombre procession. Only a small number of people were permitted to follow the hovering gurneys across the grass and through the little cemetery to the waiting square-sided pits. Just family and a few close friends to witness the way the machinery slowly and smoothly lowered each coffin down into the earth, hear the minister recite the final ritual words, and each place a flower or a sprinkling of dirt atop the coffins in a last goodbye.

The rest of the large crowd had been encouraged to make their way into the Sunday School hall where the wake was to take place. Refreshments had been generously laid out on the tables inside. More photographs of both lost loved ones were on display throughout the room, along with so many more flowers and a large number of cards. But many of the people in attendance that day were still milling about outside the church buildings when John and his family returned through the cemetery for the wake.

John’s feet dragged as he approached the gentle hubbub of mingling friendly faces with sympathetic expressions. He could pick out people he knew well if he let himself concentrate, but the sheer number of individuals he was heading towards was a little overwhelming. They didn’t make it inside the hall before the onslaught began. Almost everyone wanted to say something, speak of sympathy, tell a story, offer “any help you need.” So many wanted to reach out, hold a hand or squeeze an arm, some came in for full-on hugs, cheek kisses and loud, teary exclamations of how sad it all was.

John lost his Dad and Grandma to the throng faster than he thought possible, but before he could be swept up in it himself he was thrown a lifeline. There was a familiar presence by his side, a brush of hand against hand, or specifically pinky against pinky – a request and an offer. John grabbed hold of Virgil’s hand and held fast, tethering himself to his brother like an anchor.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or how long it had taken, but eventually they all made it inside the Sunday School hall. John was only aware of Virgil’s hand in his, the rest was a blur of faces, voices, bodies. Virgil dealt with anyone who stopped them to offer their personal condolences, listening to what they had to say and responding politely but managing to keep the interactions brief and shielding John from most of the attention. Somehow they made their way to a cluster of chairs where Grandma and Dad were seated, Alan in his father’s lap, still accepting condolences from well-wisher after well-wisher.

John was aware of sweat beading on his forehead as Virgil told him to take a seat next to Grandma for a bit, and then his brother disappeared into the crowd to go and fetch Grandma a cup of tea. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers as he tried to look around the room. His eyes fell on Scott standing a few feet away, taking all the sympathetic social interactions in his stride, nodding, smiling, shaking hands, accepting embraces.

John’s mouth was dry and he wondered if he could make it across the room to grab a drink from the trestle table against the wall, but there was a sea of bodies he’d have to negotiate in between. For a moment his vision blurred and the vague images of people swam in a dizzying fashion before he could find something to focus on. Alan had obviously grown tired of the hair ruffling and cheek pinching and wriggled free of his Dad’s grasp, and was now trying to run through the small gaps between grown up pairs of legs. Gordon was keeping an eye on him – in between snaffling more cakes and cookies from the food table. John watched the terrible two until they were obscured by too many featureless figures.

Despite the late-winter-cool of the day, the church hall felt uncomfortably warm. The large space with its vaulted ceiling, tall, wide windows and polished wooden floorboards felt dark and gloomy and so very crowded. And the non-stop undercurrent of murmuring voices appeared to build in an unbearable crescendo John could not shut out. Too many bodies, too many voices, too much, too close . . . he needed space, he needed air, he had to get out!

Virgil saw his brother get up and hurry a little unsteadily to the exit as he came back with Grandma’s tea. He tried to keep an eye on the red-head so he could follow, but he had to excuse himself to Grandma and Dad, make his way over to Scott, politely interrupt the conversation and whisper in his big brother’s ear.

“John’s bolted. I’m going after him.”

Scott acknowledged with a nod as his eyes darted to the door, already closed again after John’s escape. Virgil wasted no more time in following, but once outside it took him a moment to figure out which direction John had taken.

John had no particular destination in mind, he just needed to get away. His feet carried him across the gravel driveway and through the grass without him registering the change of surface. He ran through the little cemetery without seeing the tombstones he passed, slowing only when he approached the boundary marked with a low stone wall before a neat, tall hedge. Unable to go any farther he turned and wobbled dizzily. His vision narrowed leaving dull blurred impressions of light and shadow. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, and he sank down to the ground, sitting heavily, knees bent and pulled up towards his chest. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block it all out.

Virgil approached slowly, but without trying to hide the sound of his footsteps. He lowered himself to sit facing John, resisting the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Seeing his brother in such distress clawed at his heart. He couldn’t let him struggle through this alone.

“John?” He kept his voice quiet and hoped he could be heard despite the hands staying firmly pressed against ears. “I’m here with you. Just me. No one else is around.”

There was no noticeable response.

“If you can hear me, I need you to try and slow your breathing down a bit, John. Deep breath in,�� and Virgil inhaled, “and out nice and slow.” Virgil waited for a second, watching John’s shallow, ragged breathing for any change. “In,” another inhaled breath, “and out.”

As Virgil continued repeating the instruction like a mantra John’s breathing gradually began to even out into slower, deeper, more controlled breaths. He wasn’t sure, but he thought John’s vice-like grip over his ears might be relaxing a little too.

“You’re doing great, John. Keep focusing on your breathing. Keep listening. Hear the breeze whispering through the leaves? Did you hear those birds?”

John did hear the cry of a bird overhead, and an answering call a little farther away as his hands drifted away from his head. As he lowered them to limply rest on the ground beside him he heard a gentle gust of wind rustle the hedges, and he registered that it did indeed sound a bit like a whisper.

“The sun’s broken free of the clouds. Can you feel it on your face, John? Can you feel the wind in your hair? You do realise there’s dirt and leaves beneath your fingertips, right?”

John turned his focus where his brother’s voice directed it, feeling the warmth on the left side of his face, and the breeze toying with his hair. There was indeed leaf litter and slightly damp dirt beneath his flexing fingers.

“If you’re ready to open your eyes you’ll see the moon’s out. I like the way the moon looks in the day. Against the blue of the sky the shadows make it look almost see-through.”

Translucent. That would have been a better word for what Virgil was trying to say. The thought flitted through John’s mind as he let his eyes drift open and scan the sky until they latched onto the gibbous moon framed by scattered cumulous clouds. He was also aware there was irony in the way his brother was effectively using the moon to anchor him, to bring him back to earth and ground him in the here and now.

Virgil had stopped talking, leaving the wind and occasional twitters and cries of the birds to fill the silence as John watched the clouds dance around the moon. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him almost as tangibly as he could feel the damp earth he was sitting on and the cool stone of the wall at his back. Now feeling much calmer he took a deep breath and brought his gaze down from the sky to meet the concern and compassion contained in those warm, brown eyes.

“Welcome back.” A hint of a smile played across Virgil’s face as he spoke.

A quiet moment stretched between them. No words spoken, but information passing from brother to brother through eye contact alone.

Content that John was no longer caught in a spiral he couldn’t escape on his own, Virgil glanced over his shoulder towards the Sunday School hall.

“I should go back, but you can stay here if you want. I’ll come and find you when it’s time to go. Just don’t wander off or anything.”

John didn’t speak as he chanced his own glance back toward the ongoing wake. Then, as Virgil made a move to get up and leave, John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay. Please?”

Virgil stopped and stared first at the fingers digging into his wrist, then into pleading, desperate aquamarine. He simply nodded and adjusted his position so he was sitting next to John, their shoulders touching. John loosened his grip on Virgil’s wrist but didn’t let go, so John’s arm looped around his knees and Virgil’s arm crossed his body to keep the connection. There was an almost imperceptible hesitation, but then simultaneously John leaned in towards his brother and Virgil wrapped his arm around John, pulling them into a secure embrace.

John finally let go of Virgil’s wrist, bringing his arm in close, grabbing a fistful of Virgil’s suit jacket and snuggling closer into his brother’s chest. This enabled Virgil to employ both arms in the hug. John rarely cuddled up like this with anyone, but all the times he could remember doing so were with Mom. His next intake of breath hitched at the realisation, and Virgil held a little tighter. The threat of tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he was grateful that, while not the same as a cuddle from Mom, he was still able to find this level of safety and comfort in the arms of someone who loved him.

“I want her back,” he sobbed, letting the tears flow and drip onto Virgil’s jacket.

“Yeah. Me too.”

John heard the tears in Virgil’s voice, but he already knew his brother felt the same absence in their hug.

Neither boy could say how long they stayed out there, huddled together, holding tight while hot tears streaked their cheeks. Time may as well have stood still for all it mattered. Nothing else was important, just the feeling that this moment, however sad, was there’s alone to share until Scott came and found them to tell them it was time to go home.

#john tracy #virgil tracy #grief/mourning #social anxiety #sensory overload #panick attack #funeral #angst #cemetery #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds

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